Well pissed by now, Boxer knocked his chair over as he staggered to the door. Fran stood panting on the landing as Boxer gripped the rail for support and moved unsteadily down the stairs.
‘Thought you’d gone all deaf on me,’ she said as she handed him the phone.
Boxer grabbed Fran in his arms, squeezed her tightly and kissed her long and hard.
‘Ooh!’ she said and giggled. ‘When your friend’s gone I got a nice bottle of gin in my room,’ she whispered in his ear, ‘And an electric blanket warming up the bed...’
Boxer waved to Fran as she walked away, smiling stupidly and watching her huge bum with drunken lust. With his ‘whisky glasses’ on, she looked positively lovely.
‘Who is it?’ Boxer slurred into the phone. After a pause, he shouted, ‘Doll! How are you?’
‘You been drinking?’ demanded Dolly. She had only called Boxer to ask if he was packed and ready to go to the B & B she’d recommended.
‘I’ve had a little one, Dolly, but don’t worry, everything’s under control.’ Boxer hiccupped. ‘I’m packed and ready. ’Ere... guess what I saw in Soho — this’ll make you laugh — I only saw Joe Pirelli’s widow with an Italian lad called Carlos! She must really like the continental sort, eh? But, guess who he is, Dolly? He’s only Arnie Fisher’s bum-boy mechanic!’ Boxer was laughing so loud he failed to hear Dolly’s reply.
‘Carlos who?’ Dolly repeated in a stern voice. All she could hear was Boxer coughing and spluttering as he got his breath back, ‘Boxer! Carlos who?’
Oblivious, Boxer rambled on. ‘Ain’t that sweet, Doll? Between that little tart and us, Arnie’s lost everything and he don’t even know it!’ With the next belly laugh, Boxer dropped the receiver on the floor. By the time he’d risen unsteadily from picking it up, Eddie was behind him on the stairs. ‘’Ere, Dolly, you’ll never guess who come to see me...’ In a flash, Eddie’s gloved hand slammed down on the phone and cut off the call. Boxer swayed and stumbled as he turned but Eddie caught him, holding him up.
‘Come on, no time for gassing.’ Eddie said with a huge smile on his face. ‘I’m going to take you up West. My treat.’
Boxer didn’t need to be asked twice.
Resnick and Fuller were parked outside the last known address for Boxer Davis, which he had given when arrested on a drunk and disorderly charge six months previously. Andrews came down the steps of the seedy rooming house and got in the car.
‘Not here, but the landlady gave me an address in Ladbroke Grove she thinks he may be at now.’
Fuller drove off and Resnick pulled his hat over his eyes. ‘Boxer Davis is a huge piece of the puzzle, you mark my words. One huge, ugly, stupid piece of the puzzle. He’ll tell us everything we need to know.’ Smiling to himself, Resnick closed his eyes and was snoring in seconds.
In the Sports Club, Boxer was well and truly legless, barely able to string a sentence together. He stood with Eddie at the bar, surrounded by a handful of onlookers listening to him relive his last bout, blow by blow. The walls of the club were covered with faded photos of retired boxers and wrestlers, Boxer among them. His audience knew who he was, but they also knew he was way past his prime and the fight he was currently relaying had to have been at least twenty years ago. Still, they listened; one or two even cheered and egged him on. Boxer was in his element as he charged down memory lane, flailing his arms, shadow boxing, ducking and weaving. At one point he spun round and spilled the drink of a man behind him. Apologizing profusely, Boxer slung his arm round the little man’s shoulders and gave him a slobbery kiss on his bald head.
The only person in the crowd not listening to Boxer was Eddie; he was watching the entrance to the bar. Then he saw what he’d been waiting for. A casually dressed man in jeans and bomber jacket appeared briefly, part-hidden in the shadows, and nodded to Eddie. Although the man’s face wasn’t visible, Eddie knew who it was. He nodded back and the deal was done.
One more spin and Boxer knocked into the bar, sending a tray of dirty glasses crashing to the floor. The barman had had enough, and told Eddie to get him out, using the back alley. He didn’t want pissheads staggering out the front throwing up on his steps.
Eddie and the little bald man, who was still soaked in beer, burst through the exit doors and into the back alley with Boxer between them. Loud rock music thudded out from street bars, rubbish and crates of beer were stacked either side of the doors and an old tramp was busily picking his way through one of the bins.
Boxer fell to his knees as soon as the cold night air hit him. Eddie looked down the alley and saw the headlamps of a car blink once. All he had to do now was get Baldy out of the way.
‘Let’s get to the strip joints, eh?’ Eddie said, pretending to be drunk. ‘You fancy a tits ’n’ arse club, Boxer? I’m paying. You too, mate...’ Eddie turned to Baldy and patted his pockets. ‘Shit, I’ve left me wallet on the bar. Do us a favor,’ he said to Baldy. ‘Nip inside and get me wallet while I get him up off the floor.’ Baldy, thinking he was on to a free night of fit young women and free beer, eagerly toddled off back inside the club.
The instant Baldy was out of sight, Eddie walked off at speed in the opposite direction of the car. Boxer staggered to his feet, held onto a bin and moaned, ‘Wait for me, Eddie, wait for me!’
The car tooted its horn once. Boxer turned and looked, peering down the alley to see if it was someone he knew. Suddenly the headlights came on full beam and Boxer swayed as he put his hand up to shade his eyes. Then the headlights went out, the engine roared and the car accelerated up the alley, knocking bins and rubbish into the air. Boxer, still dazzled by the bright light, couldn’t see anything clearly, only hear the engine approaching fast — but his drunken brain wouldn’t engage his legs. The car slammed into him, sending him spiraling into the air, up and over the car and onto the ground with a sickly thud. Bits of paper, empty bottles, rain-sodden boxes and other rubbish swirled around him as he tried to move, tried to get up, tried to get to safety.
The car screeched to a halt at the end of the alley. Looking in the rearview mirror, the driver saw Boxer roll onto all fours. ‘Tough old sod,’ he muttered to himself as he slammed the car into reverse and drove over Boxer not once, but twice more, crashing his rear bumper against the alley wall in the process. As the car slowly left the alley, the damaged back lights blinked on and off.
Boxer lay among the shit and rubbish, broken and bleeding. His breathing was sharp and shallow as his lungs desperately tried to fill with air. He could see the bright lights of the street just up ahead, but no one could see him in the darkness of the alley. Partly protected from the excruciating pain by the huge amount of alcohol in his body, he managed to crawl a few feet toward the lights, before collapsing into unconsciousness among a pile of rubbish. He would have been just visible from the street if anyone had cared to look — but even if someone had caught a glimpse of an arm sticking out from behind the bins, they would have just taken him for a drunk and ignored him.
Baldy staggered out of the club and into the alley. ‘Your wallet’s not in—’ But the alley was deserted. ‘Bang goes my night,’ he moaned as he went back into the club. ‘I hope they get the clap.’
Chapter 15
Dolly was in the convent kitchen peeling potatoes for lunch. Her normal routine was to serve dinner to the children, but she’d decided to get in early today and help out. She was filled with so much energy that she had to release it somehow.
As Dolly had pulled into the grounds at around 7 a.m., it occurred to her that Bella would probably only now be getting in from her job. She worked so hard, probably for very little, and yet she was one of the strongest people Dolly had met. Linda was no doubt probably still in bed — she never listened to Dolly’s advice. Now, as for Shirley... Dolly smiled. Shirley was starting to come round to her way of thinking.