Free The Last Card by Kolton Lee Page B

turned to the clock.
    ‘T’ree … two … one … toime. Good job, Blood, good work out,son, you’re looking grand in dere.’ Blood helped a groggy H to his feet and then trotted over to Nick. Nick unstrapped his head guard. ‘You look as dough you’re about ready to me.’
    ***
    In the changing room H slumped down on a bench, his back against the wall. Using his teeth, he took his time unlacing the gloves. Beverley. Blood. Jesus Christ, what a day.
    H could hear his phone ringing from inside his locker. He didn’t care. As he sat, without making a move, the changing room door clattered open and Blood strode in carrying his T-shirt and gloves. H looked at his young body. It was ripped.
    ‘Hey, man, sorry about that out there. You know what Nick’s like, he gets carried away. He doesn’t mean anything.’
    ‘No problem.’ He said it but he didn’t mean it. It was a problem. Blood turned to one of the lockers and fiddled with the combination lock. H rose and slipped a small key from inside his sock and fitted it into the padlock on his own locker. His mobile was still ringing.
    ‘Who’re you fighting?’ asked H. Blood pulled out his wash bag. As he stripped off his shorts and trunks he turned to H with a grin.
    ‘Glen Patterson. Up in Sheffield, next Monday.’ He dropped to the bench to unlace his boots. Brand new Nikes. Glen Patterson was a seasoned pro fighting out of a gym in Wincobank, Sheffield, run by another displaced Irishman. His fighters were known for their defensive style and were notoriously difficult to beat.
    ‘Yeah, Patterson is ranked three in the division and he’s looking to get an easy win so he can make a charge for the top.’
    As a young fighter, Blood had already made a name for himself as a useful contender. Unnecessarily flashy, but useful. The flashiness meant the fight would draw a crowd and the crowd would make some noise. Patterson was probably banking on his experience and durability to wear his younger, less experienced opponent down. He’d earn a useful pay-day and grab some headlines that would add leverage to his request for a crack at the title.
    ‘What he doesn’t know is I’ve got something for his lilywhite arse.’ Blood stripped off his boots, rose and stalked naked as a jay-bird for the showers. ‘Dynamite in both hands. I’m the real deal, baby. Bam!’Blood threw a punch to emphasise his point. His laughter echoed round the showers.
    H shook his head. He couldn’t complain. Blood was H ten years ago. He opened up his locker. His mobile was still ringing. As he answered it he looked down at his own boxing boots. They were Nikes, but his were scuffed, the laces were frayed and the soles were worn as smooth as glass.
    ‘Hello?’
    ‘H?’
    ‘Blackie. What’s up?’
    ‘Me cool, man, me cool. Listen, dread, I wanted to t’ank you for de lickle trouble we ’ad de udder night, seen.’
    ‘No diggidy, no doubt. I just hope you managed to sort things out.’
    ‘Everyt’ing, cool man, me a sort it all out. I t’ink I gwan ’affu pay dem man de, still; but evert’ing else, me a work it out.’
    ***
    Wearing trainers, jeans and a leather biking jacket H left the gym. He carried his gear in his old leather holdall. As he hit the street he saw a champagne-pink BMW, a convertible with tinted windows parked opposite. He eyed it as he walked by. You didn’t see many of those on the Old Kent Road, and H wondered who it belonged to. The next moment his idle curiosity was resolved.
    ‘We meet again.’
    H turned. Facing him was the big, blonde guy who’d burst into Blackie’s the other night. Oh, shit.
    ‘In the car. I’ve got someone who wants to meet you.’
    As H assessed his agressor, deciding what to say, the back doors of the car opened and two large men stepped out. They didn’t look as though they meant to take ‘no’ for an answer.

8.
    N ina sat in a corner of White Alan’s office. Since the other night when she’d heard about Alan raping –