Green advanced, ducking under a roundhouse right and hammering lefts and rights into Bimbo’s wounded face. Bimbo was forced back towards the door, blows raining to his face at bewildering speed. He tried to roll with the punches, block them with his forearms, but they came too fast.
He swayed back. In his anxiety to finish the contest Green leapt forward. A piledriving left from Bimbo caught him flush on the jaw. He staggered back into the crowd. Bimbo moved into the centre of the room, still dazed.
‘Don’t box the bastard!’ shouted Stan. ‘Play your own game, son!’
Green advanced, a thin trickle of blood seeping to his chin from a split lower lip. Bimbo took a deep breath, then launched himself into a drop kick, his feet smashing into Green’s face and catapulting him into the doors, which exploded outwards. Bimbo rolled to his feet and followed Green into the car park. The boxer was cut now over the right eye, and glass from the door had ripped into his back.
‘I’ll kill you for that!’ he screamed. Bimbo raced forward into a solid wall of combination punches. Blows hammered at him. He raised his arms to block them, and Green transferred his attack to the body, doubling Bimbo over. An overhand right cracked against his ear and he fell heavily across the bonnet of a car. Green was on him instantly. Bimbo’s knee lashed up into Green’s groin. The boxer screamed in rage and pain. Bimbo dived forward, grabbing Green’s sweater. Twice Bimbo’s forehead cannoned into the boxer’s face, half blinding him. Green backed away. Bimbo followed. A straight left crashed into Bimbo’s broken nose, the pain lancing into his head.
The two men circled one another slowly within the ring of spectators. Both were bleeding. Both had felt the weight of the other’s blows. Green’s arrogance was gone now, his mind locked in total concentration. He moved in with straight, telling jabs, hunting the opportunity of landing the killer right, the blow that would end Bimbo’s resistance for good. Three times he threw it, but on each occasion Bimbo managed to roll, or block.
Across the road, in his white Escort, Don Dodds sat with Detective Constable Sunley. Two other cars were parked close by waiting for the signal to move in.
‘Shouldn’t we stop it, Sarge?’
‘What did you say, son?’
‘I said we should stop it. They’ll kill each other.’
‘Stop what? We’re looking for a dangerous criminal with a gun. We can’t allow ourselves to be sidetracked by a display of high spirits.’
‘Oh come on, Sarge. That’s Jackie Green.’
‘You ever read Plutarch, Ian?’
‘No. Russian is he?’
‘Greek. Clever man. He pointed out that great empires are not destroyed by great events. It’s always the small, seemingly insignificant things that cause worlds to crumble. You ought to read more.’
‘You’ve lost me, Sarge.’
Dodds sighed. ‘Listen, Ian, we will take in Jackie Green. Count on it. But let me ask you something. Would you sooner take him fresh, or as he’s going to be, win or lose, at the end of this little encounter?’
‘I think I take the point,’ said Sunley.
Back in the car park the two fighters were slowing down. The crowd had ceased their shouting and the battle was being fought in a grim, bloody silence. Jean Reardon watched from the grey Mercedes, her face betraying no emotion. Stan Jarvis went to his car, gathered his gear, and put on his overcoat, before pushing through to the front, his eyes glued to the man holding Green’s coat.
Green himself was growing desperate. Despite hitting Bimbo three times for every punch he himself had had to take, the other man kept coming. Green knew Bimbo had broken at least two of his ribs, and he could picture the jagged bone resting against his lungs. His left hand was lower now, protecting his injured side. All he needed was the one big right. He fought for calm – and stepped back. As expected, Bimbo pushed forward. Green’s left flashed up. Bimbo’s head moved. The killer right hammered down in the knockout blow, landing solidly behind Bimbo’s left ear like a pole-axe. Triumph surged in Green. It was over! He stepped back, making room for Bimbo to fall.
But he didn’t fall. He shook his head, staggered and came upright. Green’s jaw dropped. It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t bloody possible!
Leaping forward, he crashed two more blows to Bimbo’s face, only to feel a bone-crunching upper cut to his injured ribs. Agony lanced him. He backed away, eyes scanning the crowd. He held out his hand. The man holding his jacket tugged the magnum loose and threw it into the circle. Jackie caught it.
Bimbo wiped the blood from his face – and saw the pistol levelled at him.
At that moment Stan Jarvis stepped forward, his coat flapping, the sawn-off shotgun clearly in sight. ‘Jackie! I should put it down, son – or I’ll blow you in half!’
The crowd behind Green scattered. The boxer looked into the twin muzzles and pictured the red-hot buckshot ripping through his stomach. He licked his smashed lips, tasting the blood.
‘Drop it!’ said Stan, bringing the shotgun up and pointing it at Green’s face. Green obeyed. ‘Now kick it over ’ere!’ Green did so.
The boxer transferred his gaze to Bimbo – and charged.
Bimbo let him come, whipping a punch to his belly. Green doubled over, his head snapping down into Bimbo’s upraised knee. Green’s knees buckled and he hit the concrete face down. His body jerked once. Then he was still. Bimbo staggered back into the powerful arms of Don Dodds.
‘How you feeling, son?’
Policemen moved through the crowd, hauling Green from the floor. D.C. Sunley lifted the pistol from the ground by the trigger guard and transferred it to a plastic bag. Then he turned to Stan Jarvis.
‘Excuse me, sir. I’m sure somebody dropped a sawnoff shotgun round here somewhere. You didn’t happen to pick it up, did you?’
‘Yeah,’ said Stan. ‘Careless, some people.’ He handed the weapon over.
‘Thank you, sir. Very public-spirited.’
Dodds helped Bimbo to a set of steps leading to the rear garden, and sat him down. ‘I didn’t think you could beat him,’ said Dodds.
‘I don’t think I could again.’
‘You won’t have to. He’s being booked for the murder of Reilly.’ Dodds pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket. ‘Wipe some of that blood off your face, and I’ll take you to the hospital.’
‘It’s over, Mr Dodds. It is over, innit?’
‘It’s over, Bimbo. What you going to do now?’
‘Well, I got this wedding to arrange.’
‘You getting married?’
‘Nah, who’d have me? No, it’s Esther. The nurse you met. Wanna come to the reception?’
‘Sure, son. I’d love to.’ Bimbo sank back against the stone steps. Dodds patted his shoulder. ‘You know, Bimbo, just sometimes … not often, mind, it can be like the movies. All it takes is a man with heart.’
The sun was shining in a clear blue sky as Bimbo sat on the grass watching the two black swans and the six grey cygnets cruising the pond. He had been there on that day in February when the black male had been released to the water. Sue Cater had written the story, and there was a great picture in the paper of the two swans facing each other, their necks shaped like a heart. Sue had the picture blown up and framed and Bimbo had placed it beside the Winnie the Pooh poster in his flat.
And now there were cygnets, grey and fluffy like miniature storm clouds.
‘You’re doin’ all right now, princess, eh?’ said Bimbo. ‘Enjoy it while you got it.’ The black swan slowly turned, the cygnets furiously paddling after her. She came close to Bimbo, staring at him from her good eye. He tossed her some bread.
She scooped it up and moved away. The male swan cut across, coming between her and Bimbo. ‘Don’t worry about me, son,’ said Bimbo. ‘Her and me are just old friends.’
A child clambered over the eighteen-inch fence and crept n
oisily up behind Bimbo. He swung just as Simon pounced. ‘Gotcha!’ he said, swinging the boy to his shoulder. Simon squealed as Bimbo carried him back to the path. Sarah ran from the swings.
‘Mum says we got to go, or the dinner will be ruined,’ she told him.
‘Guess you better had, then.’
‘Does the swan understand what you say?’ asked Simon.
‘Course she does, son. She’s magic, aint she?’
‘Will she miss you when you move into your new house?’
‘No. I’ll still come visit. I aint movin’ far. It’s only Chiswick. Come on, let’s get an ice cream.’
‘We can’t. There’s mum.’ Bimbo glanced up to see Sherry walking towards him, arm in arm with a tall young man.
‘Time to go, kids,’ she called. The young man smiled at Bimbo. ‘This is George,’ said Sherry.
‘I ’eard you got hitched again, Sher. Hope it works for the pair of you.’
‘We’re doing all right so far,’ said George, leaning down and kissing Sherry’s cheek. ‘Come on kids, I’ll buy you an ice cream.’
Bimbo watched as George and Sherry led the way up the short hill, the two youngsters trailing behind.
Behind them the swans and their cygnets continued their cruising.
AFTERWORD
I had the help of a number of test readers for White Knight, Black Swan during its six years of creation. The first manuscript was seen by Peter Lavery in 1986, when he was editorial director at Hutchinson. In – as he said – ‘reluctantly’ turning it down he made a number of good suggestions on how to improve the characterisations.
I am also indebted to Stella Graham and her mother Edith, Ross Lempriere, Tom Taylor, Peter Ling, Alan Fisher and my wife, Val, for their support, encouragement and invaluable advice during the chronicling of Bimbo’s story.
And to my editor at Random, Oliver Johnson, for finding ‘truths’ about Bimbo that the author had either overlooked or misunderstood.
One of my readers thought that the sub-plot of the black swan was ‘a little too fanciful’ and suggested changing the ending.
The story of the swan is absolutely true, and took place in Hastings, East Sussex in 1980. A male swan was brought in from Leeds Castle on Valentine’s Day and, contrary to all expert belief, the swans mated and produced cygnets. The story, and a wonderful photograph, appeared on the front page of the Hastings Observer, and was featured on the BBC programme Nationwide.
Also by David Gemmell
Drenai Saga:
Knights of Dark Renown
Morningstar
Waylander
Waylander 2: In the Realm of the Wolf
Waylander 3: Hero in the Shadows
The First Chronicles of Druss the Legend
The Legend of Deathwalker
White Wolf
Legend
King Beyond the Gate
Quest for Lost Heroes
Winter Warriors
The Swords of Night and Day
Sipstrassi Tales:
Lion of Macedon
Dark Prince
Ghost King
Last Sword of Power
Wolf in Shadow
The Last Guardian
Bloodstone
Hawk Queen Duology:
Ironhand’s Daughter
The Hawk Eternal
Rigante Quartet:
Sword in the Storm
Midnight Falcon
Ravenheart
Stormrider
Troy Trilogy:
Troy: Lord of the Silver Bow
Troy: Shield of Thunder
Troy: Fall of Kings
Dark Moon
Echoes of the Great Song
Rhyming Rings
Copyright
First published in Great Britain in 1993 under the name Ross Harding.
This edition first published in Great Britain in 2017 by Gollancz
an imprint of the Orion Publishing Group Ltd
Carmelite House, 50 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DZ
An Hachette UK Company
The eBook first published in 2017 by Gollancz.
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Copyright © David Gemmell, 1993
The moral right of David Gemmell to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN (eBook) 978 1 473 21999 1
www.orionbooks.co.uk
www.gollancz.co.uk
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