We were at the door of the inquest room now. Before we entered, I took Dorcas’s hand and pressed it to my lips. Jem Smith would owe his life to her — and, of course, to rhubarb.
Sucker Punch
Nick Quantrill
I tried not to flinch in my chair as the punches landed. One after another. Relentless. The taller boxer was on top. A left hook connected with his opponent’s nose, which exploded on impact. Those nearest the ring were on their feet, encouraging the fighters to continue. Another left hook landed, quickly followed by a sharp right. The combination rocked the smaller fighter and forced him backwards, and on to the defensive. And then it happened. The smaller man sprung forward, and with one vicious swipe of his right hand sent the taller man sprawling on to the canvas. The crowd went silent for a brief moment. Even the winning boxer looked surprised.
A click of the remote and the television screen faded to black. A drink was placed in front of me. I didn’t want alcohol at this time of the day.
“What do you think?”
I turned to Burrows, not sure what I was expected to say. “Looks like it was a good fight.”
Burrows laughed. “Not from where I was sitting. It cost me a lot of time and money to organize that fight.”
I swallowed the alcohol, forcing it down, not sure why he’d called me to his office. I didn’t want the job. I didn’t have a choice.
“The tall lad is called Jordan. He’s fought for me a few times. Not a bad fighter as it goes, but as you can see, he lacks ring craft. He’s got a punch, but he’s not really going anywhere. Too many flaws. You were a rugby player, weren’t you?”
I nodded.
“You’ll understand there are certain things you can’t coach into people, then. They’ve either got it or they haven’t. It’s about natural talent. The point is, Joe, I can’t do any more for Jordan, so we came to an arrangement.”
He left it hanging there, forcing me to ask what the arrangement was.
“I’m a man who cares, so when I have to part company with someone, I make sure they’re well looked after.”
Burrows reeked of insincerity. I knew of him by reputation but this was the first time I’d met him. One of his men had collected me from my office. I was hired. End of discussion.
“There’s a problem, though.” He flicked the fight back on and searched for the final punch. We watched it again in silence. “I’m told you’re good, Joe. Probably the best in this city.” He forced me to meet his stare. “Jordan took a dive and cost me a lot of money. And as the bookmaker, I think I’m entitled to a few answers. Now I can’t find him.”
I’d left Burrows’s office with a list of Jordan’s known haunts and a couple of hundred pounds in my pocket. I’d get the same again if I found my man. The nearest place on the list was a boxing club on the edge of the city centre. I decided to walk there, feeling like I needed the fresh air. The club was situated in the loft of an old warehouse. Downstairs was a fitness gym. I assumed the club had little spare money. The room was dominated by a tired-looking ring. Two teenagers were sparring and feeling each other out in front of a watchful coach and small crowd of other boxers.
“Help you?”
I turned around. He was in his early sixties, but he was still in good shape and I had no wish to mess with him.
I passed him a business card and introduced myself. “I hope so. I’m looking for someone.”
“Yeah?”
“I need to speak to Jordan.”
“He doesn’t have anything to do with us any more. He left a while back.”
“I was told he did.”
“I’m telling you he doesn’t.”
“Fair enough.” I looked around the club. “Nice place you’ve got here.”
“And it’ll be staying that way.” He introduced himself as Bill Armstrong. “I opened this place over thirty years ago to give teenagers somewhere to go, something positive to do. I got nothing given to me, so I built it up over the years by myself. I’ve even produced some good boxers over the years. Some have gone on to bigger and better things. It’s a shame Jordan’s gone down this road. I thought he was really going to kick on, but the lad he was fighting the other night, Shane, he was something else. He could really have pulled up some trees.” He stared at me. “I assume Burrows sent you?”
I nodded. “I need a quick word with Jordan, get last week’s fight straightened out.”
The man laughed. “It’s unlicensed boxing. Things happen. You take your chances in that kind of game. I understand the attraction of it for people like Jordan, but it’s not something I approve of or encourage my fighters to get involved in. It’s a dangerous game.” He paused and stared at me. “For everyone.”
It didn’t take me long to find Jordan. I sat in the pub opposite his flat with a newspaper and waited it out. He had to go home at some point. It seemed the most likely option on the list of potential places. He wouldn’t be looking out for me. He sat down in the corner, watching Sky Sports News, well away from the front door. I’d done my job, but I held off making the call to Burrows. I walked across to Jordan and sat down.
“All right?” I said.
He looked like he was going to run, but I’d angled my chair to block his only escape route.
“Who are you?” he asked me.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Touch me and I’ll go to the police.”
“I’m not going to touch you.” His face was a mess from the fight.
He looked younger in the flesh. On the fight footage I couldn’t see the acne or the wispy facial hair. Still a teenager.
“I know who sent you,” he said.
“He needs to speak to you.”
“About the fight?”
I nodded.
“I can’t talk to him.”
I said nothing. I wanted to walk away, but I knew Burrows would hold me responsible. I’d been warned at the boxing club. Unlicensed boxing was a dangerous game and I didn’t want to be involved. “He won’t go away,” I said. “It needs to be dealt with.”
“I know.”
I saw a tear in his eye.
“I’m scared.”
“I know you are.”
“I hate those fights. Everyone’s stood right up close to you, shouting at you. You can’t hear yourself think and it gets so hot. Part of me wishes I was back in Billy’s gym, doing it the right way, but it’s gone too far for that now. If I fight, it’s for people like Burrows. I hate it. I hate what I’ve become.” He paused. “You need to speak to Shane.”
Jordan called Shane on his mobile and he joined us five minutes later.
“That was quick,” I said. Shane’s face was in a similar state to Jordan’s.
“I’m staying in Jordan’s flat until this blows over,” he said.
“Until what blows over?”
Shane shrugged. “Burrows was going mental after the fight, so we got out of the place. I got a text message from a mate at the gym telling me he was looking for me.”
“Looking for you?”
“That’s right.”
“I didn’t realize you two are friends.”
They both nodded.
“It was just a fight,” Shane said. “Nothing personal.”
I gave Jordan a note from the bundle I had and told him to buy us all some drinks. I waited for him to leave. “Unlicensed boxing?” I said to Shane. “And Burrows?”
He shrugged. “I need the money.”
“I spoke to Bill at the club. He said you were a good boxer. You don’t need to be doing this.”