useful, but I didn't
Even from that distance, I saw Len's big hands instinctively curl round the top rail of the balustrade. You didn't have to be a psychologist to work out he'd rather have them round my neck. What's your problem, sonny? I made a mental note to be careful around him.
The trio moved down the stairs to my level and Marc came across to shake hands. “Regardless of the timing, I'm glad you're here,” he said. “I believe you've already met Len and Angelo.”
We nodded to each other. Angelo didn't look like he belonged to his name, but I wasn't about to point that out. Today they were both in their civvies, black bomber jackets and trousers, and vaguely police-issue rubber-soled boots.
Angelo was shorter in stature, but just as broad as Len. At first glance, he looked mildly less psychotic than his partner, but that wasn't saying much. They took up station a respectful distance from their boss.
Marc offered me a drink as he waved me to one of the tables. I asked for coffee. “Of course. There's a filter machine in the office. In fact, I'll have one, too,” Marc said. “Len, would you mind?” I glanced up and was surprised to see that the big man moved instantly to fulfil the request. No sullen hesitations at being asked to play waitress. Marc obviously commanded respect as well as obedience.
“So, Charlie, how do you come to know so much about security?” Marc asked now, sitting back in his chair to study me, head tilted to one side. He was wearing a dark suit that he hadn't bought on his local high street, over a hand-stitched shirt that even someone with my limited sartorial knowledge could tell was Italian, and damned expensive.
“I picked it up, here and there,” I said cautiously. I wasn't about to tell him about the rather specialised training I'd been through. It felt as though it was all a long time ago, in another life.
Before you can attack a building, they'd taught me, you have to know how to secure it. Points of entry, minimum number of personnel, and their most effective positioning. The New Adelphi had too many twists and turns, too many dark corners. It would not have been my first choice of somewhere to try and make a stand. It was too perfect for an ambush.
“Here and
“Army, mainly,” I said and watched his eyebrow lift.
Behind him Angelo made a succinct and uncomplimentary remark about the Women's Royal Army Corps. I turned my head to meet his eyes without flinching, but then, I'd heard them all before, and worse. Much worse. Angelo stared back at me as he put a match to the end of a cigarette, challenging.
Marc backed him down with a single look, then turned back to me. “How long were you in?”
I knew to the day, but I shrugged. “Long enough,” I said.
“Why did you leave?”
“I was asked to go,” I said, forestalling any further questions on that tack by adding, “It's personal, and I'm not prepared to talk about it.”
He heard the finality that flattened my voice, and those pale eyes searched my face for clues. I didn't give him any.
“So after you were
“I've done a bit of keep fit and aerobics training, a bit of personal training at the local gym, but mostly I teach self-defence to women.”
Len reappeared at this point. He obviously had more domestic graces than I'd given him credit for, because he neatly placed two plain white cups in front of us. Individual portions of cream and sugar were balanced with the spoon on the saucer of each. I was impressed.
Len ignored my murmur of thanks, but Marc's nod of approval seemed to keep him happy. He retreated to a bar stool next to Angelo, holding station a discreet distance away.
“Textbook theories are all very well,” Marc said, stirring the cream into his coffee, “but unfortunately the sort of opponent you'd have to deal with in a nightclub has probably never come any closer to martial arts than watching a Bruce Lee film. They have an unpleasant habit of not playing by the rules, don't they Len?” he called.
Len came to his feet again and moved back across the dance floor with a nasty swagger, flexing his fingers by his sides. He was grinning in a way that made sweat break out on my palms. “Martial arts, eh?” he said. “Load of bollocks. Go on, then, how about you try having a go at me?”
Ah shit, I thought. Just what I need. I glanced back at Marc, but his face was shuttered, withdrawn. It was clear this was a test, and I was on my own to prove I could pass it.
I slid a fairly big smile onto my face and forced myself to stay sitting down. I didn't want to put forward any form of provocation. If I stood up now, took up any sort of stance, or appeared to be taking him seriously, things were going to get way out of hand.
I knew little about the sort of ability Len had. I had to guess from his behaviour the other night that he'd started – and finished – more than his share of brawls. If he'd been working club doors for any length of time he was going to know at least as many dirty tricks as I did, and probably more. He was also maybe twice my weight, and a good six inches taller.
I was further handicapped by being dressed in bike leathers and boots, which would cut down my speed. Plus the fact I had no real desire to hurt him. That is not a good way to go into a potential scrap.
It's one of the things I stress hardest when I'm teaching my classes. By the time events reach the stage where you have to stand and fight, you have to be fully prepared to put everything you've got into it and not hold anything back. You might only get one chance.
Most important of all now, was the fact that I didn't want
Most people would have taken his expansive stomach as their first objective, but he looked like he was packing too much muscle. That left me with the smaller, harder to hit targets – ears, eyes, nose, throat and groin. These required less strength, but more accuracy and speed.
I've found from experience that even the most slow-witted of men have pretty good reactions when you go for their wedding tackle. Often out of all proportion to the value of the equipment.
While I didn't think for a moment that Len would go so far as to beat me to a bloody pulp right there on the dance floor, if I didn't come up with something pretty quickly, it was probably going to hurt. Lateral thinking was called for.
I rubbed my hands together and glanced around me. “So, do we fight here or shall we go outside?” I said briskly, looking expectant. “Only, I'd hate to bleed on the furniture, seeing as the cleaners have obviously been round already today.”
I glanced at his face and saw the faintest flicker of surprise. “Eh?” he said.
“Well,” I went on, looking doubtfully around me at the floor space available. “I suppose we could have a go here, but if we're going to do the thing properly, there's not much room. I'd hate to crack my skull on the table leg when I fall over. Not on top of you already having broken my nose,” I added cheerfully. “God, they'll be mopping bits of me out of here for weeks. I hope your cleaners aren't squeamish, Marc?”
Len was looking less sure of himself. I pressed the advantage, such as it was, for all I was worth. “Are you left or right handed? I only ask because I've been having a bit of trouble with a tooth on this side,” I said, gesturing to my mouth. “If you're going to clout me hard enough to knock a few teeth out, do you think you could make it on the right, about up here? It might just sort it out.”
Len's hands had stopped clenching at his sides. He was starting to grin, which was not a pretty sight in itself. Thank Christ for that.
I got to my feet, dragged my chair a little way from the table, and stood on it. I purposely didn't stand up straight, so that it only lifted me slightly higher than my opponent. “That's better,” I said. “Now I can reach.” I put my hands up in the classic mock-fisticuffs position. “OK, guy, whenever you're ready!”
That did it. He threw his head back and laughed out loud. Then he turned and strutted to his bar stool. “See,” he said to Angelo, “I told you it was a load of bollocks.”
I climbed down from my chair slowly and moved it back, feeling drained. You don't realise how much adrenaline you've been pumping round your body until suddenly you don't need it any more. My legs were wobbling so much I had to sit down. When I looked up Marc was watching me carefully. “Nice act,” he said quietly, with a
