Peter Corris - The Black Prince

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The Black Prince

[Cliff Hardy 22]

By Peter Corris

Scanned & Proofed By MadMaxAU

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PART

ONE

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Iwas lying on my back with my right leg up in the air, trying to get my hands toreach to my ankle. They wouldnt do it. Mid-calf at best.

I call those executive hamstrings,Wesley Scott said. Do you play any sport, Mr Hardy?

Cliff, I said, still trying andfailing. I switched legs. Worse. I play a bit of tennis.

How often? Ease up, Cliff, youllhurt yourself.

I relaxed. About once a month.

Warm up? Stretch before and after?

No.

Like I say, executive hamstrings.Get up and lets look this over.

I got up creakingly. Wesley Scottwas the proprietor and trainer at the Redgum Gymnasium and Fitness Centre inNorton Street, Leichhardt. He was a West Indian whod been British and Europeanbody-building champion in the 1970s before marrying an Australian Woman andmigrating. He had African features, ebony skin, a shaved head and a body ofiron.

Lately, my own body had been lettingme down. I was tired at night and in a recent tussle with a thug who was tryingto maim the man I was protecting, I had to resort to very dirty tactics tosubdue him. He was getting the better of me before I eye-gouged him. I didnt likeeither feeling and I decided that I needed some toning up. Hence the visit tothe gym for a fitness assessment.

Wesley Scott had prodded and pokedme, put me on an exercise bike and used calipers on various parts of my body.Hed entered his findings on a chart and was examining it now. He wore a blacksinglet, a red and silver tracksuit bottom with matching Nikes and leanedelegantly on an exercise bench. Hmm, not too bad for your age. Body fat toweight ratio okay, could be better. Aerobic fitness above average but not bymuch. Flexibility poor. You should be ashamed of yourself.

I was unprepared for that andbridled a bit. Why? You said it wasnt too bad.

Youre what? Lets see184centimetres, eighty-three kilos. Id say you did a lot of sport when you wereyoung, right?

Yeah. Surfing, boxing

Pretty good were you, man?

Not bad.

You had a naturally athleticphysique and a strong constitution which youve let run down. When did you stopsmoking?

Years ago.

Did it for how long?

Too long.

How much do you drink?

Too much.

What I mean. You go on as you areand youre going to tear a hamstring playing tennis or do a knee ligament. Whatkind of work do you do?

Security, that sort of thing.

Shit! Does that get physical?

I thought of the heavy with the hardstomach and the knuckleduster. Occasionally. Not if I can help it.

So why are you here?

His manner was a bit hard totakealmost aggressive, not quite. Very serious, but slightly mocking. Hesmiled, then threw a punch at me. From old habit, I slipped it and moved insideand could have thumped him over the heart except that I suspected it would havehurt me more than it would him.

Hey, Cliff, youre quick. Thatsgood.

He was pleased and I was pleased.That got us on a better footing and I told him about the fight Id almost lostand the tiredness and a few aches and pains stemming from old injuries.

I can give you a weight trainingand stretching program thatll make a new man of you if you stick at it. Threedays a week, an hour per session. Plus some deep tissue massage thatll hurtbut get the kinks out.

I signed up for five hundred dollarsfor a six-month program and started going to the gym early on Monday, Wednesdayand Friday mornings. The first day, Clinton, Wesleys son, a slimcoffee-coloured youth with cropped hair and perfect teeth doing a degree inhuman movement at the Southwestern University, took me through the stretchingexercises and showed me how to work the weight machines. Bench press, legpress, leg curls, pull-downs, back extensions, abdominal crunches and sessionson the exercise bike and rowing machine. Gradually, I upped the weights and therepetitions and was gratified to find myself getting stronger and more flexible.

To my surprise, I enjoyed thework-outs and the camaraderie among the people in the gym. No poseurs ornarcissists, Wesleys clients were serious trainersprofessional men and women,basketballers and footballers, police, dancers and actors of both sexesa mixedbunch. When Wesley was on deck the radio played ABC Classic FM; when Clintonwas in charge it was Triple J.

Wesley turned out to be a man ofmany parts. Hed been a jazz musician, a stage and TV actor and stuntman inBritain, a county cricketer and he held a Masters degree in PhysicalEducation. He had a passion for Mozart and Shakespeare and was apt to quotefrom Bill when he was pummelling the hell out of me. His wife was a teacher. Hehad a daughter at the Conservatorium and he was active in Sydneys surprisinglylarge West Indian community. After a couple of months, having enjoyed hisstories about London, the Portobello Road, Yul Brynner and other big names, andendured his Shakespearian allusions, I counted him as a friend.

Gyms, I found, are strange places.All the sweat and strain doesnt conceal subtle tensions that can lie under thesurface. Workout partners can in fact be engaged in bitter competition;instructors can offend the clients with a misplaced word about technique andthe instructors themselves can fall out. As far as I could see things werententirely harmonious between Wesley and Clinton. Clintons attendance wassomewhat irregular and he struck me as moody. Once, when he hadnt showed upfor a spell I asked Wesley about him.

In a huff, he said. Pauline, hissister, said something to him about the way he treated women and he took itwrong. Well, he took it right, I guess. Hes treated a few girls badly. Hestormed off and said hed never bring a girl home again.

Thatll blow over when he wants agood feed.

Wesley smiled without humour. Hesa good boy, but he needs to learn something about reliability.

Im still learning about thatmyself.

He takes things to heart. Hesfought with everyone in the family at one time or another.

I didnt put much store in that. Sohad I.

A week or so later I rolled in formy massage after upping the weights on the leg press and increasing the reps onthe abdominal crunches. I pushed open the door to the massage room, feelingpretty pleased with myself, thinking of investing in new gym gear. The ancienttennis shorts were getting pretty ratty.

Once more unto the breach, dearfriends, once more, I intoned. Well stop the gap ... Hell, whats thematter, Wes?

Id expected to find Wesley flexinghis muscles, leering and slapping his oiled hands together with a sound like athunderclap. But he was sitting, dressed as Id never seen him, in jeans, shirtand leather shoes, in a chair in a corner of the room. He was forty-four andnormally looked ten years younger; now he looked his age and a bit more. Hismassive shoulders were slumped and his usually taut, noble face was sagging.

Hello, Cliff. You look cheerful.

I eased into the room carefully. Comparedto you, Tim Fischerd look cheerful. Whats up?

He looked at me but he wasnt seeingme. His eyes were bloodshot and seemed to be focused on a point far beyond thewalls around us. Clinton, he said. We havent seen or heard from him inthree weeks, apart from one phone call to his mother. We dont know where thefuck he is.

In our brief acquaintance Id onlyknown Wesley to swear a few timeswhen he was really amused, seriously angry orrepeating what someone else had said. Now the swearing underlined his distress.I wiped my face with the towel I had hanging around my neck and draped it overmy shoulders. Id been. expecting to be rubbed until I glowed. It wasnt goingto happen and I didnt want to get too cool too quickly. I sat on the massagetable and worked my arms. Dedicated trainers develop physical tics like boxers.