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"I thought if he was out of the Army now, he might be looking for a job."
"You come down herejust to offer him ajob?"
"I'd go a lot further to find a man I know's been properly trained and I can trust to work by himself. Some of the kids you get these days – well, you must know it yourself "
The proprietor, who was about forty, nodded sympathetically. His suspicions were gone, but he still didn't know Ro
It was the same at the second shop Of course, Blagg didn't have to have bought his Honda in Rotherhithe; more likely he'd got it in Hereford during his three years with the SAS. And friend Jack might have got the Yamaha elsewhere, too. But he plodded on At the third shop he got a nibble.
There were two of them, and they could have been father and son The younger one said' "I think I know those bikes. The Honda's blue, is that right?"
Maxim didn't know.
"I remember the bloke He's been riding those two the last month or so. He's one of those that comes around Saturdays, mst for a natter with the other bikers and buy something small. Tack something But that other bloke, Blagg, I don't know him."
The father figure was leaning on one end of the counter patiently poking at a lump of electronics. He said quietly "The name rings a bell. Are you a friend of his?"
Maxim went into his act. At the end, he remembered something else: "He was a bit of a boxer, at one time."
"That's it," the father said, "That's where I heard it. I remember Billy talking about him. It was before your time," he said to the young man. "He must have gone in the Army nearly ten years ago. I remember Billy thought he could've been a contender "Billy?"
"Billy Da
"I've been abroad too much. Will Mr Da
"Should be " They gave him directions and he left his real name this time, just in case Jack whoever came by The Lord Howe stood on a wide street corner, a tall, confident square of red brick and ornate stonework from the great days of Victorian sin and gm. Now almost alonemthe afternoon sunlight among the boarded-up houses and second-hand car lots, it looked as wicked as a kitten stealing cream.
The dim corridor at the top of the stairs smelt of embrocation and shook slightly with the distant rhythms of somebody skipping and the rattle of an overhead punchball Maxim hesitated, then walked towards the noise. He was almost there when a door opened behind him and a chunky man aged fifty-something bustled out and gave him a hard look.
"Is Mr Da
"No, it's about -"
Why'nt you give'ima ring, then?" He pushed past, his belly bulging his thin tee-shirt. "He's busy."
"It's about a boy he trained once. Ro
"Never 'eard've'im" He had his hand on the gymnasium doorknob "Next time," Maxim suggested, "pause a moment before you say that. It'll sound much more convincing."
The man turned slowly around.
Maxim said. "I'm not the Military Police." He already knew he couldn't be mistaken for the ordinary police, no plamclothes detective would be fool enough to be the only person wearing a dark suit in Rotherhithe that warm afternoon He held out his ID card.
The man peered at it "Woddaya want, then?"
"A word with Mr Da
The man looked very suspicious, then hurried through the door, letting out a brief draught of light and noise. Maxim waited. A boy of around eighteen clattered up the stairs carrying a sports bag labelled LONSDALE, smiled uncertainly at Maxim, and went into a side room.
The gymnasium door opened and the chunky man jerked his head at Maxim "O'right, Major, you can'ave yerword. "
It was a high room, clean and busy and very bright, with big windows around two walls It had nothing to do with the boxing gyms of the movies, or with the tired, almost empty pub downstairs. There were over a dozen men in the room, but with two whole generations missing The boxers were all young, barely twenty, wearing vivid coloured tights and tee-shirts, thick leather head-guards and big groin protectors. The next age up was at least fifty, and a handful sitting on hard chairs beneath the windows and sharing the sports pages of the Standard were obviously old-age pensioners.
Billy Da
Two boys, one white and one black, were sparring in the ring, their feet going hiss-hiss-hiss as they slid flat-footed across the canvas.
The chunky man said " 'Ere's the officer, Mr Billy."
Maxim said: "Major Harry Maxim." Billy Da
"You've been asking about Ron. Why?"
"He's AWOL. I saw him in the country, last weekend. He told me about it. Then he vanished. I want to talk to him. "
"You want to take him back. Are you his CO?"
"No, and I've no power to go around arresting people I just want to talk to him. "
"Suppose he goes back – what'll happen?"
"It depends on his story. He'll get a few daysmcells, probably, and lose his stripes for a while. But he'll live it down."
"It could take a long time "Da
"Looks pretty busy," Maxim commented. Other boxers were pounding at the heavy bags, skipping, one was dancing poncily in front of a full-length mirror and another lying down doing sit-ups with a trainer standing on his feet.
"Busy?" the chunky man snorted "You should see it five o'clock of an evening in the fights season." He indicated the black boy, who was listening carefully to Da
"What weight?"
"Welter. You ever fight?"
"Not boxing."
"Karate, I suppose."
"Something like that. "
Da
"What's Ron to you?"Da
"A useful soldier. An investment, if you like."
Da
"One But I just want to know -"
"So I let him come here any time I was open. He swept up, he washed bandages, posted my letters. I taught him the exercises and let him get in the ring with some of the bigger lads."