The Rules

by KERRY BARNES

  ‘But wasn’t Mike supposed to be part of your firm?’

  Shaking her head in exasperation, she went on, ‘Fuck me, Eric, that was twelve years ago. Mike went to prison, so what do you think? Did you think we just carried on where we left off? You, Eric, fucked off and got on with your life, and me, I had no choice but to do the same. Mike and I do have some business dealings like gun imports, but that’s as far as it goes. So, as much as I appreciate your concern, please don’t try to get involved in my own firm.’

  Annoyed, Eric retaliated. ‘What firm? All the Lanigans’ men are in Ireland!’

  A sudden hot feeling crept up her back, leaving her head with a tingling sensation. Her heart rate rocketed, and her hand shook. She had to answer quickly before he realized he’d said something he shouldn’t have. She didn’t want him to know she’d picked up on it.

  ‘Yeah, but I’ve other men I can call on, so don’t concern yaself. Look, Eric, can you stop the car? I feel sick.’

  As soon as he pulled over, Zara snatched her bag and hurried out. Before she closed the door, she said, ‘I need some fresh air. I’ll get a taxi later.’

  A car hooted from behind and urged Eric to pull away. Zara didn’t look back; she stormed on ahead, hoping to weave her way into the council estate so that he couldn’t follow her. As soon as she was out of sight, she caught her breath and went over his words and tried to rationalize how he could have known the Lanigans’ men were back in Ireland. Leaning against the wall, she suddenly felt vulnerable. Who could she trust? Did Eric have anything to do with Neil’s stabbing? Surely to God, not. After a few gasps for air, she calmed her panic. Maybe Eric had overheard her on the phone, or, more likely, he’d been earwigging in the hospital.

  Crouching down to rifle through her bag with her one hand, she cursed. Everything was twice as hard. Clutching her phone, she left her bag on the path and scrolled down for the name of a taxi company. She could have walked to her father’s former jewellery business. It was another one she needed to look over to see whether Ismail had cleared it out. She just hoped the shop wasn’t left in a state. That would break her heart. Her father had used the shop as a front. Behind it was his office, where he did most of his business dealings. Suddenly, she felt her eyes fill up. ‘Dad, if you’re up there, I could do with your help.’ It had become a pet saying of hers, ever since the moment she’d been locked up.

  ‘Hi. Yes, could you send a taxi to the Old Kent Road, the BP garage?’

  She knew many of the drivers didn’t like to enter the estate, but the garage was relatively close by.

  Once the taxi firm ended the call, she stared at her phone: there were more than twenty missed calls from Mike and four text messages. As she scrolled through, reading the excuses and pleas from Mike to call him back, she didn’t notice two men appear from one of the run-down maisonettes.

  They were roughly in their twenties, with baggy jeans trailing below their pants. Lennon, the bigger of the two, a known Face in the area, gazed at her oversized Louis Vuitton bag, and then his eyes checked her out. Right away, he could see the pound signs adding up. Designer sunglasses, expensive clothes, and the latest phone in her hand, she was a walking gold mine. He stopped and nudged his sidekick Germaine. ‘I want that bag and phone,’ he slyly whispered.

  Germaine was ready to do anything to prove he was part of Lennon’s gang. He hadn’t been formally initiated but stealing the bag in broad daylight would be a good start. High on drugs and feeling brave, he eagerly agreed.

  Still reading Mike’s text messages, Zara didn’t sense the man approaching until he was almost on top of her.

  Germaine didn’t have a well-thought-out plan, he just went all-in, like a bull in a china shop. Aggressively, he pinned her to the wall and tried to snatch the phone from her hand.

  However, with no time to think, Zara went into fight mode, and with one swift movement, she kneed him hard between the legs. As he doubled over, she twisted her body to the side, and with all her might, she kicked the side of his head. The impact had him toppled over, but in fear for her safety, she had to finish him off. With her leg now pulled back, she kicked him so hard in the face, his nose almost caved in, and he was out cold.

  Suddenly, her senses were on high alert.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she detected a hand reaching down to claim her bag. Fired up and ready for a battle, Zara spun around and came face-to-face with the person she suspected was her assailant’s accomplice. Although he was big, he wasn’t tall; his eyes met hers and a cocky smirk formed along his face. It was a look that made her blood run cold – the same expression Benjamin Segal had, the day he watched her hand being severed from her wrist. This time, she wouldn’t wait to process the dynamics. A surge of pure hatred and fury shot through her. With adrenaline pumping around her body, she pulled her head back and viciously cracked him hard across the bridge of his nose.

  Lennon faltered, stunned by the power of the skinny woman. His brain just couldn’t comprehend how the tables had turned. He had never lost a fight in his life, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to lose one to a woman. His eyes focused, and just as he was about to pull a knife from his back pocket, she pulled her head back and headbutted him again. Dazed and senseless, he struggled to keep both feet on the floor. The crack was like a metal bat, and as much as he wanted to rip her head from her shoulders, he just couldn’t seem to find the strength.

  As Zara now shook from head to toe, she knew that all the time this evil-looking fucker was still standing, she was at risk. It was at that point she saw the knife in his hand, and her blood ran cold. In sheer terror, she dropped her phone, and although she couldn’t take up her Shotokan stance with two hands, she could still use the one she had, and she did. A single open-handed strike to his throat was enough to paralyse him. Instantly, she saw the knife leave his grip, and his eyes bulged in disbelief. He couldn’t breathe as she’d crushed his windpipe. Still afraid, she struck him again, and this time, he fell like a toppling tin soldier. He desperately gasped for breath, but it was no use – his lips were turning purple and then blue. He was choking to death.

  Trembling, Zara picked up her phone, dropped it into her bag, and ran towards the petrol station. Her mind was trying to process what had just happened. By the time she was inside, she felt safe. Her fast breathing slowly settled. All at once, as if time had stood still, something changed inside her.

  For five years, she’d been brainwashed to feel weak and insignificant, with no way out, and the time spent as a prisoner had naturally affected her. Her confidence had been shattered because she’d become vulnerable and untrusting towards nearly everyone she knew. Right now, she felt, only the Lanigans were on her side.

  So, although that fight with the two men may have initially shat the life out of her, she knew from this point onward she still had it in her. Her father had made sure she could fight. She’d mastered martial arts, winning medals and trophies from a young age. She suddenly thought about her father, as she often did, and this time, instead of asking for his help, she thanked him. All those times she’d prayed for him. It wasn’t that she believed in God per se, but she still felt that there was a connection between them both, and she fervently believed that this was one of those moments when, somehow, he was there for her and willing her on to use the skills he’d taught her. Today, he’d answered her prayers, and she’d mustered the strength inside to let rip.

  The cab pulled into the garage, and as Zara stepped inside, she could hear the ambulances and police cars in the distance. A satisfied smile adorned her face. They just shouldn’t have fucked with her. Never.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Ricky tilted his head to the side as he looked at his father’s sad expression. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind me going with Pops to the sales room?’

  Mike was miles away, worrying over Zara. He waved his hand, gesturing it was okay. ‘No, of course, Son. You go. I’m gonna make me way back home. I’ll need to air and dust the place. It’s been
so long, I may need to get the decorators in.’

  Gloria suddenly piped up, ‘No, you won’t need to lift a finger. We’ve kept it shipshape and Bristol fashion, and Staffie’s been looking after the pool.’

  Once Ricky and Arthur had left, Mike looked at his mother. ‘I can’t believe that skank fell asleep on the sofa next to me. I mean, what the fuck did that look like, and why the hell didn’t Eric take her home? It’s really pissing me off.’

  Gloria sighed. ‘Stop fretting, Mike. Zara will be back. She’s not stupid. She knows you weren’t up to no good.’

  With a heavy heart, Mike shook his head. ‘No, Mum. Five years ago, it would’ve been water off a duck’s back. She would’ve fronted me there and then and fucked the tart off, but she’s so affected. I can tell it’ll only take one little upset and she’ll crumble.’

  ‘Leave her be, for a while. Give her time. She’ll come back. And just to let you know, we may be the fairer sex, but we can handle far more than you think. Inside her slim frame is a fighting spirit.’

  Before Mike could continue the conversation, his phone rang. Instantly, he answered it. ‘Zara, where the fuck are you? What’s the matter?’ His voice aired a pitch of desperation.

  ‘Mike, listen to me. I need to be alone. I’ve some business to see to and I just need time.’

  ‘No, Zara, please. What you saw, well . . . it wasn’t—’

  ‘Mike,’ Zara instantly interrupted, ‘I really don’t care. I’ve more pressing issues. Please don’t worry about me. I’m fine. But I just can’t be around you right now!’ With that, she cut the connection, leaving Mike with his mouth wide open in amazement.

  ‘What’d she say?’ asked Gloria, anxiously awaiting the details.

  ‘She doesn’t want me right now . . . I guess, I fucked up.’

  ‘Mikey, you’ve both been through so much and it’s not easy, and even harder for her. Maybe she needs to find herself before she takes back up with you again. Leave her alone for a while.’

  ***

  Zara stopped the cab just outside her father’s place on the Old Kent Road. It was left vacant, as she expected. Her brother had taken the lot. Luckily, the actual shop hadn’t been vandalized. Her throat tightened as she wandered around to the back of the building to the entrance of her father’s old office. She choked on a tear as she stared at the stinking old rubbish heap in the open porch. She knew that behind the mess was the metal door that at one time had always been guarded by Quasi. Yet what greeted her today was silence. As she moved the rubbish away to reveal the steel door, her heart was in her mouth. She knew that once inside she would visualize her father sitting there with his eyeglass, examining some knocked-off piece of jewellery. Taking a deep breath, she placed her bag on the floor and reached inside for the large bundle of keys. Once she’d released the three locks, she pushed the door open and stared.

  The sight just reinforced how greedy and heartless her brother really was. Her father’s favourite Persian rug lay perfectly in place, and the large oak desk and rows of cabinets filled with books were still there intact. However, the contents of the drawers were on the floor, and the antique ornaments were gone. Everything of value had been taken. Only her father’s much loved and practically worthless items were left behind.

  A tear trickled down her face as she could almost hear him talking about how money makes the world go round, but how power and fear can stop it. She slowly wandered around the room, fingering the desk, the books, and the back of Izzy’s chair, and then she stopped and stared at the rug. All those years, she never knew that it was her brother who was behind the leaked information. She could never have guessed it was Ismail who was hell-bent on setting her up. However, did he know every hiding place, every secret? She did because Izzy had made it his life’s mission to prepare her to take over.

  Crouching down, she gripped the corner and pulled the carpet back. A chuckle escaped her mouth. Surely, Ismail would have checked this hidey-hole? Her giggle turned into a full-on laugh. Jesus, Ismail, you fool, you really didn’t have it in you, did you? You only saw what was under your nose.

  She sat back on her haunches. This was the reason her father had chosen her to take over, as Ismail lacked the skills and the mental and physical resources to run the family businesses. Under the rug was a hidden door that opened to reveal a large metal box. It held everything that was of any value: there were names, addresses, phone numbers, codes, bank accounts, and so much more. She tugged at the small handle and smiled.

  Rifling through the paperwork, she found the small leatherbound ledger. ‘There you are, my little beauty,’ said Zara, as she kissed the cover, with a huge smile on her face. After carefully placing everything back inside the box, she returned the rug to how it was. She could have left her father’s office exactly how she wanted it, but years of mentoring from her teacher and father made her put everything back in its original place. Shuddering, she thought of the times her brother must have been secretly listening by the door. But he couldn’t hurt her now: he was in prison, on remand, along with the Segals.

  Izzy had told her about the book and the numbers inside. ‘The man called the Machine is someone who you must respect and only ever call if you have no other choice. Mike Regan is the man you want by your side, Zara, but one day, when I’m gone, and if you need more than the Regans, then you call the Machine. He’s a lone wolf and invaluable.’

  Outside, the traffic on the main road was almost at a standstill, and Zara felt anxious. The thought of that man struggling for air swirled around in her head and raised her heartbeat. She took a few deep breaths before she made her next move. There, from a sideroad, pulling away from the kerb, a taxi was approaching. Suddenly his ‘For Hire’ sign came on, so she frantically waved him down. He wound down his window. ‘Hop in, love!’

  Relieved she didn’t have to stand on the main road feeling exposed, she hurried over to the vehicle and got in. ‘Head towards Kent, please. I’ll direct you from there.’

  She got herself settled and contemplated her next move. She opened the page of the notebook and stared at the phone number pencilled in. What if he’d retired? He was obviously much older. And what if he’d changed his number?

  The streets were now crawling with police. Zara had no idea that she was the person of interest. The taxi driver pulled his partition screen ajar, leaned back, and said, ‘I just heard that two gang members, part of that nasty Hadlow gang, were beaten up. One of them was killed.’

  Zara was still staring at the notebook. Distractedly, she looked over to the driver, slightly flustered. ‘Er. . . sorry, what did you say?’

  ‘The police are everywhere, looking for a woman who’s apparently killed that Lennon bloke. He won’t be missed. He was a nasty bastard, part of a gang. I, for one, am glad. That gang business is getting out of hand . . . Anyway, sorry, love. You probably ain’t from around these parts, eh?’

  Zara’s ears pricked up. ‘Well, yes and no. My father had a few businesses around here. That jeweller’s back there was one. So, what’s this gang all about, then?’

  The middle-aged, grey-haired driver was happy to chat for England, and Zara was equally glad to listen.

  ‘I live just up the road, and in all my bleedin’ life I’ve never had to worry about stepping out of me own flaming house. Sure enough, back in the day, we had a few thugs, but not like these. They are wild now. There’s no respect for no one or nuffin. Drugs cause it. I tell ya, I’ve been more busy cabbing in the last year than ever. All the old dears won’t walk to the shops no more. The people are too afraid to walk the streets. It ain’t right. The police don’t do enough as far as I’m concerned. Me, I’d flaming gather all those thugs up and put ’em on a boat and sink the bleedin’ thing.’

  ‘Why do you think the drug situation has got worse?’

  ‘Well, it’s that new drug. It makes ’em wild, I’ll tell ya. Once these kids get hooked on that shit, they do anything to get money to keep up their habit. Christ, I never believe
d in drugs meself, but compared to this new shit out there, I’d even legalize cocaine right now.’

  Intrigued by the man’s proffered information, Zara pressed for more. ‘What’s this drug called then? I’ve not heard about it.’

  The driver looked in his rear-view mirror and smiled. ‘Sweetheart, you probably don’t mix in those circles. It’s called Flakka, but they reckon it’s mixed with something that turns the most decent of kids into demons. It’s pure evil, poxy stuff. Whoever’s making it and selling it to the kids needs to be shot. That Lennon bloke was one of the dealers, and if what I’ve heard is right, I’m glad he’s dead . . . ’ He paused and glanced in his mirror again. ‘Sorry, love. Did you say your father owned that jeweller’s back there?’

  Zara nodded and wondered if she’d said too much. If Lennon was the man who attacked her, then the other guy may well be able to give the police a description. A woman with one hand would stand out like a sore thumb. She pulled her sleeve down to hide her wrist.

  ‘See, now, love, this shit wouldn’t be going on if your old man was alive, Gawd rest him. Now that there was a proper geezer. He was a decent fella. Er, didn’t he own the Pomodorra over near Denmark Hill?’

  Zara had to play it cool and not appear too eager, but this man may just know more about the black guy who stabbed Neil. ‘Yeah, he did, but apparently the Italians were threatened, and they’ve taken off. I bet it was the same gang you’re talking about.’

  ‘Oh yeah, love, no doubt about it. See, now, if ya father was still around, no two-bit punk would even get their head through the door. He’d ’ave . . . oh, listen to me. Sorry, babe. I’ve no need to tell you. Who owns all the restaurants now? I heard it was an Irish lot?’