Story 28 – Ghostpuncher III: The Fatal Punch of Death

It wasn’t my first time in a wine bar, but I’d not been in one this posh before. I’ll be honest, I felt out of place. When you’re over six foot tall and muscled from years of solid labour, skin browned and weathered because you spend almost every day working outside, in a room full of dainty city boys and their glammed up wives, you stand out. Now, I’m not saying I cared that the lot of the rich sods were giving me side eye, I know who I am and its not their approval I look for. However, it did put me off my game, I’d much rather have been having the meeting down at Milly’s or the Queen’s.

It took me a moment to find the right woman, which is probably what started the trouble.

You see, when I walk into a place like that, where the cheapest glass of wine was about the same as a weeks rent for a lot of people I know, the regulars think I’m lost. Or they think I’m there for nefarious purposes. My eyes don’t help, when I’m angry they’ve been described as “The place hope dies” by a mate.

I was hoping this Mrs Black would know me on sight and make some sort of signal so I could find her. But everyone was just gaping at me like a goldfish that hopped the bowl. So I started looking at the single women, one by one, trying to see who was a likely client.

At which point one of the Hooray Henrys decided it would be a good time to teach the oik a lesson.

Red nosed, flushed cheeks and eyes unfocused, he tried to get in my face, but being nearly a foot shorter all he did was get up in my chest. Which he poked.

“Can I help you?” I asked, trying to remember I was here for business and to not take that finger and do something unpleasant with it.

“You look lost, chap. Actually, not lost enough, so why don’t you march yourself out.” He brayed, that Chelsea, posh voice that really grinds my teeth.

“I’m here to meet someone.” I didn’t look down at him, just kept scanning the single women, of who there were more than a few and a decent number of them young enough to be my daughter.

“You? Meet someone here?” He poked my chest again, I held back a growl. “I don’t think so. The only people who come here dressed like you are those silicon chaps and you don’t look like you could even turn a computer on.”

Yes, I don’t really use the computer much, don’t really have a lot of need for it, but his arrogance was really starting to push my class warfare buttons, ones I keep firmly under safety glass marked “Do not break except in case of revolution.”

I finally looked down to acknowledge him properly, I tried to keep my eyes soft, but I must have failed because he took two steps back and gulped. “I am here to meet a Mrs Black. I, unfortunately, don’t know what she looks like, just that she’s by herself.”

The Henry pointed his finger at me, I glared at the digit, it was withdrawn. I think my general size and potential for violence was starting to filter through the overpriced grape juice he shuttled down his neck. Unfortunately for him, his boys hadn’t got the message.

“Don’t let him stare you down, Tristan!”

“Teach him his place, old boy!”

“Go on Tris, send him crying to Mummy!”

I glanced over at the drunken table, four of them sitting there, a number of empty bottles. Three of them were even drunker than this Tristan, but one looked mostly sober and he looked worried, I think he probably realised how bad an idea this could be.

Tristan looked from me to his boys and back again. The jeers had obviously got to him, couldn’t look the fool in front of an oik like me. I looked away from him to see if the staff were going to do anything. No, they were all watching too, waiting to see what would happen.

Tristan balled up his fist.

“Don’t do it.” I told him.

He took a moment to rethink the assault and his boys started again.

I could squash him, probably one gut punch would put him on his knees in the middle of a puddle of sick. But in a place like this, bearing in mind how much money this lot spent in here, I knew which one of us would have the next few months and definitely the rest of the day ruined by the fuzz.

So, next best choice and I hated this option, goes against a lot of what I believe about actions having consequences.

I let him hit me, leaned my chest forward to soften the punch and reduce the power, not that it had a lot behind it to start with. I was surprised, looking at Tristan, I’d had him down as a former rugby player, but not with a hit like that.

His fist bounced off me and I ignored the jolt it gave me, instead I beamed at him with the kindest, sad smile I could manage, the one your Mum gave you when you tried your best but still failed.

“Would you like another go? Try to do it properly?” I asked him, keeping my voice light, consoling him like he was a child who’d just failed on the claw machine.

My reaction had completely wrong footed him, he had expected to put me on my arse, the fact that I was still standing and wasn’t even annoyed by his punch was too much. He retreated into the usual stance of a bully who can’t compete with his victim.

“You’re not worth my time.” He snorted.

I half closed my eyes and pursed my lips, giving him the little head nods to say “Sure, of course.”

He went bright red and his mates were howling at him, I worried he wouldn’t be able to take the hit to his ego and things could get worse when two things happened at once.

His mate who hadn’t egged him on stood up and gripped his arm, nodding a thank you to me, before pulling Tristan down to his seat.

A woman lightly tapped me on the arm and said my name.

“Yes, I’m Reg Carroll. Are you Mrs Black?” I said, turning to look at her.

One thing was for sure, she wasn’t Mrs Black. I knew that because I knew her face. She was a model, a catwalk model. She had also been in the news six months ago, her face was plastered everywhere.

I knew then who it was she wanted me to punch. This was going to be interesting.

“I am Mrs Black.” She said.

“Excellent. Look, I know you picked this place and I get why now, but maybe we could go elsewhere? I don’t want Tristan over there realising his feelings are hurt badly enough to try for a rematch.”

She looked at the table of Henrys and nodded.

“Do you have anywhere in mind?”

“Yes. Do you like chocolate cake?”

Milly found us a quiet corner of the tea room. She had, much to my despair, already sold out of the Death by Chocolate, but said if we were going to be there a while she could whip us up a couple of her special choccy cupcakes.

I just about stopped myself from falling to my knees to give thanks. I love her chocolate cakes.

The woman who was not Mrs Black looked at me, puzzled.

“Milly makes the best chocolate cakes. But they always sell out before I can get here. I think she probably recognised you as well, which is why we’re getting special treatment. So, I’m already in your debt.” I told her.

She looked surprised “You know who I am?”

I gave her my best kind smile “Mrs Lauren, you were all over the news not so long back. I know who your husband was and I’ve seen you in adverts. You are pretty well known.”

“I always thought Michel was the well known one.”

“He was more famous, being a middleweight champ will do that. But that advert you did for that ice cream, it got around.”

She looked embarrassed “That was over a decade ago.”

I was about to explain why it had stuck in my mind, then realised I was about to tell her how much I’d enjoyed watching ice cream slowly melt down her near naked body. Now, I’m not a retiring wallflower and if I was trying it on with her, I’d maybe have complimented her on it. But she was here as a client, my private erotic thoughts didn’t fit the tone. Time to change the subject.

“Given what I saw on the news, about your husband dying at home, I’m going to guess he’s who you’d like me to deal with.”

She nodded “But it’s not quite what you might think.”

“I don’t think anything yet. Can I ask, before you begin, how did you hear about me? No offence but I don’t get calls from people in your social circle. I’ve heard there’s some sort of private or government organisation you lot can call on.”

She nodded “The MSSA, they did in fact come to see me once I mentioned the situation to a few people. It was they who recommended you to me.”

That shocked me, I worked purely on word of mouth, I don’t get governments or people with contacts coming to me. I was having a hard time believing they’d even heard of me, I don’t even do my side job outside of town unless something crops up while I’m on a job elsewhere.

“They told you to come to me?”

“They said you had the exact skill set for my particular problem.”

So, they knew what I did and how I did it? I wasn’t sure if I liked that or not.

“Did they tell you what my skill set, as they put it, is?”

She smiled, perfect teeth in a perfect face, no wonder she’d done as well as she had. “Oh yes, they did. And I agree with them, you’re the perfect person to help him with his problem.”

That stopped me, normally people want me to help them with their problem, I’ve never had anyone say the ghost has a problem.

She must have seen me look confused “The thing is, he’s not haunting me or disrupting me. He just stays in the same place and I can tell he’s upset because of the way he’s been hitting the bag. I could always tell when he was upset, he does a certain combination on it, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen the bag move that way before he died.”

“Has he appeared to you, have you managed to speak to him?”

She shook her head “He won’t appear, I don’t know if he can or not. The agents that came out didn’t say anything about being able to see him either.” A small sniff, she had loved him, it wasn’t just for the money like all those rumours he suggested. You can tell when someone truly misses someone, all those little things add up. “I’ve talked when he’s there, but I don’t know if he listens.”

Milly appeared at the table with two delicious looking cupcakes on two plates. A perfect moment to give Mrs Lauren the chance to compose herself.

“You want some ice cream to go with that, Reg?” Milly asked and for the first time in god knows how long I felt my cheeks heat up in a blush.

I saw Milly wink at Mrs Lauren who was covering a smile at my discomfort. God bless that woman, she’s sharper than most people give her credit for. Which is probably why my attempts to take her out had been discreetly but firmly brushed off.

I gave Milly a wink and a smile “Not right now, darlin’. Maybe later.”

She winked back “Enjoy your cakes, I’ll bring a pot of tea over in a bit.”

“You’re a diamond, Milly.”

She nodded “I know.” Then she went back to her other customers.

“Tell me what the problem with Michel is. It doesn’t sound like he’s disturbing you, so he could just be taking his time before stepping through the door.” I redirected the chat back to the matter at hand, trying to ignore the mental image of melting ice cream that kept nudging the edges of my libido.

She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief “He won’t, he’s too angry at himself. Did you see his last fight?”

“Only the highlights, I was working at the time.” I had been, the Terry’s, an angry couple that had managed to kill each other in a fight and then started up again every time someone tried to move into their old home.

“Then you probably heard more about how bad he was than saw, they only put his better actions in the highlights.”

I nodded, “He’d looked decent, but unlucky in the highlights. The papers tore into him, said he’d been slow and sloppy the entire fight.”

“Yes, he took Williams far too lightly. Thought the man wasn’t up to par.”

“And lost the belt as a result.”

“Yes, then the aneurysm three days later.”

Now it made sense. A champion, defeated through a combination of under preparation, over confidence and a better opponent than he’d expected, died before he could come to terms with it.

“So, you want me to beat some sense into him?”

She looked shocked “No, Mr Carroll. I think he needs a fight.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Perhaps I cannot explain it properly. Maybe Michel could, perhaps he should.”

I agreed, but first things first “I can come up to the house. But first, we do have to talk about my fee.”

“Absolutely.” She reached into her bag and pulled out an envelope full of cash. Far too much cash. “I am sure this would do.”

“That is too much.” I told her.

“You haven’t counted it yet.”

“Mrs Lauren, this is a side job for me, its not how I make my living. That envelope is far too fat and I only ever take half upfront.”

She was surprised, I think she was expecting me to wring every last penny I could out of her. I took the envelope from her and pulled out the right amount. Half went into my pocket, the other I handed back to her along with the envelope.

“You just give me that half when I’m done.”

“But, you can have all of this. I don’t mind paying, this is so much less than I thought.”

“I charge everyone the same, unless they really can’t pay. I’ve been known to do someone a favour now and then. Just because you can pay more, doesn’t mean I’m going to charge you more.” I thought about it for a moment “OK, I have been known to charge more, but that is when the client is more like that Tristan from the wine bar.” I gave her a wink “Arsehole tax.”

She snorted a laugh and it was my turn to be shocked. Everything else about her was so elegant, but that laugh sounded more like a rhino farting.

I couldn’t help but laugh too, which only set her off more. Its nice when someone that perfect has at least something more regular human about them.

Milly came back with the pot of tea while we were fighting back tears of laughter and trying to catch our breath.

I let Mrs Lauren, Jacqui, drive me to her house. I could have taken my own car but how often can you get driven around town in an Aston Martin Vanquish by a model? Not often enough, in my experience.

The house was what you probably expect from the home of a boxing champion and a model. Large gardens, modern architecture that I didn’t care for. The thing that caught my hustling eye was the amount of windows in the place. I did a quick mental calculation and reckoned cleaning just this house would be worth more than a whole street to me.

I proposed the idea, that after I was done I could come back and wash them.

Jacqui laughed and apologised, she had a company that took care of all of that for them.

“Can’t blame me for asking.”

“No, Mr Carroll, I don’t. Maybe there is something you can do around the grounds for me, I hear you are a man of many talents.”

I shrugged “Hard work has never scared me. Neither has hustling for a better opportunity.”

She parked the car in front of the house.

“I will take you straight to the gym, if you don’t mind. I can give you the tour afterwards if you want one, but I would like Michel to get his peace as soon as possible.”

She was looking me dead in the eyes, hoping I was the answer to her problem. Well, I was going to be, she should have just a bit more faith.

“When I’m done, Michel will move on, I promise.”

We walked round the side of the house and I admired the edging in the garden, whoever they got in to do the work really knew their stuff. The colours complemented the stone of the house in a way I approved of.

At the back of the house was an extension which was obviously not part of the original house. It was more utilitarian, clearly built for function and not beauty. Squat and flat, but with plenty of windows to let the light in. He’d had a proper gym built, I approved of the idea, less so of the style.

Jacqui led me to the window and pointed inside, the lights were on and I could see the former middleweight champ working the heavy bag.

“You see how the bag moves?” She asked.

“I can see him, love. He doesn’t look happy and he’s taking it out on the bag.”

“You can see Michel?” She sounded shocked.

“Of course I can. How did you expect me to fight him if I couldn’t?”

“But, he hasn’t shown himself to me.”

“Probably doesn’t know how. Turning ghost doesn’t come with an instruction manual. If you want to come in, I’ll have a word and see if I can get him to materialise for you.”

“Why can you see him but I can’t?”

“Ah, you see, as a kid I pissed off the fortune teller on the seafront. She had me drink a tea made from special herbs and after that, I see all the ghosts.”

“Honestly?”

I shook my head “No, but its a good story isn’t it?”

“Won’t you tell me the real reason?”

“Nah, that’s mine.”

She looked disappointed, but was quickly over it “I suppose the why doesn’t matter much, does it?”

“Nope, just that I can do what I say I can.”

“And can you?”

I rolled my shoulders to start loosening up “Absolutely.”

I walked in to the gym casually and called out “Hey, Champ, how’s it going?”

Michel Lauren didn’t stop punching, but he did glance in my direction.

I stood by the bag watching him for a moment, he didn’t spare me any attention.

“You’re telegraphing that hook, a blind man would see that coming.”

The punches stopped and he looked at me, I looked back and smiled.

He crouched and shuffled away to the weight rack. I watched him go.

Confused, he rolled across the floor, silently, and hid behind the ring.

“You look ridiculous.” I told him.

“You can see me?”

I rolled my eyes “Yes, mate, I’m magic, I am. I can see you, I can hear you.”

He narrowed his eyes and stepped out ready to pounce, I mean, fair enough, he didn’t know who I was or why I was here. But he could have just asked.

He swung a haymaker at me, sloppy, but still with he form of a pro behind it. I dodged and slapped him on the back of his head.

That stopped him short.

“Oh yes, lad. I can touch you as well.”

“Why are you ‘ere?” The French accent overrode his learned London one for a moment.

“Your missus is worried about you. Called me in to help out.”

He made a pff and waved me off “She brought those government men. They were useless. Why can a man who looks like you,” he gestured at my faded jeans, workboots and t-shirt “do that they can’t?”

I stepped up to him and without warning, flicked his ear, making him jump back and bring his fists up.

“For a start, I can do that.”

He was starting to look annoyed, which wasn’t what I was actually going for.

“Look, your wife knows you are here, she’s seen you working the bag. Says she can tell when you are upset by the combinations you do. She wants me to help you find peace.”

He laughed at that “Peace? How do I find that? I lost everything because I didn’t take my opponent seriously. The one time I let my ego get in the way of hard work and then I die before I can make it right.” He started shouting “Do you know how hard I worked to get all of this? How hard I worked to make myself who I wished to be?”

“I’ve got a decent idea, I am a fan of yours.”

“Don’t you mean were a fan?” He spat.

“Nope, ‘cos you’re right here and I think you’ve got one last fight in you.”

He smirked “And who is going to fight me?”

I held my fists up “I am.”

He considered the idea.

Before he could say anything else I pointed back to the entrance were Jacqui was watching us “Would you like to say something to your wife?”

Michel saw her watching and I saw the tears fill his eyes. “I’ve tried, I’ve yelled and whispered, but she can’t hear me.”

“I can help with that.”

“You’ll pass messages along? A violent medium?”

“Nah, Michel, I’ll tell you how to manifest.”

“How to what?”

I rolled my eyes, the education these ghosts don’t have is, quite frankly, embarrassing for them at times.

“I’ll tell you how to make yourself appear so that anyone who isn’t me can see you.”

“Could I hold her?”

“You could hold her now, if you wanted, its not just the heavy bag and me that can touch you. But, I think it woul be less distressing for her if she could see you, know what I mean?”

“Jack.” He whispered, staring at her.

I snapped my fingers in front of his face and he glared at me “Plenty of time to be weepy in a minute. Let’s make you visible, yeah?”

“OK then. What do I do?”

This was awkward, I knew what he had to do, I’d just never had to explain it before. I probably should have thought my speech through, but winging it has been how I got through so much, I didn’t think it would matter.

“Its all about your mentality. Most ghosts appear to people because they want to scare them. They want to do something to the other person.”

“I want to help Jack, I want her to know its ok.” He protested.

“Do you though? Come on, be honest, you’re ashamed of yourself. If you want her to see you, its because you really want her to tell you its ok, isn’t it?”

He stared at me, silent, before nodding.

“Exactly my point. You want her to see you because of how it would affect you. Mate, she loves you, I can see it every time she talks or thinks about you. She’s hurting because you’re hurting. Show her yourself so that she feels better.” I took a moment to think about whether what I was going to say next was too blunt, then decided it wasn’t. He was a tough lad, he could take it. “Your feelings in this, they don’t matter any more. You’re dead, you don’t actually have all the senses and feelings you used to. A ghost isn’t an exact copy, just incorporeal. A ghost is a collection of your strongest emotions, held together by will or fear or determination. Your shame, your fear, its only a part of who you were, but now that everything else is gone, its the biggest part of you. But I saw how you looked at her, your love for your missus is burning strong. Let it be the strongest part of you, one of the strongest. Want her to see you so that you can make her feel better. Let your love heal her.”

Yeah, it got a bit soppy, but he’s French, you need to appeal to the things that motivate them.

Michel walked away from me, towards his wife. I gave her a nod, I don’t think she understood me.

“What is happening?” She called out.

Michel reached out to touch the tears on her face and I would guess he popped into vision right as he did so. She jumped back and slapped his hand, yelping.

“Its ok, Jack. All bon.” Michel told her.

“You scared the shit out of me.” She laughed and then they wrapped their arm around each other and that’s when I turned around. Some moments are private. I might be a sod, but even I can be respectful.

While they talked and cried and did whatever else they needed to, I climbed into the ring and took off my t-shirt. I considered fighting in my bare feet, but decided against it. My work boots would do fine. I’m a half decent amateur boxer, but I ain’t no twinkle toes on the mat. Too flat footed for a great fighter. No, that’s no right. I stand and move all wrong to be a great boxer. But boxing and fightings different. One has plenty of rules, the other only has one. Last man standing wins.

I’m a fucking deadly fighter, trust me on that.

But I didn’t think a fight is what I was going to be doing. This was was going to be a match, it had to be.

Leaning on the ropes, still facing away from the soon to be parted couple, I felt him climb into the ring.

“Said everything you need to?” I asked, turning around. Michel was leaning against the ropes opposite, a confused smile on his chops. Jacqui was sat in a chair, watching us.

“I think I helped her. But I’m still here. Your help has not sent me on.”

I couldn’t hold back the bark of laughter “That’s not the kind of help I provide, sunshine. That was me being nice.”

Now he really looked confused “You don’t convince spirits to move on? That’s wat Jack said you did.”

“Well, she’s technically correct. She’s just left out a few details.”

“Such as?”

“Such as my job title. I’m a ghostpuncher.”

His turn to laugh “What does that entail?”

“I punch ghosts until they decide to leave. Sometimes I kick them too. I have a very hands on approach to making spirits pass over.”

“Is that your plan for me? To beat me until I cry for mercy?”

I shook my head and started properly limbering up “Nope. You don’t have the same problem as most of them. You don’t want to move on because you are ashamed of yourself. So, you need to fix what’s wrong.”

“And what is that?” He sounded hopeful, I thought he’d started to catch on.

“You’ve got to box, one last time. Giving it everything, taking it seriously. Win or lose, you’ll know you did your best. Then you can pass over.”

“And you think I should box you?”

“Yep. Now, before you get cocky, know a few things about me. I’ve got seven wins, two knock outs, two losses on my amateur record. I have also beaten the unliving shit out of more ghosts than I can fully remember over the last thirty years. I’ve never failed to beat a stubborn spirit into submission.”

“Well, you may have.” He started to bounce on his toes, “But you haven’t fought a professional like me before, have you?”

I started moving towards the centre of the ring “True. But I’ve got six inches in height on you and more than that in reach. I’m also in the heavyweight class. Don’t think for a second this will be easy.”

Still bouncing he actually studied me. Looked at my arms, how my legs moved. Began to take my measure.

“You need time or can you do this now.”

He licked his lips and looked to Jacqui, who smiled and nodded.

“We can do this now.”

I looked over to Jacqui “Mrs Lauren, would you do us the honour of ringing the bell?”

She stood up and yelled “Ding!”

We moved towards each other.

You don’t get a blow by blow of this one. Its a fight I will always cherish. Neither of us embarrassed ourselves, I’ve never boxed better. He had, but I made him work for everything in this one.

When it was done there was a winner and there was someone who hadn’t won the match but didn’t feel like a loser.

The door appeared in the centre of the ring as we were shaking hands.

“Is that it?” Jacqui asked, climbing through the ropes.

“That’s it.” I told her.

“That’s it.” Michel whispered, awed.

“Its been an honour, lad.” I told Michel.

“Thank you for this. I didn’t even get your name.”

“Reg Carroll. I’ll pop out now. Let you say your goodbyes in peace.”

I nodded to Jacqui as I slipped under the ropes, holding my t-shirt, trying not to wince as the bruises on my ribs started to blossom properly. Nice cold bath when I got home would be the ticket.

I was stood outside smoking a fag when I had a sudden gust of the smell of summer holidays blow past me. I raised my cigarette in salute and said goodbye.

Three days later I was still moving a bit stiffly, wondering if I should have tried to find a way to make Michel’s ghost wear gloves.

As I eased myself down into my chair, the phone rang.

“This is Reg, speak, its your bill.”

“Congratulations, Mr Carroll, your work with Mr Lauren was exemplary.” The voice was deep and sounded old, but strong.

“And how do you know about that?”

“I think you might guess who we are, Mr Carroll. We were impressed.”

Great, that alphabet division was taking an interest.

“Well, I am an impressive man. Thanks for the review.”

The voice laughed, genuinely amused “Oh, I like you, Mr Carroll. We’ll be in touch.”

He hung up.

I put the phone down and sipped my coffee.

They’d be in touch, that wasn’t ominous at all. Well, tomorrow would bring what tomorrow brought. Today, I thought I’d try nipping down to Milly’s, see if I could get some Death by Chocolate.

Reg Carroll

Ghostpuncher

Will Return in

Ghostpuncher IV: A Punch to the Faith

© Robert Spalding 2020