and Joe were in Year Four at the same school and they were good mates. On this particular Wednesday the pair had stuffed themselves with chicken wings, cocktail sausages, oven chips and cola before each getting a hard smack and a threat of worse to come after dumping an older girl called Isobel into a puddle by the line of motorbikes out front.
After some loud belching to stop Joe’s geeky elevenyear-old brother Martin from concentrating on his book, the pair ended up wrestling each other and chasing around the outside of the boxing ring. When they got breathless they’d run back to the bar and fuel up on cup cakes and Fanta.
This got repetitive after a while, so Dante and Joe were pleased when church ended and Teeth came out of the meeting room. Most of the Brigands joined the women and club associates at the bar, but Teeth sauntered past the pool table and blinking fruit machine to stick his head between the elasticised ropes of the boxing ring and give the two eight-year-olds high fives.
‘How’s my little champions?’ Teeth asked, as he cracked a big gummy grin. His lips curled into his mouth and he couldn’t sound Ss and Ts properly, but nobody was ever going to take the piss.
The two eight-year-olds were covered with grime and dust off the floor of the ring. They had bright red faces and glistening brows.
‘You gonna show us a new move?’ Joe asked, panting as he sat down with his legs swinging over the side of the ring.
‘Kickboxing drills,’ Teeth said seriously.
Both boys groaned.
‘That’s so boring,’ Dante complained. ‘Show us something cool, like that secret move you told us about where you hit the guy in the back of the head and his eyeballs shoot out of their sockets.’
‘You’re too young,’ Teeth said cheerfully. ‘Fancy moves do not a good fighter make.’
As Teeth spoke, he pulled off his boots and hung his leather Brigands jacket on the ring’s corner post.
‘Tell you what,’ he said, as he jumped into the ring, with holey socks and a giant foam sparring pad over his right hand. ‘Show me some decent kicks and punches. Then I might just show you a good way to dislocate someone’s shoulder. Dante, you’re up first.’
Over the next quarter hour Teeth worked up a sweat as the two boys chased him around the ring punching and kicking his sparring mitt. A couple of older girls also came in, and while Dante and Joe leaned against the ropes watching, Teeth showed the girls a devious thumb lock that could be used on any boy whose hands wandered into places they shouldn’t.
‘I don’t know why you bother, Sandra,’ Dante chirped. ‘You’re so ugly no boy’s gonna come near you anyway.’
Sandra was thirteen, with her hair scraped back tight and a mouth like a foghorn. ‘I dare you to come down out of that ring and say that,’ she yelled. ‘I’ll rip your bloody little head off.’
‘My cousin reckons you’ve already slept with half the boys in Year Ten,’ Joe added.
‘Oh does she indeed?’ Sandra said, placing her hands on her hips. ‘Like she can talk after everything she got up to with—’
Teeth interrupted. ‘Now, now, children! Play nicely. If you’re gonna start shrieking and whining I’m off to the bar to get drunk.’
Dante blew Sandra a cheeky kiss as Joe turned back into the ring and picked up the sparring mitt.
‘You wanna put on your gloves and spar some more?’ Joe asked.
‘Too knackered,’ Dante puffed, as he glanced at the clock on the wall behind the ring. ‘Let’s get a drink.’
As the boys jumped out of the ring, their dads – the Führer and Scotty – came into the room. The two men had been holed up in the club office for more than an hour after church finished.
Scotty was a big man, thirty-four years old, square jaw, rugged looking and with the same tangled red hair as his son. The Führer was twenty years older. Short and squat, with a titchy Hitler moustache and his arms fully inked with tattoos. His bald head and fat belly meant that Dante could never look at him without being reminded of a bowling pin.
‘Is Martin in here?’ the Führer barked, so angry that all the tendons in his neck stuck out. Then he turned to Teeth. ‘Has my boy Martin spoken to you?’
Teeth shook his head. Dante thought it was weird because Martin was the last kid on earth who’d jump into a boxing