Monkey Wrench (2 page)

I opened the door and a bell rang. The secretary-bird was at her desk writing things in a big book.

She said, ‘Hello Eva, come for your money?'

‘What you think?' I said.

She gave me an envelope. I tore it open and counted the dosh. It was all there.

‘Got anything else for me?' I asked.

‘Anna's out at the moment,' she said. As if I didn't know. If she's in, The Enemy pops up whenever she hears that door bell ring. Nosy cow – always got to know what's happening. Even when it doesn't concern her. Typical polizei.

‘If there is anything new she knows where to find you,' the old secretary-bird said. Which narked me off. That's why I go to see The Enemy regular. I don't much like her ‘knowing where to find me'. If there's one thing you should know about me, it's this – Eva Wylie was not put on this earth to make life easy for the polizei.

And The Enemy wasn't making life easy for me. No extra work, no extra scratch. Well, sod her.

The very next day I heard that Dawn was dead.

I got up as usual at about 3pm and had my breakfast of tea, bananas and bread and jam. Then I went down Sam's Gym for the weights and the shower. Sam's Gym is where the mob from Deeds Promotions hang out. Some of us train properly – like Harsh and me. The others just mong about flexing their dangly bits and gossiping. Either way that's where I go to keep myself big and strong, and to pick up word of where I'm fighting next. I also pick up my purse from my last fight.

There aren't many people in this world who pay you cash on the nail the way they ought. You do the business but you have to wait for the readies. The boss-class have got it all sorted to their own advantage. I mean, the folk who watch me fight got to pay or they don't get in. That's dosh in the cash box. So how come I got to wait for mine? Eh? Tell me that. How come Mr Deeds of Deeds Promotions, who does bugger all but sit on his fat arse all day, gets his first? And me, who takes all the bruises and abuses, gets mine last?

‘Go on, count it,' he said, like he was doing me a favour. ‘It's all there, but you go on and count it anyway. You always do.'

And I did. I'd be a fool not to. In that last fight, I was with a woman called Gypsy Jo and when I took her down by the knees in the last round she got one leg out of my grip and hammered my elbow with her boot. My elbow's been sore for days, and if Mr Deeds thinks a sore elbow's not worth a few quid he's a bigger twat than even his wife thinks he is.

‘You have swelling there,' Harsh said. He was getting paid too. ‘Treat it with hot and cold. Rest it.'

‘I'll work it off,' I said, because Mr Deeds was listening.

‘You on the injured list?' he said. Arse like an elephant, ears like a rabbit, brain like a dust ball.

‘Not me,' I said. If I'm injured he won't find a bout for me. No bout, no purse.

Harsh said, ‘Then you will hurt yourself more than Gypsy Jo did.'

I didn't know whether to be chuffed or choked. It's brilliant when Harsh takes an interest, but like as not, when he does, he says something I don't want to hear. He was wearing grey sweat bottoms and an old black singlet, and his deltoids were shining wet from the exercise.

‘There was someone here looking for you,' he said.

‘Who?'

‘She didn't say. A kid.'

‘When?'

‘Earlier.'

‘I don't want no strangers in here,' Mr Deeds said. He thinks if people know what we do when we train they won't believe in the fights anymore.

‘She came to the entrance,' Harsh said. ‘I saw her there.' He's the soul of patience, is Harsh. It wasn't any of Mr Deeds' business earwigging other people's conversations.

‘She was very cold,' Harsh said, ‘so she came in only for a minute. She said, “Tell Eva …”'

‘Over here,' I said, jerking my chin. Harsh may be a lovely wrestler but he's as thick as potato pie when it comes to keeping his lip buttoned in front of someone who doesn't like me.

‘What did she say?' I asked, when we were alone by the window.

‘She said, “Tell Eva that Dawn's dead.” She wants to see you.'

That was the message. Harsh didn't know anything else.

Dawn was dead. No how or why or where. No reason why Crystal wanted to see me.

That was the mystery – what would Crystal want with me?

Dawn being dead wasn't much of a puzzle. You knew something bad would happen to Dawn every time you looked at her. She did
sex for money and she wasn't choosy. You could see her pissed any hour of the day or night. Out of her skull. She couldn't look after herself. And if you can't look after yourself you're done. Simple as that.

‘I'm sorry,' Harsh said. ‘Was Dawn a friend of yours?'

‘No, she bleeding wasn't,' I said. ‘She was just around – near where I live.'

‘All the same,' Harsh said.

‘All the same nothing,' I said, and I went off and warmed up. Then I started on the machines. I could imagine Dawn sprawled out on a hospital meat tray. For some reason I thought she drowned. What did it matter how she went? She was half fucking dead when she was alive. Fucked. Fucked up. Dead drunk. Dead.

I was on that machine which works your inner thighs. You pull a roller with one ankle so your leg snaps closed. And that's how I was counting the repetitions – fucked, fucked up, dead drunk, dead, five, six, seven, eight. And so on, nice and rhythmical. Change legs, start again on the other side. I thought I'd give my legs and abdominals a real working over. Give me elbow a rest. Like Harsh said.

You think I'm a cold-hearted bitch, do you? Or maybe you don't. Maybe you think I'm pretending to be a cold-hearted bitch to protect my image. Because the London Lassassin is a hard nut. She don't care if you're smaller or injured. She'll smash your nose into the canvas whatever you are. And if the London Lassassin's a stony-hearted bastard, Eva Wylie's got to pretend to be one too. While, in fact, deep down inside she's soft and warm and cuddly.

Don't kid yourself. I do not give a wet fart for Dawn. What did Dawn ever do for me except kick me out into the cold one night. Who was the stony-hearted bitch then? Her with her chocolates and heated rollers, that's who. Did she give a wet fart about me? She did not. She was young and pretty, and as fresh as you could be, leading the sort of life she led. That was her luck. But she never shared it, not even with her own kid sister.

She used to be young and pretty. When I saw her yesterday she
was sort of bloated and shapeless. A blob on the pavement. Now she was a blob on a meat tray.

When I go, I want to go with a bang. I don't want to be a blob everyone screwed and nobody knows. By the time I go, everyone'll know my name. I'll be someone. See if I'm not!

So don't you talk to me about Dawn. I don't want to know.

Which is why I didn't go looking for Crystal. What does Crystal mean to me anyway? I sort of knew her when we were both down and out – a time I'm not too keen on remembering – and we both live in the same square mile in South London. Big deal. So do two million other erks. I don't owe any of them dropsy either.

Later that night Crystal came to see me. I was sitting on the steps of my Static eating cold spaghetti hoops out of the tin. Lineker was nosing round even though he knows he doesn't get scraps from me. He's fed when he's done his job and not one minute before. Why should he be different from any other working stiff? He's not a bleeding pet.

All of a sudden we heard Ramses from the gate.

‘Ro-ro-ro,' went Ramses. He barks like a bass guitar on full amp.

Lineker pricked up his ears and that was about all – which really narked me off.

‘Lineker,' I said, ‘you're a greedy, lazy know-nothing. And if I wasn't so soft you'd be living in a tin of cat food – fifty tins of cat food, seeing as you're so big.'

He didn't like my tone of voice. Which was the first piece of sense he'd shown that night. I was serious. Lineker always takes the flabby way, and I don't like it.

He ran off, going, ‘Yak-yak,' and showing his big white fangs like he meant it. What a poser that dog is.

I picked up a wrench and a torch and went too. There's a sign on the fence which says, ‘Armour Protection'. The sign's pretty faded and I don't know who Armour Protection were, or if they ever existed, but that's what I call myself and Ramses and Lineker. It's a good hard name.

When I got to the gate, Ramses was standing with his shoulders up and his head thrust out and Lineker was running up and down the wire. He was still yak-yak-yakking, but Ramses had this steady phlegmy roar going in the back of his throat. It's a lovely scary sound. Sometimes, when you're up close you can't tell the difference between him and a 1000cc Harley.

I whacked the metal gate with my wrench and yelled, ‘Who's there?' I thought it was kids, but it was Crystal.

She said, ‘Eva, it's me. Can you come out a minute?'

‘No,' I said. ‘I'm on duty.'

‘Then can you do something about the dogs and let me in?'

‘They're on duty too,' I said. It was embarrassing talking to someone with a sister on a meat tray and I wanted to get back to my spaghetti hoops. Besides, Crystal had someone with her, and if you think I'm letting strangers into my yard you're even stupider than I thought.

‘Didn't that bloke give you my message?'

‘What bloke?'

‘At the gym,' she said. ‘I gave him a message.'

‘Oh, the gym,' I said. ‘I didn't go in today. I went to see my ma.'

Which, as you well know, was a total pork pie. I
should
have gone to see my ma. I
thought
about going to see my ma, but I didn't want to hear her troubles any more than I wanted to hear Crystal's.

‘You've not heard, then?' Crystal said. ‘Dawn's dead.'

‘Shit,' I said. I was trying to sound sympathetic. A sister's a sister after all even if she does shag for shillings.

‘They beat her up in the alley behind the Full Moon,' Crystal said. So Dawn didn't drown. I don't know what made me think she did. Perhaps it was that bloated look.

‘We left her safe in bed,' I said. I didn't want to be associated. ‘She was all right when we left her.'

‘She must've got thirsty or something,' Crystal said. ‘She was gone when I got back from the market. She never come home all night. They came and told me in the morning. I had to identify her. Eva?'

‘What?'

‘I hardly knew her, Eva. They marked her up so bad.'

There's not a lot you can say to that.

‘Shut up, Ramses,' I growled. Ramses gave me his I-eat-babies look.

The stranger hadn't opened her trap so far, but now she said, ‘I was in the Full Moon last night. I think she went out with two men.'

‘Stupid mare,' I said.

‘She was drunk.'

‘Same difference.'

‘Look Crys,' the stranger said, ‘I thought you told me she was sympathetic.'

‘I never,' Crystal said. ‘I told you she could help. I never said she was sympathetic.'

‘What sort of crap is this?' I asked.

‘Some women,' Crystal said. ‘They do business out of the Full Moon on and off. They want to learn how to do karate or something.'

‘Ha ha,' I said. ‘Those slags?'

‘Ha ha, yes,' the stranger said. ‘Us “slags”.'

Crystal said, ‘See, Eva, Dawn wasn't the first round here.'

‘And she won't be the last,' the stranger said, ‘unless we organise.'

‘You lot
organise?
' I had to laugh. ‘What you going to do, set up a slags' neighbourhood watch?' I was falling about, it was so funny.

The stranger drew herself up as tall as she could, which wasn't very tall, and said, ‘We were going to start by getting you to learn us self-defence. But if you ain't interested we'll take our money elsewhere.'

I stopped laughing. I said to Crystal, ‘Is she serious? And what's it got to do with you, anyway?'

‘Nothing really,' Crystal said. ‘Only I had to go to the Full Moon. See, Eva, the police don't tell you anything. And when it's, y'know, someone like poor Dawnie they don't really care.
They think, y'know, she was asking for it. So I had to go to the Full Moon to find out if anyone seen her.'

‘And some of “us slags” was in there,' the stranger said. ‘Having a confab. Because there was that kid from Leeds last year. And then another one in March. And now Dawn. That's three of us dead.'

‘I can count,' I said.

‘The cops can't,' the stranger said. ‘Three “slags” do not equal one “respectable” woman. We won't get no protection there. So we got to look after ourselves.'

‘Yes,' Crystal said. ‘When they were talking about it I was wishing and wishing Dawn could of known how to look after herself. She was always getting knocked about. So I thought, y'know, you and your wrestling. You could teach them self-defence.'

I was gawping at them through the gate. I didn't know what to say, it was such a silly idea. Me, teach
them?

‘They've got money,' Crystal said. ‘They can pay.'

Well, of
course
they got money. I just couldn't see them parting with it for anything sensible. And another thing, women who earn their living on their backs, believe it or not, aren't very physical.

‘Well?' the stranger said.

‘Shut up. I'm thinking about it.'

‘Don't take all night.'

‘Who the fuck are you anyway?' I said.

‘You can call me Bella,' she said. ‘And if you must know, I got a little boy and a grandfather to support, and I can't make much of a job of it hanging around outside your gate while you scratch your great thick head.'