by Sam Michaels
‘Dirty, filthy, scheming cunt!’ Johnny sneered as he sat down.
‘I never liked Cunningham but I didn’t see this coming.’
‘How are we going to deal with him?’ Johnny asked.
‘I’m not sure yet. I’ll have to think about it. We’ll need to be careful. I don’t want to feel the force of the Met on my back.’
‘Yeah, and I tell you what, Miss Garrett… If Cunningham believes he’s got the power to take over London, it shows he’s a complete nutter and nutters scare the fucking life out of me. They’re unpredictable.’
‘Don’t worry, Johnny. If you get scared, Victor will hold your hand,’ Georgina said and laughed.
‘You can take the piss all you like, but we’ve got to get on top of this before he thinks about making a move.’
‘Oh, rest assured, Johnny. I’m going to be all over this like a nasty rash.’
*
Mickey lay in the darkness of his bedroom staring at the shadows cast by the moon shining through the window. He knew it would be pointless to call again, but even so, he yelled his brother’s name. No-one came. No-one answered.
He could hear a faint murmuring from downstairs. His aged mother and his useless brother talking, no doubt about him. Sitting there together, laughing. Making cruel jibes about his inability to walk. And there was nothing Mickey could do about it.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ he screeched, aware that he’d defecated himself again. The smell turned his stomach but he couldn’t help himself. Not only had the bullet in his spine left him without the use of his legs, he was also incontinent.
Using the side of his fist, Mickey repeatedly thudded the wall next to his bed. He knew they could hear him downstairs. Yet they chose to ignore him. He hadn’t moved from the bed for two days and nights now. They’d left him to rot on his urine-sodden mattress, lying in his own filth. ‘I’ll never forgive them for this,’ he cursed.
Mickey had been home from the hospital for over a week and at first, after some initial adjustments, they’d coped well. He’d been made comfortable on the sofa, visitors had called in and between his mother and brother, they’d cared well for him. His mother had fetched and carried meals, drinks and cleaned up any accidents, while his brother had helped to move him, even carrying Mickey up the stairs to bed at night and back down in the morning. But for the last couple of nights the bedroom door had been closed and he’d been left with just a jug of water and a box of biscuits.
‘I fucking hate you!’ he screamed. So much for family, he thought, feeling neglected by his. Granted, he’d had a go at his mother for undercooking his eggs and had told his brother he was thick, but that didn’t warrant this treatment.
Mickey stared at the ceiling and the flaking paint over a damp patch in the corner. He thought about pushing himself off the bed and dragging himself to the top of the stairs but he knew it was too much of a risk. The doctors had warned him, no sudden movements. If the bullet in his spine was dislodged, it could kill him. He had to be gentle with himself so throwing himself out of bed wasn’t an option.
He shivered. Although he had no feeling from the waist down, he knew his legs were cold. He guessed they were probably covered in sores too. ‘MOTHER,’ he shouted again, ‘I’m sorry.’
Eventually he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. At last, someone was going to see to him. But then his heart sunk as he heard his mother’s bedroom door close and the sound of mattress springs as she climbed into her bed. How could they be so cruel? He hated being reliant on them and now wished he’d gone into an institution instead. Though from the horror stories he’d heard, he doubted he’d have been treated any better.
Mickey closed his eyes. Maybe it would be different in the morning. Frank had said he’d pop in to see him. Surely they wouldn’t let Frank witness the conditions they’d left him in? Yes, tomorrow would be different. Frank would be appalled if he knew what was going on. Mickey would tell him. He’d tell Frank everything. His cousin and good friend would see to it that he got the care he deserved. And once Mickey had his strength back, he’d make sure his mother and brother paid for this. They could rot in fucking hell and keep Georgina Garrett company.
Mickey’s eyes shot open and he looked towards the bedroom door when he heard it creak as it opened. He saw the silhouette of his brother approaching him. ‘About fucking time,’ Mickey snapped. ‘Get me out of this shit.’
‘Here’s your medicine. Mother said you can do without it but I thought you might want it,’ his brother said and left a bottle on the table by the side of the bed.
‘Yeah, I do. My back is killing me.’
His brother backed away, obviously disgusted by the stench. ‘Night, then,’ he said as he opened the door again.
‘No… wait… come back. You can’t leave me like this!’ Mickey shouted, but the door closed. ‘You fucking bastards, the pair of ya!’
Exhausted by pain and worn out with frustration, Mickey picked up the bottle. He only had about half a glass of water left but thought it was probably enough to down most of the pills in the bottle. That should kill him. He wasn’t sure how, but he’d heard people had died from overdosing on medicine. Death would be an escape for him, a way out of the misery. It had to be better than this.
Mickey tipped a few pills into the palm of his hand and stared at the small, white tablets. Would these be the last thing he’d ever see? No, he thought, they wouldn’t and in anger, he threw them across the room.
‘I ain’t fucking dying, you bastards,’ he muttered. ‘I’m gonna live and make sure the fucking lot of you pay for what you’ve done to me.’
25
The last Friday of the month had come round quickly. Lash had been training hard and convinced Georgina he was ready for the fight. They sat in the back of the car with Johnny in the front and Victor driving, heading for Liverpool. Varvara had been left in Battersea to look after the fort and Georgina inwardly smiled. Varvara had willingly stepped up to the mark and dressed elegantly in her masculine-style trouser suits, which Georgina thought looked quite the part.
‘My family will be in Battersea by Sunday. My pa will be a proud man and there’ll be celebrations like you’ve never seen before,’ Lash said to Georgina.
‘Because you’re going to win this fight?’
‘And because I have a beautiful new wife.’
‘Are we invited to the party, Lash? I love a good knees-up,’ Johnny said.
‘Of course. You haven’t seen a good knees-up ’til you’ve been to a gypsy celebration.’
‘Great, but let’s stay focused for now, eh? We’re not out on a Beano,’ Georgina said. Her stomach churned with nerves and she felt giddy.
‘Are you all right?’ Lash asked. ‘You look very pale.’
Georgina nodded, too afraid to open her mouth for fear of vomit spewing from it.
‘You’re not, are you?’ Lash pressed.
‘I feel sick,’ Georgina managed to answer quietly. ‘Shush, don’t make a fuss.’
‘How long have you been feeling like this?’
‘Just this morning. It’s this bloody fight, it’s getting to me.’
Georgina watched a smile spread across Lash’s face. ‘What’s that look for?’ she asked him.
Lash leaned in to her and whispered in her ear, ‘I thought for a minute that you might be with child, Georgina.’
She gasped and stared back at him in disbelief. ‘No… not yet. I’m not ready for that yet.’
‘Soon though, eh?’
‘What’s that?’ Johnny asked.
‘I was just telling Georgina that I’m looking forward to being a—’ Lash started to say.
But Georgina quickly cut in, ‘Champion. Lash will be the official undefeated champion.’
She saw the hurt look in Lash’s eyes and squeezed his hand as she whispered, ‘No talk of babies in front of the men.’
This seemed to placate Lash and the rest of the journey passed quietly, which pleased Georgina as it gave h
er time to think. Pregnancy and childbirth hadn’t been on her agenda yet. She knew Lash wanted a big family but she hadn’t considered that he’d want to start so soon. Her mind was a whirl with questions, none of which she could answer. If she fell pregnant, could she continue in her position with the business? Would she be putting an unborn child at risk? Would she be a good mother? Could she love a child in the way Molly loved Edward? Did she even want a baby? She churned the questions over and with no answers, her mind once again focused on the enormity of the outcome of the impending fight. Before she knew it, they’d arrived in Liverpool.
As the car weaved its way through the bustling docks, she stared out of the window at the impressive Liver building that overlooked the wharf. The place reminded her a little of London – imposing buildings of rich architecture contrasting with dilapidated and damp-looking dwellings. The sudden sound of the car horn made her jump.
Victor leaned out of the window and shouted, ‘Get out the fucking way,’ and waved his hand to encourage a group of young lads to step to one side.
It was a busy area. Ships lined the docks and all around them men were grafting, carrying huge sacks of merchandise on their shoulders. She saw many children begging and quite a few women touting for business. Then as they came to the end of the quay, she spotted Kevin Kelly’s car parked with several others outside an isolated building.
It was quieter up here, away from the large merchants’ buildings and the unloading bays. Georgina could see why Kevin had chosen to live and work from here. There was a tranquillity close to the water’s edge and the building offered privacy.
‘We’re here,’ she said gravely.
As Victor pulled up outside, two of Kevin’s men casually held their guns towards them. It seemed to be the natural way they greeted visitors. Then she saw Kevin appear in the large doorway, a cigarette in one hand and a glass in the other. She couldn’t hear what he said but his henchmen put their guns away.
Lash took Georgina’s hand and helped her out of the car. She straightened her elegant but simple purple dress, pulled her fur stole around her shoulders and clutching her handbag, she sauntered towards the head of the Pounders.
‘Miss Garrett, I trust you had a good journey?’
‘Yes, thank you, Mr Kelly.’
‘Please, come in. There’s refreshments prepared and a couple of rooms available for your use. After all, we want to ensure our fighter here is well rested and prepared for tonight’s bout. Lash, pleased to meet you,’ Kevin said and put his cigarette in his mouth to extend a hand to him.
Georgina followed Kevin into the building and found herself impressed by the tasteful décor.
‘Designed by my third wife,’ Kevin told her as her eyes flitted around the panelled walls and gilded furniture. ‘But now my fourth wife wants to change it all. Women, eh, no offence.’
‘None taken,’ Georgina answered as they entered the main reception room and then her opinion of the décor changed.
A long table stretched through the middle with heavy dark wood and burgundy chairs. A luxurious buffet was spread across crisp white table linen under an overbearing chandelier. The food looked fancy but didn’t appeal to Georgina as she was still feeling queasy. Her eyes went from the table to a huge oil painting over the marble fireplace and there she saw a life-size portrait of Kevin Kelly standing alongside a racehorse.
‘The wife commissioned it,’ Kevin said, almost sounding embarrassed.
‘It’s very flattering,’ Georgina lied, thinking it was ridiculously ostentatious.
‘The trouble is, I treat my wives like queens so they’ve done the place up like a fucking palace. Every time I get a new wife, she wants to outdo the last one. Mabel’s just finished this room. As you can see, her taste is… unique.’
Georgina glanced around the room at the Italian-style statues, the stuffed animals that looked as if they were coming out of the walls and the two red velvet and gold chairs next to the fireplace, which she could only describe as thrones.
‘I drew the line at having the ceiling painted like the Sistine Chapel.’
Georgina smiled at Kevin. He didn’t seem quite as intimidating when he spoke about his wives. She’d have liked to meet his latest one and Kevin appeared to read her mind.
‘Mabel will be out later to see the fight. She’s looking forward to meeting you. Anyway, I’ll leave you to rest after your drive here. Help yourself to the spread and Michael here will show you your rooms. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.’ Kevin swaggered towards the door, puffing on his cigarette and leaving a trail of smoke behind him. Then he turned back to Georgina. ‘By the way, I assume you have the diamonds with you?’
‘No. Why would I? My man isn’t going to lose.’
‘We’ll see about that. And when he does, you’d better be ready to produce.’
There it was, a gentle threat. Georgina had been wondering for how long he’d keep up the nice guy act. As it turned out, not for very long!
Kevin left and Georgina quickly pulled out a heavy chair from under the table and flopped down. Her legs felt shaky. She knew it was fear. Lash rested his hand on her shoulder.
‘Don’t worry, I won’t let you down,’ he said quietly.
She patted his hand and tried to swallow but her mouth felt dry. So much rested on the fight tonight – her reputation, money and their lives.
*
Mickey sat in Frank’s small back garden and though the sun was shining, he had a blanket over his legs. Frank had acquired the wooden chair with wheels for him. The wheels were rickety but it made his life a bit easier. Mickey couldn’t manoeuvre himself but Frank was able to push him.
‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ Frank’s wife called from the back door.
‘No,’ Mickey answered, unable to bring himself to be polite to the woman.
He’d heard her last night, going on to Frank again about him staying with them. She didn’t want Mickey in the house and resented caring for him. Frank had told her to shut up but she’d kept on and on and on. What was it she’d called him? Oh yes, Mickey remembered her words – a useless shitting piss bucket cripple who should sit outside the station and beg for his keep. She hadn’t minced her words or hidden her contempt for him.
Mickey ground his teeth as anger simmered. It wasn’t his fault he was reliant on them. He hadn’t put the bullet in his spine. He couldn’t force his mother and brother to look after him. He hated being in this situation, clearly unwanted and an obvious burden. Still, Frank’s missus never went short and as far as Mickey was concerned, she had fuck all else to do so why not make her graft for a change.
The warmth of the sun’s rays on Mickey’s cheeks disappeared as it slipped behind a grey cloud. There’d only be a few more weeks left of summer. Autumn followed, then Christmas would be soon on them. It would be different this year. He wouldn’t sit at the same table as his mother or brother. In fact, he hoped they choked on turkey bones.
‘I’m going shopping,’ Frank’s wife called from the kitchen.
Mickey went to shout back to tell her to bring him inside, but she’d already gone. ‘Fuck it,’ he mumbled as the temperature dropped and the sky darkened. He desperately tried to turn the wheels of the chair but they wouldn’t budge. ‘You’ve done this on purpose, you fucking bitch,’ he screeched as he felt raindrops on his cheeks.
He took the blanket from his legs and wrapped it around his head and shoulders. But following a huge clap of thunder, the skies opened and heavy rain began to pour. The blanket was soon wet through and Mickey was left shivering and soaked.
As his teeth chattered, a dark mood descended on him. This was no way to live and Mickey couldn’t see it ever getting better. He wished the bullet had killed him instead of leaving him incapacitated. He couldn’t continue like this. Yes, Frank had big plans for them both, but Mickey knew, in reality, he couldn’t do it, not in this condition. ‘I might as well be dead,’ he said solemnly, and his mind was made up.
Now that he
’d made his decision, it felt as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders and for the first time in a long while, Mickey smiled. He was ready to die. But he didn’t plan on going alone. He’d fulfil his last wish – to take Georgina Garrett with him to her death.
*
‘Sitting there suits you,’ Benjamin said, ‘but don’t get used to it.’
Varvara placed her hands on Georgina’s desk and leaned back in the seat. It felt good to be in her boss’s shoes and finally, she could command respect. ‘Don’t worry, Mr Harel. I have no illusions of being in charge. But yes, this is better for me not to be a whore, yes?’
‘Yes, erm, no, what?’ Benjamin said and pushed his glasses up his nose, looking confused. ‘Varvara, how long have you lived in England?’
‘All of my life. I have never visited the mother land.’
‘So why do you speak with such a strong Russian accent?’
‘It was forbidden to speak English in my home and I received no schooling. So this is how I sound. Many men think it is sexy. You think it is sexy, Mr Harel?’ she teased. It amused her to see him looking flummoxed.
Benjamin cleared his throat. ‘I, erm, think it’s very exotic.’
‘Pew, you queer men. You are very funny but I prefer exotic, or strong. To sound strong like Miss Garrett would be good, no?’
‘Erm, yes, I think. You do sound strong, Varvara, and you certainly look strong. Like an Amazon warrior woman.’
‘What is this amazing warrior woman?’
‘Amazon. It’s a river in a jungle.’
‘You think I am like a Zulu?’ Varvara asked, surprised at his opinion of her.
‘No, a Zulu is from Africa.’
‘I think the Zulu is from the jungle.’
‘Completely different continents. Look, it doesn’t matter. What I was trying to say is you look impressive… and capable. I’d feel safe if I knew you was committed to me like you are to Miss Garrett.’
This pleased Varvara and she grinned at Benjamin. It was the only time she could remember offering a genuine smile to a man. ‘You know, before I went to live with Dina’s family, I was the daughter of a Russian baker and he made the best bread in Battersea.’