Marked for Death

by Tony Kent

  Ferris had pleaded guilty to what was left and was sentenced to sixteen years’ imprisonment, of which he expected to spend a total of eight years in custody. He would be aged forty-four when he was released. Not exactly in his prime, but close enough. Ferris could live with that, and so he set about making the best of those years.

  Ferris served his entire sentence in one prison. HMP Wandsworth. A London prison, less than five miles from his own neighbourhood. It had cost a small fortune in bribes to keep himself so close, but every penny had been worth it. It had allowed Ferris to run his empire from prison. A prison he ruled.

  Leon Ferris had not stepped foot in his office for eight years. Yet he had never really left.

  The one thing Ferris had been unable to do in that time was to issue his orders face to face. But now he could, and so for the past five hours he had been taking visitors. All here to pay tribute to the returned boss.

  Ferris had dealt with each and every one. Demonstrating his intimate knowledge of his business interests, he had rewarded those who deserved it and dressed down those who didn’t. It had been a full day, but it was necessary. Ferris wanted his return to be visible.

  Only now, with the day at an end, did the stream of visitors stop. But it was no breathing space. Instead, it was time for Ferris to be debriefed by his lieutenants.

  He looked around the room in silence. Looking back at him were three men.

  Kevin Tennant, Ferris’s right-hand man. His closest friend since adolescence. Completely loyal.

  Harvey Ellis. Ten years younger than Ferris and Tennant. Bright, capable and ruthless.

  And Ty Leach. Ten years younger again than Ellis. The driver who had collected Ferris from HMP Wandsworth that morning. A kid who wanted to be a gangster. Leach had found the right company.

  Ferris was in no hurry to speak as he studied his men thoughtfully. He took another mouthful of whisky, savouring its welcome burn. For longer this time. Like all good whiskies, the second mouthful beat the first.

  Leach, standing by the room’s single door, shifted his weight. He was too young to have experienced Ferris’s way of doing things. The other two men seemed more comfortable. They had been here before.

  ‘So is that it?’ Ferris finally spoke. He indicated towards the door with a tilt of his head. To give his question meaning.

  ‘No one else expected,’ replied Ellis. The organisation of the day had been his responsibility.

  ‘And what about who we should have expected? Do we know who should have arranged to see me but didn’t?’

  ‘Not yet.’ Ellis hesitated only slightly, but it told Ferris that he had expected the question. There were a few gaps in the appointment diary. Individuals who should have attended to pay tribute. Failing to do so was a statement; that they had parted ways with Ferris. And that was a statement that could not – that would not – go unpunished. ‘I’ll have a list by midday tomorrow.’

  ‘Sooner. A message needs to be sent.’ Ferris turned to Tennant. ‘Any of the no-shows strike you as strange?’

  ‘None.’ Tennant was and had always been a blunt man. ‘All of ’em predictable. All with Burrell.’

  Ferris reacted with just a nod of the head. He understood Tennant’s meaning. Ed Burrell – a man based less than a quarter of a mile from this office – was the latest pretender to Ferris’s throne.

  Just another in a long line, Ferris thought.

  New gangs would always appear. And the bigger ones would get ambitious. They would try to compete. Sometimes Ferris would lose people to them; the grass often seems greener, especially when the boss is in prison. But so far Ferris had seen off every new face. Burrell would be no different.

  Ferris turned back to Ellis.

  ‘That right?’

  ‘I think so, yeah. Didn’t want to jump, though. Just in case.’

  ‘Fuck “just in case”.’ Ferris spoke without any loss of temper. This was business. ‘We’re gonna jump. Get the list done and get every fucker on it dealt with. No excuses.’

  ‘What about Burrell?’ Tennant again.

  ‘He can wait. Let him stew when he sees his new people lost. He’ll be in touch soon enough.’

  ‘And when he does that?’

  ‘Do I need to answer that?’

  As loyal as Tennant was, Ferris sometimes lost patience with his friend’s need for instruction. He did not let it show. Tennant deserved at least that much respect. Instead he changed the subject.

  ‘Moving on. Tell me about the Taylor boy I saw today. He seems switched on.’

  ‘He is, Leon.’ This time it was Leach who spoke. ‘He’s a friend of mine and—’

  ‘Who asked him to talk?’ Ferris did not address Leach. Not even a glance. He knew full well why Leach had spoken up; Leach had introduced Taylor to Ferris’s outfit. It was his chance for some credit. Something Ferris was not in the habit of giving. ‘Why is he talking to me?’

  Leach fell silent. Not another word. He focused on a spot on the floor. Ferris let a silence hang, just long enough to increase Leach’s discomfort.

  ‘Does someone else want to tell me about Taylor, then?’

  ‘He’s a good kid,’ Ellis replied.

  No one so much as glanced at Leach. Not that he would have seen them if they had. His stare remained fixed on the floor.

  Ellis continued.

  ‘He runs about twenty boys already. He’s a good earner.’

  ‘Worth moving up, or is that too soon?’

  ‘Depends what you want out of it?’

  ‘I want to give our people options. Other than going elsewhere.’ Ferris could see from Tennant’s expression that he was not following the logic. His understanding of gangland politics had always left much to be desired. Ferris continued for Tennant’s benefit. ‘We’ll deal with those that have gone over to Burrell. That sends the message. But at the same time we set Taylor up as an alternative to Burrell. Someone young who the boys can attach themselves to. Someone who’s on the up, but who’s loyal to us. Controlled by us.’

  ‘So instead of the ambitious lads defecting, they can throw in with Taylor without us losing them?’ Ellis replied. ‘Makes good sense.’

  ‘So is he ready for it?’ Ferris wanted an answer. ‘And right for it?’

  Tennant and Ellis did not answer immediately. The question demanded due consideration. Leach, still smarting from his chastisement, kept his eyes down.

  ‘It worries me,’ Tennant finally said. ‘He reminds me of you at that age, Leon. What would you have done if someone had backed you like that?’

  ‘I’d have probably ironed them out and taken over the whole thing. In the end, anyway.’ Ferris smiled. He could see what was concerning his old friend. Ambition and loyalty did not make good bedfellows. ‘But we’ll keep an eye, won’t we. And I’d rather we had him in the tent than out.’

  A smile spread across Ferris’s face. He had made his decision and was happy with it. In fact he was happy with everything. Things had remained good while he was in prison. Not perfect, but better than he could have hoped for. And his move to back the kid Taylor was a first step to reasserting whatever little control – whatever respect – had slipped.

  Soon, Ferris thought, we’ll be stronger than ever.

  The thought had barely crossed his mind when he sat up alert. A movement at the far end of the office – behind Leach – had caught his eye. His next reaction turned every head in the room.

  Except one.

  ‘I thought I told you to keep that fucking door closed!’ Ferris bellowed at Leach.

  The door had opened quietly and a small figure had entered the room. It had then been closed again, all without Leach seeming to notice.

  He noticed now.

  Ellis and Tennant were on their feet within an instant of Ferris’s shout. Leach reacted just as quickly. Closer than the others, he moved towards the intruder without hesitation. No doubt keen to prove his value.

  All three were stopped when Ferris spoke again. Anger
had given way to confusion.

  ‘That ain’t you?’

  It was not a question. Not really. Ferris would know that face anywhere. Especially the eyes. The cold, pale eyes.

  ‘It is you, ain’t it?’ he asked again.

  No answer.

  ‘I asked you a question.’

  Still no answer. Ferris was both irritated and amused. Conflicting reactions. He did not know which to follow.

  Tennant, Ellis and Leach all remained rooted to the spot. None seemed sure of how to react, and Ferris knew why. An unremarkable man had walked into the office of their boss, unannounced and uninvited. A man who seemed unconcerned as he disrespected Ferris with his silence.

  That just can’t happen, Ferris thought.

  He moved around the desk. Annoyance had won.

  ‘You see this little bitch?’ Ferris moved slowly. Directing his words towards Tennant and Ellis. But his eyes never left the newcomer. ‘He was in Wandsworth with me. Until three years ago. Ain’t that right?’

  No answer. Not a flicker of the pale eyes.

  Ferris moved closer.

  ‘And do you know what we did with him in there?’

  The room was silent until Ferris spoke again, emphasising every word and every pause between them.

  ‘Anything we fucking wanted.’ More slowly. More deliberately. ‘Whenever we wanted. Ain’t that right?’

  No answer. Ferris was almost within reaching distance. Still the pale eyes held his stare.

  ‘And do you know why? Because this little bitch didn’t fight back.’ Ferris’s tone was now mocking. Full of the menace it takes to terrorise a prison. ‘And now he’s here. Standing his ground. Is that what you’re doing, is it?’

  No answer. Ferris stepped in close. His spittle had barely inches to travel.

  ‘Or is it something else? That’s it, ain’t it, little bitch? You’re here for another go.’

  Ferris smiled wide as he spoke. Disguising his intent. Then, without warning he lunged at the intruder.

  Ferris was a big man. His hands large. Shovel-like. Their target was much smaller, inches below average height. His wiry build was no match for Ferris’s slabs of gym-honed muscle. Ferris expected to need no more than a single punch.

  But Ferris was very wrong. Their past encounters had made him over-confident. Careless. Ferris had no reason to expect this occasion to be different to the others. A big man physically dominating a small one. And so the punch was powerful but slow.

  The speed of the intruder would have surprised Ferris, if only he had had time to consider it. The smaller man was built for quick, agile movement, but nothing in their past had hinted that he could fulfil that potential. This time, though, he did not hesitate.

  Ferris’s arm had barely moved before his opponent stepped inside the intended blow, his own arm thrusting upwards. Ferris had no time to think. No time to question. A long knife appeared in the intruder’s hand. It found its way expertly to the underside of Ferris’s chin.

  Any resistance there was overcome by momentum. The blade entered Ferris’s brain before he could blink.

  *

  Shock and disbelief combined as Kevin Tennant watched Ferris fall. His oldest friend and the most dangerous man he had ever known, killed in a heartbeat. No warning. No fanfare.

  Tennant’s mind could not quite accept what he had seen; it tried to reject the impossible. The others seemed to do the same; all three seemed to freeze. Just for a moment, but it was a moment they did not have.

  Because the intruder was not in shock. And he moved fast. A second knife appeared in the same hand. Pulled from its hiding place in the same swirl of movement that brought the small man closer to Ellis and Tennant, via a rigid Leach.

  It was Leach who fell first. His murderer hardly glanced at him as the knife slashed across Leach’s throat. Blood hit the wall six feet away, making a second blow unnecessary. Only a severed carotid artery fired blood so far from its source.

  Less than a second had passed.

  Ellis was next in line. Tennant behind him. Less than a yard apart, but Ferris’s killer was closer still. The distance gave Ellis no time to think, removing his only natural advantage.

  If Ellis had been a natural fighter he would not have reached for his gun. There was no time to pull and aim; the intruder was too close for that. The best course was to attack with fists and feet, with Tennant at his side. Two against one. Ellis’s instincts told him none of this. His mind resorted to a simple equation: gun versus knife.

  Tennant could do nothing as Ellis reached for his holstered weapon just as his attacker reached him. Without a free arm to strike or to block, Ellis was defenceless as the second blade was thrust deep into his exposed chest.

  Maybe two seconds had passed. Certainly less than three.

  All resistance left Ellis’ body as the knife pierced his heart. He slumped forwards. His murderer span aside as Ellis fell. It avoided an impact with Ellis’ body but it also checked his momentum, bringing him to a standstill.

  Face to face with Kevin Tennant.

  Tennant stood at six foot three inches tall. Weighed north of two hundred and thirty pounds. He looked like a bear in comparison to his opponent. But Tennant had thrived in this world for reasons other than just size. It took more than mass to win a fight. It took skill. It took speed. Most importantly, it took a ruthless capacity for violence. Tennant had all of these and more.

  The past seconds had shown that the intruder had them, too.

  Neither man moved. There were now perhaps two metres between them. Whoever closed that gap would be putting themselves on offer. Leaving themselves open to a counter-attack. The element of surprise was long gone.

  Tennant had seen what his opponent could do. Overconfidence would not end him as it had ended Ferris.

  Tennant used his peripheral vision. Searching for an advantage. Within short reach was one of the bronze statues that Ferris had liked so much. Tennant remembered them being heavy. To most men, anyway. Perhaps Tennant’s superior size and strength could matter after all.

  The intruder’s pale eyes had not left Tennant. They seemed to be staring into his soul. They made the bigger man uncomfortable. Frightened, even. It was a rare feeling.

  Tennant felt his own gaze flicker away. Back to the bronze. His opponent would have noticed the glance. He had to act now.

  Tennant was fast for a man so large. His right hand snatched out and grabbed the foot of the bronze before the intruder could take a step. He launched the statue in the direction of his opponent. Used all of his strength. The heavy bronze hurtled across the two-metre space. Tennant’s body was close behind, his massive fists clenched.

  The plan had been a simple one. The bronze would either hit its target or at least cause Pale Eyes to raise his arms in defence. Either way he would be on the back foot. Vulnerable for a second. Perhaps less. But long enough for Tennant to bring his size and strength to bear. A simple plan. Not an effective one.

  The intruder had followed Tennant’s eyes. Had seen them fall on the statue. In that instant he had known what Tennant would do, and so he had been prepared. Fast as Tennant was, his opponent was faster. Pale Eyes span clear of the bronze as it hurtled past his head. Using the same momentum, he brought himself around to the exposed right-hand side of the rushing Tennant.

  Tennant’s right arm flayed out at his opponent as he registered the movement, but his forward motion worked against him. Pale Eyes dropped to a crouch, below Tennant’s reach. Now low, the same knife that had killed both Leach and Ellis slashed deep into the sinew at the back of Tennant’s right knee.

  Tennant crashed to the floor. Hard. His arms broke his fall, protecting his head from the impact. Tennant tried to climb to his feet immediately, aware that he could not stay down. He pushed upwards with both hands and it was then that he realised two things. First, the fall had broken his right wrist. The pain that shot through his arm told him that. But it was a pain quickly forgotten. Overtaken by the panic of Te
nnant’s second realisation.

  His sliced right leg was now useless. A deadweight.

  Blood was beginning to seep through the back of Tennant’s jeans. It stuck the denim to his skin, confirming the worst. Whatever the cost, he could not climb to his feet.

  The fight was over.

  It was now just a question of how he would die.

  FOURTEEN

  Michael Devlin exhaled deeply as he climbed the steps to his front door, an involuntary sigh. It had been a longer day than he had anticipated. Much longer. Exhausted, he stepped inside and parked his wheeled bag against the hallway wall, slipped off his suit jacket and slung it across the bottom rail of the staircase. A far cry from the care he had shown it that morning.

  He unfastened his cufflinks as he walked towards the kitchen, before rolling up his shirt and unbuttoning his waistcoat, freeing himself from the confines of his tailored working clothes. Michael loved his job, but he had never grown fond of the suits that came with it.

  The kitchen was the most indulgent room in the house, as well as the largest. That was perhaps inevitable. Michael loved to cook, and both he and Sarah loved to eat. But even when doing neither, they still found themselves here rather than the lounge.

  The ornate Clive Christian design had been installed by Sarah’s father shortly before he gifted them the property as an engagement present; an extravagant gesture from an extremely wealthy man. The installation had cost more than Michael had earned in his first two years as a barrister, yet neither he nor Sarah had ever questioned its value. It was one of those things that reminded Michael of how much his life had changed.

  For all this, Michael was surprised to find the kitchen empty. A glance towards the open door in its far corner offered the explanation. The door led outside, to a small stone staircase that snaked down to a patio that was carefully designed to resemble a courtyard. Beyond that was a long, well-kept lawn surrounded by flower beds.