DEVIL IN HIS HEART by Nick Quantrill

Nick takes a break from novel writing with the...


Devil In His Heart


Danny counted the money. Nodded to the BMW driver.

‘Quick hand job?’ the driver said.

Danny had heard the joke too many times. Just nodded and took the money. He threw soapy water onto the car, chased it around with his sponge. Danny glanced at the driver. He was on his mobile. It was like Danny didn’t exist. He hated dealing with people who think their own lives are so busy they don’t have the time to wash their own cars. They’ve plenty of time to drive out to this miserable industrial estate to watch me do it for them, though, he thought. He tapped the driver’s window, got his attention, and told him to drive forward. They were done. Danny watched the BMW drive away. Hated the man, even though he didn’t know him. But a job’s a job in this town. Especially when the town is a dying seaside resort. Even Hull was too far away to get to every day. Not that there were any jobs to be had there, either.

‘What time do you call this, man?’

Danny looked and nodded. Sheldon. ‘Just about done for the day,’ he said to him. Danny checked the time on his phone. The phone he wasn’t supposed to have on him when he was working. It was nearly knocking off time. Just needed the Latvians, or whatever they were, to turn up.

Sheldon sat down on one of the deckchairs next to him, passed him the newspaper. ‘Seen this? Is it that mate of yours?’

Danny read the report. A body had been found in a cave to the north of the town. Police were on the scene. The body had been there a while. It made sense. It was an isolated spot. You weren’t going to stumble across it by accident.

‘Here we go,’ shouted Sheldon, pointing to the Latvians. ‘Watch out, Ant and Dec are here.’

Danny stood up and passed them the keys. ‘Don’t forget to lock up when you’re finished, lads.’ They nodded back. They never spoke a single word.

***

‘Coming down the arcade for a bit, then?’ Sheldon asked.

‘Why not,’ said Danny. They left the industrial estate behind and walked down the main road towards the sea front.

‘Keep you away from Keeley for a bit, won’t it? Let her clear the mess up, I reckon. It’s her kid after all.’

‘It was a decent party, though.’ Jo-Jo’s seventh birthday. Danny had loved it. It had been a great morning. Pass the parcel and all the other games he’s played when he was a kid. It was a shame he had to leave to go to work.

‘If watching a load of screaming kids running around the place is your bag, it was alright,’ Sheldon said. ‘Couldn’t wait to get out of there.’

‘It’s called growing up. It can’t always be about you.’

Sheldon laughed. ‘It’s always about me.’

‘Can’t believe Jo-Jo was dressed up like that, though.’ Danny said. False nails and make-up on. Seven years old. Who does that to a kid? ‘I nearly said something to her.’ If Jo-Jo was his, he’d have drawn the line. You’ve got to have standards. Not that Keeley would have listened to him.

***

Mid-October. The sea front was desolate. Only the hardcore were left in town. Even the residents had more sense and stayed indoors. Even the faded soap-stars had packed up and left the crumbling theatre now the summer season had finished, no doubt touting for panto work by now. Most of the shops were shut, mothballed until next year. Only a handful of arcades and fast food places stayed open to entertain the local kids. All that was left was middle-aged couples walking their dogs on the beach. And even the dogs looked bored.

Danny and Sheldon walked into ‘Big Fun Arcade’, Sheldon’s place of employment. Danny looked around. It was quiet. Groups of teenagers huddled around the machines, watching each other play, but always keeping an eye on what was going on around them. One of them eyeballed Danny. He turned away. Didn’t need the bother.

‘Don’t worry about them,’ Sheldon said. ‘They’re looking for me.’

Before Danny could reply, the arcade owner appeared and took Sheldon aside. Vince Taylor, or Violent Vince as he was known around the town. Danny watched as they spoke out of earshot. Sheldon nodded his head, agreeing with what was said. Once Violent Vince had left the arcade, Sheldon beckoned Danny over. Danny watched him get set up in the money changing booth. People would give you a pound coin, you pressed a button and it came out in silver of copper. Your choice. It wasn’t much of a job. But it was a job.

Sheldon smiled. ‘Thinks if he clicks his fingers, I’ll come running.’

‘He’s your boss.’

‘In his dreams he is.’

Darren knew you didn’t mess with Violent Vince. Not in this town. Everyone knew that. Even Sheldon knew that.

Sheldon raised his eyebrows, signalling to Danny that he should leave. Danny turned around. One of the teenagers had wondered across the room. Taking the hint, Danny stepped aside and watched as Sheldon took the money. A ten pound note. No money was handed back. But a small package was. What else was there to do in this town? The teenager shuffled off back to his gang.

Danny walked back to the booth. ‘I thought you’d stopped all that?’

Sheldon shrugged. ‘Need the money, man.’

‘Vince will go mental.’

‘He’s too busy making money elsewhere. He won’t care. Besides, I don’t sell to the tourists, do I? It’s only a couple of joints being sold to kids, isn’t it? Look, give us a fiver.’

‘Why?’

‘Just give us one.’

Danny rummaged around in his pocket. Took the note out. Last one until payday. Still three days away. Keeley was whinging this morning that there was nothing in the house. Like it was all his fault. He did his best. He’d taken the job at her Dad’s car wash. He was making the effort. Maybe less time and money spent dressing the kid up like a doll and more spent looking for a job herself and things might be different. He handed the fiver over to Sheldon.

Sheldon pressed some buttons, handed the coins back to Danny.

Danny counted them. Ten. He looked at Sheldon. Sheldon pointed to a fruit machine, right at the end of the arcade. ‘Have a go on that one. I’ve got a feeling it’s your lucky day.’

‘What makes you say that, then?’ Danny asked.

Sheldon just smiled. ‘Give it a go.’

Danny walked over to the machine. Sheldon left the booth and followed. Danny put the first pound coin in. It lit up. ‘Look,’ he said, laughing. ‘I was right. Who'd have thought it?’ He walked back to his booth, shouted ‘We’ll share the money. You need to get out of that car washing business, mate. Waste of time. Leave it to Ant and Dec. It’s for mugs. This is where the money is.’

***

Danny waited for the end of Sheldon’s shift. Spent some time just walking, the cold air from the sea slapping his face as he walked. He liked that. Cleared the head and no mistake. It was grim, but it was home. He’d used some of the fruit machine winnings to buy a burger. What Keeley didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. He sat outside of the arcade until Sheldon joined him.

‘How much did you make, then?’ Sheldon asked.

They started walking. Danny took the coins out his pocket. ‘Jackpot.’

Sheldon took half the coins out of his hand. ‘Told you, didn’t I. The leisure and tourism industry is the one to be in. Suits me right down to the ground.’

They turned down a small road, behind the arcade. A cut through back to the town. Danny stopped and let Sheldon move ahead. The transit van was in place, back doors wide open, engine running. Violent Vince stood at the side of the van. ‘I think we need a chat, Sheldon,’ he said. ‘Get in.’ Sheldon got in.

Danny nodded to Vince. A job’s a job in this town. You’ve got to do what you can to do to earn some extra. Especially when you’ve got a kid at home who’s seven going on seventeen. He zipped his coat up and shuddered. The caves were probably cold at this time of the year.


BIO:
Nick Quantrill is a crime writer from Hull. His debut novel, 'Broken Dreams', was published by Caffeine Nights, March 2010. For more information - www.hullcrimefiction.co.uk

SIDE ORDERS by Nick Quantrill

Side Orders – A Joe Geraghty story.

‘Ahmet’s paranoid, man.’
I turned to Darren and shrugged. Ignoring him, I continued looking out of the car window and into the Hull night, the city flashing by. ‘You’ve been robbed twice this week’ I said. It had just turned midnight. People were staggering home, the streets slowly emptying, but plenty of drunks still wanted their fix of fast food.
‘Bad luck, Joe. That’s all. It happens.’ Darren laughed. ‘It’s cool to have a bodyguard, though.’
‘I guess so.’ It’d make a good story down the pub, if nothing else.
‘People will you rob you of anything, even ten quid’ he said. ‘It’s not that unusual.’
‘How does it work?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The robberies.’
‘You’ve got to report back to Ahmet, right?’
I nodded and then yawned. ‘Later tonight.’
‘Anything to make a living?’
‘It’s not all glamour’ I said. The car stank of garlic bread and kebabs. It was enough to turn your stomach. It was my turn to laugh. ‘In fact, there’s no glamour at all.’
‘I could fancy being a PI’ Darren said.
We were driving around Hull in a modified yellow Fiat Punto, dance music hammering out. Discretion was likely to be a problem for Darren.
‘It’s not all it’s cracked up to be’ I said.
‘It’d be great, man. We could even work together, once I’ve got my shit together. I’m not going to be delivering pizza forever.’
‘Good for you.’ I asked him again. ‘How does it work?’
‘Just bad luck, man. I’ve been jumped twice, some bloke with a knife. It happens. I just give him the money.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s the best thing to do, isn’t it? If you don’t cause them any trouble, they’ll leave you alone.’
We pulled up outside the delivery address. Darren switched the music off and lent into the back of the car to pick out the boxes he needed. ‘Here we go, then’ he said.
I closed the passenger door and stood at the top of the pathway. I watched Darren knock on the door and hand the food over. I was on my guard, looking around, but there was nobody about, nobody lurking in the shadows. I looked across to Darren, who was counting out the customer’s change, sharing a joke with the man. I watched him unsuccessfully try to angle his body away from me. My heart sank as I watched him take a small plastic bag from his pocket and hand it over with the pizza.

‘Joe, my friend.’ Ahmet beamed at me and moved forwards, covering me in a bear hug. He was massive; twenty stone at least and his terrible skin bore testament to working long hours in a kitchen. ‘How is my friend, Don?’
‘Don’s good’ I said. Don, my partner, would be tucked up in bed, I thought. Not that I begrudged him that. He didn’t need the hassle at his age. It was horses for courses. Don had the contacts to bring work into the agency. I had the energy and stomach for the work.
‘I appreciate what you are doing for me. You and Don are true friends to me.’
‘Not a problem, Ahmet.’ I knew when Don told me about the job it was going to be long hours and potentially dangerous. It was more a personal favour. Don and Ahmet went back years.
I watched Darren walk over to the woman stood next to the till.
‘His sister’ Ahmet explained.
I nodded and looked around. The takeaway was still busy. A handful of small groups sat waiting for their food, shouting and laughing about the night’s escapades. At least some people had enjoyed their night. Behind the counter, Ahmet had two members of staff preparing the food. One was stood quietly at the kebab skewer, shaving thin strips of meat into a large vat. Ahmet took me through to the back of the shop. Closing the door to his office behind us, he sat down behind his desk, the noise and heat disappearing instantly.
‘Did you have any trouble tonight, Joe?’
‘Not as such.’
‘No one attempted to steal from Darren?’
‘No.’
‘Then that is good.’ He looked relieved. ‘I would still like you to continue for a while longer, if you are able to.’
I moved a pile of invoices off a chair and sat down. ‘There might be a problem with Darren, though.’
Ahmet shook his head. ‘Darren is such a good worker. He worked for my brother for a long time. Gus was always telling me Darren was such a hard worker. An honest man. I am very lucky that I could persuade him and his sister to work for me instead.’
So much for Darren’s bigger ambitions, I thought. I told him what I’d seen earlier that night.
Ahmet looked worried. He must have known how much trouble this could bring him. ‘We must sort this tonight, Joe’ he said to me.

‘I still cannot believe this, Joe’ Ahmet said to me. ‘It’s not the Darren I know. I have never had such trouble in all the twenty years I have been in this business.’
I turned the heater up in the car and continued to watch. Following Darren was easy. His car stood out, even in the dark. It helped that Ahmet was in touch with the shop, so we knew exactly where the deliveries were heading to. The first two drop offs went as normal and from the car it was impossible to see whether Darren added any side orders to the deliveries. We watched him get back in his car and set off towards the next address. I listened as Ahmet called the shop to check in. Knowing the address, I eased off and headed there using a different route.
Ten minutes later I was pointing at Darren. ‘There he is’ I said, switching the engine off. We parked a couple of cars behind Darren’s Punto and looked up at the tower-block. A handful of lights were still on, but the area was quiet; the kind of place which invited fear. The kind of place where anyone could ring and order food, give a random address and intercept you on the stairs.
‘I still cannot believe Darren is doing what you say’ Ahmet said to me.
I said nothing. Takeaway delivery was the perfect cover for selling drugs, whether Ahmet wanted to face up to it or not. We watched Darren press the buzzer on the communal door. He stood back until he got a response. Speaking into the intercom, he shook his head and started to walk away, the pizzas still in his hand.
‘What is that?’ Ahmet asked.
I leaned forward. A figure had emerged from the shadows. We weren’t far away and could see the knife. I was straight out of the car, running towards them. If I’d thought about what I was doing, I would have stayed in the car.
‘Alright, Darren?’ I asked, standing between them.
The guy holding the knife turned to me. ‘I suggest you fuck off, mate.’
‘Can’t do that’ I said, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt. He was a teenager, not much than a kid. He was scared but he didn’t want me to see the fear I knew he was feeling.
‘The police are coming’ said Ahmet, eventually catching up. His breathing was heavy and laboured. He wasn’t in shape for running. ‘I have called them.’
‘Put the knife down’ I said to the teenager. I made sure there was plenty of distance between us. ‘Just calm down.’
‘Fuck’s sake.’ The kid’s hand was unsteady, the situation spiralling out of his control. ‘This was supposed to be easy.’
‘It still can be’ I said. ‘Just walk away.’
‘Can’t.’
‘Course you can. The police aren’t going to be here for a while yet.’
‘No.’
‘Be on your way, son.’ We all turned towards the newcomer to the scene. The man was even bigger than Ahmet, but definitely family.
Ahmet shook his head. ‘Gus?’
‘Good evening, gents.’
I turned to Ahmet, looking for an explanation.
‘This is my brother’ he said, looking away from me.
I didn’t like what I was hearing.
‘Ahmet is my brother’ Gus said, holding his hand out to me, ‘and my business rival.’ ‘I swear to you, Joe, I didn’t know about this’ Ahmet said to me. ‘I wouldn’t have asked Don to send you if I had known the truth.’
I turned to Gus. ‘The robberies were your idea?’
‘I’m not proud of it’ he said ‘but yes, I had to send Ahmet a message. I cannot tolerate his behaviour in stealing my staff.’
I shook my head and turned to Darren, understanding the set-up. ‘You were in on it, weren’t you?’
Darren put the pizzas down. ‘I needed the money, man.’
‘For your bigger plans?’
He said nothing.
‘It’s not Darren’s fault’ said Gus. He turned to his brother and pointed. ‘If he could have just left my staff alone, none of this would have needed to happen.’
It started to make sense. ‘Darren’s sister would ring you, wouldn’t she’ I said ‘tell you where to send your man with the knife? Make it look like a robbery?’
Gus nodded. ‘Yes. She is loyal to me. She only left because Darren had his head turned by my brother. She wishes to return to my employment. As does Darren, really.’
Easy pickings, I thought. No wonder Darren was so relaxed about the situation. He was never in any danger. I wondered how many times he thought he’d be able to turn the trick before calling it a day. He probably thought he was bullet proof but your luck has to turn eventually. I heard police sirens in the distance. Turning to Ahmet, I told him there was no need for me to be here. He could sort out Darren’s side orders business if he wanted to. I wasn’t interested. The night was cold and I was tired. I’d tell Don to raise an invoice tomorrow. I put my hands in my pockets and headed back to the car.

BIO:

Nick Quantrill's novel, 'Broken Dreams,' featuring Private Investigator, Joe Geraghty, will be published by Caffeine Nights, late 2009. For more info, take a look here:
www.myspace.com/hullcrimefiction

SUCKER PUNCH - by Nick Quantrill

A huge TKnC welcome for Hull's main crime writer, Nick, introducing the P.I. from his forthcoming novel, BROKEN DREAMS...

SUCKER PUNCH

I tried not to flinch in my chair as the punches landed. One after another. Relentless. The taller boxer was on top. A left hook connected with his opponent’s nose, which exploded on impact. Those nearest the ring were on their feet, encouraging the fighters to continue. Another left hook landed, quickly followed by a sharp right. The combination rocked the smaller fighter and forced him backwards, and onto the defensive. And then it happened. The smaller man sprung forward, and with one vicious swipe of his right hand, sent the taller man sprawling onto the canvas. The crowd went silent for a brief moment. Even the winning boxer looked surprised.

A click of the remote and the television screen faded to black. A drink was placed in front of me. I didn’t want alcohol at this time of the day.
‘What do you think?’
I turned to Burrows, not sure what I was expected to say. ‘Looks like it was a good fight.’
Burrows laughed. ‘Not from where I was sitting. It costs me a lot of time and money to organise that fight.’
I swallowed the alcohol, forcing it down, not sure why he’d called me to his office. I didn’t want the job. I didn’t have a choice.
‘The tall lad is called Jordan. He’s fought for me a few times. Not a bad fighter as it goes, but as you can see, he lacks ring craft. He’s got a punch, but he’s not really going anywhere. Too many flaws. You were a rugby player, weren’t you?’
I nodded.
‘You’ll understand there are certain things you can’t coach into people, then. They’ve either got it or they haven’t. It’s about natural talent. The point is, Joe, I can’t do any more for Jordan, so we came to an arrangement.’
He left it hanging there, forcing me to ask what the arrangement was.
‘I’m a man who cares, so when I have to part company with someone, I make sure they’re well looked after.’
Burrows reeked of insincerity. I knew of him by reputation but this was the first time I’d met him. One of his men had collected me from my office. I was hired. End of discussion.
‘There’s a problem, though.’ He flicked the fight back on and searched for the final punch. We watched it again in silence. ‘I’m told you’re good, Joe. Probably the best in this city.’ He forced me to meet his stare. ‘Jordan took a dive and cost me a lot of money. And as the bookmaker, I think I’m entitled to a few answers. Now I can’t find him.’

I’d left Burrows office with a list of Jordan’s known haunts and a couple of hundred pounds in my pocket. I’d get the same again if I found my man. The nearest place on the list was a boxing club on the edge of the city centre. I decided to walk there, feeling like I needed the fresh air. The club was situated in the loft of an old warehouse. Downstairs was a fitness gym. I assumed the club had little spare money. The room was dominated by a tired looking ring. Two teenagers were sparring and feeling each other out in front of a watchful coach and small crowd of other boxers.
‘Help you?’
I turned around. He was in his early sixties, but he was still in good shape and I had no wish to mess with him.
I passed him a business card and introduced myself. ‘I hope so. I’m looking for someone.’
‘Yeah?’
‘I need to speak to Jordan.’
‘He doesn’t have anything to do with us anymore. He left a while back.’
‘I was told he did.’
‘I’m telling you he doesn’t.’
‘Fair enough.’ I looked around the club. ‘Nice place you’ve got here.’
‘And it’ll be staying that way.’ He introduced himself as Bill Armstrong. ‘I opened this place over thirty years ago to give teenagers somewhere to go, something positive to do. I got nothing given to me, so I built it up over the years by myself. I’ve even produced some good boxers over the years. Some have gone on to bigger and better things. It’s a shame Jordan’s gone down this road. I thought he was really going to kick on, but the lad he was fighting the other night, Shane, he was something else. He could really have pulled up some trees.’ He stared at me. ‘I assume Burrows sent you?’
I nodded. ‘I need a quick word with Jordan, get last week’s fight straightened out.’
The man laughed. ‘It’s unlicensed boxing. Things happen. You take your chances in that kind of game. I understand the attraction of it for people like Jordan, but it’s not something I approve of or encourage my fighters to get involved in. It’s a dangerous game.’ He paused and stared at me. ‘For everyone.’

It didn’t take me long to find Jordan. I sat in the pub opposite his flat with a newspaper and waited it out. He had to go home at some point. It seemed the most likely option on the list of potential places. He wouldn’t be looking out for me. He sat down in the corner, watching Sky Sports News, well away from the front door. I’d done my job, but I held off making the call to Burrows. I walked across to Jordan and sat down.
‘Alright?’ I said.
He looked like he was going to run, but I’d angled my chair to block his only escape route.
‘Who are you?’ he asked me.
‘I need to talk to you.’
‘Touch me and I’ll go to the police.’
‘I’m not going to touch you.’ His face was a mess from the fight.
He looked younger in the flesh. On the fight footage I couldn’t see the acne or the wispy facial hair. Still a teenager.
‘I know who sent you’ he said.
‘He needs to speak to you.’
‘About the fight?’
I nodded.
‘I can’t talk to him.’
I said nothing. I wanted to walk away, but I knew Burrows would hold me responsible. I’d been warned at the boxing club. Unlicensed boxing was a dangerous game and I didn’t want to be involved. ‘He won’t go away’ I said. ‘It needs to be dealt with.’
‘I know.’
I saw a tear in his eye.
‘I’m scared.’
‘I know you are.’
‘I hate those fights. Everyone’s stood right up close to you, shouting at you. You can’t hear yourself think and it gets so hot. Part of me wishes I was back in Billy’s gym, doing it the right way, but it’s gone too far for that now. If I fight, it’s for people like Burrows. I hate it. I hate what I’ve become.’ He paused. ‘You need to speak to Shane.’

Jordan called Shane on his mobile and he joined us five minutes later.
‘That was quick’ I said. Shane’s face was in a similar state to Jordan’s.
‘I’m staying in Jordan’s flat until this blows over’ he said.
‘Until what blows over?’
Shane shrugged. ‘Burrows was going mental after the fight, so we got out of the place. I got a text message from a mate at the gym telling me he was looking for me.’
‘Looking for you?’
‘That’s right.’
‘I didn’t realise you two are friends.’
They both nodded.
‘It was just a fight’ Shane said. ‘Nothing personal.’
I gave Jordan a note from the bundle I had and told him to buy us all some drinks. I waited for him to leave. ‘Unlicensed boxing?’ I said to Shane. ‘And Burrows?’
He shrugged. ‘I need the money.’
‘I spoke to Bill at the club. He said you were a good boxer. You don’t need to be doing this.’
‘I don’t have a choice.’
‘Of course you do.’ Any sport requires dedication if you’re going to do it at a high level, but it’s the price of the ticket. ‘Why don’t you go back to the club?’
‘There’s no point.’
‘Why not? You can start again, work your way back up?’
‘I can’t. I’m diabetic.’

Jordan put the drinks on the table.
‘I was good, wasn’t I’ Shane said to Jordan. ‘A couple of years ago, I could really fight.’
Jordan nodded.
‘It was going well. I was clearing up at junior level and I had a chance of making it as a pro. Bill was going to put me in touch with some people who could sort me out.’
‘Burrows?’
He shook his head. ‘Proper boxing people. A proper manager.’
‘But the diabetes stopped that?’
He nodded. ‘It’s not easy to fight professionally with it. It’s a big hassle and nobody would touch me now I’ve got it. I’m damaged goods.’
I sympathised with him. My rugby career had been ended by injury when I was barely out of my teens ‘So you turned to unlicensed boxing?’
‘It’s not illegal.’
‘I know it’s not.’
‘I’ve got debts to pay. I need to earn some money and all I know is how to fight. There’s no jobs about, anyway.’
Fair point. ‘How did you end up fighting for Burrows?’
‘He runs all the unlicensed stuff in the area. Billy wasn’t able to help me anymore, so I went to see Burrows, told him what my position was like. Said I needed the work.’
‘And he signed you up?’
‘He’s always looking for new fighters.’
I didn’t know much about unlicensed boxing but it was obviously going to be more dangerous. I knew I’d be wasting my breath. He needed to fight.
We drank up in silence. I suggested we go back to their flat.

‘How did you end up fighting each other?’ I asked. I’d moved the newspapers and cans until there was space to sit on the settee.
‘Burrows told us we had to’ Jordan said.
Shane nodded. ‘Since we were kids. We practically live together like a married couple nowadays.’
I mulled it over and got down to business. ‘Why did you throw the fight, Jordan?’
Jordan looked terrified. ‘I didn’t throw no fight.’
‘Burrows says you did.’
He looked at Shane. ‘I wouldn’t throw a fight, would I?’
‘Course not. We’re proper fighters.’
‘Why would Burrows tell me you’d thrown it?’
Jordan slumped back further into chair. ‘He’s mentioned it to me before. He said it was the only way I’d make some money because he was thinking of getting rid of me.’
‘Why would he get rid of you?’
He shrugged. ‘Don’t know. It’s his business.’ He leant towards me. ‘You’ve got to tell him I didn’t throw the fight. I wouldn’t do that.’
I doubted Burrows would listen. I looked up as Billy walked into the flat. He unzipped his jacket and sat down with us. ‘I take it you’ve all got yourselves into a spot of bother?’

Billy sat there silently as I explained what had happened. And that the overriding problem of Burrows.
‘Throwing unlicensed fights?’ Billy looked appalled, but I suspected not too surprised. ‘Is that what it’s come to? If you needed money, Jordan, you only had to ask. I would have found you something. I always need people at the gym. Anything so you didn’t have to mix it with the likes of Burrows.’
Both Shane and Jordan were shaking their heads. ‘We wouldn’t do that to you, Billy’ Shane said.
‘I didn’t throw the fight’ Jordan repeated.
‘Neither did I’ said Shane.
I looked at both of the fighters. ‘I believe you. Both of you.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Billy.
‘Jordan didn’t throw the fight’ I said.
‘Why is Burrows looking for him, then?’ asked Billy.
‘Because he knew Shane wouldn’t be far away. He’s the one Burrows really wants.’
We all turned to Shane. ‘I didn’t throw the fight.’ He looked away from us. ‘I didn’t get the chance. I was supposed to go down in the third. It wasn’t meant to happen. I didn’t mean to put Jordan down.’
It would have been an unpleasant surprise for Burrows. An expensive one, seeing as he was the bookmaker and organiser. Shane was the one with the talent, the youth champion. I assumed most of the punters would have been betting on him winning. Maybe he wasn’t able to help himself. Maybe he got lucky. Either way, one punch was enough to bring the fight to an end. It could happen. I looked at Billy. ‘Can you sort this?’
He nodded. ‘I run a gym full of the city’s finest boxers. I can sort it.’ He paused. ‘I could use some new equipment for the gym, though.’
I smiled and took the money I’d got from Burrows out of my pocket. Passed it to him. ‘Will that cover it?’
He counted it before putting it in his pocket. ‘Perfect. I guess sucker punches can come in many forms, Mr Geraghty.’

BIO:
Nick Quantrill's creation, Joe Geraghty, stars in BROKEN DREAMS published by Caffeine Nights in December 2009.
http://www.hullcrimefiction.co.uk