Monkey Wrench (19 page)

I took her along to the games room where we could spread ourselves out a bit.

Harsh was gone. He was in the ring. Mr Deeds often puts him out early, before the crowd gets too hysterical to appreciate him. The crowd likes to think it can appreciate skill. But that's not what it's there for. It's there for blood and thunder, thud and blunder. You don't get thud and blunder from Harsh. You get skill. 'Cos Harsh is a shooter. He wouldn't stoop to dramatics.

I opened the door a crack and peeped out at him. Just watching him work makes me peaceful. He's quick, supple and strong – everything I wish myself. And he flows. He flows from throw to fall to escape to hold to pin like water flowing over rocks.

‘See that, my girl,' I said to Olga, ‘that's poetry in motion, that is. Look and learn.'

But I didn't let her look too long 'cos I didn't want her to learn too much. A pumpkin like her can't take it all in, see. She'd just get confused.

She was big, but she was soft. Kids are. Their muscles haven't hardened. I'm not saying she wasn't strong – she was. Or she would be if she did the work. But when I grappled with her it was like grappling with a sponge. I suppose I must've felt like that a couple of years ago when I was raw. And it made me think. I spent all my fighting life up against women older than me. This was the first time I copped someone younger.

Of course she was soft in the head as well as soft in the body. But at least she wanted to learn. She was keen. Keen but clumsy. And that made me think too. About Bella, Stef and the others. And how they didn't want to learn to use themselves except for rumpty-tumpty.

If I said to them, ‘Do so-and-so,' they'd moan. And when I said, ‘No, that's wrong, do it again,' they'd go, ‘Do I have to? I'm sweating.'

Olga didn't mind doing stuff over and over again. Which was just as well, seeing how wrong she got it first off. She liked the work. She thought it was fun. I know, 'cos she kept saying so. She said it so often I had a good mind to wire her mouth shut.

Even so, it was better to be with a woman who wanted to be an athlete than to be with the frilly kind. The frilly kind try to make you feel like a freak for having muscles, and they bad-mouth you for being sweaty – as if being sweaty's the same as being dirty. Which it isn't.

I was just thinking maybe I'd dump the self-defence lessons and start a wrestling school instead when it was time for me and Olga to go on.

Going on first after the interval is a bad slot.

You've lost half the audience. They're still trickling back from the bar. They're more interested in their bags of sweets, their beer and their burgers than they are in you. They're wondering if their bladders will hold out for the whole of the second half. They're making last minute trips to the bog. They're buying the kids a last packet of crisps. They don't have their minds on the job.

Mr Deeds knows it's a bad slot. That's why he gave it to me. He knew Olga wasn't ready and he thinks I don't matter. But I do matter. And if I've got an aim in life, it's to show Mr Deeds and all the piss-piddle-poohs like him how much I matter.

I sent Olga out first. She toddled down the aisle and climbed into the ring. And nobody hardly noticed. There she was in her black mask, looking like a lady executioner, and no one noticed.

She stood in her corner like a good little girl and waited. And waited.

Then, out of the speakers, came ‘Satisfaction'. I didn't move a muscle.

I was peeking through the door, so I could see people beginning to turn in their seats to see where I was. I stayed shtum. I was going to show Mr Deeds. If he thought he could mail-order some little pumpkin-bumpkin in from the country to replace me he had another think coming. He'd never get a better villain than me. Never.

My music died away, and still Olga waited. I couldn't see her face because of that stupid mask, but I bet she was getting nervous.

The M C was standing in the middle of the ring with the ref. They were waiting too. Let them fucking wait. Nobody takes the London Lassassin for granted.

The MC held the microphone to his lips and said, ‘We're
expecting the London Lassassin any moment now.' And he waited. Everyone waited.

Then the MC said, ‘We've got a new attraction here for you tonight. I want to introduce her to you. Since the Iron Curtain came down, you may have wondered what happened to all those bad people from the KGB. All those bad men and women who walked in the shadows. The Soviet Union's secret army. Well one of them's come thousands of miles to be here tonight …'

‘Where's Bucket Nut?' some bim in the audience yelled.

‘Maybe she's afraid to meet her new opponent,' said the MC quickly. He's a fast thinker, the MC. That's what he's paid for. ‘Maybe she's heard about Olga from the Volga. Ladies and gentlemen – she's still a paid-up member of the Russian Secret Service …'

‘Where's Bucket Nut?'

‘So secret, in fact, that her identity still has to be protected …'

‘
Bucket Nut.'

‘Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you to
Olga
from the
Volga
.'

There was some half-hearted clapping, some half-arsed booing.

‘Where's Bucket Nut?' someone yelled.

‘Play her music again,' someone else suggested.

‘Play “Roll Out the Barrel”,' a boozy bum shouted.
‘That'll
make her come out.'

‘Well,' the MC said, ‘I never thought the London Lassassin was a coward.'

The boos were growing louder.

And louder.

The hair on my arms was up. My spine was tingling.

I started to count, ‘One, two, three …'

Olga stirred nervously.

More people joined in the booing.

I counted to twenty-three, and then I couldn't wait no longer.

I hauled the door open and came walloping out.

‘Boooo!' went the crowd.

‘What's your trouble?' I yelled at the first howling face I saw. ‘Got the gut ache?'

I marched down the aisle.

‘Boooo!'

‘Sheep!' I yelled. ‘Yer all sheep and cows.'

‘Boooo!'

‘Ba-a-a,' I screamed back. I stuck my face right up to a woman in a blue cardy. ‘Mooo!' I yelled, right into her ear. She took a whack at me with her handbag. Another lady lashed out with her umbrella. I snatched it off her, and poked at a feller on the other side of the aisle.

‘Boooo!' went the crowd.

‘Shut yer silly face,' I went. ‘Moooo,' I shouted at the fella I'd poked. ‘A goat could bleat louder'n you.'

He got up. I dropped the umbrella. I danced backwards away from him going, ‘Ba-a-a,' taunting him till he chased me to the ring.

One of the bouncers picked him off and led him back to his seat.

‘Mummy's boy!' I shouted at him. ‘Yeller!' And he tried to come back at me.

The front rows were standing up, screeching and throwing programmes and bits of burger.

I had them. They was mine.

I pulled myself up on the platform and vaulted the ropes.

‘
Boooo
!' went the crowd.

‘I thought you wasn't coming,' said the ref. ‘Jesus! Talk about cutting it fine!'

Olga came over. ‘What happened?' she said.

I gave her a shove. ‘Back off,' I said. ‘We ain't pissing about up here.'

I gave the ref a good shove too, and he staggered back. I marched round the ring giving the crowd the finger. The ref trotted after me.

‘You behave yourself,' he said, loud enough for the front rows to hear. ‘I want a fair fight …'

The MC started the ritual – ‘In the red corner … in the blue corner …'

But I didn't go to my corner. The ring was mine and I used it for a parade ground. I strutted. I flexed my muscles. I backed Olga on to the ropes. And the fight hadn't even started.

‘BOOOOO!' went the crowd. It was music to my ears. They were yowling fit to burst. I was giving them what they came for. That'd teach Mr Deeds to fart around with my life. He'd have to think twice before dropping me.

The bell went, and while it was still clanging, I whipped into Olga's corner, grabbed her by the arm, swung her round and ran her, head first, into the ropes on the other side of the ring. As she hit the ropes, I kicked her in the bum.

She grabbed the ropes for balance. I snatched one of her hands, twisted it behind her back and started biting her fingers.

I don't know what it is about biting – but if you want the crowd to go totally ape-shit, take a nibble on your opponent. It works every time. Oh yeah! Young pumpkin-bumpkin would have to get up very early in the morning to beat me in the villainy race.

The ref came over, outraged. He tried to pull me off. I gnashed my gnashers at him too. The crowd went critical. The MC got on the microphone and gave me a public warning. He was almost drowned out by the boos.

Things were going very well indeed.

The ref hauled me back. I hipped him out of the way and went on a parade of the ring. I punched the air and went, ‘Easy, easy, eee-zee!'

‘Dirty, dirty, dir-tee!' went the crowd back.

I leaned over the ropes and went, ‘Shut yer mucky mouths!'

A little old lady leapt out of her seat and tried to clobber my feet with a beer bottle. I jumped back, pretending to be scared, and the front rows collapsed in laughter.

All this gave Olga time to catch her breath. She came off the ropes and aimed a forearm smash. I ducked under it, and she grabbed my head and hair. She was too nervous to do it right so she gave my hair a rotten yank. She was new to the game so I let it go. This time.

She scissored my head and neck between the crook of her elbow and her hip. She was over excited and squeezed too hard. My ear got bent the wrong way. Otherwise it was a passable side-headlock.

‘Get her!' yelled the crowd. ‘Hurt her!'

I grabbed Olga's arm to loosen her grip.

‘Twist her ugly mug off!' screamed a bloke in the front.

‘Ow-ow-ow!' I went at the top of my voice. The front rows just love to hear a villain beg for mercy.

Olga hung on like grim death. I dragged on her arm. We swayed, twisted, tottered. I pulled. She squeezed. Slowly I pulled her down to the canvas. We both knelt. She held the headlock tight. I got both hands down on the floor, bunched my legs under me and kicked up in the air.

I shot up in a handstand. I straightened my arms and, thank Christ, Olga remembered to release my head.

The handstand escape is a right classy move and, if I say so meself, I done it perfect. But it silenced the crowd.

Then, from somewhere, I heard a lone voice shouting, ‘Come on, Bucket Nut, come
on
!'

I was all amazed. Something was wrong. No one cheered
me
on. I squinted into the lights, trying to see. I thought it sounded like …

And that's when Olga decided to take a dive at me knees. She launched herself and hit me on the backs of my legs. 'Course I tipped over backwards and came down on my arse. The only trouble was, Olga was still there. She hadn't rolled on through or dodged. So there was a real clash of arses – mine on top.

I rolled off backwards and left her flat on her face.

Now, take a tip from the expert – if you find yourself up on your toes while your opponent's flat on her face, don't wait for no second invitation. Jump her.

‘'Orrible skaggy cow!' some bloke shrieked.

I flung myself across Olga's back and snatched her arm.

‘Mmf!' went Olga from the Volga. ‘M-m-mmf.'

‘What?' I said.

‘Mmf-mmf-umf!'

‘Eh?' I was twisting her arm up her back and taking a nip at her elbow.

‘Boooo!' went the crowd.

‘Oy,' said the ref, ‘that stupid fucking mask's slipped. She's choking on it.'

‘What?'

‘Gerroff, Eva! She's suffocating!'

I leapt up and started to put the boot in. That's another thing that makes the crowd go berserkers – kicking when your oppo's down. Try it sometime and see if I'm not right.

The ref jumped in to give me a ticking off, so Olga took the chance to sit up and straighten her mask. She didn't hurry.

I danced round the ref to get at her again but he kept stepping in between. He wanted to give her more time. But she was so slow the crowd went quiet again.

The only action for them to see was me and the ref so I turned on him instead. I gave him three quick shoves back to the ropes.

‘Okay?' I said.

‘Careful,' he said.

And I chucked him out of the ring.

He's an old fighter himself, so he landed well. But he made a lovely stew of it, hobbling, staggering on to the front row.

Quick as a flash, the MC was on his mike again giving me my second public warning.

And in the hush which followed that, I heard the voice again. ‘Way to
go
, Eva,' it went,
‘sock
'im one from me.'

I knew who it was now. It was Kath with the bosoms. What the freakin' hell was she doing at Lewinsham? I glared out through the lights, and, stone me, but the whole sodding bunch of them was there.

Loads of people had stood up to see what happened to the ref, and there in the middle, standing on their seats, waving their arms in the air were Crystal, Bella, Mandy, Stef, Kath and Lynn.

I could have
died
.

The only people supporting me in that whole sodding sports hall was a gaggle of prossies.

‘Don't just stand there,' the ref said. ‘Get on with it.' He climbed back into the ring.

I turned. Olga, with her mask straight, came galloping across the canvas. I gave her my arm and she swung me over the ring into the ropes. I twanged off and back to her. She hit me with a body-check. I bounced off her and fell back on the canvas. She should've caught me with a head throw, but she forgot, so I had to fall down on me own.