A Fistful of Knuckles

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: WIRED

Sunday evening. A wretched, grey evening was settling over the city, against which Terry Barnard’s Fairground hurled out its lights and noise and music as if raging against the dying of the light.

From inside an unmarked car parked on the very edge of the open ground where the fairground was pitched, Sam peered through a rickety pair of police binoculars. Beside him, in the front passenger seat, sat Ray; squeezed together in the back were Chris, Annie, and Spider.

‘Business as usual at the fair,’ said Sam, surveying the scene. ‘Looks like a few bits and pieces are already being packed up — the fair moves on tomorrow morning, first thing.’ He scanned across. ‘There it is! The arena for the fight.’

He passed the binoculars to Ray, who squinted through them, nervously chewing his gum.

‘Away to the left — four caravans, parked up into a square,’ said Sam.

‘I see ‘em, Boss.’

Ray offered the binoculars to Spider, but Spider made no move to take them; he was as silent and withdrawn as before, focused in on himself, utterly self-contained. In contrast, Chris was bouncing in his seat excitedly, his head full of 007 and daring commando raids. He grabbed the binoculars and mucked about with the focus.

‘This is hopeless!’ he whined. ‘Why can I see two lots of everything?’

‘Try it with one eye closed,’ said Ray.

‘I don’t want to do it with one eye closed,’ Chris complained. ‘They’re binocs. You do binocs with both eyes. You don’t see James Bond doing binocs with one eye, do you? You think he’d pull all them birds doing binocs with one eye?’

Ignoring him, Sam turned to Ray: ‘You’ve got the receiver ready to go?’

‘Aye, boss.’

Ray produced the bulky receiver from beneath the passenger seat and twiddled the knobs. Feedback howled out of the loudspeaker grill, making everybody wince — even Spider — and Ray instantly switched it off.

‘Well, at least that shows it’s got batteries,’ said Sam. He fidgeted with the microphone taped uncomfortably to his chest. ‘Are you sure it’s not obvious I’m wired?’

‘Dead sure, boss,’ said Ray. ‘Honest, you can’t see a thing.’

‘Annie? Tell me.’

‘He’s right, boss,’ said Annie, leaning forward. ‘You’d never know.’

‘You guys had better be right,’ said Sam, arranging his shirt over the mic. ‘If Patsy spots this wire, I’m in trouble.’

‘We’ll be hanging on every word, boss,’ Ray assured him. ‘First hint of trouble, we’ll be right there.’

‘But that’s just it, Ray, I don’t want any trouble. We don’t want any trouble. Let’s get through this evening with as little violence as possible, okay? And that goes for you, Spider. This isn’t a fight. It’s a police operation. You’re not going up against Patsy, you’re there to provoke him into saying something incriminating. Right?’

Spider stared straight ahead.

‘I said right, Spider?’

After a few moments, Spider nodded, very curtly, just once.

‘Chris, give the binocs to Annie.’

‘I’m still playing with them,’ murmured Chris, holding down one eyelid with his finger.

‘Chris!’

Reluctantly, Chris handed them over.

‘Patsy’s caravan is right over there,’ said Sam, indicating where Annie should look. ‘It’s easy to pick out because it’s spotless. Little net curtains on the windows. Flowers in the vases.’

‘I see it,’ said Annie, and then to Chris: ‘You’ve left these binocs all sweaty.’

‘I’m excited!’ Chris said, bouncing in his seat. ‘Undercover operations, they get me going!’

‘The distance between where I’ll be in the arena and Patsy’s caravan is no more than a hundred and fifty yards,’ said Sam. ‘I’ll keep Patsy preoccupied for as long as possible — but if he decides to suddenly head home, you’re not going to get much warning, Annie. You’ve got to be ready to get the hell out of there at the drop of a hat, with or without Tracy.’

‘We’ll be watching all the time,’ said Ray, looking over his shoulder at Annie. ‘Don’t you fret, luv.’

‘I’m not fretting,’ said Annie, passing back the binocs. ‘I’m just hoping Tracy’s actually at home.’

‘She will be,’ said Sam. ‘Patsy keeps her on a very tight leash. Speaking of which, mind out for the Rottweiler he’s got chained up right outside his door. It’ll have your hand off.’

‘A Rottweiler? Now you tell me!’

‘It’s no worries dealing with a Rotty,’ put in Ray. ‘The secret is to grab its back legs.’

Sam pulled a face that said you’re talking bollocks, Ray, but Ray ignored him and carried on.

‘Grab the back legs and hoik ‘em off the ground. Don’t, whatever you do, go anywhere near the front end.’

‘That’s the end with teeth,’ Chris added helpfully.

‘Lift the rear legs and start walking backwards,’ Ray went on. ‘Your Rotty’ll be too busy trying to keep balance on his front legs to bite you. I’ve seen it done. It’s the biz.’

‘Sounds like grabbing the tiger by the tail,’ said Annie, looking anxious. ‘You’re okay until you let go. And sooner or later you’ve got to let go.’

‘Not the tail, the legs,’ Chris corrected her. ‘Rotty’s ain’t got much of a tail. It’s more like the last bit of a sausage. Ain’t that right, Ray?’

‘Don’t sweat, luv,’ said Ray, winking at Annie. ‘You won’t be on your own. Like I say, me and Chris’ll be keeping a close on eye on you.’ And quietly, to Sam, man-to-man, Ray added: ‘We’ll be keeping a close on eye on her, Guv.’

Sam glanced round at Annie. She gave him an expression that reassured him: it’s okay, her face said. I’ll look after myself. Everything’ll be fine.

‘I just want to say one more thing,’ he said, looking from one face to another. ‘We’re dealing with a dangerous man here tonight. The safety of all of us rests on us working together as a team. Every single one of us must be constantly thinking of the others. Spider, are you listening?’

Spider nodded, but still said nothing.

‘Pity the guv ain’t here,’ said Ray, feeding a stick of Juicy Fruit into his mouth.

‘Yes, it’s a pity,’ said Sam. ‘But he’s not here, and we are. So stay alert, and stay vigilant, and between us we’ll make the guv jealous he was loafing around in a hospital bed instead of on the front line with us guys. You with me?’

‘With you, Boss.’

Only Spider didn’t join in the chorus of support.

Sam checked his watch.

‘Time for me to go. As soon as Patsy leaves the caravan, Annie moves in and starts on Tracy. Ray, you pay close attention to what’s being said between me and Patsy; wait as long as you safely can before sending Spider over. We need to give Annie as much time with Tracy as we can.’

‘Wilco, boss.’

Sam turned to Spider: ‘I’ll see you in the arena, then. Good luck, Spider.’

No response. Spider sat, unblinking, like a waxwork.

‘Good luck everyone,’ Sam added, glancing once more at Annie.

‘Good luck, Boss.’

Sam clambered from the car, his heart starting to pound. Every beat seemed to hammer against the microphone taped to his chest, shoving it forward, betraying its presence. He resisted the urge to fidget with it. The secret was to forget about the damned thing’s existence entirely and concentrate on the role he was here to play; he was a bent copper, out to nab an innocent man and frame him for murder.

Striding confidently across the open ground, Sam looked up at the lights of the fairground as they flashed against the darkening sky. Lit up and sparkling, the Ferris wheel was turning. Sparks flickered from the bumper cars (from which Gene was banned, for life). Music pounded out. People screamed excitedly as the rollercoaster rattled by.

And then he looked at the caravans parked front-to-tail just on the fringe of the fair. A stone’s throw from the light and laughter and music and fun of the fair, violent men lurked in the shadows, preparing arenas of combat where they would clash and batter each other to pieces.

And here come two of those violent men now …

From the direction of the arena, Ponytail and Moustache-man came sauntering towards him, their shoulders back, chests stuck out.

Sam decided to affect a Gene Huntian arrogance. He maintained his brisk pace, aiming to stroll straight past them.

‘Evening, girls. You’re both looking ravishing tonight.’

Moustache-man blocked him. Sam side-stepped — and so did Moustache-man.

Forced to stop, Sam sighed and rolled his eyes: ‘All right, you fairies, what’s got your goat, mmm?’

Ponytail walked a slow circle around Sam, looking him up and down.

‘Checking me out for a bumming?’ Sam sneered. It wasn’t the best line in the world, but then again, he wasn’t addressing the most sophisticated of audiences. ‘Not my bag all that — but your friend with the tash looks up for it. Don’t you, Mildred.’

Out in the darkness, Sam caught a glimpse of Annie, picking her way along the very edge of the open ground, taking the long route round towards Patsy’s caravan. All at once, he felt an overwhelming sense of longing for her. Not a sexual longing, but a longing to be with her, just the two of them, somewhere safe and decent — a need to protect her against all the filth and hatred and violence of the world.

She’s a serving officer, she can protect herself.

But can she? Sam knew — he sensed, deep in his nervous system — that there were worse things out there in the darkness than knuckle-heads and Rottweilers.

Whatever it is out there, it has found its form in Patsy O’Riordan. Put O’Riordan away, for ever, and you’ve defeated it, Sam.

He stoked that thought in himself like he was stoking the embers of a fire. Sparks flew up. Flames leapt.

Defeat Patsy, and you defeat that Devil in the Dark … Defeat Patsy … Defeat Patsy …

And then, just as he felt his courage return and his resolve strengthen, he heard Ponytail say from directly behind him:

‘Open your shirt.’

‘I told, I’m not up for it.’

‘I said open your shirt. Or we’ll open it for you.’

Sam’s heart was racing. But he affected total cool when he turned slowly and fixed Ponytail with a straight look.

‘I came here in good faith,’ he said.

‘Then prove you’re not wired.’

‘And why the hell would I be wired? I’m not here for Patsy, I’m here for that freak Spider.’

‘Then open your shirt.’

‘You don’t trust me? If you don’t trust me, then I don’t trust you. And if I don’t trust you, then tonight’s off. I’m out of here.’

‘Open your shirt.’

Sam forced himself to laugh: ‘You don’t have much between your ears, do you! Either of you! I’m a copper, you dopes! You two turnips mess me about and I can have you both banged up and buggered from here till bloody doomsday. So — if you don’t mind — I have business to attend to with Mr O’Riordan. So naff off, the pair off you.’

He turned and pushed past Moustache-man — and the moment he did, he felt strong hands clamping themselves on him. At once, Sam felt his police training kick in. It was instinctual, completely beneath the level of conscious thought. He struck hard at the edge of Ponytail’s wrist, right on the bone, dislodging the hand from where it gripped his jacket. At the same time, he ducked back, giving himself space.

‘If you can fight with only one hand, do so,’ they had taught him, years ago (or rather, years from now). ‘Always keep one hand free — across your chest, across your stomach, tensed and ready to fend off a blow or an incoming blade.’

Ponytail had clutched his hand, indignant at the pain Sam had inflicted. Moustache-man came lumbering forward, both fists clenched, leaning forward like a silverback gorilla.

‘Keep your feet planted wide — a good, solid stance — mind your balance — the last thing you want to do in a fight is find yourself flat on your face or flat on your arse …’

Sam aimed a kick, driving the heel of his boot into Moustache-man’s kneecap. The man howled and crashed forward, carried by his own suddenly shifted centre of gravity, and slammed face-first into the mud.

Without pausing, Sam span round to face Ponytail and instantly adopted a pose he recalled from the one and only Tai Chi class he had attended. Knees bent, left hand, claw-like, tucked against left shoulder; right hand outstretched in a fist, turning slowly on the axis of his arm. For good measure, he made a low, cat-like mewling in the back of throat:

‘Hiyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee — YAH!’

He thrust forward suddenly and inexpertly.

‘Look out, Joey, he’s Bruce bloody Lee!’ Ponytail howled, stumbling backwards, his fist raised but his whole stance one of imminent flight.

Moustache-man — Joey — picked himself up from the soggy ground, his face caked in mud. He limped anxiously away for a few steps, one hand on his knee, the other raised vaguely to fend off an attack.

Glaring fiercely, Sam took a step forward, crouching low and thrusting out his left hand instead of his right.

‘That’s right,’ he said, working hard to keep the fear out of his voice. ‘I’m a double black-belt Jedi Knight, taught by the great Master Yoda himself … and I can break every bone in your bodies just by looking at you …’

He chopped at the air and made oriental noises. It did the trick. Neither Ponytail nor Moustache-man would approach him, let alone touch him.

Recalling episodes of Kung Fu he’d seen as a kid, Sam slowly relaxed his posture, straightened up, placed his palms together and bowed his head. Such pose, such self-assurance, was even more unsettling than the violence. Perhaps this little man in a leather jacket really could break every bone in their bodies …

‘Now that we all trust each other again,’ said Sam, straightening his collar, ‘I’ll be on my way. I have business with Mr O’Riordan.’

He turned and started walking towards the arena of parked caravans. Behind him, at a safe distance, Patsy’s henchmen followed him.

Brain over brawn, Sam wanted to whisper into the microphone for Ray to hear. But he had too much sense to do something so reckless.