I got a real pang as the cold air hit me through the opened window. I could smell the onions frying in the burger vans nearby and I was picking up individual shouts from the crowd as this great stream of humanity, all clad in black and white stripes, ascended the stairs to the turnstiles. I was gutted to be missing the atmosphere as much as the game.
I found myself wanting to be with Sarah tonight too. She’d really developed and not just physically. She’d grown up a lot at college and what had come back was smart and funny and able to banter away with the best of them. And she was beautiful, that had to be admitted. The sixth-former with the teeth braces had long since been transformed into a babe with a cracking figure. Mustn’t think like that though. The one thing I was not going to do was roll around with Bobby Mahoney’s daughter – no matter how tempting it might be. I did keep having to tell myself that, over and over, ever since Sarah kissed me after her birthday party. Bobby loved his daughter more than anything, I reminded myself constantly, and the one thing he didn’t want was her hooking up with a member of his crew. Bobby liked me but not that much. He’d got a doctor in mind for Sarah or, failing that, Prince Harry. If I told him I had nothing but the finest intentions for his daughter, there would be no cosy arm around the shoulder while he discussed me inheriting the family business. More than likely the conversation would end in a short walk off a big cliff.
I took my time getting home, calling in on Palmer to see if he had made any progress looking for our Russian friend.
‘If he was in the city I’d have found him by now,’ he told me.
‘So he’s not in the city.’
‘That’s about the size of it.’
‘Keep looking,’ I told him.
When I got home, I opened the door of my apartment to be greeted by darkness. What the fuck? Where was Laura? I turned on the light and there was a note on the coffee table telling me she’d gone to see her big sister. ‘Jesus Christ,’ I said aloud. I tried to remind myself they were both grief stricken, but Laura had clearly forgotten how she’d pleaded with me to give up the match so I could stay in and take care of her. It was too late to go back up there now.
I swore and went right out again. There was a Chinese restaurant over the road. It was as good a place as any to eat on your own and I could get goal updates by text message from Sarah.
After my meal, I returned to my empty flat, still feeling mightily pissed-off. I walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge and took the top off a cold beer, swigging from the bottle. I was about to sit down in the lounge but figured I’d hang my jacket up in a wardrobe first. I put the bottle of beer on the coffee table, slipped off my jacket and carried it to the bedroom. I opened the door, turned on the light and that’s when the bloke hit me.
TWENTY-THREE
Luckily for me, it was a glancing blow or that would have been the end of me. I must have reacted just in time, raising my left arm instinctively to parry, because the heavy cosh he was carrying skidded off my forehead and he dropped it from his gloved hand. The impact was still hard enough to draw blood, rattle my brains and give me a sick feeling deep in my stomach.
My attacker was a weasel-faced, gaunt guy about my height. He didn’t look like conventional muscle and if he had been I’d have been dead by now, so I figured he was there just to turn my place over. He was looking for something.
That’s all I had time to think about. Weasel-face grabbed me round my neck and slammed me back through the bedroom door. Christ he was strong for such a lean guy, with a grip like a vice. He must have been a rock-climbing cat burglar. His fingers were digging into me, closing round my throat until I could barely breathe. As he forced me backwards, I grabbed his arm and tried to dislodge it but I couldn’t shake it loose. It didn’t help that he was pummelling my head with his free fist as he propelled me back down the hall, knocking me half-senseless in the process.
I fought back of course, hitting him a couple of times in the body and the side of the head but I couldn’t get him off me and I was starting to feel the heat in my face as he was cutting off my airway. He was staring at me like he was mightily pissed-off I’d disturbed him. He must have known he had to finish me or he’d be a dead man.
He was still pushing me backwards and we ended up in the living room struggling. He knocked me right back to the far wall and I still couldn’t prise him away. I was kicking out at his shins, trying to knee him in the bollocks and punching him but nothing I did seemed capable of stopping him. Eventually, he virtually lifted me off my feet and I felt the wall slam hard into my back, knocking the wind out of me. His fingers squeezed tighter round my throat. I knew I was in serious shit now. He was going to kill me if I didn’t do something, and quick.
I snaked my free arm out across the wall and stretched as far as I could, desperate to reach the heavy wooden plaque with its ornately-carved elephants that we’d brought back from Thailand. I’d only nailed it up there a few days ago so I knew it had enough weight. I could give him a smack round the head that would fell anyone and then I could kill the fucker with it. I’d almost blacked out but I was an inch away from it, and he suddenly realised what I was trying to do and gripped me even tighter round the throat. I was choking so bad I couldn’t extend my arm any further. It was no use, I couldn’t reach it. I strained for it once more and felt the back of my fingertips graze it but again he lifted me off my feet then bumped me away from it, slamming my head against the side of the shelf nearby for good measure. I managed to get a punch into the side of his head and it was a good one. He listed slightly, off balance for a moment but kept his grip round my throat and I knew I would black out soon. In desperation, I flailed my free arm out to the opposite side and my hand connected with the only other item in the flat that I could now reach.
As my hand touched it, I pushed my other palm up under his chin and gouged my thumb into the flesh just above his Adam’s apple. He shrieked in pain and loosened his grip round my throat for just a second. I pushed his arm away and butted him hard in the nose with my head, drawing blood and forcing him back just a little. He blinked as he tried to clear his head and I knew this was my only chance. I grabbed the heavy object from the shelf and, as he came rushing back at me, I twisted my body. His arm was lower than it should have been and I brought my weapon smartly across in a nice, hard, fluid arc, until it crashed into the side of his face with a sickening smash. Weasel-face screamed like I had just put twenty thousand volts through him and the urn I was holding smashed on impact into dozens of sharp pieces, sending a spray of blood into the air.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion then, including the blood that gushed all over the bastard’s face and slid down the side of his head, but that too was instantly obscured by the huge cloud of ash that followed it. The late Angela Cooper seemed to hang in the air for a second before covering him. The ashes were all over his face like a swarm of insects and he went down screaming, frantically wiping his eyes. He must have been wondering what the hell I had hit him with.
That was all the energy I had left. I dropped to the floor like someone just took my batteries out and ended up propped up against the wall like a puppet with its strings cut. As the room started to spin and turn slowly black, I was vaguely aware of Weasel-face scrambling to his feet and I thought oh fuck, he is going to finish me now, he’ll have all of the time in the world to do it as well and I’ve nowt left to give, but instead he got up unsteadily, clutching his face, screaming like he was on fire and leaking blood big style. There was a thin shard of china sticking out of the side of his face and all I could think was what a shame I didn’t get the chance to wedge that into his neck. He gave one last shriek and ran from my flat.