Monkey Wrench (17 page)

I quite like Lewinsham Sports Centre. It's modern and fairly clean. But it isn't very dramatic. It ain't got the atmosphere of some of the older places. It's too well lit. And when you come out to fight you don't get that feeling of exploding out of the dark into the light. Which is what I like. I like to come walloping out with a great crash. The crowd is usually booing already – they start as soon as they hear ‘Satisfaction' – and I give 'em a moment or two to rev themselves up before I come out howling and revving 'em up even further. I like a nice angry crowd. I like 'em to hate the villain. Give me a good angry crowd and I'll work it up into a lovely rage.

They build the ring in the middle of the basketball court and they fill the rest of the space with seating. What with that and the observation decks, there's room for hundreds of people. But it ain't like them old theatres. Theatres are built for drama. Sports halls are built for sport. Wrestling's a sport, but it's a drama too, and all in all I like a dramatic setting. It's easier to make a crowd go nuclear in a dramatic setting.

But the nice thing about modern sports halls is you got proper changing rooms with pegs for your clothes, and showers and benches. You aren't poked away in a draughty broom cupboard with no lavvy and no mirror.

But it don't matter to me. If I'm going to be somebody I'm going to be somebody in places like Lewinsham. Anywhere. Everywhere. I don't care if it's got a lavvy or not, 'cos this is where the action is. This is where I can make my name.

Oh yeah, I was well up on my toes when I walked into the sports centre that night. I walked in and I saw Mr Deeds, all official, with his clipboard in the foyer.

‘Oy, Eva,' he said, when he saw me. ‘I thought you wasn't coming.'

‘Whatcher mean?' I said. ‘I always come. When haven't I?'

‘You weren't training,' he said. ‘I didn't see you at the gym. I thought you dropped out.'

‘Me?' I said.

‘Don't fucking yell,' he said. ‘Harsh said you was injured. You said you had tooth trouble. I thought you dropped out. So I stood Gypsy Jo down.'

‘You
what?'

‘Don't fucking
shout,'
he said. ‘I stood her down.'

‘You stood Gypsy Jo down?' I said. ‘You don't tell me. You don't ask me. It's my freakin' life. It's what I live for. And you stand Gypsy Jo down?'

‘Shut up and listen …'

‘
You
listen,' I said. But I didn't know what to say. A big hole cracked open under my feet and I was falling down it. He was stood there with his clipboard, a bulgy blowfly sucking on a sick cow's turd, telling me he was chopping me off at the knees. I could squash him flat, I could grind him into …

‘Eva!' he shouted.

‘What?'

‘Put me
down
!'

He straightened the lapels of his smelly black jacket. And took a couple of paces backwards. Drops of pure lard squeezed past the blackheads on his nose.

‘You got a problem, Eva,' he said. ‘You're a maniac. Know what? You're a maniac.'

‘Don't you tell me what I am,' I said. ‘You've got no right. You stood Gypsy Jo down, and you've got no right. You've no right to fuck with my life like that. Don't you tell me what I am. I'll tell you what you are. And in case you don't understand I'll write it down for you. I'll write it with the toe of my boot on your bum.'

‘All right!' he yelled. ‘Get your hands off me! I'll sort it out. But don't you ever lay hands on me again. I'm an entrepreneur. Show some respect.'

‘Respect?'

‘I said I'd sort it out,' he said. ‘I'll get someone else.'

‘Who?'

‘Never you mind who. What do you expect at short notice? Klondyke Kate?'

‘When?' I said. ‘When you going to sort it out?'

‘When I get a minute.'

‘When's that?' I said. He wasn't going to fob me off. He wasn't going to leave me dangling.

‘Get out of here,' he shouted. ‘You're nothing but trouble. You're a nutter and a hooligan. You're a bad influence. You upset the boys.'

‘When you going to sort it out?'

‘
Now!
' he said. ‘Gerroff me. I'm going to sort it out now.'

So I let go of his stinky old suit. And he waddled off to the office as fast as his fat legs would take him.

You got to be firm with dops like him.

I sat down. I was cold. My heart felt like it wanted to kick its way out of my chest. I was still falling down a hole. Mr Deeds actually stood Gypsy Jo down. He scratched my fight. The bastard took it away from me. He stole it. It was mine. And he stole it.

Wrestling's my life. If I'm not the London Lassassin, who can I be? Who?

It's the key to my life – being the London Lassassin. I'm the villain. That's me. No one has the right to thieve it off me.

Kids ask me for my autograph. I write my name on their programmes. I write. ‘Eva Wylie', big and bold, right next to where it says ‘The London Lassassin' in the programme. Because that's me. Me.

Mr Deeds has got the key to my whole life in his dirty fat hand. He scratched my fight, and when he scratched my fight it was like he said, ‘Eva Wylie, you can't be the London Lassassin no more.'

He took the key and chucked it down the sewer and said, ‘It ain't yours. It's mine to do what I want.' And he left me in a small dark place where I can't breathe. And if I scream and shout no one hears. And if I'm big and strong no one sees. What's the
point in doing all that work to be big and strong if no one sees? What's the point shouting if no one hears? I might as well lay down and die.

Like I nearly died and my sister Simone nearly died when Ma locked us in a cupboard under the stairs. And we screamed and cried and wet ourselves. But she never heard us because she nearly died too, dead drunk on the sofa she set fire to.

No one heard us – we were too little to make ourselves heard. And we were too weak to break the door down. If the bloke next door hadn't been out of work, and if he hadn't been home to smell the smoke, and if he hadn't called the fire brigade Simone and me would have been dead. We'd have laid down and died because we had no other choice.

Well, I'm big and strong now and I can kick any bloody door down. And I ain't going to lay around whimpering when Mr Deeds fucks with my life.

‘Eva!' Harsh said.

‘What?'

‘Do not hit the door. You will break the glass and damage your knuckles.'

‘What?' I said, because he was talking nonsense. The sports hall doors were made of safety glass with wire laminated inside. You can't break safety glass.

‘Harsh?'

‘Yes, Eva?' he said. ‘What is it?'

‘Mr Deeds scratched my fight. He can't do that, can he?'

‘He can,' Harsh said. ‘Mr Deeds can do as he pleases. He's the promoter.'

‘But if he says turn up for a fight. And I turn up. He can't just turn round and tell me there's no fight.'

‘He
should
not do such a thing, Eva,' Harsh said. ‘But he
can
do it. Unless you have a contract.'

‘Contract? I got nothing like that.'

‘Then, you see, Mr Deeds is contracted to nothing where you are concerned.'

‘Oh.'

‘If you are not fighting, Eva,' Harsh said, ‘why are you standing in the foyer hitting the door?'

‘I wasn't,' I said. ‘I got a fight. Mr Deeds is bringing someone in. I made him.'

‘You made him?'

‘Yeah, I sodding made him. He can't fuck with the London Lassassin like that.'

‘Eva,' Harsh said, ‘this might not have been the cleverest thing you have ever done. This is a bad time to impose your will on others.'

‘Why?' I said. ‘I thought it was pretty clever. He thinks he can get away with anything.'

‘He is correct,' Harsh said. ‘You have no contract. This is why you should think carefully before imposing your will on him. Force should only be employed with wisdom. I have told you this before.' And he went away to the men's changing room.

‘Bollocks,' I said. Because this time, Harsh was wrong. Mr Deeds wouldn't do nothing about my fight without I forced him to. No one does nothing unless you force them.

Take Ramses – he wasn't always the obedient dog he is today. When I first got him he was on his way to the knacker's yard because the dwerb that owned him couldn't control him. He weighed about eight stone and if he stood on his hindlegs he could bite your nose. Even so, he wasn't full-grown. He was barely more than a puppy and his owner couldn't control him. Can you believe it?

So I saved his life and trained him up. But it wasn't easy. You see, Ramses thought he was top dog. He thought he could do anything. He thought he only had to show his teeth and I'd turn to jelly like that dwerb had. He thought he could control me.

We had a couple of knock-down-drag-out fights, Ramses and me. I got five stitches in my hand to prove it. See, he'd never even come when I called. He just wouldn't. He ignored me. He reckoned I had no business calling him 'cos
he
was leader of the pack. Not me.

So I put him on a chain and when I called him I pulled on the chain so he had to come. He came all right when I pulled his
chain – he came straight for my face. And let me tell you, even half-grown he had a full set of gnashers. I just got my hand up in time to fend him off or I'd of lost me chin and he'd of had my adam's apple for afters.

When I got back from the hospital I found an empty squeezy bottle and I filled it with salt water. Then I called Ramses again. And he ignored me. So I pulled his chain. And he came straight for my face. Again. Only this time I was ready for him. He came for my face with his teeth bared and his mouth open, so I squeezed jets of salt water in his mouth and down his throat and up his nose and in his eyes. 'Specially in his eyes. And his eyes really stung. He dropped like a rock and tried to rub the salt out of his eyes. And when he was down I knocked him off his feet and stood on him.

Yeah, I really stood on him. Want to know for why? I'll tell you why – I stood on him because that's what dogs do to other dogs. And that's what Ramses would of done to me. He'd of knocked me down and stood on me because that's what the leader of the pack does to any other dog who fucks him around. If you don't believe me, you go down the park one day and watch dogs. Really watch them. Pick a top dog – and remember, the top dog ain't always the biggest one – and watch him.

You think I'm cruel, don't you? Go on, admit it. You think dogs are pets and you got to be kind to them. Well you're wrong. Dogs are pack animals, and most dogs accept humans as the leader of the pack. But if you meet one who doesn't, and if that dog's a big fierce dog, like Ramses, you've only got a couple of choices. If you don't force him to accept you as leader of the pack you can only beat him or kill him. And where's the kindness in that?

Beating didn't work on Ramses. I know, because when I met him that dwerb had already beaten him rotten. He had welts as big as my finger all over him. Beating didn't make him submit, so the dwerb was going to kill him.

I ain't cruel. I didn't beat him or kill him. He's alive and well, and he's still waiting for me to show weakness. Because when I do he'll take over. He's itching to take over. Meanwhile, he's a good dog who does a good job. And that's a lot better than being a dead dog.

But he only does a good job because I forced him to.

And that's what makes Harsh wrong. If you don't force people to do the right thing they fuck you around and treat you like the lowest dog in the pack.

I waited in the foyer. I waited and waited.

All the blokes turned up, one after another. They all stared and sneered, but none of them said a dicky-bird to me. They all knew, and they were all sneering. That barrow-load of dick-wits – they'd just love to see me wiped. They'd love it if I laid down and died. No more London Lassassin sharing the bill with them. No more Eva Wylie.

Well I'm not going to do what they want. I'm not going to give them the satisfaction.

It was dark outside. The audience was beginning to turn up at the front entrance – everyone pudgy in anoraks and scarves, rubbing their hands against the cold – waiting to get in – waiting for warmth and light. They were waiting for their burgers, crisps and hot dogs. They was ready to be entertained.

And I was waiting for Mr Deeds. I was ready and waiting to entertain all those people. I'd warm their blood for them. I'd make them howl and yell and jump up and down in their seats. I was ready to do what I'm good at. But I had to wait for Mr Deeds.

All those people were waiting to see me. My name was on the programme. They were expecting to see me. We'd all been promised by that wet snot-wipe, Mr Deeds.

I went to look for him. But he wasn't around. No one had seen him. They said.

I went back to the foyer and waited some more. I could hear the loudspeakers from the main hall. They were beginning to make birthday announcements and play ‘Three Steps to Heaven'. They were beginning without me.

I raced up the stairs to the office floor. All the doors were locked. Mr Deeds wasn't there. I ran to one of the observation decks and looked over the balcony. The audience was thickening
up – people taking their coats off and finding their seats. The MC was down by the ringside making announcements. But there was no Mr Deeds.

My teeth ached. They pounded like a pulse in my mouth. I knew where Mr Deeds was. He was hiding from me in the men's changing room. He thought I wouldn't go in there looking for him. He thought wrong.

I went downstairs again. I'd find him. I'd nail his balls to the wall. He had let me down. Things happen to people who let me down. Bad things.