by KERRY BARNES
The phone rang and Mike stared at the number, shaking his head. ‘For fuck’s sake.’
He answered, waiting for the sarcastic gruff tones from Izzy.
‘Mike, you now have only twelve hours.’
Mike wanted to smash the phone to smithereens, but his head took over. He needed his phone.
‘Izzy, tell me. Which bit of “they have my son” did you not hear? If you do away with the Harmans, then who’s going to tell me where my boy is? Do you understand where I am coming from?’ He pronounced every syllable with clarity.
‘The Irish ain’t messing around, Mike. They don’t take too kindly to having their business put in jeopardy, and more importantly placed under MI5’s nose. They want this cock-up resolved within twenty-four hours or they’ll be gunning for you – and, worse, me. So, Mike, you find the Harmans first or I will, unless you agree to work for me – and then I’ll have them tied up and ready for questioning within the hour. The problem is yours, Mike.’
‘Oh, trust me, Izzy, it will be your problem.’
‘Is that a threat, Mike?’
‘No, Izzy, it’s a promise!’ This time, he cut him off before he spat another word.
* * *
Zara looked at her father and shook her head. ‘Really, was that necessary? You have the means to hunt down the Harmans, so why don’t we just drag them in and let Mikey … I mean Mike … find out where his son is?’
‘Because, my sweet daughter, you use a man’s emotional state to your advantage. He will most certainly crack and give in. I guarantee that within a few hours he will be begging to work for me because he will need my help.’
‘Oh, come on, Dad. He could find the Harmans himself. It’s not that he needs your help. It’s only because you’re setting a time frame. And if he can’t locate these Harmans, why are you so sure you can find them in less time?’
‘Zara, I shouldn’t have to spell this out to you.’ He sighed and leaned forward. ‘I have a hundred times the resources Mike Regan has. So, fishing out the Harmans is not a problem. You should know how it works. To get what you want, you must find your opponent’s Achilles’ heel. Mike’s is his son. I want Mike working for me for many reasons, but, the point is, he will do as I say because when we arranged the deal, he shook hands and agreed to the terms. Mike is a man of his word. That I do know, Zara. He will do anything to get his son back. Now, I suggest you toughen up and not let your feelings cloud the logic.’
‘I don’t have feelings for him!’ she suddenly snapped.
‘Oh, you do, Zara. Trust me on that one.’
* * *
Mike paced the floor. His nostrils flared as dread settled in the pit of his stomach. ‘I cannot believe that Izzy could be such a cunt. As for Zara, why would she even get involved?’ He snatched at the half-drunk coffee. ‘Jesus, it’s a fucking mess!’
Staffie glared at Mike. ‘I know you cared about Zara, but, from what I’ve heard, she is a cow! I have to give it to Izzy. He’s raised a mirror image of himself. She’s dangerous, that one.’
Mike gave a sarcastic grin and puffed out his chest. ‘She ain’t that dangerous. She’s a waif of a woman.’
Staffie raised his scarred eyebrow. ‘Don’t underestimate her. She set someone alight not so long ago. I mean, what sort of a woman does that?’
‘A cowardly one. I bet she had her men hold the poor bloke down first, before she doused him.’
‘Even so, Mikey, it takes a lot to carry out an act like that, and, apparently, she stood back and watched to make sure the fella was dead. Well, so rumour has it. He was some immigrant, by all accounts, that tried to do her over for ten grand.’
‘A rumour, Staffie, that she gave legs to and let it run. Anyway, I couldn’t give a shit. She doesn’t worry me. Nothing does right now except getting my boy back in one piece.’
Chapter 7
Paris lay still, curled in a tight ball on the sofa. Harry and Vinnie were in a state of shock and breaking the news to their sister was the hardest thing they’d ever had to do. The whole of Broadstairs must have heard her screams. It was at that point they realized that, as cold and harsh as she was, she really loved her father.
Harry’s piggy eyes appeared as slits from stress and tiredness. Vinnie had to snort another line of speed just to keep himself awake.
‘Harry, you ain’t listening to me. Scottie and Mum are missing. I can guarantee the Regans have got hold of them. Our mum … surely they wouldn’t do the same to her as they did to Dad? I mean, I know I wasn’t the perfect son …’ He stared off into space and bit his lip before his tears welled up. ‘But I can’t imagine her being tortured, not like what they’ve done to Farver. Jesus, Harry, it was sick.’ He put his head in his hands, the vision of his father still haunting him. ‘I can’t get over it, Harry. They’re fucking mental. What if …’
Harry was sitting listening to his younger brother droning on and on, while he was getting more and more enraged, until, finally, he flew from the chair, gripped Vinnie by his shirt collar, and shook him. Through gritted teeth, he hissed, ‘Shut the fuck up, will ya! Just shut up. It’s your fault, Vinnie. Your stupid idea of slaughtering the dog caused all of this.’
Vinnie didn’t fight back. Instead, he began blubbering, like a baby. ‘I – I did – did – didn’t mean it,’ he stuttered.
Harry let him go and threw his hands in the air in total frustration. That was all he needed, for Vinnie’s stutter to return. He’d spent so many years waiting for Vinnie to spit out his words that it had turned Harry from a patient teenager into an exasperated man. Then, overnight, Vinnie stopped. No one knew why – it just happened. And that was that – until now.
Not knowing which way to turn, Vinnie pulled his bag of speed from his pocket, and with trembling hands, he snorted a long line and got up to pace the floor.
Paris stirred and began whimpering like a child. Harry kneeled next to her and rubbed her back. ‘It’s all right, princess.’
Vinnie looked at his siblings and wondered what on earth they had got themselves into. Paris screaming like a banshee, Harry fussing over her like she was five, and then him, with that horrible vision that he just couldn’t shake off. To top it all, their mother was missing, along with Scottie.
‘What are we gonna do now, Harry? We can’t just sit here and do fuck all. I have to know what’s happened to Muvver and our Scottie.’
Harry stood up and stared at Vinnie, pacing the floor like a madman. ‘We’ll call the Regans. We’ll ask ’em what’s going on. Maybe they want to use them as some kinda trade-off.’
Vinnie stopped in his tracks. ‘You what? Tell me. What do we have to barter with, eh?’
The lack of sleep was draining Harry’s thoughts. He just couldn’t get his brain into gear. ‘Well, nothing. The only other option is to call the Ol’ Bill. Besides, what the fuck are we gonna do with Dad’s body, eh? Let’s just call the police and let them track the Regans down and get them banged up. Then we can just fuck off, away from all the shit.’ Rubbing his balding head, he made a frustrated screaming noise. ‘I never wanted to get involved in all of this anyway. I wish I’d just got on with me own business and not listened to all the crap that poured out of Farver’s mouth.’
Vinnie gasped. ‘Aw, come on, Harry, you d-d-don’t mean that. This is our family you’re talking about, and, besides, Farver’s dead now.’
‘Exactly, so where did the set-up get us, eh? The ol’ man’s brown bread. As much as I respected him, he never fucking told us how dangerous that poxy Regan family actually were, did he? ‘Take ’em out, screw ’em to the wall, they’re nothing,’ he said. ‘You’ll have a whole army behind you,’ he said. Well, all the numbers I’m dialling are dead and we’re fucking sitting ducks right now. Can’t you see it, Vinnie? The fucking tables have turned and we’re the ones being hunted.’
Vinnie felt sick and inhaled air through his nose. He hated hearing Harry’s voice getting louder and louder. Just as he was about to protest, he realized
that really they had no option. They weren’t geared up to take on the Regans and had been stupid to think they ever could.
Maybe in the past they could have done so, when they’d bragged to their father for the pat on the back, for how up in the ranks they were. A few men on the payroll and money coming in was what Frank loved to hear. So he’d urged them on. He wanted to have his sons rule the manor, like he should have done – and would have done – but for Arthur Regan. However, his boys were a chip off the old block: just like Frank, there was no finesse, there were no rules, and there was no sense.
‘What if—’
‘Shut it, Vinnie. You lost the right to make any decision the minute you cocked up.’
Vinnie lowered his head and resigned himself to the fact that Harry would call the shots.
* * *
After another quick shag, Jackie climbed off Scottie and flopped on the bed. ‘I’m gonna go to the shops and stock up. D’ya wanna come?’
Scottie lay flat on his back with a joint hanging from his lip. ‘Nah, me and shops don’t see eye to eye.’
She tapped his ribs. ‘Ya mean the security guards and you don’t see eye to eye?’
He laughed and choked on the smoke. ‘Get us another bottle of vodka, will ya,’ he said, slapping her bare backside as she hopped from the bed.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Ricky’s small suitcase. ‘I’ll just give Ricky his clothes. He might feel cold.’
Scottie ignored her; he had no time for kids, and this had certainly not been part of the plan. This was one big fuck-up. After a quick shower, Jackie pulled on her tight-fitting jeans and a loose blouse. She didn’t bother with a bra; she didn’t need one. Once she had topped up her make-up, she reappeared to find Scottie with his eyes closed.
She snatched the small case and went to unlock Ricky’s door. He was curled in a ball on the mattress. She called his name, but he didn’t open his eyes. Assuming he was tired, she left the case on the floor and locked the door.
‘Scottie, I’ll be back in a minute. D’ya want anything else?’
‘Nah!’ he called back.
Outside, the vast fields were alive with bright yellow mustard seed, gently swaying in the breeze. The sight was so dazzling that she lowered her sunglasses before she set off.
The nearest shop was five miles away. When she’d first bought the house, thanks to Mike’s lack of oversight of his finances, she’d thought it would be romantic to live in the countryside; it gave her a small taste of her roots. She imagined having a couple of horses in the back garden, but as she drove along the winding road towards the small village, she felt out of her comfort zone. It was remote, perfect for a hideaway, but that was about it.
Passing the flat, open fields, she thought about her childhood. She’d always been surrounded by countryside and had lived in a caravan with her neighbours only a few feet away. She had nothing against the gypsy way of life and indeed thrived on it. However, there were strict rules, the most important being the no-sex-before-marriage rule.
She soon discovered that breaking the rules would be a life-changing mistake, and one she would never forget.
* * *
When she was fourteen, and almost ready to be wed, she did, in her culture, the unacceptable. She slept with Tiger Shaw, a well-known traveller who headed the moves and ruled the roost. He had it all: money, status, and the deepest blue eyes that shone in the sunlight and twinkled when the moon was out. Waves of messy thick black hair tumbled around his rugged, tanned face. She loved him with all her heart, and he loved her. However, he was married to Lyla, an unattractive woman who came from a long-established family of travellers. Tiger was betrothed before he could walk, and so the two families joined forces.
Appleby Horse Fair hosted the biggest travellers’ meeting in the country. Gypsies travelled from far and wide to buy and sell horses. The event was coming to an end, and so a big feast was laid on around a huge fire.
Everyone was apparently too busy talking horses to notice Jackie nudging Tiger to follow her. It was the perfect distraction, and so they slipped away into a nearby orchard.
But they hadn’t countered on Lyla, who kept an eye on her husband, despite pretending to be engrossed in conversation with the other women. She wasn’t daft; her husband was a good-looking man and used his looks to get what he wanted. She wouldn’t be surprised if he’d had many a little chavi with the gorger girls in the towns. She could accept that, but not one of her own kind doing the dirty. She crept behind them, far enough away so that they wouldn’t see her, and then hid behind a wide tree trunk. She waited and watched, holding her breath.
Like two rampant rabbits, Tiger and Jackie stripped off their clothes and, brazenly, she lay down for him, her legs high in the air.
Lyla knew then they’d done it before. Quietly, she scurried back to the campsite, alerting two older women. With a torch and a broomstick, they followed Lyla through the orchard and crept up to the spot where Tiger was still banging away. The oldest woman, Peachy May, shone the torch at the naked couple. Tiger leaped from his position, and with the light shining directly into his eyes, he turned to run, snatching his trousers on the way. Lyla, in her temper, grabbed Jackie’s clothes and stomped off, followed by the two disgusted elders.
Once the initial shock had worn off, Jackie chased after Lyla and tried to rip her clothes from Lyla’s grip, but, instead, she got a flash backhander from Peachy May and was knocked off her feet. In a desperate attempt to retrieve her clothes and her dignity, she gave chase again, but, by this time, she’d reached the edge of the orchard and knew she had to stop running or everyone would see her.
It was too late.
Lyla shouted to the crowd and spun around, pointing the torch at Jackie, who tried to cover her private parts. The sea of gawping eyes was too much to handle, and she turned back to the orchard and ran, fervently praying that Tiger would come to her rescue. He never did. Making a statement, Lyla burned Jackie’s clothes on the fire. By morning, Jackie was blue with cold. It was Gilly who found her.
She was disowned by her family, her friends, and the girls and lads she’d grown up with. Gilly had no choice but to leave or declare her daughter a whore. Of course, the men laughed off Tiger’s antics, but Jackie was left blamed and shunned.
They moved to Kent and the council gave them a house. Jackie completely turned her life around. In protest, she ditched the clothes and the accent – in fact, anything related to the gypsy life – and manipulated her mother into doing the same.
* * *
The memories saddened Jackie because deep down she did love her roots, the fields, the freedom, and the company. Going all out to find a man with money was her only quest. She wondered instead if she should have put her energy into begging the family’s forgiveness.
It was too late now, though. She had her life, her own pad, and her new man. Scottie was a breath of fresh air, after being suffocated by Mike.
When she’d first met Mike, he was as everyone had said – tall, broad, handsome, and rich. He was so polite that it was hard at first to accept. Mike wined and dined her, he took her to every party going, and as he was treated like royalty, so was she. Being Mike Regan’s bird gave her carte blanche to say and do just as she liked.
However, when she mistook his friendliness for flirting with other women, she decided to even the playing field a little. In Jackie’s mind, Mike had her where he wanted her, and nothing could stop him from wandering off to shag who the hell he liked. Her experience of men was that they were all cheaters, takers, and heartless bastards, so why would Mike be any different? She had to make an official claim, so she stopped taking the pill, and, sure enough, within the month, she was expecting. She shuddered, remembering that day. If it hadn’t been secretly planned, she would have gone off and had a termination, because kids didn’t figure in her life at all. The parties, the fun, and the drinks were all free and regular. She never dreamed that her life would suddenly come full circle: no p
arties, no fun, and indeed no drinking.
Her beautiful Porsche Boxster he’d bought her was replaced with a bog-standard Range Rover, and that just about summed up her life. At four months pregnant, she had walked up the aisle and said ‘I do’ and so what she thought would be his handcuffs turned out to be hers.
The stretch marks and sickness that Ricky caused her made her detest him before he was even born. The moment he had been delivered, she saw a look in Mike’s eyes that she’d never seen before – it was love. He doted on his baby – no one else mattered. His boy was his world, and she was second best, although she did manage to get a boob job a few months later, after complaining so much about her saggy tits.
But the defining moment in her relationship with Mike happened when she managed to talk him into giving her a joint bank card, which she happily rinsed. Over a period of six years, she deviously siphoned enough money from one of Mike’s bank accounts to buy herself the small house on the outskirts of Ely, ready for the day she would fuck off and live the life she deserved. She never expected it to be so soon, though. The bruised cheek was the final nail in the coffin – well, that was her excuse, regardless of the fact that she probably deserved it.
As she pulled up outside the small convenience store in the quaint village, she climbed out of the car and breathed in the fresh air. The late September sun warmed her bare shoulders. She thought about a long relaxing dip in the pool, but her new house didn’t have one. However, that was next on the list; she still had a few grand in the bank from the money he’d given her to renovate her mother’s house. After she’d filled a basket with vodka, juice, and food for lunch, she paid the assistant with cash and hurried back to her car.
* * *
Ricky blinked hard, trying to focus. He felt sick and woozy, the orange juice having left a funny taste, but he’d been so thirsty that he had to drink it. Trying to stand up again, he wobbled, but he needed to find the phone in his suitcase and call his dad. Standing was too much of a challenge, so he crawled his way to the case and unzipped it, being careful not to make any noise.
