Molls Like It Hot

by Darren Dash

  Toni didn’t know anywhere near as much about silent films as she did about the movies of Tony Curtis, but she’d seen a few Chaplin features, had watched lots of Harold Lloyd shorts, and was a fan of Metropolis, even though she admitted that she’d only ever viewed it in chunks, finding it too hard to sit through the entire film in one go.

  “Silent films can be hard for a modern audience to engage with,” Dixie said. “They were an art form, and if you don’t watch lots of them, it’s tricky to connect. It’s easier when you see one in a cinema, where you’re forced to properly focus.”

  “You’re not doing one tonight, are you?” Toni asked, excited.

  “I’m afraid not,” Dixie said, “but I can let Eyrie know the next time I have a show lined up, and pass him on a couple of tickets.”

  That would have been perfect, if we could have spent the night in a dark old cinema, but the fates are seldom that kind.

  We spent the next couple of hours with Dixie. The ladies chatted about old movies, music, fashion, politics and the housing market. To my astonishment, Toni was far more informed than I’d assumed, and it served as a timely reminder of one of Fervent Eld’s favourite clichés — To assume makes an ass of u and me. (Or, as a real cousin of mine had once rib-ticklingly misquoted, To presume makes an ass of u and me.)

  Toni didn’t put on any kind of a sweet, innocent act – she cursed freely, was harsh on those politicians she disagreed with, told a few lewd jokes that made me blush even while Dixie was laughing with delight – but she was honest and open and warm and… nice.

  It wasn’t what I’d expected from my young ward, and I found myself glancing at her every so often when she was talking animatedly, once again comparing her with Zahra, as I had earlier in the day, but much more favourably this time.

  In those moments I forced myself to recall who she was and what she might be. She was part of Lewis Brue’s world, and while I had no idea what role she occupied in it, I was pretty sure she wasn’t a companion for sweet old ladies.

  It would be easy to fall for the woman I was seeing here in Dixie’s flat.

  I warned myself not to, and hoped I’d be wise enough to heed that warning.

  It was all hugs and air kisses when we bade goodbye to Dixie, who grabbed me by the arm as I was leaving and whispered, “Cousin or not, I approve. Bring her by again any time.”

  It hadn’t been the afternoon I’d expected, but I’d enjoyed it, and Toni had too. She was much brighter than when we’d trudged down the stairs, and there was no more teasing, no flashes of thigh, no bitchy comments about my TV.

  She disappeared to prepare for the night ahead, and when she re-emerged around seven, she was a different person. Had her face on. A short blue dress and tight top which left her midriff bare. Sheer tights with a spider’s web pattern worked into them. A necklace, rings and bangles which maybe cost more than I was being paid to take care of her. High heels to make the most of her long legs. The night before, I’d assumed she’d look drop-dead gorgeous when she made the effort. Now I knew for sure.

  The only thing detracting from the overall effect was the hair. She’d brushed it as artfully as she could, but there wasn’t much there to style. I could tell she was angry about her shaven locks, and wondered what the story was — I had a feeling she hadn’t volunteered for the haircut.

  “How do I look?” she asked, twirling for me.

  “Hot as lava,” I admitted. “Everything a man could ever want and more.” She beamed, delighted with the compliment. “Now take it all off.”

  “What?” Her smile crumpled.

  “The jewellery, the shoes, the tights, the top — put them back in the suitcase. You can keep the dress but the rest has to go.”

  “Why?” she snarled, readying herself for a fight.

  “Because you’re with Eyrie Brown tonight, not Lewis Brue,” I explained. “I’m a cabbie. I make good money, but only by the average Joe’s standards. The women I’ve been with could never have afforded to deck themselves up like this. My kind of people and your kind of people only hook up in the movies. If I go out with a pretty young thing on my arm, it’s not beyond the realm of possibility. Some of the guys I know have girlfriends and wives who could pass for models. People will say I’ve landed on my feet and think no more about it. But if I strut around with a woman dressed like a Trump wife, they’ll look closer and ask questions.”

  “And we don’t want any questions.” She nodded grudgingly. “You make a good argument.”

  She headed back into the bedroom, already taking off the earrings and necklace. Returned in a blouse, plain tights and a more sensible pair of shoes. She’d also wrapped a bandana round her head, to make her look more street.

  “Better?” she asked.

  “Perfect.”

  I gazed at her curiously.

  “What?” she huffed.

  “How did you pack so much stuff into one small suitcase?”

  “We ladies have our ways,” she smirked, then clapped and stretched. “So, you ready to hit the bright lights?”

  “In a while.”

  “How long?”

  “Another hour or so.”

  “Why the wait? I’m ready to go.”

  “I’m taking you somewhere special. It won’t be open yet.”

  “A surprise.” Her eyes glittered. “I like surprises.”

  She settled down in the front of the TV and surfed the Freeview channels, muttering darkly about my being a cheapskate and not knowing anyone else in the world who didn’t have Netflix. We seemed to be coming out of the Dixie Twist honeymoon period and back to normal.

  “Just watch it on your phone if you miss it that much,” I snapped.

  “Do you see any phone?” she snapped back. “Lewis made me leave it behind. He didn’t trust me not to blow my location. So I’m stuck with that freak of a thing from the Ice Age.” She pointed at my sad behemoth of a TV set.

  I chuckled, ducked into the bathroom and rang Fervent Eld to make sure the venue hadn’t changed. My guest might be feeling like a terrible injustice had been perpetrated, but I didn’t think she’d be mourning the loss of her phone a few hours from now.

  “Where are we going?” she asked as I navigated the streets of London’s East End.

  “You’ll see when we get there.”

  I’d borrowed a car from Larry, a dealer I’d been friends with since school. He sold second-hand wrecks, though he’d sworn this one was kosher, cherry-picked from among the duds, because we were mates. It was rumoured the cars were a front for dealing of an entirely different kind. I didn’t pay any attention to those tales, though it wouldn’t have surprised me if they were true — Larry had always been a wide boy, the guy you went to in school if were going clubbing and wanted a few pills to add to the party atmosphere.

  It was early, but already the East End had come alive with the creatures of the night. Street hookers hogging the corners. Dealers peddling their wares while the cops drove by and looked the other way. Kids learning to smoke, to push, to steal. Every pickpocket busy. Gangs parading their colours. Tourists hurrying back to their hotels, understanding too late why they’d been offered such wonderful deals on their rooms.

  Or maybe that was just the side of London that I saw. A city is what you make of it. I’d grown up on these streets, in neighbourhoods where film crews came to produce dark, gritty dramas. And in the Army I’d served in places where you had to scan for danger every time you ventured forth. The East End was probably nowhere near as caustic and seedy as it seemed to me. I was simply seeing it with tired, damaged eyes.

  Toni’s eyes were anything but tired and damaged, but I had no doubt that she saw the city the same way I did. She clocked everything, every last deal, every picked pocket, every high-class prostitute stepping out of a cab and heading into a four-star hotel.

  The difference was, she got a buzz from the action. On one street we saw a couple of hawk-like Eastern Europeans laying into a guy who ate far too much fast fo
od — running away would never be an option for him. They were beating him bad. People walked by as though nothing was happening. You didn’t get involved in a scene like that, not unless you were stupid. I turned a blind eye to it, the way everybody else did, but the fight excited her. I saw her cheeks flush and she turned for a lingering view. It was hard to believe that this was the same young woman who had interacted with Dixie so sweetly just a few short hours ago.

  “Do you think they’ll kill him?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “He owes them money. You don’t kill someone who’s in debt to you.”

  She stared at me. “How do you know he owes them?”

  “The way they’re beating him. You beat people differently, depending on what you want. They’re giving him a going-over that he’ll remember, but steering clear of his vitals. Punching to hurt, not to kill.”

  “You know a lot about it.” She sat up straight when we turned out of sight of the violence. “I thought you were just a cabbie, that you weren’t into that kind of thing.”

  “Street fights aren’t that kind of thing,” I told her. “Everyone here has seen plenty of those. You start to note the finer points after a while.”

  I took a right and carried on. Toni went on staring at me.

  “You got a girlfriend?” she asked.

  “Not at the moment.”

  “How long since your last?”

  “A few months, I guess, maybe more.”

  “Did she leave because you beat her?” Toni smirked.

  “Still sore about that?”

  “Not sore at all,” she said, “but I haven’t forgotten. I hope you didn’t forget either.” She tapped her handbag, and I figured she meant she’d brought the gun with her.

  “Don’t worry,” I grunted. “The very light slap was just to focus your attention. As a rule of thumb, I don’t hit women.”

  “Glad to hear it.” She turned on the radio and began tapping out the tune on the dashboard. “So, you ready to tell me where we’re going?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Christ, Eyrie, is this a mystery ride or something?”

  “Something,” I said.

  “It better be worth the suspense.”

  I looked over at her cheeks, still flushed with excitement after her brief glimpse of the street fight.

  “It will,” I promised.

  The hall was almost full, mainly with eager-looking men talking in hushed tones. I looked for Fervent Eld. He spotted me and waved. I pushed through to him, dragging Toni with me. He was near the ring, prepping one of his boys.

  Toni saw the ropes and groaned. “A boxing match? You give me the big build-up, and this is the payoff? I love boxing, so I won’t complain, but you promised me a big surprise and this is just –”

  “Hush. It’s not a boxing match.”

  “But –”

  “Shh. Hi, Fervent.” I shook his hand and clapped the kid on the back. He was from the gym but I couldn’t remember his name, he hadn’t been coming long. A skinny guy, lightweight, very small hands. In my opinion he wouldn’t make much money, even fighting in venues like this.

  “Good crowd,” I commented.

  “Yeah,” Fervent replied, ogling the girl. “It’s O’Malley versus Redhead Moore. Clash of the mad Micks. Should be a bloodbath. This charming young lady a friend of yours?” He grinned at Toni in a way which would have frightened a more timid soul. She only laughed and stuck out her hand. He bent and kissed it, dirty old charmer that he believed he was.

  “I’m no friend of his,” Toni purred. “Just using him to get around town for the weekend. Name’s Shelley Lean. And you’re…?”

  “Fervent Eld.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr Eld.” She smiled and I could hear his back creaking as he stood to full attention. I turned aside so he wouldn’t see my smirk. Last time Eld had pulled, knee-high skirts had still been outlawed in many counties.

  I could see he wanted to chat, but I gave him a look and we went shuffling away to find a pair of seats. She’d had sense enough to give a false name – though for all I knew, maybe that was her real name – but I didn’t want her talking to anyone too long, in case she let something slip. I looked around to see if there were any familiar faces I might have to avoid, but they were all strangers.

  “What’s the deal?” she asked as the first two contestants – Eld’s skinny kid and a guy from a different gym – entered the ring.

  “They’re going to box,” I told her.

  “But you said –”

  “See their hands?”

  “I’m not blind.”

  “See any gloves?”

  Her scowl disappeared. “They’re going to fight with their bare knuckles, like in the old days?”

  “Yeah,” I said sourly, “just like in the good old days.”

  The bell rang and they advanced to the middle of the ring and began hammering each other. Both men had been trained to go for a quick win. This crowd wasn’t interested in lightweights. The blood fiends were here for the big guns.

  “What are the rules?” Toni asked, bobbing about on her seat like an anxious songbird, so she didn’t miss any of the action.

  “Roughly the same as normal boxing, except there’s no limit to the number of rounds — it goes on until one drops and can’t get up. And you get away with more here. You might be jeered for a low blow or biting, but there are no points to be deducted, and the ref only steps in if you go way too far – for instance if you start kicking – or if you don’t back off when your opponent’s down.”

  “Hit him!” she screamed, leaping to her feet as Fervent’s kid saw a gap in his opponent’s defence and smashed through. “Kill the fucker! Beat his brains out!”

  As though obeying her crude order, the kid went for the kill, and the fight was over less than a minute later. A couple of guys in Fervent’s team raised the kid on their shoulders to a mixture of cheers and laughs, then their coach led him away. A flash wanker in a suit tossed a fifty at the kid and he stooped to scramble after it. Bare-knuckle fighters weren’t, for the most part, overly proud. With the exception of a few maniacs who were in it for brutal bragging rights, it was all about the money. I’d gone on my own knees to chase loose notes a couple of times, and thought nothing of it.

  “Like the show?” I asked.

  “Hell yes.” Her face was flushed and I could almost hear her heart beating fast beneath the fabric of her blouse. “How many fights will there be?”

  “Depends how long each lasts. If you get a few marathons early on, they’ll cancel some of the rest and move on to the main events. They usually finish about midnight, so the punters can hit the clubs and have plenty of time to chat about the night’s sparkling entertainment.”

  There wasn’t too much bitterness in my voice. I could understand the crowd’s hunger, and I’d taken their money myself, so it wasn’t like I could look down my nose at them. It’s a hard world. You do what you must to get by. I didn’t blame the ghoulish spectators. They spent good money and the boxers needed that cash. Sure, some of the fighters would end up with nothing. They’d do this for a few years, make pennies, retire bloody and scarred, useless for anything thereafter. But that’s the luck of the draw. In life, some fly, some dive. A wise man takes what he gets, rolls with the blows as best he can, and leaves others to their own worries. It doesn’t pay to have a social conscience. Not in this sort of a city, in these kind of times.

  Toni was in her element. Got off on the fighting in a big way. On her feet half the night, shouting and screaming, throwing empty beer cans into the ring when she felt a fighter wasn’t giving his all. Nobody minded because she was young and beautiful and they got to admire her curves every time she leapt up and waved. A couple of women tried copying her, but she was the star attraction and nobody showed any interest in her competitors, so they soon quit and sat down to sulk.

  The crowd got its money’s worth that night. Broken teeth. Shat
tered bones. The floor awash with blood and strips of flesh.

  One enthusiastic Latvian bit the ear off a Turk and spat it out. I think he was trying to hit Toni, who’d been berating him. To my relief it fell short — I shudder to think what she might have done with it.

  Another guy kneed his opponent in the groin, only for the offended party to pull a knife that he’d sneaked in. He sliced it deep across his enemy’s chest. The ref and trainers got them out of there before either could kill the other, but I was sure they’d take it outside and finish it away from the gaze of the witnesses.

  We left before the mad Micks were done with one another. The men were lumbering hulks, full of hate and blacksmith’s muscles, each intent on destruction, but they went about it leisurely, trading punch for punch, content to take their time and grind out a result. I wanted to stay – this was like a proper fight – but Toni was bored.

  “Did you see his nipple go flying?” she asked as we exited, referring to the knife-interrupted fight. “If he’d cut lower down, he’d have split the guy’s stomach open and his guts would have poured out. That would have been something to see, huh?”

  “Yeah,” I said drily. “A shame you don’t have your phone. You could have taken some photos.”

  “How come you know about exciting shit like this?” she asked. “You sat there all night with a disapproving frown. Why do you mix with these people if you’re so fucking normal?”

  “Never said I was normal,” I told her as we entered an alley on the way to the car. You couldn’t park too close to these places. It didn’t do to draw attention. “I used to fight.”

  “You were a boxer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Bare-knuckles?”

  “In the end, yeah.”

  She stopped and stared at me. I walked on a few paces but she didn’t move. I paused and turned.

  “What?” I asked defensively.

  “You fought in places like this?”

  “Yes. I boxed for Fervent, real boxing. Never amounted to much. Did a bit of this later in life, when I needed to make some cash.”

  She came closer, right up to me, and examined my face.