Things didn’t get better, nor did I see Maxine on Sunday night. She sent me a text saying she was caught up with work. A text, for Christ sake. I didn’t hear from her on Monday either, and I was damned if I was going to call. I read through all the papers instead. Gloomy news for the start of a week; yet another impassioned plea by some poor teenager’s mother for police to clean up the violence surrounding the nightclub precinct. Seems the kid had got himself kicked half to death and his life hung by a thread. Been a lot of bashings happening around King Street lately. Even Tiny had commented that it was getting out of hand, and he should know, he bounces there four nights a week.
My mobile sat silent until late afternoon, when it rang while I was in my study. I snatched at it, half expecting Maxine to call to apologise. Well, she ought to, shouldn’t she? Running out on me and cancelling yet another date.
It was Billy, wanting to know if we were still on for our regular weekly catch-up.
‘Sure Billy, I’ll drop by around half past four,’ I said.
I looked at my messages again. Fourth time today. You never know, I may have missed a call. Not from Maxine, that’s for sure. I pulled up her text from last night and re-read it. Che came in and rubbed against my leg.
‘That’s right, buddy. I’m officially back in sulk mode. If she wants to make contact then she can call me. There’s no way I’m gonna make the first move.’
Che gave me a supportive little chirp.
‘Too right. After all, a man’s gotta have some pride, right?’
I grabbed my keys, a jacket and my mobile, ready to go to Gino’s.
‘Well, maybe I’ll just send her a text. A little one. Let her know I don’t really care one way or the other.’
Che didn’t think it was a good idea. But I spent the best part of half an hour composing a non-committal response to Maxine’s text from yesterday. I must have drafted a dozen different answers before settling on a reply.
Got your message. Shame about work getting in the way. Let’s catch up later in the week when you’re free. XXX Punter.
Pathetic, really. I sent it anyway.
Half an hour later, I stood outside Gino’s and surveyed the damage from the weekend. The glazier still hadn’t got around to putting in a new window and the ugly steel shutters which had been there since midday on Sunday were still in place. Billy had told me he’d gone with a larger company, supposedly a twenty-four/seven service. They must have had more work than they could handle. I walked down a couple of shops to the milk bar. An identical story. Front window smashed in and awaiting a new one. Their shopfront looked even worse than mine, with the security shutters sticking out as if it were an old abandoned building. I walked back to Gino’s and rang the bell for Billy to let me in.
‘It’s a mess, isn’t it?’ I said.
Billy nodded his head in agreement. He had his hands around a chunk of garlic bread and was chewing a mouthful as I spoke. When he finished, I half expected another diatribe about the little misfits who were probably to blame. Instead he told me about a strange call he’d got earlier that afternoon.
‘The guy rang me out of the blue. I didn’t know what he was on about. Talking about Glenhuntly not being a safe neighbourhood anymore. That you couldn’t expect to watch your business every minute of the day. He told me there was an easier way and said there were a few businesses in the street using his services now.’
I cut Billy short; wasn’t quite sure if I was hearing him right.
‘Hang on, Billy, what was the guy selling?’
‘Well he was just offering to, you know, keep an eye on the shop for us.’
‘Keep an eye on it. How?’
‘He reckons for a small monthly fee he can look after us. Make sure Gino’s doesn’t get trashed.’
‘Is that right? And how much is this small monthly fee going to cost?’
‘That’s the good part!’ said Billy. He was at his enthusiastic best and must have sensed I was warming to the proposal. ‘He only wants a spot a month.’
‘Only a spot. How much you reckon the window’s going to set us back, two grand?’
‘More.’ Billy had the quote in his back pocket and pulled it out. ‘Twenty-three hundred plus GST.’
‘Well there you go, we’re already ahead. A spot a month is twelve hundred a year. The window’s twenty-three hundred. We’d be eleven hundred up, if he saves us a window a year.’
Billy positively beamed like he was the teacher’s pet. ‘So I can give him the go-ahead, then?’
I looked fondly at Billy. He was like a younger brother to me in some ways and I could certainly trust him like he was my own blood. But sometimes that trust was a little misguided.
‘No, Billy, we’re not going to avail ourselves of his services.’
‘We’re not?’
‘No. If he rings up again, you’re to tell him to piss off. We’re not interested in dealing with him.’
Billy’s eyes nearly popped out of his head in genuine surprise. He couldn’t follow my logic. ‘But . . . why would you wanna do that?’
‘Because I’d lay long odds on that he’s the one who smashed our window and everyone else’s in the street too. This guy’s running a protection racket.’
It took a moment for it to sink in and then when it finally dawned on him, Billy was appalled. ‘Shit, he can’t go round doin’ things like that. We should tell the cops.’
‘Billy, the police aren’t going to put a twenty-four-hour guard up to watch our windows. Sure, they’ll listen to our suspicions about this guy offering his dubious security services and go through the motions of an investigation, but he’s too clever to get caught kicking in our window with a divvy van parked across the street. Let’s call his bluff. See what happens. Hey, come out to the van with me, I’ve got something for you.’
Outside, I reached into the back of the van and passed him the rolled-up poster that Billco had painted.
‘What’s that?”
‘A little Christmas surprise for Gino’s. God knows it needs some cheering up.’
On Tuesday I’d still not heard from Maxine.
I went out to Sandown in the afternoon. Watched a few races, stayed to see how one of my father’s two-year-olds performed and then left early without even having a bet. George was still manning the gates with his plastic Salvation Army collections bucket when I walked out. I put some loose coins in as I passed.
‘Thanks, Punter. You calling it quits already?’
‘A slow day, George.’
‘Sometimes a feast, other times a famine, huh?’
‘How they fall, so shall they go.’
‘That’s poetic.’
I shrugged. ‘No sense betting on bad races, George.’
On the way out Billy called me on the mobile.
‘Punter, that bloke called.’
‘Which bloke?’
‘The one you said to tell to piss off.’
‘And did you?’
‘Fuckin’ oath I did.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He said I shouldn’t be too hasty. That Glenhuntly’s shopping strip had got a bad name for vandalism and you never knew when to expect trouble. He reckoned he’d touch base again in case I changed my mind.’
‘I’ll bet he will.’
‘Punter, did I handle him good?’ asked Billy, a touch apprehensively.
‘You did good, Billy, real good.’
‘Oh by the way, the window’s all fixed now. Good as new. And I gotta tell you, that poster is unbelievable! I’ve put it up on the new window with a few ribbons and streamers. It’s the best Christmas display in Glenhuntly Road by a mile. I’ve even had people come in and ask who did it. You can tell your artist mate I’ve passed out a heap of his cards.’
In the evening I met up with the boys for our regular snooker game at the Red Triangle. There were only three of us; myself, Tiny and David. David’s news was all about Carmen’s murder, but I knew more about her death than anyone from what Beering had told me at the races on the weekend. Tiny reckoned he’d still like to get his hands on Mad Charlie anyway, despite his being released from custody and having all charges against him dropped. I mentioned to Tiny about the teenager who had been bashed outside the nightclub. He reckoned the whole area was going to the dogs.
‘Some of the things I’ve seen . . . fair dinkum, you wouldn’t get it happening ten years ago.’
‘What’s the difference?’ David asked. ‘Kids’d get up to the same trouble a generation ago, wouldn’t they?’
‘Uh-uh. It’s different now. You’d always get punters comin’ into pubs and clubs getting pissed and wanting to fight. Now they’re off their faces scoffing pills like smarties. Throwing down ecstasy and Christ knows what other shit. I threw a kid out the other day, must have been half my size, but I’m not kidding, he fought like he was possessed. Fuckin’ head full of amphetamines and it’s like he’s got the strength of five men. And we got hundreds of these amped-up idiots all coming out of the clubs at the same time, in the same area. Jesus, used to be you could count on one hand the number of clubs in the city. Now, there must be thirty or more clubs in the King and Queens street block alone.’
There didn’t seem to be a lot of spark from any of us that night. None of the friendly banter and swipes at one another we usually engaged in. There were no jibes about ‘Miss Troubles’, for which I was glad. In any case, I wasn’t exactly in the mood for conversation about Maxine. Maybe it was the talk of nightclub violence or the unresolved deaths of Carmen Leek and Julie Summers that had put a dampener on things. Whatever, none of us seemed to be really enjoying ourselves and we called it a night around ten and went our separate ways.
The following morning Maxine called. About time. I was spoiling to have it out with her, show her who was boss.
‘Hi Punter.’
‘Hi stranger. What’s news?’
‘I’ve been so busy with work you wouldn’t believe it.’
‘Let me guess, Winning Way Syndications?’
‘My favourite client. Not. Anyway, I was thinking, you wanna catch up?’
‘What, tonight?’
‘Can’t, I’m booked solid till the end of the week. How’s Friday?’
‘Sure. Sounds good.’
‘Hey, have you missed me?’
One of the deadly trick questions females can throw in at any time. Better get it right.
‘Of course I have. Been thinking about you nonstop, actually.’
Brought a giggled response from her. God, I missed hearing that.
‘You’re fibbing.’
‘I’m not. I’ve been thinking especially about last Saturday night.’ Correct answer.
‘I’m sorry I had to rush off like that.’
‘There’s nothing to be sorry about.’ Spoken like a smitten teenager.
‘I’ll make it up to you on Friday, I promise.’
When we rang off, I was glad we were back on the same page again. All is forgiven, so forth. As I put down the phone, Che looked condescendingly at me from atop the kitchen bench where he was perched.
‘You’ve been eavesdropping again, haven’t you?’
Didn’t deny it.
‘Don’t look at me like that.’
Che’s face suggested that I hadn’t exactly ‘had it out with her’ as I’d threatened to.
‘I handled the situation perfectly,’ I said defensively. ‘Besides, it’s absolutely none of your business.’
The rest of the week zoomed by. Perhaps it was because I was ‘back in town’ with Maxine. Crazy girl. Crazy relationship. Up and down like a yo-yo. You think you know where you stand and then all of a sudden the goalposts move. In the zone one day, on the outer the next. Bloody thing was like a roller-coaster ride.
When Friday morning rolled around, I got stuck into Saturday’s form with gusto. I’d logged onto my online form service. I had my racing publications spread out on my desk: Winning Post, Sportsman and Best Bets. Plus the daily newspapers. I like to read through the racing stories first and pick up any late news that might sway my selections before I do any serious form analysis. The papers only had a light sprinkling of racing gossip which was hardly going to change my mind about what I’d be betting on. Down at Cranbourne the trainers were at loggerheads amongst themselves. Half of them wanted an all-weather synthetic track installed at their training centre and the opposing trainers couldn’t decide if they wanted to retain the existing grass track. The authorities had given them a month’s deadline to sort it out, but you just knew it would drag on for years before anyone made a decision. There was some news on the recovery of a battling jockey who’d been injured in a particularly nasty fall. He’d only just come back from a fall three months ago, poor bastard. You tend to forget about the country riders trying to earn a quid on the bush circuit. They’re not good enough to match it in the city against the top hoops like Oliver and Dunn and company, but they take the same risks and earn a lot less money. The Herald Sun had a short piece about a strapper’s prize being awarded at tomorrow’s meeting:
Tomorrow’s main race at Caulfield carries a strapper’s prize of $250 and a plaque for the best turned out horse. Gary Hogan, principal of Laskers Insurance, said it was fitting that strappers were given some recognition for the important job they do in racing and his company was proud to sponsor such an award. A winner will be selected each week up until New Year’s Day, culminating in the final day’s winner receiving $1000 and a trophy.
That was good news for strappers. Too often they were the forgotten soldiers of racing, earning a pittance and working longer hours than any trainer or jockey did. Speaking of strappers, there was no further news of Carmen Leek or Julie Summers that I could see. Last week’s headlines are today’s fish and chips wrapping, I suppose. I put the papers aside and started in earnest on the form. Winners to find and a living to make.
By mid-afternoon I’d worked through all the Caulfield races and done the Sydney form, too. The Caulfield meeting looked okay; three playable races and one of them a standout bet. In Sydney they were racing at Randwick and I thought if I stuck with a horse of Gai’s in the mile race, I’d probably be okay. At three o’clock I made myself a cup of tea and stretched out on the couch. Che jumped up immediately and joined me, like I knew he would.
‘Nap time is it, little fellow?’
He gave a little chirp and snuggled up next to me. No choice, was there? I couldn’t possibly disturb His Royal Highness now. I dozed off for maybe an hour or so and when I woke Che was still stretched out alongside me. They say a cat can sleep for up to eighteen hours a day. Che would just about be pushing the limit some days. I marvelled at how he could fall asleep anywhere, any time. I stood up gently, trying carefully not to interrupt his slumber, but he half opened his eyes and looked at me sleepily before snuggling back down again.
At seven thirty sharp my taxi arrived and drove me into town. I’d thought about driving in to meet Maxine, but I wanted to enjoy a couple of drinks without having to worry about getting breathalysed. She’d rung me earlier to tell me where to meet up: some new seafood restaurant called Snapper Reef at the Docklands end of town. We got caught up in traffic at the west end of Collins Street, but I didn’t mind. I quite enjoyed watching the city sights as a passenger, which I didn’t get to do too often. Since my last trip into town a couple of weeks back, the shops seemed to be displaying even more Christmas decorations. Every window seemed ablaze with fairy lights and ribbons draped around some likely looking gift. Signage screamed ‘Buy now, don’t be late! The perfect Xmas gift . . .’ I looked at the date on my watch; still over a week to think about shopping yet.
There were lots of bars at this end of town and they were all full of people who spilled outside onto the footpath tables and laneways. They were mostly office workers, some still wearing Santa hats from their office parties. Laughter and conversation; lots of it. Forget about budgets and sales and the P&L. Today was Friday and Christmas was on the doorstep.
I wondered how I would get on working the nine to five. Except it was more like eight to six these days from all accounts. I tried to picture myself sitting at a desk, doing something vaguely useful with a computer. I’d probably get bored, log onto my online form service and start playing the races. There would probably be staff meetings to attend. I’d have to take notes, look interested, contribute as part of the team. I’d have to learn a new language; Going forward. The bottom line. Strategically speaking. Corpy talk, I called it. A load of bullshit, wasn’t it? No, I didn’t think I’d be suited to the corporate lifestyle. I couldn’t play with my cat. I couldn’t take a nap during the afternoon. I certainly couldn’t go for a surf when I felt like it. It would only end in tears. I pictured the entire staff of an open-plan office watching me being escorted to the door by security, after being sacked for reading the formguide during work hours. ‘Not a good cultural fit,’ explained the manager. Ridiculous daydream.
The cab pulled up outside the restaurant precinct at the quay and I palmed the driver a note. It didn’t take me long to find the place, a twenty-table restaurant which was already about three-quarters full, right beside the docks along with a dozen other bars and cafés. Maxine was waiting for me at the table. She was talking on her mobile and scribbling down notes in her diary. She had a half-empty glass of white wine in front of her and a dish of cashews. She mouthed ‘Won’t be long’ at me as I sat down. Obviously been here for some time.
‘Okay, I’m done with work for tonight,’ she said as she ended the call. ‘See, the mobile is now switched off.’
‘Just you and me?’
She smiled. Flashed her black-studded moon eyes. ‘Just you and me, Punter.’
‘No clients, no functions you’ve got to dash off to?’
‘Scout’s honour,’ she said, holding up her hand in a salute. ‘And, because I’ve had a good week, this is going to be my treat tonight.’
A waiter came around and took our drink orders. I opened with a Beck’s. Maxine threw down the rest of her white and ordered the same again. I asked her about her week.
‘Sensational,’ she said. ‘Got a heap of extra functions confirmed from Winning Way, which should see me through till next Easter. Plus, one of Dad’s radio clients wants some PR work done for a residential housing development coming up. Isn’t that just the best!’
I told her how pleased I was for her and let her rattle on excitedly for a solid half hour about her PR work in general. Seeing and listening to her now, I could understand that her business would always come ahead of everything else in her life. She lived, breathed and ate it; was passionate about it. So rushing off and leaving me last Sunday for a work function wouldn’t have even been a consideration for her. She’d just go, because she was driven by her work. It was clear she had a totally different set of ground rules from those I lived by. That was okay, I could live with that, but tonight was the first time that I truly understood where she was coming from.
A waiter hovered nearby and I caught his eye, grateful to break the one-way conversation.
‘We should order,’ I said. ‘What are you having?’
‘You wanna share a seafood basket with me? I saw one brought out before, chock full of absolutely yummy fishy things.’
‘I’m there,’ I said.
She turned to the waiter, ‘One yummy fish basket thingummy.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘And bring over a bottle of whatever I’m drinking here,’ she said, holding up her glass. ‘Punter, same for you?’
The bottle was actually a boutique Yarra Ranges chardonnay, very expensive and very good. We made some serious inroads into it before the fisherman’s basket had even arrived at our table.
Maxine said, ‘Do you think we should go another?’
‘Don’t see why not. It’s a top drop.’
‘It’s a damn top drop,’ she said, licking her lips.
For the next forty minutes we battled our way through an impossibly large seafood basket. Calamari rings, fresh prawns and crayfish, crumbed scallops, grilled whiting fillets. You name it, they had it piled up and served on our platter, along with lashings of salad, dips of mayonnaise and tartare sauce and wedges of lemon.
‘I can’t eat anymore,’ I protested.
‘Either can I. More wine?’ She didn’t wait for a reply and splashed a top-up into my glass. Spilt a bit onto the tablecloth too, although she didn’t seem to notice.
‘What about dessert, can you find room for that?’
I’d seen a lemon sorbet on the menu earlier. Funny how you can always fit a sweet in. I nodded a yes, and when the waiter took our order, Maxine asked for a couple of Drambuies as well.
‘Jesus, Maxine, I’ll be slipping under the table soon.’
‘Nonsense, it’ll clear your palate. Besides,’ she said, teasing a foot against my leg, ‘any talk of slipping under the table is premature.’
‘It is?’
‘Uh-huh. You’re gonna take me dancing first.’
‘Dancing?’
‘That’s right. You’re gonna take me to a club, spin me around, then take me home and fuck me senseless.’
‘Can we skip the middle bit?’
I knew there was a catch somewhere. Dancing. For Christ sake. I was bloody hopeless at the caper, detested it. And nightclubs, they should be banned. Can’t hear anyone speak, can’t even hear yourself talk. Full of young kids or tragic-looking middle-aged men on the make. And they made you queue, just like we had to when we made it to the club Maxine wanted to go to, a place called The Vault. Ridiculous name. Ridiculous place. We could hear the music thumping through the door as two security guards, a guy and a woman, opened it up every now and then to let someone in or out. Pity it wasn’t Tiny manning the door; at least he’d have let us jump the queue. Already, drunks were getting the heave-ho and it wasn’t even midnight yet. We watched as a couple of young blokes were escorted out, arms tightly held by three beefy security guys. When they got outside, they were led away from the doorway up to the adjacent laneway and shoved unceremoniously to the ground. One of them gave some lip, looked like he was going to make something of it, but had the sense to back off at the last moment. Smart decision, kid. We shuffled another couple of metres up the line. Maxine was getting impatient and noisy.
‘Why can’t they let us in? They just keep you here so that passing traffic will see you waiting and think it’s a hot venue.’
Agreed it was a bullshit ploy.
‘Hey!’ she yelled out to the bouncer, ‘there’s plenty of room inside, how about speeding things up a bit?’
Others waiting in the queue thought it was good idea and egged Maxine on. ‘You tell ’em!’ they urged.
She didn’t need any of their encouragement and singled out the woman security guard. ‘Hey! I’m talking to you. Did you hear me? How about lettin’ us in? We’ve been here forever.’
This time her request wasn’t ignored and the security guards looked back down the line to where the disturbance was coming from. They talked briefly to one another and then walked down to where Maxine and I were standing.
The woman spoke to us both. She was good, made lots of eye contact and used all the right body language. Obviously an experienced crowd controller.
‘It shouldn’t be long now, guys, but I’m going to have to ask you to keep it down, okay?’
I gave her a smile and a reassuring nod. Gave the super-sized Maori towering behind her one as well. Not so Maxine. The drink was kicking in and she’d taken an instant dislike to the woman.
‘When?’ she demanded petulantly. ‘When are you gonna let us in?’
‘As soon as we can.’
‘There’s heaps of room inside and you keep us out here like we don’t know. You think we’re idiots, do you?’
She was starting to get loud and abusive. The security couple looked at each other and nodded; not a good sign. Then they turned around to face us again.
‘Look,’ said the woman guard, ‘I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You’re obviously not happy waiting to get in and you’re causing a disturbance.’
Maxine wasn’t used to being shown the door. ‘What, you’re throwing me out? I haven’t even put a foot inside your pissy little club yet.’
‘Come on,’ I said to Maxine. ‘Let’s go.’ I grabbed her by the arm, went to walk her away.
‘Fuckin’ door bitch thinks she’s God, she does.’
‘Right, you two are out of here now!’
We got bundled professionally out of the queue. The woman had done a bit of Aikido or something; she expertly grabbed hold of Maxine’s arm and twisted it up her back. Marched her up to the laneway. The Maori bouncer didn’t look like he was going to use as much finesse with me. He closed both his huge fists and took a step forward.
‘It’s okay mate, we’re just leaving,’ I said, back-pedalling.
I quickly joined Maxine at the corner of the alley. She was seething, looking to go on with it. ‘That fucking bitch. I wouldn’t go into her club if you paid me! Fuck her. Fuck you!’ she yelled back at them. This was getting embarrassing. She wasn’t too steady on her feet and lurched against me for support. I was seeing a side to Maxine tonight that I wasn’t altogether comfortable with. Hitting the drink; we all do at times, but it doesn’t mean we have to get smashed. Or abusive. Giving grief to bouncers isn’t what I call clever and I was starting to wonder how many more nights there’d be in our relationship where I’d be hauling her arse out of trouble.
‘C’mon, let’s get out of here,’ I said, putting an arm around her and leading her away. ‘I’m taking you home.’
Getting home from King Street at that hour is easier said than done. First, you’ve got to find a taxi that’ll take you. The nightclub precinct is a no-go zone for cabbies after eleven. They don’t mind dropping punters off before then, but picking up clubbers spilling out afterwards, amped up on drink and drugs, was strictly for the brave or foolish. We took off up King Street and I suggested we walk up to a cab rank I knew in Collins Street.
‘Can’t we just hail one?’ said Maxine. ‘Look, there’s one coming now.’ She broke away from me and tottered dangerously into the path of one driving towards her, waving her hands. It swerved to miss her. ‘It didn’t stop . . . it had a light on, they’re not supposed to refuse a fare.’
I don’t know that I’d pick us up either if I was a cabby. We looked like trouble.
We headed up Collins towards Queens, past seedy bars and clubs and fluorescent-lit doorways offering the promise of a good time. Groups of young men and women marauded menacingly about us; you could almost smell the aggression and violence in the air. Up ahead, a bunch of guys were spread-eagled over the entire footpath yelling and swearing. One of them deliberately bumped into me, hoping to provoke a fight. I ignored the little prick and guided Maxine across to the other side of the road. More revellers spilled out onto the roadway. One young guy attempted cartwheels at the traffic lights just as the lights turned green. Lucky he wasn’t mowed down, the stupid git. I felt uneasy; didn’t like our situation one bit. Gone midnight, stuck in the badlands, couldn’t get a cab for love or money. Maxine’s drunken behaviour wasn’t exactly helping. I should never have allowed her to drag me here in the first place.
We walked two blocks up to the cab rank on Williams Street. There were three taxis when we started crossing at the lights, but by the time we got there only one remained.
Luckily we were next in line and Maxine opened the back door for us. As she did, a bunch of three guys and a couple of women pushed past her and jumped into the cab.
‘Thanks, luv,’ mouthed one of the guys at Maxine, as if she were a concierge.
‘Hey!’ she yelled indignantly. ‘That’s ours, we were here first.’
The cheeky bastards had claimed it, and possession’s nine-tenths of the law.
‘I don’t think so. We booked this one.’
‘Bullshit. This is a rank. It’s whoever’s first in line.’ Maxine still had a hand on the door, and wasn’t going to let it go.
‘It’s ours, you stupid bitch. Now piss off!’ The guy on the back seat passenger side rammed the door open on her. It hit her hard in the stomach and she staggered back into my arms. I couldn’t believe it; nor the total over-reaction that followed. He got out of the car and let fly with a big-fisted haymaker, and if I hadn’t stepped in and blocked it, he would have knocked Maxine for a six. I gave him a couple of quick punches to the head, but he was a solid brute, or maybe too drunk to feel them. I grabbed the car door and slammed it back on his knee. Bastard felt that all right. He doubled over in pain and I shoved a foot into his side, which bundled him back in with his mates. Then I quickly swung the door shut and yelled at the driver to take off. He should have. Just driven away to avoid any hassles. But the cretin sat there waiting like he didn’t know what to do, the engine running and the passengers spilling out of the doors: three angry young men and a couple of tarts intent on giving it to us.
The first one came at me again, but he was vulnerable, coming at me from the very side I’d kicked him back in from before. He howled like a child as I slammed the door shut on his hand. The other two guys came at me with a rush from the driver’s side. One of them was so keen to get at me that he half tripped and stumbled over his mate. He lurched towards me, throwing a wild fist which didn’t connect with anything. His face did, though. I rammed a knee into it as he spilled forwards, and followed up with another to his groin as the third guy fronted up.
‘You want some of that? You wanna go a round?’ I yelled at him. We circled each other. One on one he wasn’t so sure, especially with his mates groaning about on all fours. As I jockeyed around him, I caught sight of Maxine punching on with one of the women. I didn’t know where the other had got to for the moment, until I saw her come running up behind Maxine with a beer bottle clutched in her hand.
‘Maxine! Behind you!’ I yelled, and sprinted over to lend a hand. Maxine spun around just as the bottle smashed into her, sending shards of amber glass all over the pavement. She fell heavily, her head hitting the gutter like a dropped watermelon.