The Sister(40)

The stranger exploded into action – ducking under, coming forward as the bigger man’s punch scythed through empty air, he drove his left elbow into the Irishman’s lower ribs, snapping them, stopping him in his tracks. A look of anguished surprise appeared on his face as his faculties struggled to keep pace with his instincts. He folded, leaning in to favour his broken side. In a split second of clarity, he saw his opponent’s hips swivel, a desperate message relayed from his brain – too late for his deadened body to react. A solid right smashed the front of Doherty’s face in, crushing his nose and mouth. The force of it disconnected him from his senses; his eyes were lifeless. A left hook clubbed in, a meat tenderiser masquerading as a fist. Very few – if any – in the crowd, would have ever witnessed an attack of such murderous savagery in their lives. There was a stunned silence as the big man toppled like a demolished skyscraper, knees buckling under him. His right eyeball – dislodged from its socket – hung down below his cheekbone as he fell to the ground.

Someone screamed and then the manager shouted, ‘I’ve called the police!’

Two bouncers flanked him; he flashed a menacing glance at each of them. ‘Don’t worry boys, I’m going.’ The doormen had an unspoken understanding; when it was time to fight – they'd fight, but only if they had to. They had seen what he’d just done and were in awe of his power. Both stood aside, knowing if they tried to stop him they'd have their hands full; they might not be able to contain the man, so they let him pass.

Over by the bar, Davey O’Connor picked up a stool and moved close, a dangerous look on his face. Tucked in behind him, his younger brother advanced with a knife held low.

‘Come near me with that, sonny – and I’ll kill you wit' it,’ the fighter remarked without emotion.

A doorman stepped between, addressing the Irishmen. ‘Let it go, boys. Jack picked on the wrong man tonight.’ A tense moment followed. The O’Connors reluctantly stood down.

The stranger backed out cautiously through the door and into the street. No one tried to stop him.

By the time police arrived, he’d vanished.





Chapter 30



After the show, the ‘Sultans of Swing’ still ringing in her ears, the nurse rolled out unsteady on her feet, dark hair sweaty and dishevelled from dancing. Someone had given her a joint in there and it hadn’t done her any favours. Separated from her friends by the tide of people flooding out of the venue, she gave up looking for them. She stumbled along the back streets, not noticing everyone else had disappeared, unaware of the man following behind.

She tripped, falling against a wall and, muttering curses about her shoes, removed them. Glancing up, she recognised the man who now stood before her.

‘Oh! You’re that really tough guy from earlier. Are you following me?’ Her face bore no real expression and the vaguely quizzical look that did form there, reverted to drunken blankness almost immediately. They had stopped outside a house with black railings set in the top of a low garden wall. A locked gate led up the steps to a three-storey house. The windows, surrounded by white painted decorative stonework, stood out in contrast to the dirty buff coloured brick walls.

At first floor level, there was a security camera pointing down over the front door towards the gate. He spotted it. ‘Come on, the car’s round the corner,’ he said.

She started to move off slowly.

The amount he’d seen her drink, she should be all over the place. She must have the capacity of an elephant.

As she struggled to compose herself, she held a single finger up and focused on it, using it for controlling her body and conducting her words. She waggled it in front of her, keeping approximate time as she spoke. ‘Oh, I get it. You just want to make sure I get home safe and sound!’ she taunted him. ‘I’m a lover, not a fighter!’ She didn’t know who sang it, or even when. ‘Michael!’ she exclaimed in a loud voice. ‘I keep forgetting his name. “That girl is mine...” She giggled and started singing a crucified version of Dire Straits’ ‘Romeo and Juliet’.

‘Are you coming?’ he said, pulling on her arm.

She looked confused. It was hard to tell from her body movements whether she was resisting or just trying to control her feet.

As they turned into another smart street of terraced houses, the unlikely couple came into the sights of two young police officers. One of whom had just finished speaking into his radio. ‘John – there’s a disturbance at a party down the road – let’s go!’

‘You go on ahead, I’ll catch you up. I want to check those two out,’ he said, pointing across the street as he crossed over. His colleague strode off, quickening his pace as he got further down the road.

‘Are you all right, Miss?’ he enquired.

She didn’t answer straight away; she tried without success to think of something witty to say so he wouldn’t realise she was drunk.

‘Yes, I’m really tired.’

‘I can see that,’ he said, his voice edged with polite sarcasm.

‘Do you know this man?’

‘Course I do! He’s the one who had the fight earlier,’ she said, referring to it casually as if the policeman already knew about it. The stranger cringed.

The officer looked away from her to the man, noticing the swollen right eye, the damage to his mouth. ‘How did that happen?’ he said, fixing his gaze on the wounds as he took his notebook out.