by David Essex
“I understand,” said Danny.
As if to seal the deal, he went to give Albert a hug, but remembered the sore ribs just in time and shook Albert’s hand instead.
“Well, quite a night,” Albert remarked as they got out of the car. “Anything else on your mind?”
“Just a money thing,” Danny said.
Albert frowned. “You’ve been doing all right, haven’t you?”
“Yeah, at first. It’s all gone now though. I fought that last fight, right? I know the place was a sell-out and held about five times more punters than the first fight. But after waiting for the purse for months, Costa and Cohen paid me less than for the first fight.”
Rage swelled through Albert. Not only had they turned Danny into a cheat, they were cheating on him.
“That’s not right,” he said indignantly. “Did you ask ’em why?”
“They said it was the costs, the venue and advertising and that.”
Albert snorted. “Well, I think you know what I think about those two gentlemen. Right. We start tomorrow. I’ll see you at the gym eleven o’clock sharp, OK?”
Danny’s face lit up. “You bet! See you tomorrow.”
“Don’t let me down or yourself down,” warned Albert. “Get off that stuff and get your family back. But you gotta push through. You got an incentive now. You got your family to think of, and your boxing career. You’re gonna pull through this, OK? You hear me?”
*
Albert’s morning started with purpose. Something that had been missing in his life was back in place. Thoughts about this new beginning excited him, and he was determined to give it his best shot, despite the hindrance of his recent injuries. He managed his regular visit to the duck pond to issue rations, and then headed straight to the gym to meet Danny for training.
Danny was right on time.
“Morning Grandad,” he said, and greeted Albert with a mock punch which Albert returned.
“Let’s get cracking,” said Albert.
Within half an hour, Albert had spotted a couple of chinks in Danny’s armour. The boy had a tendency to lower his guard when backing off a fighter, and Albert thought his upper body movement could be better. The two began working, and working hard.
They were mid-session when Patsy came in.
“Hello boys,” he said, clearly surprised to see Albert. “What’s all this about?”
Danny took a break from punching the speed ball. “Albert’s back in the team,” he said happily. “I asked him and he said yes. Great, ain’t it?”
“I see,” said Patsy after a minute. “Yes, that’s great. Do Cohen and Costa know?”
“They will,” said Albert with menace. “Don’t worry about that. I wanna talk to you, Patsy, in private. We’ll be finishing soon. I’ll pop into your office for a chat, shall I?”
Danny and Albert worked on through their routine. More of the boys started drifting into the gym to keep Patsy busy. Every now and again, Patsy shot a worried glance at Albert.
“Finish up with your warm-down,” said Albert after another twenty minutes. “And we’ll call it a day, Danny. Good work.” He ruffled Danny’s hair, then clicked his fingers at Patsy.
They went into the office. Albert shut the door.
“What the bloody ’ell do you think you’re doing, Patsy?” Albert hissed, prodding Patsy in the chest. “Why d’ya let those scumbags give that stuff to Danny? You know it ain’t right. The boy could lose everything. He pretty much has lost everything!”
Patsy was visibly shaken by the onslaught. “They were lining him up for a title fight and they wanted him to be at prime strength and fitness,” he protested, raising his arms as if afraid Albert would hit him. “I’m sorry I went along with it, but they put me under a lot of pressure, Albert. They threatened to get rid of me!”
“It stops now,” Albert ordered. “Danny will fight on clean, got it? You just focus on training a future champion, not a cheat.”
Patsy sank into his chair with his head in his hands as Albert stalked out of the gym and headed downstairs to the bar, where Maria flashed him one of her rare smiles and set him to work.
It was good to be back.
*
If Danny was struggling to shake off his addiction, he hid it well. He made it to training a little pale at times, but he was always punctual. The incentive of putting his life back together was winning against the dark demons of his addiction. The old Danny was starting to shine through.
With Patsy and Danny now back on course, Albert started to think about wrestling control from Costa and Cohen. With Danny behind him, he now had the power.
“We need to arrange a meeting with them two clowns,” Albert told Danny several weeks into the new regime. “Let’s fix it up at the Bridge House pub in Canning Town. Let them come to us for a change. The mountain to Mohammed, sort of thing.”
Danny arranged the meeting with Costa and Cohen as instructed. The men weren’t happy with the venue, but agreed to come at one o’clock the following day after Danny stressed how important it was. Albert asked Patsy to attend, and he had nervously agreed.
On his usual mission to the duck pond, Albert went over the things he wanted to say and the points he planned to make. When he returned to his flat, instead of the usual suit, he put on a tailored black leather jacket that Danny had bought for him as a coming-home present. He looked sharp, and a bit tougher than usual.
Danny’s car horn sounded from down in the street. With a last check in the cracked mirror in the bathroom, Albert grabbed his walking stick and made for the car.
“This meeting could get a bit bumpy, Danny,” he warned as Danny drove them through the familiar streets. “Are you all right with that?”
Looking pale but focused, Danny nodded. “We need to get some answers and straighten things out,” he said. “I feel good about it.”
It wasn’t far to the Bridge House. After parking outside, Danny and Albert went in.
The pub was quiet at this time of day. Most of the pub’s business was at night, enticed there by the strippers that regularly performed. It had a section of Victorian booths, ideal for a private meeting.
Already seated in a booth was Patsy, nervously tapping a beer mat on the dark mahogany table. Albert and Danny came to join him.
“Do you want a drink, Pat?” Albert asked,
“I think I might need one after this,” Patsy muttered.
On cue, Cohen and Costa materialised.
“Gentlemen,” said Cohen. His eyes rested on Albert for a moment.
“Drink, anyone?” offered Costa. “Jack Daniel’s, Danny?”
“A couple of orange juices,” Albert said firmly.
“Nice and healthy,” said Costa with a grin. “Cheap too.”
“Nice to see you, Albert,” said Cohen, sitting down. “Danny told me the news. Grandad, eh? What a coincidence. Nice, very nice.” His words were warm, but the way they were delivered was ice cold.
Costa came back with the drinks and sat down.
“So,” Cohen said, “what’s your grandad doing here, Danny?”
“Albert is back on the team,” Danny replied. “I asked him.”
“Is that wise?” Cohen asked.
Albert tightened his grip on his walking stick, but said nothing.
“It’s my decision, Jack,” said Danny.
Cohen snorted. “Back on the team? What does that even mean, back on the team?”
Albert lifted his walking stick and smashed it down on the table. Patsy flinched. Costa spilled his whisky down his expensive suit in surprise.
“I’ll tell you what it means,” Albert said, leaning close to Cohen. “It means you stop giving the boy drugs. If he’s gonna fight, he’s gonna fight clean.”
“Whoa,” said Costa, mopping down his suit. “We had a shot at the title lined up and was giving Danny a little help. That’s all.”
“You reckon?” said Albert. “You are teaching the boy to cheat.”
Cohen turned
to Danny, tipping his head at Albert. “What’s his problem?”
“I think it’s you,” Danny replied.
“They was only amphetamines, Albert,” complained Costa. “Just to help.”
Albert crashed the stick back on the table, this time with even more force. “No more drugs,” he repeated, “title fight or not. Got it? That’s the way it’s gonna be, right Danny?”
“That’s the way it’s gonna be,” Danny forcefully agreed.
“Easy now, take it easy,” Cohen soothed, switching on the charm. “We seem to have a clash of opinions.”
“No,” said Danny. “From now on there is only one opinion, and that’s Albert’s.”
Cohen’s expression hardened. “I see,” he said. “I think we could fall out over this.”
Albert was still on the attack. He pointed his stick at Cohen. “Pay Danny what he was owed for the last fight, or it may well be his last fight for you.”
“Perhaps it will be his last fight,” Cohen sneered. “After the fiasco of the Livermore fight, your boy was a shambles. We’ll take another look at the accounts, but there were considerable costs.”
“We can still work with you,” said Albert. He shot a glance at Patsy, who had sunk down low in his seat. “But in the future, your take will be ten per cent and not fifty.”
There was an almost theatrical intake of air from Costa.
Albert delivered his ultimatum. “We’ll leave you to think it over,” he said. “Give us an answer by the end of the week. Come on, Danny. We’re leaving.”
“That was impressive,” said Danny as he and Albert walked to the car.
“They need you Danny,” Albert said. “You can call the tune, believe me.”
Danny rubbed his forehead. “I hope you’re right,” he said. “But what if they don’t give me the money they owe me and they won’t take a smaller cut? I don’t want to give up boxing, do I? Then there’s the contract I signed.”
“Stop worrying,” said Albert. “It’s gonna be all right.”
They reached Albert’s flat. Danny switched off the engine. They sat in silence for a few moments.
“Thanks, Grandad,” Danny said.
“Still can’t get used to that,” Albert remarked. “I’ll see you tomorrow at eleven in the gym. And don’t be late!”
*
Danny watched from the car as Albert negotiated his walking stick, key and front door. He thought about how strong Albert had been at the meeting, the opposite to the silent Patsy. It felt good to have him back on his side and fighting his corner. Costa and Cohen were the ones with the reputation, but Albert had put them in their place.
But as he drove home, doubts crept in again. It was true that Albert had stood his ground for all the right reasons, for Danny and his family’s benefit, but it had thrown Danny’s fight future into uncertainty. All Danny wanted to do was take care of his family and succeed in his chosen sport. The thought of complicating the situation worried him, not to mention the potential repercussions from the underworld that Costa and Cohen belonged to.
Serious training went on over the next few days, but there was an uncertainty in Danny’s commitment. It was hard to train and focus not knowing if and when the next fight would take place.
The team, though, was upbeat, and confident that the outcome would be positive. Patsy had to some extent returned to the camp, and was back to putting Danny through his paces. When he could, Lenny would come by and watch Danny sparring. Just having Lenny and Albert around felt right to Danny, whatever the outcome.
After two weeks, Danny’s state of limbo was beginning to take its toll.
He needed to talk to Costa and Cohen, but worried that it might be a sign of weakness.
The phone bell rang in the hall. Danny wiped the last bit of shaving foam off his cheek and went to answer it.
“Hello Danny,” said Cohen. “How are you?”
Danny tried to gauge Cohen’s mood. “All good,” he said cautiously. “You?”
“Danny,” said Cohen. “We have a problem. I think we should get together and have a chat.”
“OK,” said Danny. “I’ll let Albert and Patsy know.”
Cohen sighed. “I think it best that we meet without them,” he said. “We don’t want them muddying the waters.”
“I don’t know,” said Danny. “I don’t want to go behind Albert’s back.”
“You won’t be. Just a friendly chat, that’s all. How is eleven tomorrow at the office?”
Danny wanted to get this stuff resolved, but was suspicious at the same time. His impatience with the situation took precedence over his misgivings.
“OK,” he said. “See you at eleven.”
Putting the phone down, he couldn’t help feeling he had betrayed Albert by not insisting that he came to the meeting too. It wasn’t a good feeling, but his options were limited.
Danny heard a key in the door.
“Hello darling,” Rosie said as she came in. “Was you on the phone to Wendy?”
If only, Danny thought. “Nah Mum,” he said. “It was just about a meeting tomorrow to talk about the next fight.”
Rosie took her coat off and headed for the kitchen. “I’ve got some nice boiled bacon for tea,” she called from the kitchen.
“Lovely,” answered Danny, relieved that she wasn’t asking any more questions.
For the first time in weeks, Danny was missing the buzz the drugs had given him. He knew that if he had any, he would at this point take them. He rekindled his willpower and tried to put temptation out of his mind. So much depended on him being free from drugs and healthy. His reunion with Wendy and Ruby depended on it.
He just wanted to see what Jack and Tommy had to say. He could talk to Albert afterwards. Thinking about it this way helped him feel less like a traitor and more like a bridge between Costa and Cohen and Albert’s principles. Comforted by the thought that he was doing the right thing, he would see what tomorrow would bring.
He called Albert at the Live and Let Live.
“I won’t make it in for training till tomorrow afternoon, Grandad,” he said. “I just need to see to a couple of things.”
“Anything I can help with?” asked Albert.
“No, you’re all right, no big deal. See you about three.”
The feeling of guilt still surrounded Danny as he put the phone down, but he was optimistic. His actions would at least clarify the situation. He hated being in limbo, not knowing, and it was hard to train when he wasn’t sure what the future held.
This meeting was necessary. Not only for Danny and his family, but for Albert too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THE next morning, as Danny showered and shaved ready for the meeting, he felt sure that Costa and Cohen would see the sense of Albert’s ultimatum. He looked forward to telling Albert the good news at the gym, later in the day.
There might need to be some kind of compromise, but he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.
Wearing a light brown suede jacket, white shirt and black trousers, Danny felt good. His need for the drugs was easing day by day. He remembered Wendy’s words from way back, when she had said, If you are going for a job, look like you don’t need it and you will probably get it. So looking sharp felt like the way to go.
Driving to Costa and Cohen’s office had a feel of High Noon about it. Danny hoped no gun fight would ensue, just some straight talking.
Costa and Cohen were waiting for him in the reception. Their welcome was more matter of fact than normal. No big hug from Costa, no forced smile from Cohen. Just business-like handshakes.
“Come through,” said Cohen. “No telephone calls,” he instructed Mavis the receptionist, and led the way along the corridor to his palatial office.
“Take a seat, Danny,” said Cohen, seating himself behind his larger than necessary oak desk.
Danny sat down.
“You’re looking good, Danny boy,” said Costa.
“We wanted to talk to you becaus
e we care,” said Cohen, “and we don’t want you to make a mistake. Bringing Albert back on board is a mistake.”
“That’s right,” said Costa. “Albert’s a lovely man, but he’s from another era. Faded glory, Danny. He doesn’t understand today’s fight game.”
Danny said nothing.
“Let’s look at the points Albert made,” said Cohen. “The performance-enhancing pills we were giving you were for your own good, right? To help with your training and make you a better fighter.”
“Patsy was all right with it, wasn’t he?” said Costa.
Danny stayed silent. Cohen continued.
“Now, the fifty per cent management fee. Given your last performance, we feel it’s more than fair.”
“That ten per cent business is dear old Albert talking,” said Costa. “He doesn’t know about costs and advertising. It costs money to sell out a place like that.”
“A lot of money,” Cohen agreed. “It’s only with our guidance that you could have a shot at a British title, Danny.”
“You know who currently holds the belt, don’t you?” Cohen asked.
“Billy Livermore,” Costa said. “You remember that fight, don’t you?”
Danny certainly did remember the Livermore fight.
“Yeah, you remember it,” said Costa softly.
“You blew that one Danny, didn’t ya?” said Cohen, standing up behind his desk. “Now Livermore has the title. It would have been yours if you hadn’t fucked up, Danny. It would have been ours too.”
“Yes Danny,” said Costa.
“You fucked up big time, Danny boy,” spat Cohen. “And we can’t have that, can we Tommy?”
“No Jack,” Costa agreed. “It ain’t right.”
There was a tangible menace in the room. Danny felt frozen as Cohen opened the drawer to his desk and took out some papers.
“See this?” he said, shaking the papers in Danny’s face. “This is your contract. You know what we’re gonna do? Me and Mr Costa? We’re gonna tear it up.”
He ripped the contract to pieces and threw the remains into a nearby wastepaper bin.
“Good shot,” said Costa.
“Good riddance,” said Cohen.
