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 Dannabout?" Maxim asked politely " 'She expectm' you?"
"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. Ronnie Blagg."
"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 Dann. You've already told me I've come to the right place, but I don't necessarily have to tell anybody else – if I can get a word with Mr Dann. Would you ask him?"
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 Dannwas about fifty-five, tall, very solid, with a square calm face and longish white hair He wore a clothjacket like a hospital porter's, with big pockets, and was leaning on the ropes of a boxing ring that filled one corner of the room.
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 Danngave him one quick glance and a nod and went back to watching the boxers. His eyes were a pale, cold blue.
"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 "Danntook a stopwatch from his pocket and called: "Last ten," and the boxers speeded up to a flurry of blows. After ten seconds Dannsaid: "Time. " The boxers stopped and took sips from a communal water bottle. Dannwent and talked to each separately, demonstrating with a dropped shoulder, a jabbing hand, a weaving head.
"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 Dann, nodding his head at each point made "You know 'im? That's Ranee Reynolds. He's a contender."
"What weight?"
"Welter. You ever fight?"
"Not boxing."
"Karate, I suppose."
"Something like that. "
Danncame back and called: " 'Way yer go," then glanced at his stopwatch. His whole life was chopped into sections of three and one minutes, and looking at the watch was merely a gesture by now. The fighters movedm oneach other, hiss-hiss hiss-hiss.
"What's Ron to you?"Dannasked.
"A useful soldier. An investment, if you like."
Dannwatched the fighters for a while. "He came here when he was just fourteen. I couldn't take him in properly, but I had a word with the Council-you know about his background, of course? – and they said they'd rather he spent his evenings here than on the street. He'd started fighting in his youth club and he'd beaten everybody there twice over and they didn't much want him back. He was looking for something bigger, and it could've been sailors with a month's paymtheir pockets coming out at closing time. He was good enough to sort them out sober, let alone half cut. At fourteen. But he didn't really need the money, not if he hadn't got the time to spend it. Keep kids busy and they don't need money. You got any kids?"
"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."
"Bigger?"
"The little ones would've chopped him up, just to show who's boss."
"'E was a cocky little bugger," the chunky man said, smiling.
The hiss-hiss from the ring suddenly became sharp howls as the white boy lost his temper and both boxers started throwing real punches from a solid footing. Reynolds snaked out three right jabs, each tearing through the other's guard and snapping his head back sharply.
"Now, now, now,"Danncalled.
The white boy backed off, head hunched down and angry. Reynolds moved smoothly after him, the hunting cat who knows it's only a game – until he wants it to be something different.
Danncaught something in Maxim's look and smiled briefly, for the first time. "You can't have him, Major. He could have a big future, that boy. The other one, he's a street fighter. Ron Blagg was a street fighter, to start with. He learned; he learned a lot, then he jomed the Army. "
Maxim said: "It's kind of you, but I don't really need all the background. I just want to get a word to him."
"I'm telling you something about him. Before you knew him. I could only get him for, maybe it was two hours a day. He wanted more than that. He wanted a family. A fighter ought to have a family. I don't mean married. I don't want any married fighters Give me a kid from a big family, a poor one, but solid. I couldn't be Ron's family Maybe the Army was I hoped it would be Now, I don't know. "
"He was doing pretty well."
"Yes – he used to drop in here when he was on leave. I dunno…" He looked at the watch, called: "Last ten, " and watched the fighters speed up for the finish The white boy came out of the ring, Dannhad a few words with him, and called over another to take his place '"E stopped boxing," the chunky man said "'E said he'd stopped, Ron did. Couple of years ago, that was. Said 'e wouldn't getinthe ring, 'e was afraid he might hurt somebody. Well…"
Maxim felt vaguely relieved that Blagg, freshly trained in the SAS's version of unarmed combat, had known himself well enough to stay out of the formal boxing ring. Perhaps the Hereford course was really what he'd been looking for all along. It was lucky that Her Majesty had more jobs open for street fighters than true boxers.
Dannsaid: " 'Way yer go," and the new round started. "So what do you want with Ron, then? Try to make him go back'"
Maxim took a calming breath. "That has to be part of it. Every day he stays away makes it worse. But I want to talk to him first."