Femme Fatale

by Dominic Piper

  He pauses, takes a long drink from his pint and looks down. He’s keeping stuff back. Whatever happens next is difficult for him to articulate for some reason. I decide to distract him for a moment.

  ‘Let’s give these people names so we both know who we’re talking about. It’ll be more convenient. Let’s call them Friendly Face and Big Bastard. Sound good?’

  ‘Yeah. Yeah. OK.’ He finishes off the rest of his Scotch. ‘I looked up and Big Bastard was naked apart from like a thong – you know the sort of thing that bodybuilders wear? I don’t know whether he’d oiled himself down before he came in or whether he’d done it while I was incapacitated, but now he was glistening with it. Just like in a muscleman competition, you know? And it looked like he might have been one. You know when blokes go too far hitting the gym? When they’re covered in big veins everywhere? He was like that.

  ‘Friendly Face was holding me down, still smiling. He let go of me, then Big Bastard stooped down, lifted me so I was sitting up and got me in this really strong grip around my chest. I really, really couldn’t move. He grabbed my wrist and pulled my right arm out to the side. I tried, I really tried to resist, but he was much too strong. I couldn’t breathe properly. I had ringing in my ears. I thought I was going to pass out from the pressure he was putting on my chest. Then Friendly Face pulled a chair up and sat in front of me. He had a bag with him which I hadn’t seen. A smart brown leather holdall. Expensive, it looked. He reached inside and pulled out an iron bar. Maybe this long.’

  He holds his fingers apart to show me. Somewhere around eighteen inches. The woman behind him keeps glancing over at me, but I pretend not to notice.

  ‘It had a two-inch diameter. Something like that. A big, heavy, solid fuckin’ thing. God knows what it would have been used for. He leaned forward in the seat. He held this bar in one hand and kept smacking it into the palm of the other, trying to intimidate me.

  ‘He said he’d tried to reason with me. About Paige, that is. But I was plainly incapable of obeying orders. He knew that I was still seeing her.’

  ‘How did he know that, do you suppose?’

  ‘No idea. I’d only been seen in public with her once, if you call going to one of her gigs and having a drink afterwards in public.’

  ‘Keep going.’

  ‘He said once again that I was a bad lot and that it wasn’t fair on Paige’s career and her life if I continued to see her. He said that he’d tried to be reasonable with me, but that people like me were evidently unable to listen to reason. He said he understood that I probably wasn’t very bright, but this was a clear message that anyone could have understood, even me.’

  ‘Nice guy.’

  ‘Yeah. So we went through the bad lot speech again and that her career could be in danger and so on and so forth. Then he said that he was going to have to teach me a lesson.’

  ‘With the iron bar.’

  ‘Yes. But he said that he was going to give me one last chance. There was one thing I could do that would stop him smashing my arm.’

  ‘What was it?’

  He shakes his head in disbelief. ‘He said he could get hold of this equipment. Cameras and sound stuff. All state of the art. It would be set up in my flat and in Paige’s flat with my help. It was undetectable and discreet. Only him and me would know it was there.’

  ‘And the oiled muscleman thong guy who you were now pretty tight with.’

  He laughs nervously. ‘Well, yeah. Him, too.’ Despite the laughter, I can see he’s getting angry recalling this. His left fist keeps clenching, even as he drinks more beer.

  ‘How old was Big Bastard, by the way?’

  ‘Early forties to mid-forties, I would reckon. Could be wrong.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘He wanted me to set it up so that whenever I was with Paige – like making love, yeah? – it would be filmed. Either filmed or transmitted to somewhere. He wasn’t clear, or if he was, I didn’t understand.

  ‘At that point I tried to break loose from Big Bastard, but it was no good. He was too strong. It brought a new meaning to the phrase “vice-like grip”, you know what I’m sayin’? I could hear him chuckling in that awful deep voice. It was vibrating through me. If I could have got loose, I’d have fuckin’ killed both of them. I’d have beaten them both to a fuckin’ pulp. Going to prison would have been worth it. If you’d seen Friendly Face’s look, his expression, you’d have known why.’

  ‘So you didn’t go along with this.’

  ‘No. I mean – what? I’d never heard anything so ridiculous in my life. But it didn’t end there. He said they’d be giving me instructions. Things they wanted me to do with Paige, things they wanted me to do to her, when we were in bed being filmed. Choreographed. That was the word he used. They would choreograph what we got up to. He said he was sure it would look good. He said that both Paige and I were a fine pair of physical specimens. I really couldn’t believe my ears.’

  ‘So you told him that wasn’t going to happen.’

  ‘I don’t think I had to tell him, you know? I think he could tell from my expression. But I told him anyway. I told him he had to be fuckin’ insane. That that was never going to happen in a million years and if he suggested it again I’d find him and I’d kill him. He shook his head. He kept looking really disappointed with me all of the time, d’you know what I mean? It was as if I’d been offered a million quid as a gift and had turned it down.

  ‘So then he nodded at Big Bastard who held my arm out straight. I was really trying to struggle now, but it was useless. My arm was shaking, you know? Friendly Face stood up, put a hand on my shoulder and started shaking the iron bar up and down. He was pretty angry now. He said this was going to be a warning I’d never forget. It was just a taste of what they could do. I knew he meant it. And then he said if he even got an inkling that I was in touch with Paige, they’d grab her. He said that they’d grab her and they’d rape her and then they’d disfigure her. And it would be my fault. And I’d have to live with it. It was such a shame. She seemed such a nice girl. So pretty. It was when he was talking about that that he really gave me the creeps. It was exciting him, you know? Doing all that to Paige. Talking about it, yeah? His mouth was watering. He kept on licking his lips and wiping saliva away from his lower lip.

  ‘Then he brought the iron bar down on my arm hard. Twice. That was all it needed. He was grinning like a madman when he did it. It was as if doing this was all he lived for. I mean, I’ve taken some hammerings in the ring, but this was something else entirely. The pain, I mean. It was fuckin’ excruciating. I’d never had anything broken before. I didn’t scream or anything. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. But I was sick all over myself. I could feel that I was losing consciousness. Big Bastard let me go and I was just lying on the floor in my puke. I couldn’t do anything. I could hear Friendly Face saying that I was not to worry. It was all going to be OK. He was going to call an ambulance.

  ‘He said if anyone asked what had happened, just tell them that some lunatic had tried to hit me with a baseball bat and I’d put my arm up to defend myself. I didn’t get it at first. Best not to tell them the truth in the hospital, he said. It could get me into a lot of trouble. He said not to worry. Just stick to that story and it’ll all be OK. They might not believe me, but they can’t do anything about it.

  ‘So I just lay there. I could feel my breathing was getting rapid. My mouth kept filling with saliva. I watched Big Bastard getting dressed. This is stupid, but I was worried he’d get oil all over his clothes.’

  ‘Big Bastard’s accent.’

  ‘Northern, but it was on its way out, you know? I caught a trace of Lancashire or maybe Manchester. Can’t be more specific.’

  I catch the woman’s eye again. I raise my eyebrows at her. She smiles and continues chatting to her friend.

  ‘Did you hear him call an ambulance?’

  ‘Yeah, I did. I couldn’t tell how long it took to arrive. I was pretty delirious. I was sick again, t
oo. They’d gone by the time the paramedics arrived. Before he left, Friendly Face squatted down by my side, patted me on the shoulder and said that he hoped I’d learned my lesson.’

  ‘Was it a private ambulance company?’

  ‘No. NHS. They took me to the Chelsea and Westminster. The ambulance guys gave me a morphine jab as soon as they saw my arm. Here. Look.’

  He rolls up the sleeve of his sweat top. There’s a seven-inch scar down the thumb side of his forearm. It doesn’t look new anymore, but it’s still pink. Would the hospital have called the law? Unlikely. It would look like a defensive wound of some type and they only report gunshot or knife wounds to the police.

  ‘What did you tell them?’

  ‘I told them what Friendly Face had told me to say. Lunatic with a baseball bat. The doctor who was treating me raised her eyebrows at that, but she didn’t say anything. I don’t know if she knew who I was, but made no comment if she did.

  ‘I had two operations. First one was two to three hours long and the second was about four hours. They had to do bone reconstruction on the radius. I was in hospital for six days altogether. I’m having check-ups every six weeks. I’m seeing a physio and now I’m seeing a psychotherapist, like I told you. Eating was a real pain in the arse. I can see you’re right-handed like me. Ever used a fork with your left hand? Murder.’

  ‘Why the psychotherapist? The trauma from the injury?’

  ‘Partially that. But I can never box again. I’m not even allowed to hit a bag with all that metal in my arm. So all my exhibition matches, all my training and sparring with up-and-coming boxers – it’s all gone.’

  ‘When did you call Paige during all of this?’

  ‘That was the next day, before the first op. I decided to do it while I was still thinking properly and wasn’t on the really heavy painkillers. I was afraid for her, so it had to be done quick. I called her, told her it was over then switched my phone off. I thought – I don’t know what I thought.’

  Tears are filling his eyes. I take a deep breath. ‘Did you think of calling the police? This is serious assault. Assault with menaces. Grievous bodily harm and God knows what else. The police would go to town on this. You’re a relatively famous sportsman. You’ve got an Olympic silver.’

  ‘After what they said they’d do to Paige? You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me. And there was something else, too. I used to be a bit of a tearaway when I was a kid. Had a lot of contact with the police, if you get my drift. I can smell police. And those two were police. And if they weren’t police, they were ex-police.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘You’re a private investigator. There’re a lot of them about and a lot of them used to be in the police force. But I can tell that wasn’t the case with you. I’m right, aren’t I?’

  ‘Yes you are. Even so, after what they did to you, I…’

  I catch his eye and hold his gaze. It’s only a flicker in his expression, but it contains a lot of information. Something he said earlier comes to mind. Something that Friendly Face said to him the first time they met. About the fact that they knew all about him and he was a bad lot.

  ‘What have they got on you?’

  He finishes the last of his pint. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘All that shit happens and you don’t go to the police? Come on. Tell me. Quickly. Think. What am I going to do? I’m not the police, I’m not associated with your sport and I’m not investigating you. But you’ve got a couple of things hanging over you that are going to be there for the rest of your life. You come clean with me and I might be able to make them disappear.’

  He sighs. ‘Do you want to get another drink?’

  ‘Fuck the drink. Tell me. What have they got on you?’

  He looks down at his lap. He clasps his hands together. He’s gone pale. The nervous tic under his left eye is doing a jig.

  ‘I didn’t think there was any harm in it. I…’

  ‘What did you take?’

  ‘Oxymesterone.’

  ‘An anabolic steroid.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you won your medal while you were on it. And they didn’t detect it.’

  ‘No. I’m not proud of it, you know?’

  I remember his interview in Woman’s Weekly. What was it he said boxing could teach you? Responsibility, integrity and morals, I think. Oh well.

  ‘How did you get away with it? Beijing was really strict. Wasn’t their official slogan “Zero tolerance for Doping”?’

  ‘It was a mix-up. Well, more like an intentional cock-up. There was a guy who you could sling some money to who would adjust the records. Adjust the results. Of the blood tests an’ all of that. Urine. I don’t know how it was done, but done it was. Cost a packet. It wasn’t the Chinese officials that were in on it. That would never happen.’

  ‘Who knew about this?’

  ‘Just me and the guy, as far as I know. I got the drug when I was on holiday in Italy. I posted it to myself so it wouldn’t get found on me coming back into the UK.’

  ‘How did you know how to get in touch with this guy?’

  ‘I met a boxer a few years ago who told me. Emelyan Muravyov, the Russian welterweight.’

  ‘So it was just the three of you were in on it.’

  ‘Well, just the two of us really. Muravyov would never have known whether I went and did it or not.’

  ‘But Friendly Face and his pal knew.‘

  ‘Yeah. Friendly Face mentioned it after he’d said I was a bad lot.’

  ‘Any idea how they knew?’

  ‘No. It’s like impossible they would know, yeah?’

  ‘Who was the guy that fixed it for you at the Olympics?’

  ‘I’d rather not say.’

  ‘Listen to me. I’m not going to pop round his house and give him a dressing down. Tell me. Was he somehow attached to the British teams?’

  ‘Yes. There were a lot of people floating around, you know? His name was Henry Parsons.’

  ‘What was his official job there?’

  ‘He was a manager of some sort. I think his title was Senior Commercial Manager. It’s one of those jobs that deals with the budgets of the teams for travelling, paying suppliers – stuff like that.’

  I sit back in my seat and press my fingers into my eyeballs. This has suddenly got rather complicated. What an idiot this guy is. This is all very intriguing, but how it relates to the disappearance of Rikki Tuan I cannot imagine. Not yet, anyway.

  Before he gets too pissed and maudlin, I get Jamie to help me with a sketch of Big Bastard and take a couple of shots of it with my mobile. These may be of no use, but I want to be able to recognise these two scumbags should I ever encounter them. It would be helpful if I had a couple of names, but you can’t have everything.

  Jamie goes to the bar. A couple of garrulous Asian teenagers slap him on the back and insist on buying him a drink. I bet he feels really shabby.

  21

  A FRIENDLY VISIT

  I walk him back to the gym. He’s staggering, but only very slightly. Once I’ve dumped him off I’ll have to speak to Caroline Chow, but I’m not going to give her all of this stuff; it would be too confusing and possibly not relevant.

  ‘You won’t tell Paige about this, will you?’ he says. ‘It’s between you and me, right? I bet you think I’m a right piece of shit.’

  I hold both hands up. ‘This is nothing to do with anything as far as I’m concerned. I may not even see Paige again. And I don’t think you’re a right piece of shit.’ I just realised I forgot to follow up all that eye contact with the woman in the pub. Working gets in the way of everything.

  I hand the right piece of shit one of my business cards. ‘If you think of anything else you can tell me, no matter how insignificant, give me a call, OK?’

  ‘Sure will, mate. Oh. There was one thing, but I don’t know if it’ll be any use to you. Only struck me as maybe a bit weird afterwards. I was still on a lot of medication when it happened
.’

  ‘What was it?’

  ‘Well, after I’d had the second op, I was in a side ward on my own in orthopaedics. I had my arm in this orange splint thing to keep it immobile. You know what I mean? It had Velcro straps over it so you couldn’t move your arm.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And this consultant came in to check how I was doing, you know? Very posh guy, I remember. A voice like on the radio. A newsreader or something. Maybe in his fifties somewhere? Anyway, he looked at my notes and my X-rays and was just chatting about general stuff. He said I had to take it easy for a few months with fractures like that. He said he’d broken his arm mountaineering when he was a student. He knew how painful it could be. But he had a funny manner, you know? Nice and chummy, but kind of stern at the same time. Not threatening exactly, but kind of dominating. Hard to put into words. He wasn’t the sort of person I would normally meet, so I couldn’t…’

  ‘Sure. So what was weird about it?’

  A couple of office girls walk by and distract me for a moment. One of them looks like Jena Goldsack, the model. Why don’t I get clients who are models?

  ‘Well, he asked me how I did it. I repeated the lunatic with a baseball bat story. I wasn’t happy tellin’ that story, man. It just didn’t come natural. I just felt everyone who heard it knew I was lying, you know?’

  ‘What did he think of that? Did he buy it?’

  ‘He seemed…happy. Happy with the explanation. Happy like I’d just given him an expensive gift for his birthday. He smiled. He nodded his head. He patted me on the leg and said “Good”. Then we chatted about nothing for a bit longer then he wished me all the best and left.’

  I stop walking. Alarm bells are ringing in my head. Apart from the “Good” part, it’s the ‘nice and chummy but stern and dominating’ that doesn’t sound right, unless Jamie’s impression is incorrect. I turn to face him.

  ‘That’s it? You gave a consultant a bullshit explanation which he must have known wasn’t true and he said “Good”?’