Faded Glory (31 page)

“Patsy was all right with it, wasn’t he?” said Costa.

Danny stayed silent. Cohen continued.

“Now, the fifty per cent management fee. Given your last performance, we feel it’s more than fair.”

“That ten per cent business is dear old Albert talking,” said Costa. “He doesn’t know about costs and advertising. It costs money to sell out a place like that.”

“A lot of money,” Cohen agreed. “It’s only with our guidance that you could have a shot at a British title, Danny.”

“You know who currently holds the belt, don’t you?” Cohen asked.

“Billy Livermore,” Costa said. “You remember that fight, don’t you?”

Danny certainly did remember the Livermore fight.

“Yeah, you remember it,” said Costa softly.

“You blew that one Danny, didn’t ya?” said Cohen, standing up behind his desk. “Now Livermore has the title. It would have been yours if you hadn’t fucked up, Danny. It would have been ours too.”

“Yes Danny,” said Costa.

“You fucked up big time, Danny boy,” spat Cohen. “And we can’t have that, can we Tommy?”

“No Jack,” Costa agreed. “It ain’t right.”

There was a tangible menace in the room. Danny felt frozen as Cohen opened the drawer to his desk and took out some papers.

“See this?” he said, shaking the papers in Danny’s face. “This is your contract. You know what we’re gonna do? Me and Mr Costa? We’re gonna tear it up.”

He ripped the contract to pieces and threw the remains into a nearby wastepaper bin.

“Good shot,” said Costa.

“Good riddance,” said Cohen.

And for the first time, Danny heard Jack Cohen laugh.

Cohen pushed his intercom as Danny tried to process what had just happened. The receptionist came in.

“Show Mr Watson out, Mavis,” said Cohen. “Goodbye Danny.”

Speechless, Danny followed Mavis out to the street.

*

“I can’t believe you did that,” said Costa.

“The boy’s a loser,” said Cohen. “And that silly old git Albert’s a nuisance. I’ve had enough of that fucked-up junkie. He’s dead meat.”

“Dead meat?” said Costa.

“Yeah, Tommy. Dead meat.”

*

Danny was in shock as he walked to his car. This was not what he had expected. He knew Cohen was angry at his lack of performance and preparation for the last fight, but Danny had always hoped there was a future. But now, nothing.

The realisation that Costa and Cohen would not compromise and had torn up his future was devastating. He had gone to the meeting full of optimism, but had left with an impossible situation. He drove to the gym on automatic pilot, his head full of questions that were hard to answer.

Lenny was just coming out of the public bar as Danny parked outside the Live and Let Live.

“Albert told me you and him have sorted that Costa and Cohen,” Lenny said with a satisfied smile. “Good thing.”

“Yeah,” said Danny, squirming inside.

“I’ll drop by later,” Lenny said. “Albert tells me you’re as sharp as a tack now.”

Danny forced a smile. “What does he know?”

It was a good question, Danny thought to himself as he headed inside the pub. What did Albert really know? Danny needed to think, and quickly. He’d gone behind Albert’s back with the secret meeting and now he had to admit to Albert that Cohen and Costa had dropped him. This wasn’t going to be easy.

Albert was sat on the edge of the boxing ring reading a newspaper.

“Wotcha Danny,” he said, upbeat as ever.

After Danny’s uncomfortable meeting, seeing Lenny, Albert and the familiar surroundings of the gym was soothing. These were his people. Straight and with none of the innuendoes of Cohen and Costa, their clever manipulation or false charms.

He began his regular training regime under the watchful eye of Albert.

As he dutifully went through the motions, he couldn’t help being distracted by the guilt he was still feeling.

“Mind elsewhere, Danny?” said Albert. “You seem a little absent today.”

Danny needed to tell Albert what had happened. He needed a way out of the worry weighing down on him. Taking his boxing gloves off, he took a deep breath.

“I went to see Costa and Cohen this morning,” he said sheepishly.

Albert’s eyebrows rose. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” said Danny.

Albert was looking unimpressed. “What happened?”

This was difficult to answer.

“They tore up my contract,” Danny said.

Saying the words out loud made Danny realise what had actually happened. It was over. The end. Through the hammering in his head, he wondered how Albert would react to the news.

“Blimey,” said Albert after a moment.

“They said they wouldn’t move on their percentage,” Danny said in desperation. “And the money from the last fight? Because of their expenses, they said it was right.”

“That’s bollocks,” said Albert angrily. “We need to see their accounts for ourselves. And fifty per cent from a fighter is criminal. Fuck ’em, I say.”

Danny could see the anger in Albert’s eyes. He’d never heard his grandfather swear before.

“You know what?” said Albert, slamming his hand on the canvas of the ring. “We’ll promote the fight ourselves. I still know people in the fight game.”

Danny felt energised by Albert’s reaction. He was going to take over Danny’s career and keep it in the family. It felt good.

“They told me Livermore was up for another fight,” he said. “It would be for the title this time.”

“Then we don’t have a problem,” said Albert emphatically. “I’ll get cracking and make some calls. Now, it’s gonna be a tough fight. Are you gonna get your mind back to winning?”

He tossed Danny’s gloves back to him with an enquiring look.

“You bet,” said Danny thankfully.

With Albert barking instructions even more loudly than before, Danny let himself go, hitting the punch bag with a clear mind and renewed commitment. Everything was working out.

*

The moment Danny left for home after the session, Albert started to contact faces he knew who could help put this title fight together.

First, he called his old friend and past foe, Harry Baldock.

“Harry mate. My boy Danny has parted company with those crooks Costa and Cohen. We’re gonna promote his next fight ourselves. What do you reckon?”

Harry’s reaction was positive. “Getting rid of those two shysters is the best day’s work you’ve ever done, Albert. I know Livermore’s manager, I’ll give him a call.”

Putting the phone down, Albert reflected on the task ahead. In many ways it was uncharted waters, but he was confident that with a little help, it would work. The thought of a career for his grandson without the involvement of Costa and Cohen was like a dream come true. Albert was determined to get it right, to get Danny the title he deserved and the financial security and respect he was owed.

There was a flipside of course. Knowing their taste for violence and their unsavoury protection-money contacts, Albert fully expected repercussions from Costa and Cohen. So thinking ahead, he made a couple of calls to some tasty contacts gleaned from Harry Baldock’s circle of East End wide boys, to put the frighteners on them.

Just as an insurance policy.

AS the weeks went on, Albert made good progress. He confirmed the fight with Livermore’s representative, and dates and a venue were pencilled in. As a makeshift Cupid, he was making progress too. He caught the bus to Wendy’s regularly, both to see Ruby and to build bridges between Wendy and Danny.

“Danny has changed for the better, you know,” he told Wendy over a cup of tea. “He’s like his old self. Maybe you should give him a chance.”

“I want him in our lives but only if he’s the Danny I knew and loved,” was Wendy’s response.

Albert instructed Danny to call Wendy and keep in touch. Slowly, Danny’s visits to Chigwell increased. Bit by bit, Danny and Wendy were moving back emotionally to where they had once been: in love. Ruby and Danny were getting on like father and daughter were supposed to now, and Danny could do no wrong in her pink little world.

Everything was going smoothly until Costa and Cohen decided to pay Danny a personal visit at the gym. They walked in, unannounced, as Patsy was putting Danny through his paces. Danny stopped punching the pads and Patsy seemed to disappear into the shadows. The room fell silent.

“Good afternoon gentlemen,” said Costa.

“Just thought we would drop by and see how it’s going,” said Cohen.

“Did you get my messages from your lovely wife, Danny boy? I’ve called you a couple of times but you never called back.”

“Naughty naughty,” said Costa.

Cohen picked at his nails. “What’s this silly rumour going round that you and old Albert are putting together the Livermore fight?”

“I think you’ll find that’s our job,” said Costa, cracking his knuckles.

“Not any more.”

Albert stepped out from the shadows, fixing the unwanted visitors with a glare.

“You still here Albert?” said Cohen, lifting his eyebrows. “Why don’t you go and collect a few empty glasses? We are talking to Danny.”

“Well I don’t want to talk to you,” Danny burst out. “It’s like Albert said. You don’t work with me no more, remember? You tore up my contract. We don’t need you.”

Cohen raised his hands. “Look,” he said, “we don’t want to throw any spanners in the works. We just want you to be happy, Danny. We want to help promote the fight, be involved.”

“I am happy,” said Danny. “Happy with you two out of my life.”

“Off you go,” said Albert, ushering Costa and Cohen towards the door. “If you ask nicely, I’ll see if I can get you a couple of tickets for the fight.”

Costa shot out a fist and grabbed Albert by his shirt collar. Danny moved forward to help, but Albert just smiled and sniffed the air.

“You been eating garlic, Tommy?” he asked.

“Come on Tommy,” said Cohen sourly. “Let’s get out of this dump.”

“As my mum always said,” Albert observed as the promoters left the room, “good riddance to bad rubbish.”

*

Over the coming weeks, arrangements were firmed and the date and venue for the big fight was set. It would take place on October the first at the Wembley Arena: a big venue for a much-anticipated fight.

Harry Baldock had been worth his weight in gold and opened many doors for Albert. Albert had put him on a promise for a handsome back-hander for all his help and, of course, a couple of ringside tickets for the fight.

After weeks of hard training and many press interviews Danny was ready. Tickets had gone even better than expected, ensuring a very big turn-out on the night.

Towards the end of September, there were queues in the streets around Wembley Arena as fight fans waited to witness the historic rematch weigh-in. Danny and his team drove carefully to the venue through crowds of well wishers and not-so-well wishers. Livermore’s following was stronger than ever since winning the title, and plenty of fans believed that he was going to retain the title without any problems.

“Looks like the whole world knows about this fight,” Danny remarked nervously, gazing out of the car window at the throng.

“Just concentrate Danny, and make sure you retain your dignity if you’re provoked,” Albert advised.

Lenny made it through the crowds and drove Danny and his team round to the back of the venue. Standing at the open door, flanked by security, were two familiar faces.

“What are Costa and Cohen doing here?” said Danny warily.

“I don’t know,” growled Albert, getting out of the car. “But I intend to find out.”

Danny, Lenny and Patsy waited and watched as Albert strode up to the two promoters. Hostile gestures and words were exchanged. After a few minutes, Albert returned to the car, fighting through a gaggle of fans looking for Danny’s autograph.

“You will never believe it,” he said. “They’ve only gone and muscled their way in to Livermore’s camp!”

“Are you serious?” Lenny demanded.

Albert nodded. “And, I quote, they said: ‘We thought we would just say hello to Danny before he goes to intensive care after the fight.’ Cheeky bastards.”

Danny felt a strange mixture of anger and relief. He had been concerned for Albert’s welfare, alone in his flat with two formidable enemies in the shape of Costa and Cohen, worrying that he’d started a vicious vendetta. But it looked like his worries were unfounded. Costa and Cohen appeared to have jumped ship, and wanted revenge in a more civilised manner. They wanted Livermore to knock Danny into kingdom come on their behalf. If Danny needed any more motivation for the fight, he certainly had it now.

“So,” Albert continued, “not only can you beat Livermore, but you can now beat those two tosspots at the same time!”

“Happy days,” murmured Lenny.

Harry Baldock was waiting outside Danny’s allocated room. With a swift spot of shadow-boxing he greeted the team.

“Albert,” Harry said in a voice like a street-market trader as he slapped Albert on the back. “How about you and me getting on the card and showing ’em how it’s done?”

“I don’t think I can remember how it’s done,” Albert said humorously. “Listen Harry, thanks for your help. I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Harry replied. He winked at Danny. “As long as you win, son. I’ve put a few bob on it.”

Danny laughed. “How can I lose with this lot in tow?”

He stripped down to his claret and blue shorts in the changing room. As Albert handed Danny his dressing gown, they could hear the excited buzz of the crowd in the hall.

“Here you are son,” said Albert. “Put this round your neck.”

In a slightly ceremonial moment, Albert hung Tommy’s medal for bravery around Danny’s neck. “There you go,” he said, his voice charged with emotion. “Now you’re invincible.”

They made their way to the stage in a relatively low-key way as cheers and jeers echoed through the hall. Livermore’s entrance was anything but low key, and accompanied by the earsplitting James Brown number
I Got You (I Feel Good)
. Livermore was flanked by a dozen or so security men, trainers, cut men and, walking by his side, Costa and Cohen. All and sundry were doing their best to out-physique Danny and his team.