by Anna Smith
They looked at each other and the irony wasn’t lost on either of them – what Vinny did was take down gangsters, sure, like Knuckles Boyle. But her family had supped from the same trough.
‘Well, we can drink to better days. The Casey organisation has big plans,’ she said.
‘Yeah?’
‘Yep. We’re moving into property. Restaurants, hotels, building houses. I’m cashing it all in, Vinny. I’m investing a lot in Spain. Building a hotel there. All in the planning, but the deal has been done.’
He looked crestfallen.
‘You’re moving to Spain?’
‘Not permanently. But I’ll be back and forth. Sharon will run things a lot over there. And we’ll have trusted staff from here as well as locals on the ground.’
He sighed. ‘You know what these things are like, Kerry. Every gangster from Murcia to Marbella will be crawling all over it, wanting a piece of the action.’
She shook her head.
‘They won’t be getting it. This will be a high-end hotel, no riff-raff, and certainly none of the thick-neck thugs in suits you see all over the Costas. I’m building apartments too – in Spain and here.’ She watched as he went quiet, sipped his drink. ‘I know what you’re thinking. That it’s all dirty money anyway.’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘But you’re thinking it. And who cares. I work with what I have, with what I was left with. It’s not about the past now, Vinny. It’s about the future.’
He looked down at the table then straight at her, his eyes piercing.
‘What about us?’
Kerry said nothing, but she knew he could see it in her face.
‘What can we do, Vinny? We came from the same street almost, but we live in different worlds. It’s . . . It’s . . .’ She sighed. ‘I don’t know. It seems impossible. Where can we go with this, with what we have? You know the answer as well as I do.’
He nodded slowly. ‘I know. But it doesn’t make it any easier.’ He frowned and reached across the table. ‘This wasn’t just a fling for me, Kerry. It wasn’t just something for old times’ sake. I . . . I have feelings for you. I want you to know that. I always did. I should have fought for you all these years ago. I should have fought Mickey for you.’
Kerry swallowed hard.
‘Jesus, Vinny. Don’t make this worse. I know that. And I feel the same way. But we have to be realistic.’
‘So,’ he said. ‘After tonight. I won’t see you any more?’
‘I’m going to Spain tomorrow. For a little while. Not sure how long. I’ll be back though. But . . .’
‘This is the part where you say, but we can still be friends.’
She half smiled, but inside she was gutted.
‘We’ll always be friends.’
The waiter came up and stood at the table to take their order.
‘I haven’t even looked at the menu yet,’ she said. ‘But tell you what. Let’s have what we had that first time in here. It was great. And the same wine.’
‘My thoughts exactly.’ Vinny ordered and when the waiter left them he reached across and put his hand in hers. ‘This is not goodbye, Kerry. I’m not saying goodbye.’
She looked at him and he held her gaze and she wished he was right, but tomorrow afternoon she would be in another country, wrapped up in another life, where there was no room for a man like Vinny Burns.
*
Sharon slipped into the bedroom and stood in the darkness watching Tony as he slept. She listened to his gentle, rhythmic breathing, remembering how she used to do this when he was a baby, when she would gaze lovingly at him and wonder what his life would be, where all of them would be in years to come. Now there was just the two of them. When she’d broken the news about his father’s death, Tony had said nothing for a few moments, then he’d started to cry. She’d held him, and between sobs, he told her that the last day with his father had been the happiest he’d ever been with him. I know, Sharon told him, but he would want you to be a strong boy, and be the best you can. She would never tell him that his father had tried to have her murdered. When Tony eventually went to bed, Sharon had sat in the darkness of their living room, nursing a mug of tea. Tomorrow, she would tell Tony that they were moving to Spain, for the next few months at least. It would be a new life, a new beginning. She had enough money to last her for a long time, but she would work with Kerry Casey, and together they would build their own empire. But it would not be built on fear or murder or smuggled drugs. It would not be run by the hard men like Knuckles Boyle who trampled their way to a fortune. But first, they had to make sure that the gangsters who were already sniffing around were left in no doubt that they were no longer running the show.
*
Cal was with Jack and Tahir as they were driven towards the barber shop. They pulled in behind the tenement into a back court, where Jack had told them to wait. They knew the Turk and his sidekicks came out at eight in the evening as they’d recced over several days. Tahir had tried to get in touch with him to ask what happened, he’d even left messages, but the Turk never answered. Jack had already had his men find out more about who was responsible at the Istanbul connection, and they had the names of two individuals. He already had Jake Cahill on it, and they’d be gone in the next few hours.
Cal wasn’t nervous or scared when Jack handed him the gun. It had felt heavy the first time he’d held it a couple of weeks ago, when Jack told them he was giving them the chance of revenge. Tahir took it in his hand and examined it, and Cal noticed that he seemed to know his way around a gun. Now, as they waited, the Turk came out, along with two heavy-set men, who glanced at the car. Jack opened his driver’s door and stepped out, then went towards the boot as though he was getting something out of it. Cal could see in the wing mirror that the men were watching them. Then Jack tapped the boot – the signal they’d agreed. Cal and Tahir got out of the car. Tahir pointed the gun at the Turk.
‘Don’t be stupid, son,’ one of the men said.
‘Shut up. Get out of the way. It’s not you I want, it’s him. Move.’
The guy stepped to the side a little and the Turk looked nervous. But swiftly, the minder went into his pocket and brought out a gun. Tahir was startled enough to take his eye off the Turk, when suddenly there was a crack and he was hit. Cal saw him drop, and automatically he turned his gun and shot one of the henchmen in the leg. He dropped to the ground, then Cal shot the second man. Then the Turk came towards him, and held the gun to Tahir’s head. Cal stood, stunned for a second, then he almost instinctively fired straight at the Turk, who staggered back. Cal fired again, this time in the chest, and watched as blood pumped out, and the Turk’s legs buckled as he keeled over. Jack came across as all three lay on the ground.
‘Come on, Cal. Pick Tahir up. He’s bleeding heavily.’
Cal and Jack picked him up and carried him to the car.
‘You’re okay, Tahir. You’ll be fine.’
‘We got him, Cal, didn’t we? You got him, my friend.’ Tahir clutched his hand.
‘We did,’ Cal said, feeling the cold clammy hand in his.
‘Am I going to die?’ Tahir asked.
‘No. You’re not going to die, man.’
Jack started the engine.
‘Don’t worry,’ he turned to Tahir, ‘we’ll get you fixed up, son.’
‘What we going to do?’ Cal said. ‘We can’t take him to a hospital.’
‘It’s okay. I know where to take him. We have people who deal with this kind of stuff. You’ll learn as you go along.’
The car sped out and into the main road and up the road out of the city.
‘You did well, there, kid.’
Cal nodded. He did well. He wasn’t even scared. Nothing would ever make him scared again.
Chapter Fifty
The dinner at Kerry’s house was the first time she had sat around a table like this as head of the family. Looking at Marty, Danny and Auntie Pat, she remembered the old days when they’d bee
n here with her father and mother, sitting long into the night while she listened to their laughter from the top of the stairs. Jack was here too tonight, a measure of how he had become one of her most trusted friends. John O’Driscoll had been sent to the Costa del Sol to keep an eye on things. The only one missing was the traitor Frankie Martin, but wherever he was, he would never sit with them again. At the end of the table sat Jake Cahill, nursing a whisky, chipping in now and again with stories of the old days. To look at him, Kerry thought, you would never know the dark world he inhabited. The fact that she knew it first-hand should make her shiver, but it didn’t. She was glad Danny had suggested inviting him. She needed him on her side. This was as much a gathering to celebrate the future as the past. And Sharon, sitting across from Kerry, was going to be part of their plans to take the Casey empire to greater things. Now that they would soon get the green light from Spanish planning authorities, Sharon would be spending a lot of time on the Costa del Sol, to oversee the building of the new hotel complex and property deals. And Kerry was glad that Sharon had gained the respect from the others, as she’d been crucial to bringing Knuckles down. It took guts to do what she did, and loyalty.
Kerry had felt exhausted by the time she got there – a combination of the last few days, plus there was a pang of something like regret for the way it had ended with Vinny earlier in the afternoon. She pushed away the image of Vinny’s expression as she told him there was nowhere for them to take the relationship. And really there wasn’t. These days they were both in different worlds. They would have to live with that. And whatever pain came along with it would fade in time.
‘I want to propose a toast,’ Marty said, swirling his brandy glass.
All eyes turned to him, and Kerry enjoyed seeing him a little tipsy and relaxed, as he looked at her, his eyes twinkling. Earlier, he’d been proudly showing photographs of his six-year-old grandson, Finbar, who was appearing in his primary school play. It was good to see Marty relishing his own family, even if she’d always felt he was part of hers.
‘To the Caseys.’ He stood up. ‘To my old friend Tim Casey who had dreams for his children and his family, as he’d every right to have. I think he will sleep easily now knowing that his beautiful, capable daughter has taken the reins.’ He paused, swallowing. ‘We’ve come a long way, Kerry – all of us around this table. And we know that not all of it has been easy or pretty. But the future is all yours, and I think your father, and of course your dear, beautiful mother, will be smiling down on you tonight, knowing the family is in safe hands. Here’s to you, Kerry; to all that you are, and all that you will be.’
Kerry felt choked as everyone raised their glasses.
‘To us.’ Kerry raised her own glass. ‘To the great things we will achieve in the memory of my father and mother.’
She swallowed as she saw Auntie Pat brushing away a tear.
The shrill ring of a mobile across the table broke the silence, and she saw Danny fish the phone out of his pocket and put it to his ear. From the corner of his eye, as everyone began to chatter, she noticed Danny’s expression change. He covered one ear with his hand, his brows knitted in concentration, then he stood up and walked to the other side of the room, waving a hand to excuse himself. For a moment everyone looked at each other, not sure what was happening. The chatter stopped. They could hear Danny’s muffled tones on the phone, and all eyes were on the door as it opened and he came back in, his face grey. He looked at Kerry, then Jake Cahill.
‘Kerry. That was John on the phone. We have a problem. In Estepona. At the apartments where the gear is. There’s been a shooting.’
‘What? How? Nobody knew where we were,’ Kerry said.
Danny shook his head.
‘Somebody found out. Not from my boys. They’re solid. But some bastards have tried to get in there tonight, and the boys shot two of them dead. They phoned John as soon as it happened. Colombian fuckers, two of them were. They said they were taking the gear. Just like that. Bastards. Tooled up, and shot one of our boys on the leg. But we took care of them.’
Kerry felt her stomach drop.
‘Colombians? But how? I mean how could they know?’
‘I don’t know, Kerry, but we’re on it. I’ve got the stuff on the move right now, and more lads with it.’ He ran a hand over his face. ‘But we have a problem down there and we’re going to have to deal with it. John is pulling in some more people. But they’ll be good lads. I want you to go down there, Jake.’
Kerry saw him flick a glance at Jake Cahill, whose face was impassive.
‘We’ll know more in the morning,’ Danny said.
‘Whose men were the Colombians? Have we got anything from the guys before they were shot?’ As she said it, she knew deep down what the answer would be.
Danny’s expression was grave.
‘Aye. One of them, the driver, was Irish – Pat Durkin’s mob. So we can guess whose men they are.’
‘Pepe Rodriguez,’ Kerry said.
The room fell silent.
Acknowledgements
Switching to a new character is big challenge for me, so I’ve dug in, and hopefully created something readers will enjoy. But when I come out of the bunker after slogging away, I have a huge support network to keep me sane. Here are a few of them:
My sister Sadie who has always been there through the laughter and sometimes the tears. Matt, Katrina, and Christopher, who inspire and enthuse about everything I write. And Paul, who keeps my techno stuff right – and is off to begin his own new chapter in Australia. My brother Des, who always finds time to ask me about my novels and takes a great interest in my work. My cousins, the Motherwell Smiths, and the Timmonses, as well as Alice and Debbie and all their family in London. My cousins Ann Marie and Anne, Helen and Irene.
I am lucky to have so many close friends: Mags, Eileen, Liz, Annie, Mary, Phil, Francie, and journalists Simon, Lynn, Mark, Maureen, Keith, and Thomas in Australia. Also Helen and Bruce, Marie, Barbara, Jan, Donna, Louise, Gordon and Janetta, Brian and Jimmy, Ian, David, Ronnie, Ramsay, and globetrotter Brian Steel.
In Ireland, I am grateful to Mary and Paud, for their support, as well as Sioban and Sean Brendain. And in La Cala, Yvonne, Mara, Wendy, Jean, Maggie, Sarah and Fran – all of them who help promote my books on the Costa del Sol.
Thanks also to my editor Jane Wood for encouraging me to write this book, and to her assistant Therese Keating for her hard work. Also to Olivia Mead in publicity, and all the team at Quercus, who are the best.
And not least, the growing army of readers I’m so lucky to have. If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t be writing this.
