by KERRY BARNES
Mike wasn’t in the mood to reel in his temper, nor to pay homage to the Izzys of this world. Accordingly, he snapped back. ‘You fucking listen to me. Right now, Izzy, you can shove ya threats up your arse. I’ve more pressing things to deal with. I want the Harmans alive and kicking with answers.’
‘Answers?’
‘Yes, Izzy. So, before you go hunting them down and blowing their brains away, I need to question them regarding my son. Now, get off the phone because I ain’t got time for this bullshit.’ Red-faced with anger, he abruptly ended the call.
Willie and Staffie just stared wide-eyed, mouths open. They couldn’t believe that Mike was so staggeringly reckless. No one, absolutely no one, got away with talking to Izzy like that – not if they wanted to live.
As old and small as Izzy was, his facade was merely a front; he gave the impression that he was just an inoffensive Jewish jeweller trying to make a few bob. But buying and selling hooky gear was only a little hobby of his. Really, he could give Mossad a run for their money. His primary business was with the Italians and the Colombians, as well as a few influential firms in Ireland.
Although half of the small firms in London, Manchester, and Hull were under Izzy’s umbrella, Mike had kept his own firm out of Izzy’s organization. That had been the case until the Irish arms deal was arranged. Now, he wished he’d never got involved, nor even clapped eyes on Izzy. He knew full well that if he refused to honour his promise, then the guy had the power to take over his manor and even do away with him.
Without warning, Mike snatched the heavy cut-glass decanter from the sideboard and hurled it across the room. The sound of the glass hitting the wall and splintering in all directions stunned the men into silence.
‘Calm down, Mikey, we’ll find ’em,’ said Willie.
Lou got off the phone and shook his head. ‘Sorry, Mikey, but all the planes that took off today had available seats. None of them were fully booked. She could have got on at least three planes.’
* * *
Zara sat opposite her father, with a deadpan face. ‘So, why do you want Mike Regan on your firm?’
Izzy peered up through his hooded eyebrows. ‘I know, Zara, about you and him.’
Her flushed face was a dead giveaway. All those years she had tried to keep it a secret. Remaining quiet, she hoped her father would elaborate.
He gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘I want him on the payroll … for security.’
She frowned. ‘Security? You don’t need that, do you?’
‘No, I don’t, but when you take over, Zara, you will. I know he would be the one man to take a bullet for you.’
Casting a questioning look, she asked, ‘Why act like you never knew? Why let me carry on stealing secret moments with him?’
Izzy was about to answer her, but she threw her hands in the air. ‘Oh, forget it. It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s married now and I …’ She paused, the words trapped in her throat. ‘I have a business to run.’
Izzy allowed a wide crooked smile to adorn his face. ‘Yes, my child. But you will need Mike Regan, because I will not always be around. And some people have bigger grudges than others.’
* * *
Mike’s phone rang; it was a number he recognized. He stared for a few seconds before he answered and wandered away from the men.
‘Zara?’
‘Yes, Mikey, it’s me, with a message from Izzy. I hope you realize that you only have twenty-four hours, or he’ll be on the case.’ Her voice was unintentionally cold and made Mike want to laugh.
The once sweet woman was now turning into a clone of her father. Unbeknown to Mike, the cold stares and the stern tone were gaining her a reputation in the underworld – she was Izzy’s daughter all right.
‘I told Izzy to leave off, and Zara, me little princess …’ His words were sarcastic. ‘You tell him, if he interferes and the Harmans go missing before I get a chance to find out what they have fucking done with my son, I’ll rip his insides out with a rusty fucking claw hammer.’
There was silence. ‘Mikey—’
He didn’t give her a chance to get a word in. ‘Zara, acting like some cool gangster doesn’t suit your sweet arse. Leave this shit to the big boys, honey. And didn’t you just hear me? These Harmans, they have my son. So now you can understand why I ain’t afraid to wage war on whoever stands in my way. So, if you’re the go-between, then tell Izzy that.’
A sudden feeling of hurt whipped through her, followed by annoyance. How dare he have a go at her? She was only trying to calm the situation between her father and Mike, but he had just made it clear how he felt about her. Feeling hurt and belittled, she retaliated.
‘And, Mikey, having an unchartered temper doesn’t suit your sweet arse either. I’m sorry about your son, but I would take Izzy’s words seriously, if I were you.’
Mike was about to have another go when the phone went dead.
She was right: he did have a temper. And, deep down, he knew he wouldn’t be able to control it, not while he believed the Harmans had his son.
He stormed back into the lounge. ‘Right, call the men. I want them plotted outside all the homes of the Harman brothers. I want someone in the Three Palms, the Cedars Arms, and the Jolly Roger. I want all of fucking South-East London hunting down these bastards.’
Willie, having snorted a line of charlie, stepped forward, his foot tapping and his eyes wide. ‘I’ll go and show me face in the Cedars. That’s their main drinking hole. I can’t stand the fucking landlord, the sly fucker. He may have the little scrotes hidden upstairs.’
Mike could see he was fired up; he was always the same. The cocaine was a great motivator, and Willie was lethal, once he’d had a toot. He could also be a touch too reckless at times, but Mike could always be relied upon to reel him back in if required. However, right now, Mike had no intention of reeling anyone in. When needs must the devil drives, he thought. He was going to do whatever it took to get his son, and if that meant hurting people in the process, then so be it. He was blinded by his need to find Ricky and couldn’t give a shit how he did it.
‘Mikey, ’ave ya checked Jackie’s muvver’s? Maybe, she’s gone there,’ Staffie said. He could see Mike needed to focus on the positive.
The clock was ticking. He knew that the longer the Harmans had his boy, the more likely they were to kill him. But if they did have him, surely they would have sent a message by now, with some form of a deal? With his hands together and two forefingers resting on his lip, Mike broke out of his thoughts.
‘She doesn’t get on with Gilly.’ He let out a deep sigh and sat down heavily on the sofa. ‘I dunno. I can’t think straight.’
Staffie knew he had to take charge. ‘Willie, you go and round the boys up, check out the pubs, and go and visit that landlord. Call us if ya hear anything. Lou, call Eric and tell him to get his arse back ’ere.’
Mike felt sick. Every nerve at the back of his head was on end; it was like a numbing sensation he’d never experienced before. He wasn’t in control, and he knew if he didn’t get a grip soon, he would lose it.
‘Mikey, where does Gilly live?’
Mike rubbed his face in deep contemplation. ‘Just up the road, ten minutes away …’ He stood up, towering over Staffie. ‘I’ll pay her a visit. If the Harmans don’t have my boy, then it means that Jackie has just fucked off. Jesus, give me strength if she has. I’ll throttle her, the bitch.’
* * *
Driving once more like a lunatic, Mike arrived outside Gilly’s house. He stared for a while at the patchy old pebbledash walls, the overgrown lawn, and the cracked front window held together with gaffer tape. It wasn’t until he’d married Jackie that he found out where she came from. She was too embarrassed to take him to her house, always keeping up the pretence that she was from a good home. Jackie’s inferiority complex often proved to be her own undoing. With her nose in the air, she would look down on people – and take enormous pleasure in doing so.
He knocked on
a door which had seen better days. A croaky voice called out, ‘Who is it? I ain’t properly dressed!’
‘Gilly, it’s me, Mikey. Open up, love.’
He heard her rattling a key in the lock and struggling to slide back two bolts, before, finally, she pulled the door ajar. Through the small crack, where he could see her beady eye, the smell hit him: the whole place reeked of dogs, fags, and piss.
‘Let me in, Gilly, please. I need a word.’
She undid the security chain and stepped aside, allowing her huge son-in-law to enter.
As he wandered from the passageway straight into the living room, she waddled in behind him, her worn-out features on a par with the equally antiquated Dralon sofa, onto which Mike slumped.
He looked her over and shook his head. Gilly was a state and a half. Her once thick hair was thin and straggly; it was held away from her wrinkled face by two hair clips. A bright-green velour tracksuit with ‘Juicy Couture’ embroidered on the back was her attempt at looking trendy. But the colour didn’t do anything for her muted complexion, and the loose material around the knees and backside made her look even thinner than she was. He wondered if she’d ever been attractive in her younger years. Stick-thin and gaunt, she looked who she was, a typical junkie. ‘What’s up, Mikey? Ya never visit …’ She noticed his white face. ‘Mikey, love?’
‘Jackie and Ricky have gone missing.’ It hurt him even to say those words. A lump idled in his throat.
‘They ain’t ’ere, Mikey … and what’s she doing? If I know my Jackie, and if she did do the off, she wouldn’t take the boy. She loves herself too much, that one. Bastard of a mother she is …’ She realized she’d just spoken out of turn. But there was no love lost: she hated her daughter. Not that she always had; in fact, she’d absolutely doted on her until the day her daughter found herself a Saturday job and started spending money on doing herself up. That was the time she turned on her mother, starting with all the bitchy comments and ending with violence.
‘Gilly, where would she go? Who are her friends?’
Gilly took a seat. Mike noticed how thin she’d become; her bony mottled red feet were like those of a chicken. He looked at her shaky hands and assumed she was back on the drugs.
‘Friends? You gotta be bleedin’ joking, ain’t ya? Don’t make me laugh. The girl only uses people. How you put up with her, I’ll never know. Ya must have the patience of a saint. It’s Ricky I feel sorry for.’
His jaw tightened; just hearing his son’s name made him feel sick with worry.
‘Look, Gilly, can’t ya think of anyone she may have gone to?’
Looking up at the ceiling, Gilly tried to think if Jackie had mentioned anyone from the past, but the reality was Jackie never spoke to her. Not about anything personal, anyway. With her, it was all just snide remarks. ‘Oh, Mikey, I wish I could help, but ya see, I can’t. Jackie, she’s such a sly one. She’s too many secrets, that girl.’
Mike jolted. ‘Like what?’
Gilly was still a little stoned. She realized she’d just said far too much. She knew a lot about Mike. He could be like a rottweiler when it suited him. He certainly wouldn’t rest until she told him.
‘Well?’
Gilly felt uncomfortable. She rubbed the front of her thighs with her arthritis-crippled fingers. Mike suddenly noticed that the room still had the threadbare carpets, the peeling 1970’s wallpaper, and the former cream-coloured suite – now a dirty grey – that he’d seen on his last visit a year ago. A frown etched its way across his forehead.
She watched him scan the room. Then, without a word, he jumped up from his seat and headed towards the hallway and directly into the kitchen.
He glared with scornful eyes at the original council kitchen, made of cheap melamine, that over the years had bubbled and split. The worktops had no edging on them and were sharp at the corners, to say the least. The linoleum tiles were an odd assortment and partly missing. He then focused on the dripping tap and the build-up of limescale on the sink. Everything in the room was old and rotten. The space in the corner, where the dog bed had once been, had a dirty brown stain on the walls.
He spun around to face Gilly and realized that he hadn’t noticed until now how she was holding herself up with a walking stick. His worn, worried face was all too much for Gilly. ‘What is it Mikey?’ she asked, her voice soft and now very much concerned. She hoped the look on his face was because he was worried about her. But she got that wrong.
‘You fucking scag head! All the money I gave you to have this shit-hole done up, so when my Ricky comes to visit he wouldn’t scratch his face on this disgusting worktop, or crawl around in the filth. I bet you just snorted the fucking lot.’ He expected Gilly to look suitably contrite. Instead, and to his utter amazement, he was met with a look of sheer horror – and disbelief – on her face.
‘What money?’
‘The fucking money Jackie took off me, to get this house cleaned up.’
Now it was Gilly’s turn to frown. ‘I saw no money, Mikey. As Gawd is my witness, I ain’t ’ad a penny off neither of youse.’
Mike detected a slight gypsy tongue. ‘You’re a fucking liar! I bet you spent every tenner on drugs, didn’t ya?’
Gilly felt her limbs trembling; she needed to sit down. Slowly, she trudged over to the small rickety table where she sat uncomfortably. Taking a few deep breaths, she looked him squarely in the eyes as she replied, ‘I ain’t taken drugs in over ten bleedin’ years. I only smoke the smallest amount of weed for me pain. And I’ve never touched it when I’ve been babysitting little Ricky, love his heart. As for money, don’t you think if I’d had any, I’d have tried to make me poxy, flea-ridden home ’alf decent?’
Mike sighed. This evening was getting worse by the minute. ‘So, you mean to tell me that Jackie never gave you a penny for a new kitchen, a sofa, even carpets, and, let me think, a swing set for the garden?’
‘Swing set? Are you ’aving a laugh, Mikey? No, she never gave me fuck all.’ Gilly looked around and felt embarrassed by the state of the place. ‘Mikey, look, I never was this untidy. I do try me best, but I can ’ardly move me fingers, and the quack reckons I need two new knees. I know it looks terrible, but I do try to take Ricky to the park when I babysit every week … Mikey, you will still let me see him, won’t ya? I mean, I love that baby, I do. He’s all I’ve got to look forward to.’
Mike closed his eyes and took a gulp of air, trying to clear his mind. ‘What d’ya mean by “every week”? I thought it was once a month you babysat?’ He looked at her now with some compassion, and his voice softened. He might have known Jackie would have kept the money. She was all about the bees and honey. He knew she would take far more than she needed, and what she spent it on, he didn’t bother to ask – it would only end in another row.
Gilly sensed his calmer tone and looked up. ‘Tuesdays, Thursdays, and every other Saturday, when Jackie gets her hair and nails and stuff done. She brings him to me after school or drops him off on a Saturday morning. I thought you knew? I mean, I’d never hurt little Ricky. I try me best to play games and read with him if it’s raining. I don’t cook in that kitchen. I always buy in little ready-made meals and cakes, so you don’t have ta worry.’
Mike was trying to keep his breathing shallow, but his huge chest was puffing in and out, raising his whole torso by a good five inches.
‘Sorry, Gilly. Of course I know you babysit Ricky, but let me get this clear. Jackie drops him off to you every other Saturday for the day and also on a Tuesday and Thursday after school for a couple of hours? And she never paid or organized for your house to be done up? Is that right, Gilly?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, and I don’t take drugs, apart from a small puff on a joint afore I goes ta bed. It’s just for me pain, like.’
With flared nostrils, Mike chewed the inside of his lip. ‘Where does she really go? ’Cos you women know if someone’s just had their hair and nails done. I’m guessing she’s been pulling a fucking fast one.’
Gilly had nothing to lose; she had to be honest. ‘Nah, Mikey, I don’t think she’s getting her hair done. See, that’s what I mean. That gal ’as bleeding secrets. I dunno why, though. She has what we all want – a nice home, food on the table, and holidays abroad. I would’ve given my right arm ta ’ave that. Still …’
Mike once again noticed a twang in her accent. He’d never noticed it before. ‘I thought you’d have preferred a caravan anyway, Gilly?’
She looked sharply up at him, wondering if he was being spiteful. ‘No point in keeping up a pretence, living a lie, is there? Yeah, I’m a traveller. So’s my Jackie, if the truth be told. But, fair enough, she wanted to ditch that life, and, sadly, she wanted me to pretend I was a gorger. She made me swear down that I never told you that truth. With her new look and her money, the selfish cow wanted me to keep quiet and not let on. I did say to her that you would love her either way, if ya really loved her. But she was incensed. She swore, if I ever told ya, it would be the last time I’d see little Ricky, and I couldn’t bear that. Ya won’t stop me though, Mikey, will ya? Little Ricky-boy loves me, I knows he does. I wouldn’t bring him up in the gypsy way, I swear.’
He shook his head. ‘Nah, ’course not, Gilly. You’re his granny, gypsy or not. You love him, and yeah, he does love ya. In fact, he loves the bones of ya. Do you have any idea where she would have been going on these Saturdays, or any other time?’
Now feeling more comfortable in Mike’s company, she at last let her tongue talk freely. ‘She’s a go-getter, Mikey, always ’as been, like, since a teenager. She has no morals, not like a woman should ’ave, if ya know what I mean?’
‘A tart?’
She pursed her thin lips together. ‘Yeah, Mikey, a real slapper. Sorry to say it, mate, and her being my gal an’ all, but, well, she is what she is. There ain’t no changing her.’
Mike pondered for a moment. ‘Gilly, I told Jackie to take Ricky on the next plane to our villa in Spain. I’ve got a bit of business to attend to, and I wanted them away, so no harm could come to them, and she knew that. D’ya think she would have ignored me, even knowing how serious it was?’
