Tom Graham - Life on Mars - A Fistful of Knuckles

Gene span her round and yanked her arms up awkwardly behind her. She let out a cry – a cry of ecstatic pain.

‘Talk!’ Gene ordered. ‘Talk, you pervy slag. Or would you rather I turn you over to my colleague DI Tyler? He won’t treat you tough like this. Oh no. He’ll be soft and gentle. Very gentle.’

‘No!’ Stella cried.

‘He won’t lay so much as a finger on you. He’ll be patient, keeping his temper, treating you like a lady, with respect .’

‘No, please!’

‘Hour after hour of it! Cups of tea. Polite questioning. Playing it by the book. Never losing his rag – not once. Being nice !’

‘ Please! Don’t leave me alone with him!’

‘You don’t want the Tyler treatment? Then get talking!’

‘Denzil and Spider!’ Stella panted, struggling to speak through the delicious pain. ‘They grew up together. Spider used to stick up for Denzil when the other kids picked on him and called him a coon and all that. They got them tattoos done together, to show they were like … you know, blood brothers. They didn’t have no family, not really – just each other.’

‘Very touching,’ said Gene. ‘But this a murder enquiry, not This Is Your Life. I want to know who’d have a grudge against Denzil!’

‘Denzil and Spider got into the word of illegal bare knuckle fights when they were still just kids,’ Stella went on. ‘It was all they could do to survive. Between them, they went up against some right hard bastards … big-money fighters, real legends …’

‘Names! Names!’

‘Too many to mention!’

‘ Give me names !’

‘Lenny Gorman, Bartley Shaw, Patsy O’Riordan out of Kilburn. I could name a dozen others. Big men … real men … hard men …’ Her eyes glittered at the thought. ‘Any one of them could have had a grudge against Denzil.’

‘Why? Why would they have a grudge against Denzil?’

‘It’s what the underworld’s like,’ said Stella. ‘Fights that get fixed, fellas making off with winnings what aren’t theirs, blokes paid to bust other bloke’s hands. It’s the way it is. Betrayal and revenge. Denzil and Spider got involved in some pretty scummy business to earn themselves a crust. They were no different from anyone else in that world. Or in your world, Mr DCI Gene beautiful beautiful Hunt!’

‘Knock off the flattery and stick to the facts!’ snorted Gene, rewarding her compliment with a cuff round the ear that sent one of her dangly earrings flying off to join her missing stiletto.

‘They had a past, that’s no secret,’ Stella went on. ‘But they were good lads at heart. They were just trying to survive in a world that didn’t give a stuff about ‘em. And now boxing’s changing, offering a chance for boys like them to go legit, turn pro. They saw a chance to have a real life, a proper life, all above board and legal. That’s why they wound up at my gym. I got ‘em training under Dermot. He was Denzil and Spider’s mentor. I told ‘em, I said work hard, lads, do what Dermot tells you, and I’ll I see you meet all the right people, get real chances to make a go of it. But it looks like Denzil’s past caught up with him.’

‘And if someone’s settling an old score with Denzil, then odds on that they’ll want to settle it with Spider too.’

‘Most like,’ said Stella. ‘If I knew who it was, I’d tell you. I’d let you rough me up some more first, but I’d tell you.’

‘Aye, I think you would at that,’ said Gene, nodding to himself. ‘One more thing before we adjourn for scones and tea. We found a bullet in Denzil’s gob, unfired, shoved down after he died. What’s that all about?’

‘A sign,’ said Stella. ‘No, not a sign … more like a rebuke.’

‘A rebuke?’

‘Them boxers in the underworld – they’re bastards, but like all bastards they’ve got a code of honour. The only weapons they fight with are their fists. Anyone using guns or knives or baseball bats, they’re seen as … as disrespectful. Cowards. Not real men.’

‘So,’ mused Gene, his eyes narrowing. ‘At some point in his sordid past, Denzil Obi – and probably Spider along with him – got paid to give some bloke a straightener. And they used a weapon to do it, maybe a gun. And the bloke they walloped has either got a very aggrieved relative, or else he didn’t snuff it and is now feeling perky enough to go looking for revenge.’

‘And he carried out that revenge with his bare hands,’ put in Sam at last. ‘Denzil was punched to death. No weapon.’

‘Just a bullet down his wind pipe as if to say guns are for poofters ,’ said Gene. ‘Very poetic.’

‘I’ve told you everything I know,’ said Stella. ‘You’ll have to speak to Spider if you want more – but I don’t think he’ll talk to you.’

‘No. He didn’t seem very chatty,’ said Gene. ‘Where can we find him when he’s not at the gym?’

‘You’ll be able to slap his home address out of me, I promise you.’

‘Appreciated,’ said Gene, releasing her from his powerful grip. ‘Well, Angela, you’ve been very helpful in our enquiries. Thank you for your time and cooperation. You can put your shoe and earring back on now. I’ll leave one of my colleagues, Detective Sergeant Carling, to get that address from you. He’s the chap with the moustache, you might have glimpsed him on the way in here. You’ll like him. He’s pretty handy.’

‘But not a patch on you, I bet,’ said Stella, looking languidly up at him.

‘Few men are, luv. Few men are.’

And Gene, who was indeed some kind of a gentleman, offered her a post-interview cigarette.

Night was settling over Manchester, and the boys from CID had repaired to the fag-stained snug of the Railway Arms. After his session with Stella in the Lost & Found Room, Gene had worked up a majestic thirst; Ray, too, had earned himself a drink, having been obliged to slap Spider’s address out of her; and even Chris needed a stiff one, his innocent young eyes still goggling at the sights he had witnessed. Given all the giving and receiving of pleasure through violence going on in CID today, Sam half expected to hear the strains of Blue Velvet playing on the pub stereo – but no, it was just Steely Dan singing Do It Again .

‘It’s dem tursty coppers again!’ grinned Nelson from behind the bar. He turned up his West Indian accent to 10 for their benefit. ‘Is it de beer or de music or mah bee- oo tiful face dat keeps bringing you back in here?’

‘Beer, music, then face, Nelson, in that order,’ said Sam. ‘Don’t be offended.’

‘If you were four hot ladies sayin’ dat, den I’d be ahffended! What can I be gettin’ you boys?’

‘Four pints of best. God knows, we’ve earned them today.’

‘Makin’ dis city safer for de lahks of me – you surely have earned ‘em!’ Nelson beamed. He was really putting on his routine tonight. As he pulled the pints, he shot a glance at Gene: ‘Hey Mister DCI, you lookin’ lahk de cat what licked up aaall de cream!’

‘The guv’s in luv,’ smirked Ray. ‘He met the girl of his dreams today.’

‘There is a line, Raymond,’ intoned Gene. ‘I’d hate to see you cross it.’

‘She’s more your age than mine, Guv,’ Ray said, winking at Sam. ‘Hey Chris, if you don’t mind the guv’s leftovers maybe you’d like a go on her.’

‘Stella?! Give over, I’m no granny-sniffer!’ protested Chris.

‘She’d make a man of you.’

‘She’d make mincemeat of me!’ Chris cried. ‘I’m not into all that kinky stuff anyway.’