Passion Patrol Box Set 1

Combat-2-6

Judy grabbed the file and kept pace alongside her.

“Well, his last fight in Marseille attracted a massive amount of gambling on Freddie to lose, even though on form he should have walked it. He was completely on top during the fight when suddenly the other guy butted him and ripped his eyebrow open. The referee had to stop the fight because the blood was pouring into Freddie’s eyes. The crowd and a big TV audience had all seen the butt and the ref disqualified the guy and awarded the win to Freddie.”

“Is that normal?” asked Anna.

“It can be, but the view was that if the head butt had not been so obvious then the ref would have stopped the fight and the other guy would have won.”

“So what did Freddie know?”

“Good question. It looked as if he was going for the win, but why target him? We simply don’t know what he knew... but it gets far more complicated,” Judy continued excitedly, “Three weeks after the fight the ref ends up dead in the Hudson River. It seems like he had a gambling habit himself and had taken a loan from some sharks. According to his widow he was offered a free pass if he fixed the fight.”

“So what went wrong?”

“The other boxer was not too subtle and was very inferior to Freddie. The idea was that the ref would allow a lot of fighting on the inside, you know, that type of mauling where they kind of waltz with the other guy’s head up their nose. The guy was supposed to clash heads during a clinch. By the fourth round the guy is half dead and probably desperate. So - he just stands back and butts Freddie like it was a Friday night outside the pub. The ref had no choice.”

“So why kill the ref?”

“Simple... when the boys called for their cash he told them he had taped the conversation and would go to the FBI.”

“Any suspects?”

“Sure. It looks like an old fashioned movie style hit. But the cash and the backing come from anywhere between the North Korean government and the Chinese Triads,” laughed Judy.

“I get the picture,” commented Anna.

She knew that the internet provided a platform for any amount of criminal liaisons and deals. All manner of dirty cash sloshed around the worlds of internet gambling, drugs, girls and weapons.

“So what does the widow know?”

“She took the greyhound out of town - or at least a ticket was purchased in her name. The internet address of the booker was in New Jersey. I’ve got a feeling that the widow is keeping her head down or hasn’t got a head,” said Judy with a professional nonchalance.

At Vauxhall tube station they parted and headed off into the undergrowth of their own lives. She sat down gratefully and pondered how something already difficult had become impossible. And yet - she was going to see him. He had called her and she was going to see him! She was going to feel the thrill of his presence and maybe more - maybe anything.

She closed her eyes and ran through the photos of him glistening and pumped up in his shorts and gloves. He was a modern day gladiator with soft brown eyes and apparently a taste for art. She let everything of the day slip away. Nothing was ever more than this - to be n***d and tuned to the rhythm of this Earth and to each other. Falseness was stacked upon falseness, the joy of the moment always soured by the past. She felt again the warm tickling surge deep in her belly and knew that she was responding physically even to the thought of him. For tonight the tongue of lava flow would take her and if that was into his arms - or more - then so it would be. The fuse on the regret circuit had burned out with the overload. And it had just been so long... so b****y long.

Chapter 5Once back to the flat she had to organize her clothes. She had no idea where they were going - so she had no idea how to dress. There could be nothing worse than being over dressed except perhaps being under dressed and disappointing him. Looking at the photos on his fan website, most of the girls around him wore next to nothing. She showered, thankful that her legs had just been waxed. She rejected any kind of trouser suit. He had not seen her legs and she knew that they were long tanned and shapely. Her size 14 was full and womanly and she was at ease with her body. Her skin was creamy and clear, her hair was raven black, shiny and her eyes gray blue and bright.

She thought to phone Judy for a chat about her dress but decided against it. The poor girl would have enough to do. Finally she selected a purple bias cut satin knee length dress. The shoes were a worry. Would they be dancing? She opted for her silver satin sandals with a bow and medium heels. She chose her sexiest underwear and imagined him slipping it off. She ran her hand down her own forearm as if it were his hand. Sure, she had been very attracted to a man before, had imagined love and had synthesized it so as at least to enter that lovers club where they churned out your sing-along song. But she had never loved, had never been prepared to risk and surrender. Now something inside her was pushing up like a bloom in spring because it was its season and it couldn’t stop. It was coming and there was no escape from the beauty and suffering of love.

Hurriedly she dashed around the flat making sure that there was nothing to reveal her real life, just in case, just in the impossible case of him coming there. Tonight she would have to tell him everything or there could be no future. Probably there could be no future anyway.

She waited at the Queens Park tube station, looking up an;d down the street that any criminal would have recognized as the manner of a cop. She stepped back and tried to relax. Late homecoming workers pushed almost blindly out into the street. A group of boys in hoods waited in the entrance smoking and spitting. One of them looked across at her and said something to his mates. There was a chorus of brash laughter and they all turned to face her, looking her up and down. Despite all she knew she felt uneasy and threatened. If this went on for a couple of minutes things could go very wrong indeed. Mentally she rehearsed a focused karate chop with the side of her hand up under the nose of an attacker. This was not what she had wanted. Why had she been so coy and not just given him her address?

A black Cadillac Stretch limo pulled into the curb. She watched the boys plant their eyes on it. Freddie stepped out from the back and held the door open.

“Madame... I am lost in the big city... you can ‘elp me perhaps?” he said in his pantomime French accent. She went to the car as he took a step towards the hooded boys. No one met his gaze. He was about 6 feet 3 inches, 200 lbs and had total self assurance. If even she had felt the heat of his presence, these kids were about to get burned. In a second they had glanced at each other and had gone. He stepped back into the car and sat beside her, “Maybe they were rude kids?” he commented, “they have not so many chances in life perhaps.”

He looked fantastic in a deep blue casual jacket, open neck striped blue shirt and black pleated trousers that fitted tightly around his honed waist and buttocks. She settled down into the sumptuous red leather of the Cadillac. The in car music system played a gentle piano sonata.

“I’m so happy you could meet me,” he said softly, picking up her hand as if he simply could, as if he had that automatic power. She smiled acknowledging her assent. She let the mood of the music relax her as the huge vehicle cruised smoothly across London. He kept her hand, stroking each of her fingers tenderly with his powerful hands as if he was mapping every fold of her. She felt as if she were a precious object that he was gently exploring. She wanted to speak. There was so much that had to be said but the mood and his presence filled her.

“We have forgotten to talk of boats,” she said dreamily at last, looking into his eyes which were as warm as his touch. He closed his eyes slowly and she watched the sweep of his long lashes.

“You look - no- you are - so beautiful,” he said softly.

She felt a surge of feeling that rippled upwards through her body in waves. She reached out and touched his scarred brow as if to take away the reality of it and of his violent life. And then - then he tilted up his chin and pushed a nuzzling kiss into the palm of her hand. Something beyond desire or anything she recognized as human both filled and drained her, leaving her motionless.

“Merci,” he whispered.

“Pourquoi?

“Pour ta tendresse.”

She was about to ask him what he meant but being with him had no meanings. Meanings were what had happened in her life before Freddie.

They had stopped in Chelsea, just off Sloane Square. The driver came round and opened the door. They stepped out, hand in hand. Two camera flashes startled her.

“Just a couple of paps - they have their job to do and anyway... I am not supposed to be with anyone else,” he commented casually.

Anna dragged her mind back to the present. Paparazzi - she did not want her picture in the papers. She brushed aside her anxiety. Nothing was going to interfere with these few stolen hours.

They were outside a restaurant 'La Galérie' which was clearly exclusive. A waiter opened the door as they entered.

“I hope you like it here. If not there is no one else to blame,” he smiled.

“You own it?”

“Well, you know, ma mère - she saw it as an investment.”

They took a secluded reserved table. The walls were decorated with fabulous paintings, everything from classical to cubist. He picked up on her interest.

“Only a few are originals - I commission copies of works I admire.”

Above them hung a full size copy of a Bronzino that she knew from the National Gallery. Venus was stealing Cupid’s arrow because of his wayward aim. Father Time was pulling back the curtain of Truth. She felt like a diver on the high board. She had to jump...

“Freddie - I know who you are now. When we met we did not know anything of each other and...”

“And it was so beautiful. It was the same for me. Now I know you only want to sell me a boat..,” he joked.

“No. No,” she insisted, “you know it is not like that, it’s just that...”

“I’m a brute... you have discovered how I live.”

“I never said that - I don’t care about that.”

“Things have gone that way Anna. Maybe I would change it but I live with it you know. Shall we eat?”

His tone had hardened and she felt that he had withdrawn from her. There was some place in his soul where she could not go and anyway, there was nowhere to go after tonight.

“Are you eating garlic?” he asked with a smile, “in case...”

“Are you expecting a kiss?” she said, feeling her heart leap.

“I do not presume...”

“You may presume Monsieur,” she whispered, “and yes - I want garlic and hot spice.”

He ordered champagne – Veuve La Salle from his own vineyard. The superb meal - carpaccio of venison with truffle sauce, roasted salmon with rose petal harissa, white chocolate panna cotta with blackberry coulis - blended with his presence. She floated in time, watching his powerful hands, the strength of his neck and shoulders beneath his jacket. His movements were light and graceful but hinting at a restrained physical danger. They left aside talk of boxing or boats. They chatted about art, often in French. More and more they fell in step. As she lifted her knife, so did he. When she looked up at his face, she found his gaze coming up to meet hers. Somehow they were entwining without touch, following a choreography laid down in time for lovers. He was proud of his Michelin star and had a good knowledge of food and fine wine.