The Fight

Click! Click! Click!

Each time the swords touched, a tiny metallic noise sounded, barely audible over the panting and groans of the dozen or so other men in the room, working out with equal effort at weights, treadmills or pulleys.

But none, like Carlton, were fighting for their lives.

A grimace was frozen on both men's faces, their teeth bared in feral smiles. The foils clicked again, and Carlton stumbled on the shiny floor, nearly losing his balance.

His partner's smile widened a fraction and he struck again with his foil; Carlton only just managed to block the blow in time. The rest of the gym worked on, oblivious to the fact that two men were fighting with murderous intent in the centre of the room.

How had it managed to come to this? he wondered, as he dodged another blow. He thought his way back to when it had all started, when he and River had begun work on the smuggling ring that seemed to be behind the recent credit card thefts in south London. They had traced a set of notes back to a bank withdrawal in London, and had then placed surveillance on the man who withdrew it. Sure enough, it wasn't long until the big fish started coming in.

Carlton had tracked one of the leaders, a man known as Baxter, across town and into a gym, via a quick stop for petrol and a sandwich on the way. He had left a small deposit box in the changing room - Carlton had managed to snatch some photos of it before following him upstairs - and headed into the main gym. It was there that everything had gone wrong.

"Morning," he had addressed Carlton, who had nodded in reply. "You're the police officer who's been following me, aren't you?"

Addressed so bluntly, Carlton had not thought it clever to lie. "Yes," he admitted.

"So, who's your backup, then?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Come on, policemen never track someone without a backup. Who's yours?"

Not wanting to incriminate River, Carlton lied easily. "Eh, things went wrong, and I messed up a bit. I'm on my own here."

"Ri-ight." Baxter looked suspicious. "Nothing to do with the hot chick outside, is it?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You deaf or something? The cute girl loitering outside. Slim build, black hair? You know her, right?"

Baxter could see that Carlton had no difficulty recognizing River from the description, but the conversation did not continue. Both men feigned exercising, warming up and stretching out their legs. Then Baxter grinned, and glanced down at the long black bag he had been carrying.

"You ever fenced?"

"Once or twice," Carlton allowed, omitting the fact that he had been the under 21 fencing champion at university. "Not much in the last few years or so."

"Okay." He unzipped the bag and pulled out two high quality fencing foils. "Here's the deal. I win, and you call off all your little friends on me, including the girl. You win, and you get me."

Carlton's lips twitched. "I don't make deals with criminals."

Baxter gave a short, sharp laugh. "Oh, come on. You know you won't get me any other way. Besides, I don't need to ask you nicely."

He drew one of the swords from the bag, ignoring the baseball cap, receipts and tissues that spilled out as he did so. Slowly, he ran his hand along the blade. Carlton's eyes widened as it reached the tip, for unlike competition foils, the tip was not rounded, but sharp enough to tear through clothing  and flesh.

He smiled a little wider and took up a position. "En garde!"

Realising that he had no choice, Carlton pulled out the other blade and took up a stance, balancing his weight equally on either foot.

**

His half hour was more than up, but still River did not enter the gym. She knew the trouble she would be in if she blew his cover in the middle of an operation. On the other hand, if he needed help... she found it hard to imagine Carlton in a situation where he needed her help, but she supposed it was theoretically possible.

After pacing for another ten minutes, she made up her mind. She headed into the reception area and followed the signs to the men's gym, pretending to be lost when someone told her she was in the wrong place. When she reached the room, she opened the door a fraction and glanced in.

She barely noticed anyone in the room but the two men circling one another in the middle, and it was clear that she was not the only one, as they had gathered a little audience of about half a dozen men who were standing around watching them. Never having picked up a foil in her life, River had no idea that the blades were dangerous, assuming that they were blunted for training purposes.

It was not until Carlton missed Baxter's stroke, and the blade slid easily through his shirt and skin, that she suddenly realised what was going on.

**

The blood blossomed on his shirt, but the adrenalin pumping through his veins meant that he barely noticed the pain. It only maddened him, like a red flag in front of a bull.

With a terrifying face, he fought his corner, using his height advantage and longer arm reach to beat Baxter away from him and further towards the centre of the room. His attacks came faster than they ever had before, and Baxter was barely managing to block them all. He struck Baxter's arm once, though the blow was barely more than a scratch, and swung once at his neck, causing his partner to duck under it in surprise. With a final strike, he hit Baxter squarely in the ribs, who gasped, slipping down onto the floor. The foil fell from his hand with an unnoticed clatter.

For a square minute the two men stared each other out, both panting heavily. Then Carlton smiled, dropped his foil, and extended his hand to help Baxter up. "Good fight," he smiled.

Baxter ignored the hand, getting to his feet by holding onto the wall, and charged head first at Carlton. But his increased strength by the adrenalin rush gained from fighting and winning meant he brushed him aside easily.

"I won, Baxter. Now, time to keep your end of the deal."

Baxter spat in Carlton's general direction. "I remember no deal and you have nothing on me."

"Oh, for -" He was interrupted by River's entrance. "What are you doing here?"

"You were late and I was worried," she said simply, trying not to let on how attractive she thought he looked sword fighting in shirt-sleeves. "Are you hurt?"

He shrugged. "Could be worse."

River rolled her eyes at his show of bravado, but knew better than to try to help him. "So what happens now?"

"Depends if we can get this worthless excuse of a man to be a sportsman, but I doubt it. He's going to disappear into the sunset, and I'll end up with a scar and a bill for overtime."

River's eyes landed on something in the room. "Wait. I think we might have something here."

What had River spotted?

Answer (highlight to read): It was the receipt Baxter received when filling up his car with petrol, which fell out of the bag when he drew his blade. The last few digits of a credit card will be on the receipt, which, if they match a stolen card, could be used as evidence to arrest him.

Theatre Tragedy

This post has been deleted by the author..

The Man in Room 16

Lily looked around her new flat with an air of apprehension. It was a lot smaller than her last one, and had an odd smell, a bit like rust. Still, times changed. And after the loss of her job, she counted herself lucky that she had managed find herself a flat that she could afford at all.

Her landlord shuffled up behind her. A crumbling old man, his face was kindly yet weathered, and a thick accent that hailed, so Lily thought, from eastern Europe. He was smiling now, having tucked the best part of Lily's savings account into his shabby jacket. "You want me to show you around?"

She shook her head, a lump in her throat. "No. Thank you," she added, "But I'll be alright. Thank you," she repeated, wondering why she was thanking him.

"Very good." He creaked his way out.

She blinked back the tears that pricked the back of her eyes and took a look around the place. There was one main room, containing a squishy armchair, a sofa-bed with a torn cushion, and a rather grand wardrobe. On the other side of the room was a kitchenette section, with a cupboard and gas cooker. A small bathroom on one side held the bare minimum: a tiny shower, toilet and sink.

Although the flat itself was minimalistic, Lily was pleased to discover that whoever had owned the flat before her had left plenty behind. She found selection of plates, a cup and saucer and a coffee machine - and, wrapped in a napkin, there was solid silver fork and spoon.

"Mr Poloski?"

The door creaked - a shuffling of footsteps - "What is it?"

"Whoever was here before me left a lot of stuff here. Do you suppose he wants it back?"

"Don't suppose so," he mumbled, picking his front teeth. "He left in a bit of a hurry. I couldn't contact him, so I re-let the room. Guess you can keep it now."

Lily smiled. Every cloud, I guess, she thought to herself. Her mind wandered to the grand wardrobe - had he left anything good in there that she might be able to sell? She strode over and pulled the door.

With a deafening snap, the door fell off its hinges and hung sadly to one side. And slowly, a hand became visible, through the multiple hangers and thick layers of clothing. An arm attatched to the hand. And then a shoulder.

And then the whole body of a young man slithered out and onto the floor.

Lily did not scream - she was not that sort of girl - but she did jump back in alarm, stumbling and having to support herself on the counter. When she had righted herself, she peered closer, seeing a gleam of a silver knife-hilt in thrust deep into the man's shirt. The smell of rust increased, and Lily stiffened when she realised that this was probably the source of the smell she had noted when she had come in.

Mr Poloski did not seem very disturbed. "Shall I, um, call the police?"

"Yes," snapped Lily. "I think that would be a good idea." Then something occurred to her. "Who has keys to this room?"

"Only me and the tenant," said Mr Poloski. "Tenants are not allowed to have new keys cut." Then his eyes brightened, and he smiled. "I bet it was that cleaning lady. She had a frightful argument with him the other day."

"Cleaning people have keys too?"

"Oh no. I let them in."

Lily bit her lip, musing. "Yes, go and call the police," she said, and then added under her breath. "I think they'll be ready to fill a jail cell. And I think I'll find myself somewhere else to sleep tonight."

Answer (highlight to read): Someone must have returned the keys to Mr Poloski before he was able to rent the apartment to another tenant. If Mr Poloski was not the killer, how did he know to get the keys?