by KERRY BARNES
Shamus stood by her side, his jacket lapels turned up, shielding him from the cold breeze that encircled the large open area. He had his hands in his pockets, and his shoulders were slumped. ‘See what I mean, Zara? It’s as if they’ve just vanished. I don’t like it one bit.’
Zara looked over at Mike who was wandering around the room. ‘Someone must have been hiding back there in the bushes with a pair of binoculars and watching the whole fucking drama. All I can say is they couldn’t have been strong-armed because they waited for us to leave before they came to set Torvic free. Which means one of two things: either he had already planned to have someone there that night, believing that I wouldn’t kill him, or one of our own men went back. Me, I think he was one step ahead of us.’
Neil shook his head. ‘I don’t get it, Zara. How could he have been so cocksure you wouldn’t kill him?’
Zara slowly and deliberately turned to face Neil. ‘Because he’s fucking clever, that’s why. He threw me a line that I would go for, and, stupidly, I took the bait – hook, line, and sinker. He knew I needed information and putting out that Barak was the main supplier was a clever ploy on his part. He shrewdly guessed that name would have me determined for a meeting. He knew about the past; the bastard knows everything, including how to fucking play me. Jesus, how could I have been so gullible? Of course it’s not Barak who supplied him with the drugs. He threw that in there to secure his own life. The man knows too much about me. How the hell he does is a mystery, but the fact is, he does. But I have to hand it to him. He employed the oldest trick in the book. Give your interrogator something that sounds convincing and they’ll buy it. Well, it worked, didn’t it?’ She shook her head and sighed. ‘Okay, now we know that Barak is not behind this, we’d better put out a few feelers and find out as much as we can about this Torvic bloke.’
She paused as she watched Mike’s eyes focus on one of the kitchenette cabinets. Ignoring her, he squatted on his haunches and placed his cheek on the cold concrete floor.
‘What are you doing, Mikey?’
Still ignoring her, he tried to stretch his arm under one of the units that was attached to the back wall. He groaned as he reached further. Then, suddenly, he was on his feet, holding a piece of paper. ‘Zara, your hangar, as you once told Staffie, is always as clean as a surgeon’s scalpel, so what’s this?’ He unfolded the tatty piece of paper as Neil, Zara, and Shamus hurried over to see for themselves. The note was partially printed and in the corner was part of an address. At first, they all looked dumbstruck: no one recognized it for a moment.
‘It may have just blown in with the wind. The back room’s been open to the elements,’ said Shamus.
But then, Zara looked at Mike’s face. He was staring as if what he was seeing meant something.
‘Mike?’
He snapped out of his gaze and slowly turned to face her. ‘I’ve seen this before, but … no, there must be some mistake. I, er …’
‘Mike, spit it out! What’s going on?’ demanded Zara.
He scratched his head. ‘This is mental. When Jackie was at mine, I tipped her bag out. She told me that on one of her court summonses there was an address of the Flakka supplier. It was Number Three, Sycamore Cottage. To me, this looks like the start of that address. And look at the corner of this paper. It has a reference number and serial numbers. That’s an official letter, like a court summons.’
Zara stepped back and screwed her face up. ‘Aw, come on, Mike. This has to be a coincidence. I mean, Jackie, your fucking ex-wife, in cahoots with Torvic? Give me a break. The bird’s a tent short of a circus, as thick as pig shit, and twice as stupid. No way!’
As Mike stared at the paper, he tried to remember if it was the same one he’d read at his home at the time of finalizing the divorce with his wife.
‘Zara, this is no coincidence. Who writes down addresses in pen these days? In fact, who uses a pen? Nah, this was in her bag, I’m telling ya.’
Stunned by the find, Zara paced the floor. She pulled a packet of cigarettes from her pocket, removed the cellophane with her teeth, and, after lighting up, she puffed away like a steam train.
‘I’m going to fucking kill her,’ Mike said. ‘Doesn’t the stupid bitch realize what she’s done? My Ricky could be in fucking danger because of her. Right, I’m going to Essex, and I’m gonna burn her fucking caravan down, with the ugly prat in it!’
‘No! Don’t be so reckless. That piece of paper may not confirm she was the one who released Torvic and Tiffany. For all we know, he may have been in her company, and, in some way, that piece of paper ended up with him.’
Mike stood with his hands on his hips and gave her a defiant glare. ‘Give over, Zara. It’s more likely that he’s given her a stash of money, and we all know she’ll do anything for cash. I ain’t gonna stand here and leave her be. I’ve had enough. She’s been the fucking thorn in my side for years now. It ends today.’
‘Mikey Regan, you might just find yourself back in the same position you were thirteen fucking years ago, with you inside and no help to anyone …’ She paused, allowing the words to filter. ‘Listen. Torvic was one step ahead of the game, but we have something now. We have Jackie. We ain’t going in like escaped maniacs, we’re gonna plan this out and find a way to get to Torvic. Jackie can wait. There’ll be plenty of time later to deal with her.’
Mike rolled his eyes and bit his lip. Zara was right, of course, so he had to control his urge to let rip.
* * *
As the Spanish sun dipped beneath the horizon and the cold crept in, Arty went inside. He decided to make a fire. It would give them all something to focus on and they could enjoy time snuggling up on the sumptuous sofas with the big screen on. It was essential, he reasoned, for them to keep their minds firmly on doing things. Otherwise, too much time spent on reflection would bring all their worries to the fore. Poppy and Brooke were fun to be around, the three lads were tight, and all five of them seemed to gel effortlessly.
The screeches and laughing simmered down as they slowly wandered inside. Poppy and Brooke were both huddled in the entrance hall, shivering inside their towels. Their eyes lit up when they spotted see-through bags of what looked like tracksuits, T-shirts, and jumpers. Arty was prodding the logs, stopping them from sliding off the grate.
‘All right, girls. We should be warm pretty soon unless you want the heating on as well.’
Poppy looked tired. The pool was great for the recovery of her leg injury, but she still hadn’t really had enough time to recuperate from her ordeal.
Brooke, however, was still lively and wandered over to the bags. ‘Arty, are these for us?’
Arty was still kneeling on the floor, attending to the fire, but he looked over to see what Brooke was referring to. ‘Oh, yeah. Terrence stopped by. He dropped off some clobber. He doesn’t want us to leave the villa unless it’s an emergency.’
Brooke was trying to see what exactly was in the bags; it wasn’t every day she was given new clothes.
‘Can I have a look? I need to get something warm and clean on.’
Poppy sat shivering close to the fire. ‘Y-e-ss, me-e to-o.’
With the go-ahead, Brooke began opening the bags. To her delight, they were crammed with designer clothing, with authentic labels, no less. Two fleece-lined Nike tracksuits in pastel shades caught her eye and instantly she looked at the size. They were spot-on. ‘Here, Poppy, this will warm you up. They’re lovely, so soft, and, Poppy, they’re Nike. Wow, I love them. Do you think we could keep them?’ she asked excitedly.
Arty stood up and helped Brooke to carry the bags into the lounge. ‘Of course, babe. I don’t think they’ll look much cop on Terrence.’
Brooke giggled and blushed, and then turned to her sister, who, by now, had blue lips and was covered in goose bumps. ‘Hey, are you okay?’
Poppy nodded. ‘I’ve just got too cold, I think. Maybe I overdid it a bit.’
Brooke quickly got her sister to her feet. ‘Come into the other
room, get out of those wet bits, and I’ll help you get dressed. You will warm up soon enough.’
While the girls left to get changed in the games room, Liam and Ricky came into the lounge, still laughing. Both looked like drowned rats. ‘Where are the girls?’ asked Ricky, clearly concerned for them.
‘Getting changed, I believe. Oh, yeah, there are tracksuits for you two. Terrence dropped them off. We ain’t to leave the villa, apparently. He brought us some big steaks an’ all, so we can have a right good feast up.’ He stepped back away from the huge TV screen and fiddled with the remote. ‘There we go, lads. A warm fire, a good film, and you, Liam, ya think ya some kinda naked chef, so you can cook us all dinner!’
Liam rubbed his hands together, beaming. ‘Yep, ol’ Gordon Ramsay has nothing on me.’
Ricky laughed and shook his head. He enjoyed Liam’s sunny personality. He was always so upbeat and funny. In fact, he laughed at everything, including himself, sadly.
As they all sat around the fire, drinking beers, Liam, the joker, dressed in just an apron, came into the lounge holding a frying pan. ‘So, how d’ya like ya steaks?’
They all fell about laughing as he turned around to show his bare backside. Poppy winked and laughed along. ‘If I could get to my feet quick enough, I think I’d slap that arse of yours.’
Her sudden change to a cockney accent made everyone roar, including Liam, who was loving the attention, especially from, as he saw her, the prettiest girl in Spain.
Ricky threw him a tracksuit. ‘Get dressed, or the sight of your two cheeks will put me off me steak.’
Liam dodged the tracksuit as it flew past him and landed in the kitchen. Laughing away, he returned to cook the steaks.
Poppy had stopped shivering and was now curled up sipping her beer, while Arty flicked through the TV channels.
Ricky laid his head back and closed his eyes. With tiredness sweeping over him, perhaps he too had overdone the playtime in the pool.
Brooke chatted away to Arty about the best Marvel movie she’d watched, which impressed Arty because he had a liking for the same film.
After a few minutes, Arty called out to Liam, ‘Oi, chef, are you fucking milking that cow or cooking it? I want mine rare, mate.’ He chuckled, but there was only silence.
Suddenly, the room went quiet. Ricky opened his eyes and held his breath. Brooke looked at Poppy with tremendous fear on her face. Arty silently got up and put his finger to his mouth, telling the others to be quiet. He backed away from the lounge, hurried to the games room, and returned with a gun in his hand. ‘Liam!’
Ricky was now on his feet and behind Arty as they crept towards the kitchen. As they reached the door, Arty cocked the gun and peered in, but the kitchen was empty. The frying pan was sizzling away, but the tracksuit was on the floor, and Liam was gone.
‘What the fuck?’
The side door slammed shut. Arty ran across the marble floor and ripped the door open. Outside, there was no sign of movement, and the air was still, with no obvious sound whatsoever. And no lights could be seen. It was baffling. Liam had seemingly vanished into thin air.
‘Liam!’ screamed Arty.
Ricky ran back to the lounge to check the girls were still there. ‘Liam’s gone. Stay there. Don’t move.’
Poppy grabbed Brooke’s hands, and, instantly, they both held each other. This was so terrifying, like one of those slasher movies.
Ricky ran into the games room and pulled one of the shotguns from its case. He then dashed to the pool, where, immediately, the floodlights came on, lighting up the complete back area. ‘Liam!’ he screamed. But all he could hear was an echo of his own voice.
Arty ran from the side of the villa around to the back where Ricky was standing, now totally flummoxed.
‘Christ, what if they’ve got him? I mean, how the fuck did it happen?’ asked Arty, whose face was deathly white.
‘Are the two cars still there? Maybe, he left to go to the shop to get other stuff for dinner.’
Arty shook his head and peered at the innocent expression on Ricky’s face. ‘The cars are both there, and he wouldn’t go out in just that fucking stupid apron. Ricky, someone’s got to him. Oh, Jesus Christ, they’ve got him …’ He suddenly ripped at his hair and tears filled his eyes. ‘Oh no, no, no!’ he cried.
Ricky could feel his mate’s pain as Arty slumped to the floor, banging his fist like a silverback gorilla.
‘Wait, Arty. We don’t know for sure. Come on back inside. Let’s think.’
Arty allowed Ricky to pull him to his feet as he sniffed back a tear. ‘Christ, Ricky, if they have him, it’s my fault. I said he should cook dinner. Fuck. If only I was in the kitchen, not Liam.’
Ricky put his arm around Arty’s shoulder. ‘Listen, we need to think straight, right? Call his phone.’
Arty snapped out of his grief and worry and started to head back inside the villa. He looked at the girls, who had now come outside to see what was going on.
Poppy was as white as a sheet, too afraid to actually know the truth. Brooke could tell it was serious by the look in Arty’s eyes. ‘Someone’s taken him, haven’t they, Arty?’
Arty was too upset to reply. His deflated expression spoke volumes about what he felt inside. He shrugged his shoulders, avoiding her look of concern.
Ricky knew that Arty was going down the road of resignation and needed geeing up to get his act together. ‘Arty, call his number, will ya?’
As soon as Arty dialled the number, a phone began ringing in the kitchen. Liam had gone. They all looked at each other as if an ominous entity had entered the room. ‘He never went anywhere without his phone.’
‘Call Terrence.’
Arty did as Ricky ordered, letting him take the lead. He was in too much of a state to focus properly.
‘Terrence, Liam’s gone. I mean, one minute he was cooking dinner, and then the next, he just vanished. The side door was open, the cars are still here. He ain’t even got clothes on, and his phone’s still on the side.’
There was silence as all three stared at Arty’s expression, praying that Terrence would have some answers, yet the pause was very long.
They couldn’t hear what Terrence was saying, but they got the impression that whatever it was it had knocked the stuffing right out of him.
‘Yeah, will do, mate,’ was all Arty said before he finished the call. ‘He’s coming to get us now. He told us to close the shutters. He’ll ring when he’s outside.’
Poppy felt her breathing quicken. It was instantly noticed by Brooke. ‘Pops, it’s okay. Take deep breaths. Slowly does it,’ she said, as she gripped Poppy’s shoulders.
‘Hey, is she having a panic attack? Because, to be honest, girls, we really need to pull ourselves together.’
Ricky’s tone was gentle, but, nevertheless, the point was a good one. In a flash, he ran up the stairs and snapped into action, and within a few seconds, all the shutters were hitting the floor like guillotines. The only light in the lounge was coming from the fire and the TV.
Brooke decided she needed to join in because sitting around huddled in a terrified state wouldn’t help them one bit. She turned on the lights and went into the kitchen to ensure the shutters were down. Then she noticed on the floor, just abutting the kitchen unit nearest the doorframe, there was a syringe.
‘Arty, come here!’ she yelled.
‘What is it?’ asked Arty, as he rushed into the kitchen, looking anxious.
She bent down and carefully held the syringe by her fingertips. She showed it to Arty. ‘I think someone has taken Liam, unless Terrence is a drug user.’
Arty carefully took hold of the syringe and placed it on the granite worktop. He stared for a moment as Brooke looked at his expression of fear – pure fear. Visions of Liam being drugged and taken to a warehouse, naked, and strapped to a torture table, gave Arty a foul taste of bitterness in his mouth.
‘Are you okay, Arty? What do you think this means?’
Arty wa
sn’t about to divulge his inner terrors, and so, gently, he shook his head. ‘This could mean anything, but, listen. Let’s just stay put in the lounge and wait for Terrence.’
They didn’t have to wait long before he called – he was outside.
By now, Ricky had similar thoughts to Arty, once he’d been told what was found in the kitchen; however, Ricky wasn’t afraid. He was angry. This was a serious piss-take.
Terrence parked his car in between the two others. His men wasted no time in jumping out from their cars and scouring the perimeter. Terrence bundled the four youngsters into his Bentley and stood for a moment like a bodyguard. After all, as far as he was concerned, he had precious cargo to get to safety.
Once they were away from the villa, Terrence asked them to relay every bit of information before he would make that all-important call. He knew that it would turn Mike’s firm entirely upside down.
And he also knew it would set off a chain of events that would probably lead to a devastating outcome.
* * *
Zara decided it was best if they all returned to her father’s house. She couldn’t devise a plan alone as she needed their input on how they should move forward.
Mike phoned Eric and told him to go to their parents’ place and make sure they were ready to move out for a while. Mike knew what his father was like: it would take more than the threat of Torvic, the Russian, to have him running scared.
Eric reluctantly agreed to go, as he felt excluded from the decision-making, and he wasn’t happy about that. As usual, he reasoned, big brother Mikey was playing the role of top dog while he – barely ten months younger, for Christ’s sake – was the puppy once again. It was a fucking nightmare. He felt out of it, quite naturally, and it wasn’t as if this was the first time either. However, he wasn’t going down the road of another confrontation. This was serious business, and if he was being truthful, he really was best out of the way.
