Inexpressible Island Page 11

  “Yes, Finch?” Julian says. “What would you like to discuss?”

  “I don’t know why trouble follows you wherever you go,” Finch says, barreling forward.

  Julian puts out his palm. “Don’t come near me,” he says. “If you really came to talk, talk, but don’t come within four feet of me.”

  “Or what?” Finch stops.

  “Or I’m going to check your distance,” says Julian, clenching his fist.

  “If you touch me,” Finch says, “I’ll have you arrested.” But he doesn’t come any closer.

  “And what are you going to tell the police when they come? That three people were about to attack your girlfriend while you took their side against her and did fucking nothing?” Julian wishes he hadn’t promised Mia to keep his hands to himself.

  Duncan and Wild run up.

  “That’s not what I did!” Finch yells.

  “That’s exactly what you did.”

  “Maria! Tell him that’s not what I did! I defended you!”

  “You didn’t defend me, Finch,” Mia says from behind Julian, yanking on his coat to remind him not to lunge forward.

  “Asking you to prove to them you didn’t steal their things is defending you, dove!” Finch says.

  “No, it isn’t,” Mia says.

  “Yeah, Finch, it really isn’t,” Duncan says. “It’s shite, if you ask me.”

  “Stay out of it, Duncan! This is between me and him.”

  “What’s going on here?” an unfazed Wild says amiably. “I had one cigarette and suddenly it’s a war zone.” He turns to Julian. “War zone, Swedish, see what I did there? I made a joke, a pun. A play on words.”

  “I see, Wild. Step back.”

  But Wild doesn’t step back. Just the opposite. Wild steps forward. He puts his one arm around Julian. “Swedish, I keep telling and telling you. You can’t take a single thing Finch says or does personally or seriously. Why won’t you listen to me? I thought we were friends. The man is mad as a bag of ferrets. I’ve been drumming it into your skull from day one. He is not your problem. He is Folgate’s problem. Let’s you and me go have ourselves a cigarette and a stiff drink and leave the girls to sort out their own shit.”

  “No,” Finch says. “Move away, Wild. He and I are going to solve this once and for all like men.”

  Wild laughs.

  “When words stop working, things need to be resolved without them,” Finch continues. “The way men resolve things.” Dusty and panting, he throws off his coat. “I’ve been accused by him of sticking up for the wrong side, and I won’t have it.”

  “Wait, Finch,” Wild says, still between the two men, “but Folgate also accused you of sticking up for the wrong side. Is it her you’re getting ready to brawl with? Because that would make more sense. Folgate, take off your coat. Your man is about to fight you.”

  “Not her—him,” Finch says.

  “A fight, Wild!” Duncan says. “Finally.”

  “Yes, Wild. The men are fighting.” Finch puts up his fists. “What’s the matter?” he asks, glancing at Julian’s hands, which remain down. “Are you afraid to have a real fight? Come on. It’s been a long time coming. I won’t have you insulting me anymore. Let’s settle this.” He starts bouncing around in a boxer’s dance.

  “Finch, stop it,” Mia says. “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “Stay out of it, dove. This has nothing to do with you.”

  “Wait, what? I thought this has everything to do with her,” says Wild. “Finch, I know you played Jack Dempsey once at the Playhouse, and I know you think you can lick Swedish . . .”

  “Wild, stay out of this!” Duncan yells. “Let him try.”

  “I don’t think it, I can!” Finch says, and then to Julian: “What’s the matter, tough guy? Backing off? Hiding behind the skirts of a raspberry ripple?”

  “Whoa,” Wild says, mock offended. “Suddenly, I have a good mind to let Julian do it.”

  “Do it, Jules, do it!” says Duncan.

  “Okay, Finch,” Julian says, moving Wild away and stepping forward. Mia keeps yanking on the back of his coat. “You want to fight? Let’s go. But for real stakes, not some Mickey Mouse bullshit. If I win, you’re going to leave Mia alone.”

  “What do you mean, leave her alone?”

  “You know, kind of like you just left her alone with her assailants,” Julian says. “But leave her alone for good.”

  “No! That’s rubbish! Absolutely not!”

  “Why the fuss, Finch?” Wild says. “I thought you were sure you’d win?”

  “It’s bollocks, that’s why.”

  “Wild, let go of me,” Julian says, prying Wild’s calming arm off his shoulder.

  “No, Swedish,” Wild says. “He’s not of sound mind. It would be like fighting a baby. He’s not mentally competent.”

  “Step back, Wild!” Finch yells. “I’m a lot more competent than you!”

  “Do it, do it!” says Duncan, jumping up and down.

  A small crowd has gathered around them in an excited circle. Men’s raised voices often means a physical confrontation, and people always want to see that, even these people, who you’d think have seen plenty.

  Unfortunately, the fight is stopped before it can begin. From down the block, the Incident Officer orders Finch to duty. A disappointed growl runs through the crowd. Picking up the coat he threw on the ground, Finch backs off, but not before saying, “This isn’t over. This isn’t over by a long shot.”

  * * *

  When Finch returns to Bank that evening, the first thing he says to Wild is, “Where is he? Hiding like a rabbit?”

  “If you mean sleeping, Finch, then yes,” Julian says, sitting up in his bunk, stretching his stiff back, flexing his injured calf. After a long rest, he has calmed down. He was hoping Finch had also calmed down, realized perhaps how imprudent a fight would be. Julian is ready to shake hands, let bygones be bygones. They live in too close quarters to let bad blood come between them. But clearly Finch, instead of calming down, has been getting himself into even more of a lather.

  “You want to forfeit?” Finch says. “Just say so. I want everyone to know what I’ve known all along—that you’re nothing but talk. Maria, especially.”

  Julian sighs. “Are you sure you want to do this, Finch?”

  It’s not just Finch. No one is letting Julian off the hook for a fight. Who doesn’t like a good fight? It’s been brewing between the two of them, Duncan says, and everyone knows it. It’s high time the matter was settled by combat. Julian shakes his head. It’s fun and games now. Just wait until Finch gets a black eye.

  Mia comes to sit by Julian. “You promised me,” she says quietly.

  “Mia, talk to your boyfriend,” Julian says. “What do you want me to do? He wants to fight. You don’t want him hurt, talk to him, not me.”

  You’d think the older men would be the voices of reason but no. The older men, Phil and Robbie, say the fight absolutely must proceed but needs to be done properly. It needs a ring, it needs rounds, an announcer, a bell. Nick wakes up long enough to say, “Fuck off! Just let them duke it out on the platform. Wake me when it starts,” and goes back to sleep.

  Mia calls everyone to her and declares there will be no fight unless it’s staged as a performance in front of the Underground dwellers. With satisfaction, she glares at Julian, as if she has come up with a perfect solution for a low violence outcome—fighting in a ring in front of an audience. Does she even understand what fighting is? Julian gazes at her with amused tenderness.

  “Staged?” Wild asks Mia. “So is it a real fight or fake?”

  “Most definitely a real fight,” says Finch.

  “No, it’s a fake fight,” says Mia, staring down Julian. “It’s for their entertainment.” She points to out there.

  “Those people have been baying for a fight for weeks,” Duncan says. “Only real blood will quench them.”

  “Entertainment or not, we’ll actually be fighting, dove,”
says Finch.

  “No, Finch,” Julian says. “We won’t be.”

  “I don’t blame you for being afraid,” says Finch.

  “Because that’s what I am.”

  “You don’t think I can deck you?”

  Julian allows that Finch can.

  “You don’t think I can beat you?”

  Julian doesn’t reply for a moment. “Last thing I want to do is insult you, Finch,” he says. “It’s still on my list, though.”

  Wild and Duncan guffaw.

  “I’m taller than you and bigger than you,” Finch says loudly. “I have both my hands. I heard that a boxer needs his hands to fight, but what do I know about such things, right? Plus I’m not all lame after a little nail scratched my leg. Get in the ring, buddy. I’ll kick your arse.”

  “Okay, Finch, let’s get in the ring.” Julian turns to Mia. “Even if you think the fight isn’t real,” he says to her, “the stakes should be real, don’t you agree?” There’s a twinkle in his eye. He can’t help himself. If there’s going to be a fight, it might as well have some positive consequences for him.

  “I’m not fighting for what you said earlier,” Finch says. “I’m not going to leave my girl alone.”

  “Wild, how about this,” Julian says. “If Finch wins, I take the entire gang to the Savoy Grill for dinner.”

  The passageway gets quiet.

  “All of us?” Duncan says in a thrilled gasp.

  Even Nick Moore stirs. “Fuck off!” says Nick.

  “Yes,” says Julian. “If I lose, I will take all of you to the Savoy for a meal. Wine, cover charge, all food off ration. Anything you want. On me.”

  “Don’t fall for it,” Finch says. “I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit.” The young man is so gangly and earnest, and Duncan and Wild are so excited about the Savoy, that Julian almost feels bad. “What do you get if you win?” Finch narrows his eyes.

  “If I win,” Julian says, with a smile at Mia, “and if it’s okay with Mia, I get to sit next to her tomorrow night at Gone with the Wind.”

  Mia beams. “Fine by me,” she says.

  Vehemently Finch shakes his head. “Absolutely not,” he says.

  The gang descends on him.

  “Isn’t it my choice who I get to sit next to, Finch?” Mia says.

  “What’s wrong, Finch?” Julian asks. “I thought you were going to win?”

  “Finch,” Mia says, “I’m a small price to pay for a chance of a dinner at the Savoy. Tiny risk for a lot of reward.”

  “It’s not a risk I’m prepared to take,” Finch says loftily.

  Duncan, Wild and Nick berate Finch. Don’t be a ninny, Finch. Folgate’s right. It’s for a great cause.

  “No,” Finch says. “We don’t need the Savoy. Let’s just fight for the principle of it. For the satisfaction of victory.”

  “Oh, sod off,” Wild says. “You better not frigging lose.”

  “Hey, buddy!” an indignant Julian says to Wild. “I thought you were in my corner.”

  Wild walks over, gives Julian a slap on the back, a manly embrace. “Swedish,” he says, “we had a good run, you and I. But it’s over. Our friendship against dinner at the Savoy? Like it’s even a choice. Nice knowing you. Tonight, I’ll be actively working against you, and I don’t feel bad about it one bit. Finch, come. Dunk and I will show you how to beat the crap out of him.”

  “Okay,” Finch says, allowing himself to be led to the empty platform, “but I don’t want to fight for what he said.”

  “If you win, it will be the greatest day of our lives,” Duncan says. “But if you lose, well, first, we’ll beat the shit out of you for losing, but second, all you’ve given up is a few hours of sitting silently next to a chick at a theatre watching a stupid picture. He’s not asking to shag her, Finch. He’s asking to sit next to her in public. It’s a no brainer. Swedish is a sucker. He should’ve asked for more.”

  Finch bristles. “How dare you! Who says my Maria would agree to more?”

  They turn to Maria, smoking in the passageway, watching them on the platform. She shrugs. “A girl doesn’t know what she will and won’t agree to until she is asked. How much more are we talking about here, Jules?” She gleams.

  They turn their gazes to Julian, standing near her, hands in his pockets. “This is a gentlemen’s fight,” he says evenly. “We’re not haggling at a wench auction. I get to take a lovely young lady to the pictures. That’s it.”

  The young lady blooms under his watery gaze.

  “It’s too much,” Finch says. “It’s not right.”

  “Poor Swedish is getting the sharp end of the stick either way,” says Wild.

  “Shut up, Wild!” Mia exclaims. “Or I’ll show you the sharp end of the stick.”

  “Finch, you gotta beat him,” Duncan says, shaking Finch like a cotton doll. “You simply gotta. I want the Savoy so bad. Mia, go to the lobby and tell them the fight will start in an hour. It’ll give us time to train your boyfriend. Come on, Finch, this is for all the marbles. Let’s practice.”

  “Why?” Finch says. “He’s not practicing.”

  “Thank Christ. You stand a chance of beating him then.”

  * * *

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” Mia yells. “What a treat we have for you tonight! Finally, we have a real fight for your viewing and listening pleasure! Yes, it’s true! So get comfortable, get a drink, and take your seats on the luxurious concrete floor! To start, I will—” Before she can continue, Wild interrupts her by jumping on stage.

  Throwing his arm around her, he yells, “Ladies and gents, usually it’s either blood or beer here—but tonight, in the Underground, we’re proud to offer you blood and beer!” The men in the audience roar. “For the main event, we have the middleweight world championship bout between Finch Smith, the undisputed champion of the world, and Julian ‘The Hammer’ Cruz, his challenger from Scandinavia, a Swedish lord who’s come to take the crown from one of our very own! The fight will last five rounds, two minutes a round, with a two-minute rest in between. Low blows are not allowed, neither is kicking or biting. Otherwise, anything goes! It’s going to be a good one. But first, some light and mostly unintentional comedy from Folgate—I mean, from Maria Delacourt.” He plants a happy kiss on her cheek and jumps off to thunderous noise.

  Duncan and Nick move the door and the two-by-fours off to the side. They get four chairs to make the corner posts of a large square space and tie rope around them to mark an almost regulation-size ring, while Wild lays out blankets and pillows around the perimeter.

  “Is Finch going to be having a fight or taking a nap?” Julian says, watching Wild.

  Wild grabs Julian by his shirt. “Go easy on that poor git, Swedish,” he says. “He’s not batting on a full wicket. Love has made him soft in the head.”

  “Not love but pride,” Julian says.

  “Same difference. Let him win,” Wild says. “Please. For the Savoy!”

  “Have faith in the boxer you trained, Wild,” Julian says. “As for me, what can I say, I’d like to sit next to the girl.”

  “You sit next to her every frigging night in the jeep and on the rubble and around the fire! You literally can’t will yourself to leave her side! No wonder Finch is incensed. You have to sit next to her in a chair, too?”

  “Not a chair. In a theatre. Like on a date.” Julian smiles.

  “Swedish, please.”

  “Have faith in your boxer, Wild.”

  “Oh, fuck everything,” Wild says.

  * * *

  They don’t have a bell, but they have a whistle. Mia blows it, shouts Round One, and Finch and Julian begin. They’re dressed in trousers and white tank tops. Julian has taken off his crystal necklace and left his shirt close by so he can dress as soon as the fight is over. He doesn’t mind Mia seeing his muscled body, but he’d prefer her not to catch sight of his armful of tattoos, not to see her own name engraved on his skin. Last time with Shae it spelled nothing but trouble.
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  When the men stand next to each other, it’s obvious that while Finch is taller, Julian is much stronger. Finch is a stalk, and Julian is a fighter. They circle each other. Finch lunges for Julian, goes barreling forward. They dance around for a minute, with Finch flailing his fists and Julian weaving around. He doesn’t want to hurt Finch.

  Well, maybe he wants to hurt him a little.

  He lets Finch get a couple of swings in. As in a pro wrestling match, Julian exaggerates the force of the hits, nearly falling at one point. For three rounds, he puts on a pretty good show. He feints and swerves, lets Finch shove and push him. He gets in only a few light shots, to make it seem like a real fight and not to let Finch get too close. The audience loves it. They’re all on their feet, screaming. If this was a real fight, it would almost be fun.

  Who is Julian kidding. It’s still so much fun. There is nothing like the drama of the ring.

  When one of Finch’s punches connects a little too squarely with his face, Julian unleashes a flurry of jabs and crosses from left and right and knocks Finch down with a soft left hook. Of course, Finch refuses to stay down, and jumps up on seven, dazed, but with his fists raised. Julian is forced to knock him down a second time, more forcefully. It’s a good thing Duncan is ready with that pillow, shoving it under Finch’s head the moment his head hits the ground. The young man has a swollen eye and a cut lip, but is otherwise intact, except for his pride. He refuses to shake hands with Julian until Duncan and Wild force him.

  “Good fight, Finch,” Julian says smiling up at the young man.

  “You got lucky,” Finch says, gruffly. “We’re going to have a rematch.”

  “Any time, my friend,” says Julian. “Name the day. Except tomorrow night. Because tomorrow night, Mia and I are going to the pictures.”

  14

  Gone with the Wind

  FOUR MEN AND FOUR WOMEN—JULIAN, FINCH, WILD, Duncan, Mia, Frankie, Liz, and Shona—meet at Leicester Square in Covent Garden at one o’clock in the afternoon to line up for the four o’clock show. The queue is four blocks long, almost to the Strand. It’s been cold and then it rained and now it’s cold again and everything on the ground is black slush that squelches in Julian’s boots as he stands next to Mia, and Finch says, “Hey, who said anything about standing next to her? That wasn’t part of the deal.”