Blood Feud

by Anna Smith

  ‘No sweat. It will be a pleasure dealing with that wanker.’

  He got up and went away. Kerry looked at Maria and shrugged.

  ‘I’m going to fix this. Okay? And I’m not having you living like this. Come and work for me.’

  ‘Kerry, I know you mean well but I can’t take charity. My boy would never have it.’

  ‘It’s not charity. You’ll get a job. We have plenty of places you can work.’ She smiled. ‘Don’t worry. Not the sauna!’

  ‘I’m a bit old for that.’

  Kerry was happy to see her smile for the first time today.

  ‘And Jennifer. Find out where she is. We’ll get her into rehab.’

  Maria suddenly burst out crying.

  ‘Oh, Kerry. I don’t know what to say. I’m scared all the time. Honestly. I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Don’t do anything. Leave it to me. We’ll meet tomorrow. Have lunch or something. Come up to the house.’

  Kerry looked up as Danny came over to her table. Behind him was Jake Cahill. Danny leaned down and whispered in her ear.

  ‘It’s done.’

  She looked up at Jake, his face stern, pale, a drink in his hand.

  ‘Thanks, Jake.’

  She looked around the room. She’d expected to feel something, maybe a pang of regret, or even a shade of disgust with herself. But she didn’t. She’d dealt with business the way it had to be done, the way it was expected to be done. She wouldn’t rake over it in her conscience and fret about what she was becoming. The word would get out across the ranks, and beyond, that this was how the Caseys did business if you hurt them. Whatever happened tomorrow, Kerry Casey was ready.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sharon hadn’t packed anything more than her small Louis Vuitton hand luggage bag, to avoid suspicion that she was going for good. As far as Knuckles knew, she was off to four nights in her favourite spa retreat on the Costa del Sol with three old schoolfriends for a catch-up. They did it a couple of times a year, so he was well used to her going off on her own. It was the same whenever she decided to take a week out and head for Marbella to chill out with her friends down there. Knuckles had no reason to distrust her. He owned her, as he’d told her many times. And maybe he did, but when he swaggered around talking that kind of shit, it really pissed Sharon off. But she always kept quiet. Because always she was squirrelling away the money she would need whenever this all came to an end. It wasn’t something she’d been doing for long, because she would have staked her life on him up until the last couple of years; before he started being so obvious with his women, and it became clear to her that, to him, she was past her sell-by date. That’ll be the day, Sharon told herself, as she took every opportunity to stick some more money in the Cayman Islands account she’d set up for herself during a girlie trip there two years ago. But this was it. This was really happening now. It wasn’t something she’d done on a whim. She could see the writing on the wall, and she knew it was only a matter of time before Knuckles would make his move. He was smart, and his people knew how to clean up. But Sharon was smarter. In fact, if it hadn’t been for her organisational ability and managing so much of his business over the years, he wouldn’t be this powerful. None of these bastards who fawned over him like he was some little emperor knew this, except her.

  Since yesterday, after Knuckles came home at six in the morning, he’d been quiet, detached. She hadn’t berated him or questioned where he had been. She was resigned to it. And even though she wanted to tell him what a bastard he had become, making her feel rejected, humiliating her by shoving this other bird in her face, she bit her lip. Revenge, as they say, is a dish best served cold.

  She’d known the moment Knuckles told her Charley would drive her to the airport that her number was up. She always took her own car on the half-hour drive to Manchester Airport and left it in the car park if she was going only for a few days. Knuckles knew that, so when he suddenly told her she was getting a lift, Sharon knew it would be the last lift she would ever get. She’d been preparing since yesterday, carefully concealing things in her handbag she knew she would need. As she zipped up her bag and pulled on her leather jacket she saw Charley’s car pull into their driveway. She stood back a little so that she could see who was in the passenger seat. Shit! It was that evil little bastard Vic Rennie. Her worst fears were confirmed. The only time she had met Vic was two years ago, and he barely spoke two words to her. But that was his way. He was a ghostly figure who only ever appeared if someone was to be quietly got rid of. She had told Knuckles that he gave her the creeps, and he’d laughed and said Vic was one of his oldest mates, and the guy you’d want in your corner if you needed a hand. She’d never seen him again until now, but she’d heard plenty of stories. There was a knot in her stomach and she went to the bathroom and filled a glass of water, noticing the glass tremble when she stuck it under the tap. She looked at herself in the mirror, at the little flush on her neck. ‘Calm the fuck down,’ she whispered. ‘No bastard is going to beat you.’ She grabbed her bags and headed down the staircase. As she did, she could see Knuckles standing by the kitchen door, gazing out of the window into the middle distance. A sudden pang of hurt or sorrow washed over her and she bit her lip quickly to keep it in check. How could he do this? Knuckles turned around slowly to face her.

  ‘You all sorted then, darlin’?’

  ‘Yep. I’m ready. Don’t need much. It’s scorching over there.’

  Knuckles looked at her and she locked eyes with him, trying to see if there was anything going on behind them. But there was nothing. He was that cold a bastard that there wasn’t even a flicker of guilt, or love or anything she had hoped to see, even though he knew this would be the last time he saw her.

  ‘Oh, by the way, Vic’s in the car. Him and Charley have got a bit of business to attend to after they drop you at the airport.’

  Sharon watched his expression. Nothing. She nodded. ‘Okay. It won’t exactly be scintillating conversation then if Vic’s in the car.’

  Knuckles half smiled. ‘Yeah. Prince of fucking darkness, that one.’ He stepped forward. ‘Anyway. You’d best get going if you want a large gin in the departure lounge with your mates before the flight.’ He opened his arms and she stepped into them as he embraced her.

  She caught a whiff of the freshness of him just out of the shower, and suppressed the urge to put her hand on the back of his head and hold him close. Fuck you, Joe Boyle. Fucking smiling assassin.

  ‘Remember, call me when you get to your hotel or spa or whatever that place is with all them knit-your-own-yoghurt nutters.’

  Sharon smiled back.

  ‘They’re lovely people. It’s all about looking into your soul. Cleansing. It’s wonderful.’

  Just at that moment, he looked at her and looked away.

  ‘Right. I’m off. Take care of yourself, Joe.’ Sharon hoped there wasn’t a catch in her voice, because right at this moment the cold anger that had driven her these past few days was replaced with a stab of anguish. She would never see him again. The father of their child. How could he do this? Knuckles’ mobile rang on the worktop and he picked it up, blowing her a kiss as he walked from the kitchen down the hall into the living room. Sharon’s eyes followed him for a few seconds, but he didn’t look back. She headed for the front door, opening it and closing it softly behind her. For ever.

  When she got out to the car, Vic jumped out of the passenger seat and made to go in the back. But Sharon was onto that immediately.

  ‘Vic. Why don’t you sit in the front? I’ve got some stuff I want to look over and I’ve got a bit more room in the back.’

  Vic glanced at Charley, and Sharon thought she could see a flicker of disappointment. Whatever plan they’d had involved Vic being in the back. Stuff that. Sharon wanted everyone where she could see them. Vic shrugged and got into the front seat, staring straight ahead as they drove out of the electronic gates and onto the road.

  Sharon busied herself with magazines s
pread over the seat and her mobile, checking messages, trying to look busy and preoccupied. They drove in silence then Charley put on the radio, smooth music – out in the real world people were sitting at home, in their cars, listening to the radio, just like her. But their day was going to be a whole lot different. She wasn’t fazed by this. Over the last few months, she had felt herself subconsciously reverting to the tough little cookie she’d been all her life – long before she had set eyes on Knuckles Boyle. Her instinct for survival began growing up in a house where her father beat her mother until she stabbed him, and then authorities moved in. The family was broken up and all the kids placed in various children’s homes. They called them a place of safety, but that was the last thing they were. She fought off abusers, bullying teenagers and carers, then ended up out on her own, living on her wits. She wasn’t afraid of a fight, and it wouldn’t be the first time she’d slashed someone who threatened her. The boyfriend she got in with for a while had been a drug dealer and he taught her how to shoot a gun, so she knew what she was doing.

  She was reading the newspaper as the darkness began to fall, when suddenly she looked up and they’d missed the airport slip road. Then they pulled off the motorway and into a quiet road a few miles short of the airport.

  ‘Where you going, Charley? You missed the cut-off for the airport?’

  ‘Yeah, I know, Sharon. Sorry, darlin’. But I know how we can get back on the motorway from here. Don’t worry. You’ll still make it in plenty of time.’

  Sharon’s stomach dropped. She knew where this was all right. About two miles of green fields and back roads leading to farmland and an old quarry, close to the airport, but far enough away. She put her hand into her handbag and ran her fingers over the gun she’d put in there this morning. She’d had it for nearly ten years and nobody had ever seen it. Vic stared straight ahead. Then, Charley faked the car shuddering to a halt. It stopped and he switched the lights off.

  ‘What’s up, Charley?’ She sat forward, barely breathing.

  In one seamless movement, Vic got out of the car.

  ‘Charley, what the fuck is going on?’

  Charley looked pale, the betrayal all over his face. He didn’t look at her.

  ‘Sharon. I’m sorry about this. I’m only doing what I was told.’

  ‘What?’ Sharon faked her surprise. She’d known him for years, trusted him, but she knew he was doing a job. ‘What the fuck?’

  ‘Like I say, Sharon. I do what the boss man says.’

  ‘Charley, don’t!’ Sharon said, as Vic put his hand on the back-door handle.

  ‘I don’t make the decisions, Sharon. You know that. It’s just business.’

  There was a second just as she heard Vic pull on the door handle, but it was enough for her to take out her gun and shoot Charley in the back of the head. She did it without consideration or thought for him or how she’d known him for years. It was purely business. Vic pulled the car door opened and put the gun to her face.

  ‘You shouldn’t have done that.’

  She ducked in time to hear the gunshot going straight through the window of the rear passenger seat, and as she did she fired a shot off that went straight between Vic’s legs. He looked at her with an expression of disbelief as his legs buckled. She immediately let two more shots off into his chest and he collapsed on the ground.

  ‘Fuck you, Joe Boyle. Business. This is just business, you cunt.’

  She went round to the driver’s seat and opened the door. Blood everywhere. She managed to put her arms around Charley and pull him out onto the ground, leaving his head in a puddle of mud, then she jumped into the car and put her foot down. She drove with a burning rage and terror as though she was watching someone else doing this. In about half an hour maximum, Charley’s phone would ring and it would be Knuckles. But there would be no answer.

  She drove the car towards the edge of the city and pulled into a derelict warehouse car park on an industrial estate, where she abandoned it. The place was deserted. Charley’s blood was on her jeans, and there was a smattering of Vic’s blood splashed her jumper. She would have to change in the toilet of the airport. Even though she wasn’t flying, it was the only place where she felt safe enough to hire a car. She pulled on her overcoat, buttoned it up and walked a couple of hundred yards before hailing a taxi. She flopped down in the back seat, shaking all over. She was free. Jesus! She was terrified, but she was free.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Cal waited outside the newsagent at Central Station where he’d been instructed to go. The man he would be travelling to Manchester with would meet him there, he was told. He’d get a text message saying ‘here’ a few seconds before the man arrived. He didn’t feel afraid, worried, or even guilty about what he was doing, though he knew deep down he should feel all of those things. He was more buoyed up with the sense of adventure, excited at the prospect of being part of the secret operation. If he could do two or three of these kinds of drops, every couple of months, he’d make decent money. He thought of his mum and felt a twinge of guilt that he’d lied to her this morning on his way out of the flat, saying he was doing a double shift at the car wash and he’d probably not be home till at least ten this evening. He knew she would believe him because she had absolute trust in him, and that was the only part of this that he hated himself for. She’d be devastated if she had the slightest inkling what he was up to. But he told himself there was no choice. It was as simple as that. He could make her life easier by earning real money, and maybe even do something about Jennifer to get her back on track. He missed his sister, missed the person she was when they were growing up. As little kids they’d been inseparable, and Cal had followed her around like a puppy because she was six years older than him and as far as he was concerned she knew everything. It broke his heart to see what she had become, and how she’d pushed him away. He was reduced to the odd contact with her, or watching from a distance as she got picked up and dropped off by punters who’d used her. The thought of it stiffened his resolve, and whatever it took, he was going to get his ma and Jennifer out of this shithole life they were living. If that involved him doing drops or dealing in drugs, then stuff it. Plenty of other people did it and even if you hated them, you couldn’t help but notice the money they made and the impact it had on their lives. Sure, he could knuckle down and study, go to university and get a good job. But that would take for ever, and the problems he had were right here and now. Plus, the smell of money that oozed out of the big guy’s fancy car when he sat in it last week made him realise that there were easier ways to be successful and make money than slogging your guts out at school. His mobile shuddered with a text and he fished it out of his jeans pocket and saw the word ‘here’. He glanced around him, then seconds later a guy carrying a rucksack and a small suitcase on wheels crossed the road looking straight at him. He watched as the guy flicked his cigarette away, then approached him.

  ‘You Cal?’

  He nodded. ‘Aye.’

  ‘Right. Let’s go. Train is in fifteen minutes.’

  No name. He fought the urge to ask his name. Keep your mouth shut, he told himself. Speak when you’re spoken to and say as little as possible about yourself. You never know who this guy is. As they walked briskly to the platform, the guy handed him the rucksack.

  ‘Here. Keep that on your back. When you’re sitting on the train you can keep it on your knee. But it goes everywhere with you. If you go for a pee, the bag’s with you. Get that?’

  ‘Yep.’

  They went towards the gates, and the guy put his hand into the inside pocket of his wax jacket and handed the tickets to the collector who punched them and motioned them through. As they walked along the platform to their carriage, Cal glanced at the guy’s smart light brown leather boots and tight black skinny jeans. He was wearing a cream polo-neck sweater, a bit of designer stubble and slicked back hair. He looked successful, Cal thought. Even though Cal was well dressed, he felt a little shabby alongside him in his fad
ed jeans and Timberland boots with puffa jacket zipped up. On the train, there was nobody sitting within two seats of them, and passengers were beginning to get on, but the carriage they were in wasn’t busy so far. Cal sat down and took the rucksack off, placing it in his lap.

  ‘My name’s Geo, by the way, son.’

  Cal nodded, wondering if he should shake hands but decided he wasn’t expected to.

  ‘Cal.’

  ‘Where you from?’

  ‘Cranhill.’

  Geo nodded, rolled his eyes upwards.

  ‘Bandit country that. You still in school, I hear?’

  ‘Yeah. Leaving at the summer,’ Cal lied.

  He knew he was supposed to be going back for sixth year and had hoped to get three more highers. But now he wasn’t so sure.

  ‘You got a job lined up?’

  Cal looked at him, wondering how he was expected to answer this. Geo didn’t look like the kind of guy who would be impressed that he hoped to go to uni.

  ‘Don’t know yet for sure.’

  Geo sniffed and glanced over his shoulder.

  ‘Well, son. Play your cards right, and you might do all right. If big Jones put you on a job like this, he must see something in you.’

  Cal looked at him, but said nothing. Then Geo took off his jacket, folded it, and placed it on top of the small suitcase at his feet. Cal glanced him up and down.

  ‘You want to dress like me, pal, you just keep your mouth shut, your head down, do the job and get on with it. Know what I mean?’

  ‘Aye. Definitely.’

  Geo took a tenner out of his jeans pocket and handed it to him.

  ‘Away up and get us a cup of tea and a bacon roll. One for yourself too. I’m Hank Marvin.’

  Cal stood up, picked up the rucksack and slung it on his back. He noticed Geo watching him.

  ‘Don’t be long, or I’ll be coming looking for you.’

  Cal looked at him but didn’t answer. Smart dresser and big shot he might be, but he would like to punch him right out. He pushed away the thought and went towards the buffet car.