The man with the injured ribs staggered back a few steps. Then he began to shout.
‘He’s here! Over here!’
The sound of running feet came from several alleyways. With no time for thought Bimbo charged into the first alley, cannoning into a group of men in the dark. His club slashed left and right. He heard a bone snap, followed by a satisfying scream. Something hit him a wicked blow in the back and he stumbled. A face loomed before him. Bimbo smashed it from sight. Blows were raining in on him now, mostly glancing from his huge shoulders, but one pickaxe handle cracked into his temple. He spun back, losing his grip on his club. In the darkness he stumbled and fell. A man tripped over him. Bimbo grabbed him, hauling him on top of his body, and the blows hammered down. Hurling the screaming man from him, Bimbo rolled, his hand touching the fallen club. Grabbing it, he lurched to his feet and ran. There was no time now for plans, or coherent thought. He was a hunted animal, and he was in pain. Outnumbered and outmanoeuvred, he could only fight until he fell.
Emerging from one alleyway he found himself in the main courtyard. He staggered to a stop in the eerie light of the single street lamp. Blood streamed from the cut to his temple, and his cheek and forehead were badly swollen. His body ached from the blows he had taken. Two men rushed at him. He swept a blow to the first man’s stomach, doubling him over, but before he could finish him the second man’s club cracked into his left cheek, hurling him from his feet. Another man ran in and kicked him in the stomach. As the boot swung for a second kick Bimbo grabbed his ankle and wrenched. The man flew backwards, cannoning into his comrades. Bimbo made it to his knees, but was drop-kicked from behind. He rolled to his back. A wooden club flashed for his face. Throwing up his right hand he caught the weapon. His foot lashed out and the man fell. With the club in his possession Bimbo once more made it to his feet, parrying and hitting out where he could. A sharp pain lanced his arm as a strike thundered home above his elbow. He dropped the club and charged into the midst of the mob, where their weapons were of little use. His huge fists smashed left and right, and for the first time he recognised some of his attackers. Blows hammered into him, and he screamed like a wounded animal, lunging at his tormentors. But now they had him, and they formed a circle around him. Blood dripped into Bimbo’s eyes. He tried to wipe it away. Pain was swamping him.
‘Finish him!’ screamed Roache, rushing in, his knuckleduster gleaming in the lamplight. With his strength fading, Bimbo grabbed the man’s jacket and crashed a wicked punch to Roache’s belly. A club swung for him. He twisted Roache into its path and found a short moment of satisfaction as the weapon exploded against Roache’s mouth, snapping his head back, his teeth bloody and broken, his jaw smashed. Bimbo hurled the body aside and charged for Taggart.
But there was no strength left in the giant frame and he stumbled under the blows and toppled.
The world spun in blackness and pain. As he slid from consciousness Bimbo heard Taggart’s shout of triumph. ‘Now break the bastard!’
For several seconds no one moved. The eight men still standing were breathing heavily. Several had bleeding wounds, others were experiencing the swelling numbness of broken arms, fingers or ribs.
There had been thirteen at the start. Five were down and unconscious, with who knew what injuries. Roache lay beside Bimbo, blood streaming from his shattered mouth, his jaw hanging at a horrible angle.
‘I think that’s enough, aint it, Tag?’ said one man. ‘We don’t wanna kill him.’
‘Kill him? He aint even started to hurt yet,’ said Taggart, moving in and launching a vicious kick into Bimbo’s unprotected side. Taggart kicked him twice more, then took a knife from his pocket.
‘Stuff that!’ said another of the men. ‘I aint stayin’ for this!’
‘Then fuck off back to mummy, Phelps. This bastard’s had it comin’. Now we’ll see what he’s like without any balls!’
Ten year old Jeremiah Andrews sped from the shadows. He had not forgotten Bimbo helping him against the white thugs, and now he was ready to repay the debt. No one heard his silent charge, until his cricket bat thundered into Taggart’s head, knocking the man from his feet. Taggart rolled and came up snarling, blocking the next blow with his forearm and punching the boy from his feet.
‘You little black bastard! I’ll piggin’ show you!’ Suddenly the courtyard was alive with men, many carrying knives.
‘Jesus!’ whispered Phelps. Jem scrambled to his knees, and tried to rise. Silver pulled him upright. The twenty men of Ironside Towers spread out around the whites.
Silver eased his way forward, and leaned down to pick up a fallen club. Taggart backed away and the eight men formed a rough fighting circle.
‘You’re on my turf,’ said Silver, smiling.
‘Private business,’ said Taggart, pointing to Bimbo’s body. ‘He aint one of yours.’
‘No, but he is, man,’ said Silver, swinging the club back to point at Jem.
‘That was a mistake. He come outta nowhere.’
‘No shit?’ said Silver. The pickaxe handle shot forward in a straight thrust that clove into Taggart’s mouth, punching him from his feet.
‘You other men better be gettin’ off home,’ said Silver, ‘while I’m still full of Christian charity. You just leave him here,’ he added, pointing to Taggart.
‘What you gonna do with him?’ asked Phelps.
‘I’m gonna teach him a little pain,’ said the black leader. ‘Course you may all be close friends a his, and you may wanna stand by him. That’s your choice.’
‘He aint no friend of mine,’ said Phelps, dropping his pickaxe handle. The others followed suit. Taggart was on his knees now, blood staining his mouth.
‘You can’t leave me ’ere!’ he shouted.
No one spoke, but one by one the gang drifted away.
‘Take him round the back,’ ordered Silver. Three men pounced on Taggart, dragging him away into the darkness. Silver moved to where Jeremiah was sitting. ‘You okay, boy?’
Jem nodded.
‘How many fingers am I holding up?’
‘Three.’
‘That’s good. Now tell me, shit-for-brains, just what you was gonna do with all them bastards?’
Jem shrugged. ‘He helped me out, Silver. I owed him.’
‘You don’t know nothin’ about how the world works, boy.’
Bimbo groaned and several men moved to help him.
‘Leave him alone!’ ordered Silver. The men backed away. Leaving Jem, he walked to Bimbo and squatted down beside him. Blood was pooling on the ground beside Bimbo’s face. ‘Can you hear me, man? This is Silver. We just saved your ass. You wanna hand to get up, big man?’
Bimbo forced his arms beneath him and pushed. He groaned and dragged his knees under him, pushing himself to his knees.
‘You wanna hand?’ mocked Silver.
‘Get stuffed!’ whispered Bimbo.
Silver grinned. ‘One tough son-of-a-bitch. Better go home, tough man. You aint in no condition to tackle a sick cat.’ Bimbo stood, tottered and fell to his knees. Jeremiah Andrews ran to him.
‘Lean on me, man,’ he said, and together the giant and the child moved slowly towards the road.
Silver strolled back to the waiting group. ‘That is one great kid,’ he said. ‘Now let’s see about our friend Taggart.’
A large black BMW pulled up as Jem and Bimbo reached the far side of the road. Jem was sweating heavily, and taking more and more of Bimbo’s huge frame as Bimbo’s fragile hold on consciousness began to slip. Esther leapt from the passenger side of the car and ran to Bimbo.
‘Oh my God!’ she shouted, as she saw his battered, bleeding face. Dr Simeon Abazul arrived just as Bimbo toppled. The doctor grabbed him, taking the weight.
‘I’ll be okay. Get me to me flat,’ mumbled Bimbo, his voice slurred. Simeon manoeuvred him to the car
while Esther opened the door. Carefully Simeon eased Bimbo to the back seat where he slumped across the leather upholstery. The doctor turned to the boy.
‘With what were these injuries inflicted?’
‘They looked like baseball bats,’ said Jem. Simeon pulled a £5 note from his wallet and offered it to the boy.
‘Up yours!’ said Jem. Without a word the boy stalked off into the night.
Simeon climbed into the driver’s seat and gunned the engine. Esther was sitting alongside Bimbo, his bleeding head in her lap. The BMW roared away.
Four hours later Bimbo was back in his own bed, the wounds to his head having required twenty-two stitches. Against all advice and entreaties he had refused to stay in hospital and Simeon had reluctantly brought him home.
The tall doctor quietly pulled shut the bedroom door and joined Esther by the living room fire. He took the coffee she had made and sipped it.
‘At least nothing is broken,’ she said.
‘He has an amazing constitution, but the bruising is prodigious, and he really should have stayed in hospital. He has suffered a serious concussion and reaction may set in. I think you should stay with him tonight. I would stay with you, but I am on call. You have my number?’
‘Yes.’ She took his hand. ‘Thank you, Simeon.’
‘Why did he refuse to have the police called? I do not understand.’
‘It is not his way.’
‘I see. The law of his particular jungle. Such a sad end to a beautiful evening. I will see you tomorrow.’
‘You had better,’ she warned him, forcing a smile. She stood and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Outside in the hallway he fished in his pocket and came up with a small black box. He flipped it open. Within lay a solitaire diamond ring. Closing the box he returned it to his pocket and walked down to his car.
As he opened the door a small, dark blue Ford Escort drew up. A pretty, blonde white woman stepped from it and approached him.
‘Excuse me, are you the doctor?’
‘Yes. What can I do for you?’
‘How is he?’
‘Oh, I see,’ he said. ‘You mean Mr Jardine?’
‘Yes, I heard he was injured.’
‘He is in bed resting. My fi … girlfriend is with him. I am not his doctor. I was merely close by when he was hurt.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Sue Cater. ‘I saw the BMW and thought … well, you know. Not many people around here can afford those!’
‘Do not apologise, ‘ said Simeon. ‘You took me rather by surprise. I thought perhaps you were clairvoyant. Are you a friend of Bimbo’s?’
‘Yes. Is he all right?’
‘He was badly beaten by a gang of thugs armed with pickaxe handles. Miraculously nothing is broken. Why don’t you go up? Esther would be pleased to have company I am sure.’ She nodded and he walked her back to the flat, introduced her to Esther, and left.
Sue Cater followed Esther silently into the bedroom and recoiled when she saw the swollen, twisted features of the sleeping Bimbo. Outside Sue outlined to Esther the tale she had heard in a local pub.
Bimbo Jardine, so the story went, had been thrashed to within an inch of his life and was now in traction and on the critical list. Three of his attackers were also in hospital, one with a smashed jaw, another with crushed ribs, and a third with a fractured skull. Two more had broken arms, and a sixth, a man named Taggart, had not been seen since the incident. Several others carried various injuries from broken noses to heavily bruised features.
‘I don’t know why all this is happening,’ said Esther. ‘He’s such a nice man.’
‘He annoyed his boss. It’s that simple,’ Sue told her. For a while the two women sat in silence. Sue took in the dark elegance of the negress, the shining skin, the huge, beautiful eyes, while Esther was impressed by the willowy grace and the poise of the blonde, white woman.
‘Are you his girlfriend?’ asked Esther, suddenly.
‘No. I’m a reporter from the Herald. I’ve been seeing Bimbo about … the swan in the park. He’s been trying to find a mate for her.’
‘Yes,’ said Esther, ‘he cares about things.’
‘I’m sure. How do you know him?’
‘I’m his neighbour.’
‘Oh.’
Esther smiled. ‘Why lie? I was, sort of, his lover for a while. But not any more. Simeon is my boyfriend. In fact I thought he was going to propose to me tonight.’
‘Would you have said yes?’ asked Sue.
‘Faster than a speeding bullet,’ said Esther, grinning.
‘What does Bimbo think of him?’
‘He likes him. He told me to ’unt ’im and bag ’im,’ she said, copying Bimbo’s broad cockney. Both women chuckled.
‘It’s not often one lover recommends another,’ said Sue.
‘Bimbo’s a bit special. A long time ago I was on drugs. Pretty hard stuff. I tried to kill myself. Bimbo was there. He saved my life, and he took me in. He sat with me day after day, listening as I ranted. He pulled me through. Sounds easy when you say it like that, but it wasn’t. I was hateful. Three times I slid back, but he was always there. I lied and I cheated. I stole his money. But he stuck by me. Big and loving. Better than a father, better than mine anyway.’
‘You love him?’
‘Of course I love him. Wouldn’t you?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Maybe not,’ said Esther, ‘but you know more than you’re saying. You’ve slept with him, haven’t you?’
‘Yes,’ admitted Sue. ‘But only once. But I know what you mean.’
‘They don’t make many men like Bimbo,’ said Esther. ‘He’s a one-off.’
‘How does Simeon feel about him?’
‘He likes him. He was jealous at first, but then he got to know him. When I get married Bimbo will give me away. He’d like that.’
‘I thought that was reserved for family.’
‘He is family,’ said Esther.
‘Do you mind if I stay with you?’
‘Why should I? Nice to have the company. We’ll have to check him every half-hour or so. There could be a reaction to the concussion.’
‘What do we do if there is?’ asked Sue.
‘We call Simeon. There’s a phone in my flat.’
Esther rose and, followed by Sue, entered Bimbo’s bedroom. His pulse was strong and he was sleeping deeply.
Outside once more Esther turned on the TV. There was no picture. She picked up a video box.
‘You want to see High Noon?’ she asked Sue.
Bimbo awoke in the middle of the night to nausea and pain. His stomach surged and he groaned, swallowing back the bile. His head pounded and he found he could only open one eye. He tried to roll over. Agony exploded from his back and ribs, his chest and his arms. Eventually he made the full turn and lay on his stomach. His belly surged once more, and he vomited to the floor beside his bed.
Hearing his distress Esther came into the room. Sue Cater was asleep, wrapped in blankets before the fire. Esther settled the big man back on the bed and fetched a bowl of warm water and some towels, clearing the mess and scrubbing the bedroom rug with disinfectant. She left a clean bowl by the bed and checked Bimbo’s pulse. It was regular at around forty-eight beats to the minute. His head felt warm to the touch.
‘My poor Bimbo,’ she whispered. Three times more he was violently sick, and each time Esther cleaned him and emptied his bowl. On the last occasion she noticed spots of blood among the bile. She was on the verge of ringing Simeon when Bimbo at last fell into a deep sleep.
Returning to the living room Esther watched the dawn slowly break over Ironside Towers. The beating Bimbo had taken was savage. At the hospital she had seen his injuries, huge purple and yellow weals where the clubs had struck him. His upper back and ribs were massively bruised
, as were his chest and arms. His face was swollen and almost unrecognisable. The casualty doctor had been stunned to see the victim was still walking, and even more surprised when the X-rays showed the absence of broken bones.
Bimbo slept on until almost eight o’clock, by which time Sue Cater was awake, and making use of the bathroom. Esther, hearing sounds from the bedroom, moved into the doorway in time to see Bimbo struggling to rise from the bed. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she asked.
‘’Allo, princess.’
‘Get back into bed.’
‘Got things to do, aint I?’
‘Nothing that can’t wait.’
‘Get my running gear, will ya?’
‘Listen to me, Bimbo, you’ve been hurt. You have to rest. You can’t go running.’
‘Just get the gear, princess. Don’t give me a hard time.’
‘Lie back,’ she urged.
He shrugged away her hand. ‘Get the gear, or I’ll get it me bleedin’ self.’ He tried to rise, groaned, stood and stumbled to his knees. She helped him back to the bed.
‘Sit still. I’ll get it.’ She found his running clothes and a grey sweatshirt. ‘I can’t find your blue top,’ she said.
‘It don’t matter. Help me get into ’em.’
‘Look, I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll make you a cup of tea, and we’ll talk for a little while. Then I’ll help you dress. Okay?’ He nodded and she ran to the kitchen. The kettle took an age to boil, but she made the tea, adding extra sugar and milk to Bimbo’s pint-sized mug. When she returned Bimbo was lying on his back on top of the bed. Sue Cater walked into the room. Esther tried to cover Bimbo’s nakedness, but his body had trapped the blanket.
White Knight/Black Swan Page 22
