Retribution

"Prize-fighter?" Father Petrou had confused written all over his face.

"Illegal prize fighting. Bare-Knuckle style," I said.

Father Petrou, gave me another puzzled looked. He then nodded his head. He figured out what I meant by Bare-Knuckle fighting.

I continued, "Manolis looked at me and squinted his eyes, I knew that look, he was planning something. Manolis looked at his fighter than at me. 'With Argus outside now. You beat him. You can walk away from this life', Manolis said. Argus was the name of his prize-fighter. He insisted it was a one-time deal. If I win, I am out. I can walk away from the underworld. I looked at Julie. Her eyes were moist.

"Argus was he good?"

"The best. Manolis knew I didn't have a chance with his champion."

"What did you do?"

"I went outside. There we were in the parking lot, opposite each other. Argus and I, our fists raised. Argus was slowly approaching me. Behind him were Manolis and the henchmen, cheering him on. Behind me were Julie and her cousins. They were all silent. Argus knew that he had me."

"Why didn't you just walk away?"

I smiled. "I had the advantage," I said.

"What advantage?" Father Petrou gave me that, I don't understand look again.

"He underestimated me. He came at me with a fast and hard swing, which I ducked. I knew he had an injury from his previous fight on his side. With the move he made, he exposed that injury. I buried my fist into his ribcage. I quickly sank my other fist into the side of his head. I had him dazed. Before he could counter-attack, I brought my elbow upwards into his nose. He went flying back, smashing into the tarmac. I got into a defensive position, ready for him. He stayed down. He was out for the count."

"What did this Manolis guy do?"

"He was pissed off. When these people say something, it stands. He told me earlier if I beat his champion I'm out. There was nothing he could do about it. I achieved my challenge."

"What about Julie?"

"I told her everything about myself. I promised her. I was through with that life. I swore to her that I wouldn't fight again. All that was behind me, my dark days were over. I wanted to build a future with Julie, have a family with her. That was until recently." I leaned forward. I could feel my tears running down my cheeks. I watched the laminated floor, as my tears splashed onto it.

Chapter 4

The streets of Central London were flooded with shoppers. With the festive season getting nearer, the shops were packed. Wherever you looked, there were pedestrians with more bags then they can carry. Their arms were swinging backwards and forwards, as they leapt in and out of shops. Everyone was getting ready for Christmas. I don't come to the West End to buy gifts or browse the shops. I walk the streets of London hoping to see two familiar faces. I am searching for Goliath and his boss.

Since the day my mother-in-law visited me. Every night, once darkness falls, I am like a vampire, who comes out only at night. The only place you will find me is in the West End. From Wood Green Station the train takes me to Covent Garden. From there I have a pattern I follow. I start Walking to Charing Cross then to Leicester Square. I take a break at Piccadilly Circus. There I sit at one of the restaurants or cafes, preferably by the window. I have a snack while I study each pedestrian that goes by. Then it's off to Oxford Circus, ending my cycle at Tottenham Court Road. I go round in circles every night, without any success. It's like looking for a pin in the haystack. The nearer it gets to Christmas. The streets get busier, making it more difficult to find them.

I change my routine once a week. Tonight I got off at Oxford Circus Station. I proceeded up the steps leading to the exit. Converging onto the crossroad of Oxford Street, Regent Street and Bond Street. All directions appeared to be more active tonight, due to the weekend. Standing at the edge of the pavement, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Slanted my head upwards, I take in the cold air through my nose. Opening my eyes, that is when I saw her. It was Julie in the form of an Angel, with her wings open, floating in the air. I stared at her, while my eyes became misty from the tears. A sudden nudge on my back knocked me off the pavement, into the road, in front of the incoming traffic. It was a pedestrian rushing past me. He accidentally collided into me. He continues walking, mumbling, "sorry," not even turning back to see if everything was ok. An approaching black cab sounds its horn. I immediately jumped back onto the sidewalk. The vehicle drove past me, an angry cab driver inside the car was waving his hand, gestured me to get off the road. Once I knew I was safe on the pavement, I looked up to see the Christmas decorations, along Regents Street. It was an angel with her wings open. That is what I saw a minute ago, not Julie.

I hurried back descending the stairs, two at a time to the underground station. I got directions from one of the attendants, on which line would take me to Enfield Town. The journey took longer than I anticipated. I needed to change trains and get the overground line. With fewer services during the weekend, the trip took over one hour. From Enfield Station, I jumped into a taxi that took me straight to Chase Farm Hospital. It was eight in the evening when I got there. The ward was full, with visitors who had come to see loved once in the hospital.

There wasn't anyone besides Julie's bed, which surprised me. I was expecting to see my mother-in-law, especially during the weekend. I pulled one of the chairs and sat by her bed. I held her hand, whispered to her about the Festive days ahead of us. "What gift do you want for Christmas, my love," I whispered in her ear. I put my ear close to her mouth, hoping to hear her voice.

There was nothing.

At that moment, a nurse came to check on her. I asked the nurse, "Her mother wasn't here when I arrived. Did she come today?"

"Oh, bless her, Maria is here every day. She was here most of the day. She left ten minutes before you arrived." The nurse replied.

"Was she with Julie's father?"

"Thinking back, I've never seen Julie's dad." She paused for a moment, before she continued, "Maybe he's visited her on my day off." She did her duty as we spoke. Changing the drip, and then adjusting the flow of the liquid. Once she had finished, she said, "It was nice to meet you." Then turned with two long strides she was by the next patient's bed. She took the woman's arm to check her blood pressure.

I found it odd that Julie's father did not come to visit his daughter. Maybe he visited her on the day the nurse was off. It was eating at my brain, thinking about it. Today is Sunday, why didn't he come to see Julie with Maria? He doesn't work at the weekend? The same question was going around and around in my head. I tried to put the thought in the back of my mind. I wanted to spend some time with my wife. I sat there and watched her, talking to her, telling her about the happy memories we had together. I wished to see a reaction from her, but it didn't happen. I stayed until ten when the nurse I spoke to earlier came to tell me that visiting hours were over.

From the hospital, I took a taxi back to the church. From the moment I got into the cab, the driver couldn't keep his eyes off me. He was focused on the rear-view mirror most of the time instead of the road ahead. The taxi stopped outside the church.

With a smile, he said, "I remember you, Father. A few weeks back you got a taxi from Chase Farm to here. You were with another priest. I didn't recognise you there for a moment, without your white collar."

I was worried for a moment. The driver might want to confess. Luckily he didn't.

I paid him and got out of the taxi. The driver did a quick U-turn, facing the direction he came. He put his foot down, turning the car sharply ahead, he disappeared. The church was in darkness. Built on the right of the church was an extension. Father Petrou used it as his office. I was hoping to see some lights through the window. It was dark.

I wasn't in the mood for a run. I didn't have the desire to do anything. Maybe it was because I saw Julie, motionless and helpless. It could be because I hadn't spoken to someone for days. Father Petrou and I haven't talked for a while since I confessed. I was ashamed to encounter him face to face, after telling him about my past.

Chapter 5

By ten-thirty I was in bed, compared to other night which was after midnight. I was up from the crack of dawn the next day. It was before Father Petrou arrived, with breakfast prepared for two. It was a full English breakfast, consisting of sausages, eggs, beans and toast. I was preoccupied over the cooker when Father Petrou startled me.

"I hope you haven't prepared anything for me, Tony? I am fasting," he said.

With two plates in my hand, I turned around. "Nativity Fast, right?" I said.

He nodded his head.

"Forgive me. I forgot," I said. I made him a cup of tea and poured myself some coffee. We both sat at the table, while I nibbled at the beans and egg. "Sorry, Father I'm going to half fast today." I pushed the sausages to one side of the plate. He smiled, as he watched me bury my face in the food.

"Tony I wanted to ask you something."

"What's up, Father." I was gathering the last of my beans with a piece of toast.

"I found an envelope, in my office a few weeks back. Under the Bible, I keep on my desk."

I nodded my head. I knew where he was going with this.

"It had a stack of twenty-pound notes inside. If my memory is correct, it was the day after your mother-in-law came to see you. You wouldn't know anything about that would you?"

My hand froze in mid-air, with the toast between my thumb and index finger. "How much money are you talking about, Father?" I asked.

"£2,OOO."

"Wow that is a lot of cash, Father." I quickly got up. I started gathering the plates and cups to wash them up.

He squinted his eyes while he looked at me. He was about to say something.

"Hello is anyone here?" The female voice said from outside.

I sighed, "Saved by the bell," I said to myself.

We both stepped outside. A woman stood there. She was in her late fifties, dressed in black. The only contrast was her grey hair. Father Petrou recognised her, straight away.

"Sophia, what brings you to church, this early?"

"I need your help, Father. It's Chris. I don't know what to do, Father. Ever since his release from prison, he's depressed. He won't go out and doesn't want to speak to anyone." She put her head down and began to cry, covering her face with her hands.

I rushed inside and got a glass of water. I took it over to the woman, putting the glass into her hand. I recognised her at once. She was a distant relative of mine. I only met her a handful of times when I was a teenager. I knew her son more. We use to go out when they visited Cyprus for their holidays.

She lost her husband ten years ago. He had a heart attack. Without a father figure in the house, her son Chris lost his way. He went to rob a snooker club with some friends. They hit the manager of the club on the head with a bottle. The man died in the hospital a few hours later. He gave the police a description of Chris before he faded away. It was a quick trial. He got ten years, that was seven or eight years ago. He must have got out earlier by showing good behaviour.

I promised my mother I would go and see him when I came to Britain. Visited him once, when I mentioned it to my in-laws, my father-in-law went ballistic.

"You go and visit your friends in prison? You know what that will do to my business if people find out!" he screamed. I didn't go again. Kind of regret it now.

"Aunt Sophia," I said. I put my arm over her shoulder to comfort her.

She looked at me, the cut on my cheek made her pull away. I released her at once, not to frighten the woman. "Who are you?" she asked.

"It's Tony, Helen's son. I use to live in Cyprus."

She looked at me again. It took her a moment or two to recognise me. "What has happened to you, Tony?" Raising her hand, she put it near my injury. Not touching the cut, like she was afraid she might hurt me.

I made us some hot beverages. The three of us sat in the kitchen. Sophia explained to me what had happened to Chris. Father Petrou listened to every detail. He had probably heard it all before like I had heard it from my parents when it occurred. When the person that lived it tells you, it is different. You feel their pain.

Sophia invited me to her house for lunch, also to see Chris. "Seeing someone he knows his age might be good for him," Sophia said.

When we walked inside the house, Sophia gestured me into the living room. Chris was sitting on a leather sofa, opposite him an old analogue TV. Wheeler Dealers was on. His mother motioned me to sit down. "I've brought a cousin to see you, Chris," she said.

Chris turned to look at me for a second, then turned back to watch his TV show.

Sophia looked at me and shrugged her shoulders. "I'll make us some lunch. Why don't you two catch up?" she said.

It was a one-way channel. The only voice you heard was mine. After some attempts to get Chris to acknowledge me, he turned to look at me. He opened his mouth to say something but stopped half-way.

He watched a few minutes of the show then turned back to me. "What happened to your face?"

I gave him the shortcut version of my story. I got his attention. He lost the interest of Edd China in the show. He was focused on me. When I'd finished, he just stared at me for some time.

"What did the fucking police do?"

I just shook my head slowly.

"That sucks, fucking pigs!" He blurted out, a little too loud.

Sophia rushed into the living room. "Is everything ok, boys?" she worriedly asked.

"Mom we're talking," Chris assured her. She retreated to her kitchen.

When I knew his mother was gone, I said, "I didn't go to the police."

"OH. What did these fucking pricks look like?" Chris asked.

"Who?" I said.

Shaking his head, he screamed, "The fucking pricks that did you and the wife in, whom do you think I was talking about!" He looked towards the doorway to see if his mother heard him swear.

"Sorry. One of them looked like Al Pacino, in The Godfather. The other one was a giant, nearing seven foot tall."

"That is one big mother fucker," was his response.

"I've been looking for them for over a month. I go to Central London, every evening. Hoping to see them, but I don't have any luck. I don't know what else to do," I said with desperation in my voice.

He sat there, his head down with his elbow resting on the sofa handle. He rubbed his forehead with his thumb and index finger. "Maybe you're looking in the fucking wrong places," he said.

That is when I realised that every sentence, Chris said he used the F... word. It could be a habit he picked up in prison.

Lunch was ready. All three of us sat at the kitchen table. In the half-hour, I was there. Sophia had managed to fill the table with simple dishes, fried eggs, gammon steak, halloumi, chips, meals you could fry instantly.

In the presence of his mother, Chris didn't use the F... word in his vocabulary. He was a different person.

He explained to me, how difficult it was for him to find a job since getting out of prison. "All the studying to become a plumber was a waste of time, who wants to hire an ex-criminal?" he said.

His mother leaned across the table and patted his hand.

After lunch, we sat in the garden. Chris enjoyed his cigarette with a cup of coffee. I just had coffee. I was glad that I never picked up the addiction of smoking. We sat together and watched another episode of Wheeler Dealers. Chris would explain to me what Edd China was doing on the car he was repairing. I just nodded my head, as I did not have a clue about cars.

When I was going to leave, he walked me to the front gate of the house. He looked behind him to make sure his mother was not there. He said, "Thanks for coming to see me in prison. You're the only person, other than my mother that visited me." He embraced me in a hug and whispered in my ear, "Don't worry, and keep on searching you will find those fuckers." He released me and walked back towards the house, waving his hand over his head.

"You take care of yourself, Tony. I'll see you soon," he called out.

Chapter 6

Days turned into weeks, but time stood still for me. I expanded my horizons with Chris's advice. With only ten days until Christmas, I hadn't made any progress. My frustration began to show. To subside it, I trained longer and harder. I released my anger by jogging. Father Petrou noticed it as well, from my change of mood.

He attempted to talk to me. It was Saturday morning. We were cleaning the garden, collecting the last of the leaves which had fallen of the trees. "Try and put it all behind you, Tony," he said. He hit a nerve, how can he say that, after what these people did to my family. I gave him a look of daggers.

I ran into my room, changing into my jogging gear. I steamed out, nearly knocked over Father Petrou. Dodging him, I sprinted out of the churchyard onto the street. I could hear him call my name, as his voice faded away.

I sprinted towards Alexandra Palace. The distance was two kilometres, a warm-up for me, even with its steep ascent. That is when you are jogging. If you are sprinting up there, it is a different challenge. I opened my stride, racing up the hill towards my destination. With most of the distance covered, I was on the last long stretch, which was the steepest part. I was forced to run on the side of the road, due to pedestrians taking up most of the pavement. I was almost there. I forced myself to go faster. Once I reached the stairs ascending to the palace, I leapt, taking two steps at a time, until I was at the top.

I leaned on the pillar, next to the stairs. I buried my forehead onto my arm, exhaling deep, striving to catch my breath. A pat on my shoulder than an unfamiliar male voice said, "Getting ready for the London Marathon, mate." The group of people he was with, chuckled at his comment. They continued, towards the direction the crowds were going.

When my breathing was stable, I looked around me. You usually don't get so many, visitors at Alexandra Palace, even on a Saturday. There must be a function in The Great Hall, I said to myself. Making my way to the entrance of The Great Hall, I entered the foyer. A long queue formed on one side of the lobby, everyone waiting to pay to go inside. The large banner above their heads said. 'Christmas Second Hand Fair,' in smaller print the admission price, '£5 adults & £3 children'. Digging my hand into my pocket, I pulled out a ten-pound note. Cash I keep in my tracksuit for an emergency when I go for a jog. I guess this was a good enough emergency to clear my mind.

I was in the queue for fifteen minutes, before I could get inside The Great Hall. It was worth the wait. Once inside, the stalls were cramped next to each other, forming many rows, starting from one end of the hall to the other side. At each booth, there was something different for sale. Clothes, Kitchen equipment, toys, household appliances, there was something for everyone.

That is what I needed, something to take my mind away from my problems. I walked along the aisles, studying the items that were on display. Smiling at children who were getting excited over a toy, which was a couple of pounds. Their parents would attempt to get a better deal on the toy. The seller would respond by furiously swinging his head from left to right, saying, "no."

One stall caught my eye. The trader was selling items from the forties. Scattered on a table were World War II pieces, each article showing its age and history. I looked at some medals carefully, being careful not to drop them.