Musclebound (8 page)

But Simone had ants in her bloomers and wanted to go before I’d finished my pint. Trouble was, we had to walk past politzei on our way out, and the Enemy turned round, all teeth and tits, saying, ‘Hello, Eva. I didn’t know this was your pub.’

‘It ain’t,’ I said. ‘Wouldn’t be seen dead in here. It stinks of pork.’

‘Don’t be so bleeding rude,’ she said. ‘I’ve told you a million times …’

‘You can tell a pig by the company it keeps.’

‘Oh act your age, Eva,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know you knew Sergeant Chapman.’

‘I don’t,’ I said. ‘But I could smell him from across the room.’ I was getting a glow on – I could tell she was annoyed ‘cos her jaw went rigid.

‘Come on!’ Simone hissed in my ear.

‘I just wanted to say – no hard feelings,’ the Enemy said, looking at Simone, ‘and don’t accept any three-pound notes if you happen to do any cash jobs for anyone round here.’

‘I wouldn’t work for anyone in here,’ I said, ‘not if I was living in a cardboard box.’

‘OK, OK,’ she said, grinding her teeth. ‘Only some funny money’s started appearing on the patch, so be warned.’

I swung away. I said, ‘Simone? Have I got dribble on my chin? Do I look like a retard baby?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Eva …’

‘Simone?’ the Enemy said. ‘Is this
the
Simone? Your Simone?’

‘What of it?’ I said. ‘Whose business is it if she is?’ But I wanted to tell her. I was so proud I said, ‘Some of us get what we want in spite of all the blibbers trying to bring us down.’

Suddenly Simone slipped her hand through my arm and said, ‘Look, Ms …?’

‘Lee.’

‘Ms Lee. It’s been lovely meeting you, but I’m afraid we have to rush off to another appointment.’ And she turned me round and we sort of sailed out of the Cat and Cowbell.

I was so impressed I kept saying in my head, ‘Hey, we gotta rush off to another appointment. Another appointment.’ It made us sound so fancy-pants important. I felt brilliant walking out on to the wet street with Simone’s hand tucked in the crook of my arm.

‘You are the business,’ I said. ‘You’re fucking incredible.’

‘Don’t you
ever
do that again,’ she said, snatching her hand away.

‘What?’ I felt like she slapped me. ‘What I done?’

‘Don’t you ever make a scene in front of the cops again,’ she said. ‘Don’t you
ever
talk about me to a copper again.’

‘I never,’ I said.

‘What do you call
that
, when it’s at home?’ she said. ‘You were drawing attention to us.’

‘I never,’ I said. ‘It’s that Anna Lee – she’s got her conk in everyone’s business

‘I don’t care who she is,’ Simone said, backing away. ‘You shout and yell and insult everyone and it’s like waving a flag and saying, “I’m a wrong’un, I’m a bad’un, come and take me on.” And I don’t want to be around when you’re doing that ‘cos it’s like you’re tarring me with your mucky brush too.’

‘I
ain’t:

‘You’re yelling
now,’
she said. ‘I came to see you ‘cos I thought maybe we could get together, maybe we could do something together. But you ain’t changed. I thought maybe you might’ve changed. But you haven’t.’

‘I
have
changed,’ I said. ‘I’m the London Lassassin. I’m famous. I got me name on posters.’

But she walked away. I ran after her.

‘Simone!’ I said. ‘What do you want? I’ll do anything you want.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Then stand there and count to a hundred,’ she said. ‘I’m going home.’

‘Wha’?’

‘Stand still and count,’ she said. ‘Or I’ll not come back.’

‘But why?’ I said. ‘
Why
, Simone?’

“Cos it’ll stop you chasing me and shouting,’ she said. ‘If you can do that I might come back. Might.’

Have you ever done that? Stood like sponge cake in the rain, sopping up everything the night dumps on you, counting? Just counting. And did you ever get past forty?

I kept getting screwed up around thirty-seven. I must of got to thirty-six or seven a hundred times, but Simone didn’t come back.

Then I thought, maybe she didn’t mean she’d come
straight
back, maybe she meant she’d come back tomorrow. So I stood there dithering a little longer. I mean, what if she
was
coming straight back, and I wasn’t there? What’d she think then?

But it’s a long time to stand still doing bugger-all but counting, so in the end I went home. And I thought, it’s all down to that pile of cow-flop, the Enemy. If she hadn’t of been there and mouthed off about Simone everything would of been all right. Simone and I would of sat there all comfy-cosy and made plans about the fitness centre. Instead I was going home alone and I didn’t even know where Simone was staying.

It’s a good thing the Enemy didn’t come out and see me. If she had it would of been curtains for her. I’d of strung her up by the tits and left her swinging for the crows. It was all her fault.

So I trudged home all cold and wet. My legs were aching from the running and I didn’t know what to think. It was like the light went out every time Simone left. I had to make her stay. Whatever it took, I’d do it just to keep the light on in my head. But I didn’t know what it took. I felt knitted and knotted. Till I got home.

I knew what to think when I got back to the yard. I
was twenty yards from the gate when I met Milo trotting towards me.

‘Milo!’ I said. ‘What the fuck you doing out?’

‘Herf,’ he said, like nothing was wrong. But it was. It had to be if Milo was out on the street instead of in the yard.

‘Heel!’ I said.

‘Hip,’ he said, falling in behind me like he was taught.

‘And shurrup!’ I said, swiping at his snout.

The gate was swung wide open. The chain was lopped in two pieces. I could see that much by the street lamp. The yard was dark.

My torch should of been in my hand. But it wasn’t. It was inside the Static. Usually I carry it with me everywhere. It’s a dirty great heavy thing – a good cosh. But you don’t take a cosh for a cosy-comfy drink with your sister, do you?

I walked into the dark yard. I stopped and listened. Nothing. I don’t like it when it’s quiet.

‘Ramses!’ I yelled. ‘Lineker!’ If Milo was out on the street, where were they? I didn’t want to cross the yard to the Static without them. There are too many heaps of bent metal, too many machines, too many hidy-holes.

And then I heard them – a low throaty snarl from Ramses and a sharp ‘Yack-yack’ from Lineker.

‘Here!’ I yelled. ‘Ramses! Here!’

But they didn’t come.

‘Shit,’ I said. ‘OK, Milo, it’s you and me, kiddo.’ Because even though he’s not much more than a whelp he’s got good ears and a nose to sniff out trouble. At least he could warn me.

‘Come, Milo,’ I said. ‘Home.’

‘Herf,’ he said, and trotted off towards the dog pen.

‘Not
your
home, stupid,’ I said.

He flattened his ears and trotted on. I was on me own.

‘Fuck,’ I said, and I set off running, keeping low, sprinting for the Static.

No one jumped out at me. No one stopped me. I reached
the Static, grabbed the tyre-iron I keep by the steps and burst in through the door.

‘On your knees, scum,’
I shouted, ‘cos there’s an advantage to going in loud. But no one did doodle. And that’s because there was no one there to do doodle.

I snatched up my torch and switched it on. Then I searched. There was no one in the kitchenette, no one in the shower-stall or bedroom. No one there at all. And as far as I could see no one had come inside.

‘OK,’ I said. ‘Where the fuck are you?’

I went outside, torch in one hand, tyre-iron in the other. All I could hear was the dogs going ape over the other side of the yard. But first I went to the dog pen.

Milo was outside looking wet and pitiful like he wanted to get in and go to bed. I pushed him out the way. I was narked with him.

‘Stay!’ I said. But when I went into the shed he followed me.

The Puma bag was still nailed to the wall. It was still full. I let my breath out with a big hiss.

‘Safe,’ I said. Keeping hold of your stash is hair-raising work.

‘Hip?’ said Milo.

‘Hip yourself,’ I said. I wasn’t quite so narked now. But I pulled Milo out of the shed and made him come with me. He didn’t want to, but I made him. I couldn’t let him bunk off the action.

There was action. I could hear it. That creepy
rrr-argh
from Ramses said there was something going down.

At first I thought him and Lineker had someone trapped in one of the dead motors. But as I got closer I thought they’d killed him. They had something down on the ground and they were worrying the life out of it.

Let ‘em, I thought – that’ll teach the bugger. But then I thought, no, that’ll bring the shite on my head for sure. It ain’t fair, but the Law puts your dogs down if they kill or maim anyone. Even if it’s his fault and they’re only doing their job. You’d think a person could protect her stuff any old way, wouldn’t you? You would
if you had a single brain in your head. But you’d be wrong. ‘Cos the Law ain’t got a single brain in its head and what the Law says goes. There’s natural justice and then there’s the Law and, believe, the two don’t even shake hands.

So I said, ‘Ramses, Lineker, back off.’ And then I shouted it, ‘cos this really was the dogs’ day for doing their own thing and they weren’t listening.

‘Stop,’ I yelled. ‘
Sit:
And in the end they did as they was told I yelled. ‘
Sit.’
And in the end they did as they was told.

Then I went forward and saw that what they was tearing at wasn’t human. It was an empty padded anorak. I was quite disappointed – all me nerves going jingle-jangle for sod-all.

The bugger who’d cut my chain and broke in had been chased off and left his coat behind. He had to leave his coat – it was either that or leave his arm. The coat arm had a tattered gash right through it and the edges were stained red.

First off, I sat the dogs down and checked them out to make sure it wasn’t their blood. I don’t know why I bothered. None of them dogs would’ve won a medal for obedience that night. They was pissing me off, and that’s a fact.

‘You’re really pissing me off,’ I said to Ramses, because if there’s a ringleader it’s him. And I clouted him to make him sit still. ‘You want to go back to basic training? You want that, eh?’

‘Rragh!’ he went, giving me the eye.

‘Shurrup when I’m talking,’ I said. ‘You think you’re the boss. You ain’t.’

His lip went up. He gave me a look at his teeth.

‘R-r-r-r-r,’ he said. He was stone out of order. Lineker and Milo sat there watching. They were all wired up too. If they’d of been people they’d of been on the edge of their seats.

I tried to stare Ramses down. I couldn’t lose a fight with him in front of Milo and Lineker. But Ramses kept his evil little eyes on mine. And I suddenly knew he felt the same way. He’d beaten one human already. He’d tasted blood. It was his night. And he wanted to prove, now and for ever, that he was top dog.

‘Yeah, you bastard,’ I snarled back at him. ‘You want a fight? I’ll give you a fight. I want one too.’

True. Absolutely fuckin’ true. I did want a fight. I’d had it up to my eyeballs not knowing which way was up.

We stood there facing up to each other. He was just waiting for me to back off or turn away or drop my guard. But I didn’t. Neither one of us backed off.

‘Chickenshit,’ I said.

‘R-r-r-r-ro!’ he said.

‘All mouth,’ I said. ‘Where’s the muscle?’

When he came at me he went straight for my throat – half a ton of flying dog. But I was ready for him. I dodged and knocked him out of the air with me torch. I didn’t have time to think. He was up and charging again almost before he hit the ground. He was much too quick.

I dodged again.

‘Wow!’ said Milo, ‘cos I trod on him. The stupid fuckin’ pup caught himself in my ankles, and I went arse over topside.

Sometimes it’s the accident which saves you. As I toppled, Ramses missed his aim. When I landed on my back my legs flew up and hit him in the chest as he went by. The kick turned him over in mid-air. He didn’t land on his feet. He went down and that gave me the split second I needed to fling myself sideways and grab for his choke-chain. I caught it under his chin and I caught some of his wattle too. First he pulled away, squirming low on the ground, dragging me a couple of yards through the mud. He was twisting his neck trying to find the angle so that he could get his jaws round my wrist. It was like catching a shark – all that raw muscle writhing on the end of my arm.

Then he changed tactics and came in on me. But I was ready for him. It was exactly what he used to do when he first met me, when I was training him – he’d pull away with all his strength and then, with no warning, lunge in.

I clenched my fist round his choke-chain and locked my elbow straight so that he ran on to my fist. I didn’t give an inch.

Then it was my turn to start twisting. I kept an iron grip on his chain and his throat and rotated my arm from the shoulder. I had to roll over, but with each twist his head sank lower and lower. It took every ounce of my strength but in the end his head was down on the ground and all he could do was lie on his side.

I still had to be very, very careful. If I gave him even the tiniest chance he’d be chewing on my windpipe like it was macaroni cheese. Ramses is a bitchin’ bastard dog. As dogs go he’s as bad as they get. That’s why he’s so brilliant at his job.

It’s a good thing I’ve got a wrist like a riveter’s ‘cos he hadn’t given up yet. He was just waiting. He could read every twitch of my grip the way I could read every twitch of him. He knew and I knew I couldn’t hold him down for ever, lying flat in the mud, just by the strength of one outstretched arm. He knew and I knew I’d have to come in close to finish the job. His horrible glittering eye told me everything he was thinking. He didn’t blink once.

I inched in, keeping the strangle lock on, holding his head down. And then, just as my wrist was giving up, I heaved one knee over him, reared up and sat astride. Now I could use both hands and all me weight. I had him. I had him good.