White Knight/Black Swan

by David Gemmell

  ‘I’ll bring it in with the post.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll come out.’ The office door opened and Adrian stepped into view. He was looking tired but was still immaculately dressed in a slate grey blazer and black trousers. He smiled.

  ‘My, my,’ he said, ‘look what the dog dragged in. Bimbo, my dear, you must get yourself a new track suit.’

  ‘Whassa matter with this one?’

  ‘A present from an Ethiopian relative was it?’

  ‘Quality gear this. Kosher. I paid £2 extra to have the Adidas logo put on.’ Bimbo pointed to his chest. ‘Just there. You can’t see it now, but it was there once.’

  ‘You’ll give the business a bad name,’ said Adrian, grinning. ‘Now what can I do for you? It’s a busy busy day.’

  ‘Just wanted a chat.’

  ‘Can it wait? Weekend, say?’

  ‘No, son, it can’t wait. Back office. Now!’

  Adrian poured himself a cup of coffee and led the way. Bimbo pushed shut the door. ‘What ’appened to your ’and?’

  ‘Caught it in a car door.’

  Bimbo sat down. ‘Why are you givin’ me all this bollocks? We’re s’posed to be mates.’

  Adrian shook his head. ‘The lovely Mel been filling you in, has she?’

  ‘She’s worried about ya. And I aint surprised.’

  ‘The world’s full of worries, Bimbo. But it’s nothing I can’t handle.’

  ‘You’re gonna pay then?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Don’t lie to me, Ade.’

  ‘What’s it to you?’ he snapped. ‘What do you care? That’s all I need, a piggin’ butch bouncer, giving me advice. Get lost, Bimbo. Leave me alone.’

  ‘You got it, son.’ Bimbo rose and left the room.

  Melanie walked into the office. ‘You really are a prick, Adrian.’

  ‘You don’t like it, find another job.’

  He looked away from her accusing gaze and returned to his accounts. For an hour he checked and counter-checked the figures. Profits were up on the last quarter, and tangential business – shows, imported magazines and videos – were doing better than expected. All in all the business should show a six figure profit in the next two years. He leaned back. He’d sold the Renault and bought a royal blue Jag. He’d driven it to Acton, but Alvin and his new lover had gone away for a few days in Tenerife.

  He pressed the intercom switch and asked for more coffee. The door opened. He looked up.

  ‘You bin thinking over our proposition, Mr Owen?’

  Adrian smiled and relaxed. ‘I’ve been waiting for you closet queens to come back,’ he said, rising.

  ‘I think he means no, Harry.’

  ‘Did he call me a queen?’ said Harry.

  ‘I think that’s what he meant.’

  ‘I don’t like that. That’s not nice.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Adrian. Have I upset you? Would you like to kiss and make up?’

  ‘You piggin’ fairy!’ hissed Harry, stepping forward, fist raised.

  ‘He is, but I aint,’ said Bimbo, from the doorway. The bearded man swung and threw a right cross. Bimbo blocked it, grabbed the man’s jacket and hammered his forehead into the man’s face. Blood exploded from his smashed nose and he sagged in Bimbo’s grip. Releasing the body to slump to the floor, Bimbo saw Harry hurl himself at him. Bimbo leaned back and lashed out with his foot, kicking him in the kneecap just as the man’s weight came down on his right leg. The knee shattered. Harry screamed and fell, struggling to rise, but Bimbo’s fist cannoned into his jaw. The silence in the room was chilling. Adrian sank back into his seat, his face grey. Bimbo moved to the bearded man, hauling him to his feet. Blood was seeping from both nostrils and his eyes were glazed. Bimbo casually struck him across the face with his open palm, whiplashing the man’s head back.

  ‘Who sent ya?’

  ‘Get stuffed!’ whispered the man.

  Bimbo’s left hand held the man up by his lapels; his right dropped, his fingers gripping the man’s testicles like steel pins. The victim’s eyes opened wide in terror.

  ‘I’m gonna ask once more, dick-brain, then I’m gonna rip your balls off. Who sent ya?’

  ‘Reilly. Down the snooker ’all. Honest to God!’ Bimbo hurled the man into a seat.

  ‘Sit there and behave yourself. Melanie!’

  ‘Yes, Bimbo,’ she called from the hallway, reluctant to come in.

  ‘Bring a box of Kleenex in ’ere. We’ve got a nosebleed. Then ring for an ambulance and say someone’s collapsed on the pavement outside. Got it?’

  ‘Yes, Bimbo.’

  ‘Then order a cab for me.’

  ‘Where’s the cab going?’

  ‘Reilly’s snooker hall.’

  ‘Wait a minute, Bimbo …’ began Adrian.

  ‘Shut it!’ snarled the big man.

  Melanie returned with a box of tissues which she handed to Bimbo. He threw them to the lap of the bearded man. ‘The ambulance is on its way. He’s not dead is he?’ said Melanie, staring down at the unconscious Harry.

  ‘Nah. Sleepin’ like a baby.’ Grabbing Harry’s belt he hoisted him and half carried, half dragged him into the outer reception area.

  ‘Check the street,’ he told Melanie. She glanced out over the top of the pine frontage.

  ‘Just an old lady walking her dog.’

  ‘Is she looking this way?’

  ‘No.’

  Bimbo opened the door, hauled Harry outside and sat him against the wall. Stepping back inside he locked the door. ‘Pull down the shutters. No business today.’

  ‘The girls’ll be in soon.’

  ‘Tell ’em it’s a day off on full pay.’ Returning to the office he sat beside the bloodied collector.

  ‘You must be new at this game, son,’ he said, patting the man on the shoulder. ‘Whass yer name?’

  ‘John.’

  ‘My name’s John too. Aint that a coincidence? You should find somethin’ new. This is a specialist job. Not everybody can handle it.’ Bimbo patted him again. ‘It’s no good pinchin’ the nose. You gotta lean your head back.’

  ‘Cab’s here, Bimbo,’ said Melanie.

  ‘On yer feet, son. We’re goin’ home.’

  They stepped over the still unconscious Harry and headed for the old yellow Cavalier parked outside. The driver cursed as he saw the blood-drenched tissue held to John’s nose. ‘Don’t you get blood on my upholstery,’ he warned.

  Bimbo settled John in the back seat then slid in alongside the driver. ‘Come on, son, we aint got all day.’

  ‘What about him?’ said the cabbie, pointing at Harry.

  ‘I don’t see nobody.’

  ‘Right,’ agreed the cabbie, slipping the car into gear.

  ‘Nice motor,’ said Bimbo. ‘Smooth.’

  ‘Good cars, Cavaliers. This has gone round the clock and it’s still sweet as a nut, and tighter than a duck’s arse.’

  The car pulled up before a yellow-painted window board proclaiming ‘Seagull Snooker’. Bimbo gave the cabbie a £10 note. ‘Wait for me, son. And keep the motor runnin’.’

  ‘Aint gonna be no bovver is there?’

  ‘Not for you – as long as you’re ’ere when I come out!’

  Bimbo led the injured man inside. There were a dozen tables, with three in use, and several men were lounging by the bar. Bimbo ignored them and propelled John towards the rear of the hall to a small office. A thickset Irishman was speaking into a telephone as they entered. Bimbo shut the door.

  ‘I’ll call you back,’ said the man, replacing the receiver. He stood. His hair was close cropped, his nose broken and pushed flat against his face.

  ‘Well?’ he said, moving round the desk. Bimbo pushed John into a seat.

  ‘You Reilly?’


  ‘What’s it to you?’ Bimbo’s fist slammed into the broken nose, catapulting the man against the far wall. Bimbo followed him and delivered a second blow to the bulging stomach. Reilly doubled over. Bimbo grabbed his shirt and hauled him upright.

  ‘I’ve got something for you to think about, you cow-son,’ said Bimbo. Reaching down with his right hand he took hold of Reilly’s index finger. His hand snapped back. The finger broke. Reilly screamed.

  ‘Number one! Adrian Owen is to be left alone. He took another finger in his grip. Reilly screamed once more as the crack echoed in the room. ‘Number two. If he so much as catches a piggin’ cold, I’ll be back.’ Bimbo released the man, who slumped to the floor.

  ‘Time for a walk, son,’ Bimbo told the horrified John. ‘On yer feet.’

  ‘Where we goin’?’

  ‘Open the door.’ John did so. Outside were four men, armed with snooker cues. John was about to speak when Bimbo’s hands thrust at his back. He flew from the doorway straight into the group, scattering them. Bimbo walked out, picked up a fallen cue and stared at the men. No one would meet his gaze.

  ‘What a bunch of pansies,’ he said, tossing the cue aside and marching past them. He didn’t look back.

  The cabbie was reading a popular tabloid as Bimbo climbed in. ‘Thanks for waitin’.’

  ‘Back to the Body Spa?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  As they drew up the cabbie pointed to the doorway. Harry was still there, and still unconscious. ‘Is he drunk or summink?’ asked the cabbie.

  ‘Probably,’ replied Bimbo. ‘How much I owe ya?’

  ‘The tenner covered it, mate.’

  ‘Well there’s another five. I like Cavaliers.’

  He left the cab, stepped over Harry, and tapped on the door. Melanie let him in.

  ‘l was worried about you, Bimbo. How did it go?’

  ‘No trouble, Mel. Can you call the ambulance again?’

  ‘I did that. They say it’s on its way. Shall we bring him in again?’

  ‘Nah. Adrian out back?’

  ‘Yeah. He’s pretty angry.’

  ‘So am I, darlin’.’ Bimbo filled two mugs with coffee then carried them through to the office.

  ‘Well, if it isn’t Mr Macho.’

  ‘Cool off, son. You can always ’ave yourself done over some other time.’

  ‘Oh, into psychology are we?’

  ‘Whassa matter with you, Ade? It aint enough you got money? So what if the tosser left you? He was a piggin’ parasite anyway. You gone soft in the head. I don’t get it.’

  ‘What the fuck do you know about it?’ screamed Adrian.

  ‘Not much,’ said Bimbo. ‘But I like ya, Ade. You’re a gutsy bugger.’

  Adrian blinked, and sat down on the edge of the table. ‘Oh shit, Bim. I think I’m cracking up.’

  ‘You aint the type, son. Why don’t you go down the club, have a drink, meet some mates, and get yourself laid?’

  ‘That’s not the answer to everything you know.’

  ‘It’s a start though, innit?’

  Adrian grinned. ‘Maybe. What happened with Reilly?’

  ‘We had a chat and shook hands.’

  ‘Is it all right then? I don’t mind paying.’

  ‘Too late for that, Ade.’

  ‘Will they be back?’

  ‘I aint sure. Probably not. Watch yourself, though.’

  ‘I always do. Thanks, Bim. You’re a mate.’

  Bimbo nodded and headed for the door.

  ‘Can I ask you a question?’ said Adrian, suddenly.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘That man – the one you took away with you …’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘Would you really have ripped his balls off?’

  ‘He thought I would. Thass all that counts.’

  ‘I know that. But … would you?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘I guess not,’ said Adrian, realising in that moment that he didn’t really want to hear the answer.

  Bimbo was uncomfortable. Sitting on the sofa in Esther’s tiny, delicately furnished flat, he nursed a glass of dry white wine and tried to concentrate on what Dr Simeon Abazul was saying.

  It wasn’t easy. The man’s English was beautifully modulated, but many of the words he used skipped past Bimbo’s ears. Esther was sitting on the goathide rug at Simeon’s feet, staring up at him. Bimbo had not wanted to come, but Esther begged him.

  ‘You’re the nearest thing to family I got,’ she had said that morning.

  ‘If you like him that’s good enough.’

  ‘I want to know what you think.’

  ‘He’s a doctor, right? Can’t be bad, can he? I mean, he’s not the sort what goes around chalking up the nurses, is he?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Well then.’

  ‘Oh please come, Bimbo.’

  ‘I’ll be there,’ he agreed.

  And he was, though he would sooner be having boils lanced, he realised after only a few minutes. Dr Abazul was a tall, handsome Nigerian, educated at Eton and Oxford and, according to Esther, a fine all-round sportsman. He played football, rugby and cricket and was no mean squash player. He seemed perfectly relaxed in a sky blue, lightweight woollen suit and a dark blue open-neck shirt.

  ‘And what do you do, Mr Jardine?’

  ‘Call me Bimbo.’

  ‘An odd name for an Englishman.’

  ‘It’s a nickname.’

  ‘And how did you acquire such a nickname?’

  Bimbo shrugged and grinned sheepishly. ‘When I was a kid there was this film doin’ the rounds. Dumbo. About an elephant with big ears who could fly. I used to dodge off school all the time and watch it. So I got the nickname, Bimbo. Actually it was Dumbo at first, but I cracked a few heads. Then it was Bimbo and I sorta liked it.’

  ‘I see.’ But Bimbo knew he didn’t see at all and his embarrassment grew. ‘Have you known Esther long?’ asked the doctor.

  ‘Coupla years.’

  ‘She is very fond of you,’ he said, leaning forward and draping his arm round Esther’s shoulders. His dark eyes held a glint of challenge.

  ‘What about you?’ asked Bimbo. ‘What sorta doctoring do you do?’

  ‘Much of my work is research, Mr Jardine. Sub-fertility in men and women. You know, couples who cannot have children.’

  ‘Really,’ said Bimbo, hoping he would not be crude in front of Esther.

  ‘The human body is a fascinating organism. In general terms a man needs to create twenty million sperm per cubic centimetre to have a realistic chance of becoming a father. Less than that and he is considered sub-fertile. With women the problems can be different, blocked fallopian tubes, irregular ovulation, poor womb placement. The list is endless.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ Bimbo tugged at the collar of his shirt.

  ‘Am I embarrassing you, Bimbo?’

  ‘No,’ lied Bimbo. ‘Not at all. So you put ’em right, yeah?’

  ‘Would that it were that easy. With some men we use drugs or chemicals to boost testosterone levels. That helps in some cases. At other times we might recommend donor insemination for the wife. It is a complex business.’

  ‘Must be, yeah.’

  ‘Would you like some more wine?’ asked Simeon.

  ‘No, ta. I don’t drink much.’

  ‘Esther tells me you are an athlete.’

  ‘I like to keep fit.’

  ‘No smoking, little alcohol and regular running … you should live for ever.’

  ‘Yeah, that’d be nice.’

  After the meal Esther slipped out to the off licence for another bottle of wine, leaving the two men together. Bimbo’s discomfort had not faded.

  ‘An odd evening,’ said Simeon.

&
nbsp; ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Are you lovers?’

  ‘We’re friends. And you shouldn’t ask questions like that.’

  Simeon smiled, unruffled by the rebuke. ‘Do not misunderstand me, Bimbo. I like Esther. I rather think she feels the same. But I am a jealous man. I do not share what I value.’

  ‘Well,’ said Bimbo, beginning to relax, ‘I think I know what you mean. But she aint like a car, or a nice suit. You don’t own people like Esther. I aint a pushy man, doc. I’m happy if she’s happy. She likes ya. I think that’s great. You treat her right, and that’ll be fine. But if you’ve got any ideas of notchin’ her up and throwin’ her away, forget it. She’s bin through too much, and bin right messed about. I won’t let that happen again.’

  ‘You mean the addiction?’

  ‘She told ya?’ said Bimbo, surprised.

  ‘Yes. She still has the scars … inside and out.’

  ‘Yeah, well …’

  ‘Allay your fears. At the moment Esther and I are friends. I cannot say to you that my intentions are honourable. It may be that when we get to know one another better we will decide not to continue the relationship. It may also be that one or other of us gets hurt. That is a fact of life. You cannot cocoon your friends from life’s realities.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Bimbo, meeting Simeon’s dark eyes, ‘but you can make sure the scumbags stay well clear.’

  ‘I appreciate the direct manner of your speech. So let me be equally clear. I also despise the men who seek to make public conquests. Invariably they dislike women, and see them as objects for their own gratification. I would like a wife, Mr Jardine. One whom I felt would walk alongside me, not two steps behind. A partner for life.’

  ‘You don’t have to explain it to me,’ said Bimbo, his awkwardness returning.

  ‘Of course I do. Esther adores you. You are everything to her: big brother, father … friend. She talks about you constantly.’

  ‘Yeah, well women can get on yer nerves when they go on.’

  ‘On the contrary. We live in a sick, materialistic society, and it is extremely pleasant to find there are still men like you.’

  ‘Look, doc, all this is makin’ me uncomfortable. I’ve sat here like a gooseberry half the night, so I’ll just leave you and Esther to have a nice time. Nice meetin’ ya.’ He stood and thrust out his hand. Simeon took it and responded with a firm handshake.