The Hunted

by KERRY BARNES

  Flipping the lid open, he stared down at his clothes messily thrown in the case. He didn’t know how to pack, but his mum had told him to, because she didn’t have time. So he’d thrown whatever he could in the case and grabbed his favourite toys, his homework, and the phone his dad had given him some time ago. It was an old pay-as-you-go phone that his father had since upgraded.

  His dad was always replacing his phones, so he’d asked if he could keep this one. One afternoon, they played pretending they were soldiers, using the mobiles. His father had set up the phone with only his number, and so when Ricky turned it on, there was just the one number he could dial. Their mission was to find the lost gem. They used the phones like walkie-talkies. Then, the following Christmas, his dad had bought him proper walkie-talkies and the game of soldiers became an on-going pastime.

  His little fingers grappled under the clothes until he felt the mobile, his heart now beating fast. A second later, he pressed the on button. The screen lit up, and he stared at the number, although his eyes were still blurred. He knew that the only name on the phone was his dad’s. He pressed the dial button and waited.

  * * *

  Mike was pouring another coffee, or trying to, as his hands were continually shaking. He needed to think with a clear head. Just as he took a sip, his phone rang. He stared at the number and his heart jumped a beat.

  Snatching the phone in angst, he almost cried in relief.

  ‘Ricky?’

  ‘Daddy … come … and … get … me … please.’

  ‘Where are you? Who are you with?’ Mike’s heart was racing because his son was slurring his words.

  ‘I … don’t know, Dad. I’m in a room … the door’s locked.’

  ‘Is your mum with you?’

  ‘No, Dad. She’s gone.’

  ‘Who’s with you, Ricky?’

  ‘Um, some man. His name’s …’

  ‘Ricky, Ricky, answer me, Son.’

  Mike then heard a voice.

  ‘Who are ya talking to?’ It was a man’s voice with a deep tone.

  Mike was willing his son on to say the man’s name. ‘Who is he, Ricky? Who is he?’

  A muffled sound was followed by Ricky saying, ‘Scottie, please let me talk to my dad.’

  The phone went dead, and Mike’s heart felt as though it had fallen from his chest and into his stomach. Staffie looked on silently as Mike tried desperately to call the number back.

  Mike’s whole body shook and Staffie managed to grab him before he collapsed to the floor. Never in his life had he ever seen Mike cry, but now the big man was on the floor with his hands clutching his head, sobbing. The sound was heartbreaking, his friend wailing like an injured wolf.

  ‘Listen, Mikey, he’s alive, he’s all right. Mikey, come on, mate. Let’s find a way to get him back.’

  ‘Jesus, he sounded drugged or drunk. What are they doing to him!’ cried Mike. ‘Fucking Scottie Harman has my son, and I’ll make sure that he suffers. I swear to God, I’ll keep him alive for a month and torture the cunt every fucking day.’

  The sound of his son’s desperate voice had wound Mike up to the point where he would kill any man that stood in his way. ‘Right, I’m gonna go and see Izzy. If that Jewish prick thinks he can find the Harmans, then he needs to do it now and bring them back to me.’

  Staffie didn’t like Mike’s madness. ‘Listen, don’t go tearing in there like a nutter. He’ll shoot your head off. Take a breather, get ya head clear, and use your non-violent negotiation skills. Trust me, Mikey. I’d never usually tell you how to handle your own business, but, on this occasion, mate, I’m stepping in. We all want Ricky back safe, so, please, wait a bit until ya mouth is filled with the right words. And, Mikey, no threats or violence.’

  Mike nodded, but although his mind was agreeing, his heart was telling him to go in and terrorize the fucker.

  Just as Mike was getting his breath back and calming his emotions, there was a knock at the door. Staffie looked through the window to see Tracey standing there, tapping her foot on the step and puffing aggressively on a fag. He pulled open the door, and before he even had a chance to invite her in, she stormed past him and went straight into the kitchen where she was met by Mike, who was now on his feet, red-eyed.

  ‘Mike, what happened? Eric looks in a right state.’

  Mike just stood there, staring at the woman.

  ‘What’s it all about, Mike? What the hell’s going on?’

  Staffie sensed that this encounter wouldn’t go well, just by the penetrating steely glare on Mike’s face. Any second, he would give Tracey what for and it wouldn’t be pretty.

  Staffie grabbed Tracey’s arm, but she tried to wriggle free. ‘Get your hands off me!’ she yelled.

  Tightening his grip, he tried to remove her from the kitchen, but she was having none of it. ‘I only came to find out what the problem is. I’m not here to have a go at you. We’re family, right?’ She tried to appeal to his better nature.

  ‘No, we ain’t,’ Mike responded. ‘Who the fuck are you, anyway? You’re just his tart and my fucking business ain’t nothing to do with you. Now get the fuck outta my house!’

  Tracey shook him free. Her voice changed in tone. ‘You prick, Mike Regan. I can guarantee you’ll be sorry, mark my words.’

  That was the last straw. In a quick robust movement, Mike snatched Tracey by her hair extensions and dragged her all the way to the front door and threw her outside. The strength of the man was like Goliath. Tracey went flying and landed on the rough gravel drive. Stunned, she got to her feet and looked down at her grazed knees.

  ‘Big mistake, Regan – big mistake.’

  Mike didn’t answer, just stared at her.

  Staffie pushed past Mike, hoping to get Tracey off the property before Mike lost it again. ‘Tracey, you need to shut ya mouth and get out of here.’

  Tracey’s eyes were wide, and her mouth maintained its oval shape. ‘I ain’t standing for this.’ She pointed to the bloodied graze on her knees. ‘I know more than you realize, so trust me: you’ll be sorry!’

  Whilst Mike walked back into the kitchen, away from the mouthy bitch, Staffie, absolutely livid, stepped outside. ‘As much as I care for Eric, it doesn’t look good, his gold-digging tart sticking her nose in, now does it, ya stupid tramp?’

  Tracey tried to straighten her hair and noticed half the extensions were falling out in clumps. Her anger rose.

  ‘I’ve a fucking mind to call the Ol’ Bill for what you two have just done to me. How would you like that, eh?’ she screamed.

  Mike had just reached the kitchen door when he heard those penetrating words. He flew back and onto the drive, towering over Tracey.

  ‘You even think about that and I swear to God, I’ll turn your face into a punchbag. Now, fuck off and tell my brother he’s crossed the line. That’s if he knows you’re fronting me out, ’cos it’s my guess he doesn’t even know that his little tart’s ’ere, does he?’

  Tracey was suddenly nervous. She’d probably made matters a whole lot worse, and when things calmed down, and Eric regained his place in the firm, she’d no doubt be exiled and that was something she’d never planned. Turning on her heel, she held her head up and tried to walk away, but the fall to the ground had not only hurt her knees but also snapped the heel off her shoe. She then felt a right idiot, limping away like a pissed tart crawling home from a nightclub. As she got into her car and checked her hair, she realized she actually looked like she’d been on the drink too.

  ‘Fuck you, Mike Regan. You’re gonna rot in hell – all the fucking lot of ya,’ she seethed.

  * * *

  Mike washed his face and stared in the mirror. He didn’t recognize the reflection that glared back – the spiteful, ugly, tight-lipped expression – but he didn’t care. The only constant consideration was getting his boy back. Jackie crossed his mind, and he felt a twinge of guilt because he hadn’t really given her a second thought. Ricky, in his slurred speech, had said she had go
ne. But there was something about his tone. It was as if he wasn’t worried about his mother, or maybe it was just confusion. A black cloud descended like the dark side of his conscience. It was whispering into his ear, telling him to do anything, even if it went against the grain. He understood that probably meant working for Izzy. If that was the case, then so be it. He would work as a Redcoat at Butlins if it meant he could have his son back.

  Leaving Staffie to hold the fort, he headed for the Old Kent Road. He had to face Izzy alone. Staffie had practically begged to go along, but he couldn’t think straight with people around him. The drive to Izzy’s would allow him to get his thoughts in order and think rationally about how he should handle the situation. However, as soon as he approached the jewellers, his level head became unhinged.

  Quasi was outside as usual, and, as always, he held his hands up to stop Mike and give him a pat-down. However, Mike wasn’t in the mood for formalities; in one swift movement, he pushed Quasi aside and tore open the big steel door. Like the Minotaur, he stood in the entrance to the office, taking up the whole frame.

  Izzy was quickly on his feet, pointing a gun straight at Mike’s chest. Mike ignored the weapon and marched forward not even bothering to take his shoes off.

  Izzy’s eyes glared at the audacity of the man. He would have shot anyone else clean through the chest. But the need to have Mike on his firm saved him.

  Sitting back down, Izzy placed the gun on the desk. Quasi stood sheepishly, hanging his head. ‘Sorry, Izzy, he …’

  Izzy waved his hand dismissively, and as soon as Quasi was out of the room, he smiled. ‘I need a replacement for that useless, ugly idiot.’

  Mike didn’t wait to be asked to take a seat; he just plonked himself down and launched into a speech. ‘Now—’

  ‘Brandy?’ interrupted Izzy.

  Mike frowned. ‘Whatever.’

  Izzy pulled the bottom filing cabinet drawer open and removed a tray with three decanters and two crystal glasses. Mike watched the strength of the man as he lifted the weighty tray with one hand and placed it on the desk. He poured two drinks, pushed one under Mike’s nose, and delicately sipped his own.

  ‘This is one of the oldest brandies. One bottle is worth nearly as much as a new Bentley.’

  Maybe if it had been a social visit, he would have savoured the taste. He’d always had a liking for vintage brandies. He gulped the drink back, aware that Izzy was shaking his head at him.

  ‘You have the same taste as me. Don’t insult me, Mike.’ He poured another one and stared. ‘Enjoy it. Don’t treat it with contempt.’

  Mike took a deep breath, relaxed his tense shoulders, and sipped the golden-brown liquid.

  Izzy watched, now impressed. ‘There, see how much better it is? Mike, there are just some things in life that you can’t ignore the benefits of, so what good does it do, eh? Now, you know that brandy is exquisite, but, in your madness, you decide to dismiss it. A brandy that has been sitting in its cask for so long, maturing and gaining substance and standing out from all the others, should be respected and savoured.’

  Mike sipped it again, trying to work out what Izzy was getting at. He always talked in riddles, but today Mike didn’t want to play cryptic crossword puzzles.

  ‘Okay, Izzy, you want me to work for you, yeah?’

  Izzy smiled. ‘I can offer you more money than you can earn, so it’s a good offer. Why would you want to fight me? I don’t understand. Most men would grab the opportunity with both hands.’

  Mike didn’t return the smile. He was on a mission, and he fought to hold back the words that would otherwise tumble out of his mouth.

  ‘Like you, Izzy, my reputation means more to me than money.’

  There was a silent pause as Izzy contemplated what Mike said. ‘You will have a reputation … my reputation.’ He paused again. Mike noticed how Izzy’s posture changed. He was less confident, and his expression took on the resigned look of an old man.

  Mike leaned forward. ‘What’s this all about, Izzy? I mean, you can take on any amount of muscle, so why me?’

  ‘I have built an empire. I’ve worked hard, been ruthless, and I’ve more money than I can spend. I’m ready to retire, but I will not let my good name retire. So, Zara is going to take over.’

  Mike scoffed and leaned back in his chair. ‘Zara?’ His tone mocked.

  Izzy didn’t react; instead, he just nodded. ‘Yes, Zara. Now listen, you two may think you pulled the wool over my eyes, but I know about you both. The other day when you sat in that leather armchair and acted as if you’d never met her before, it showed guile, but it didn’t fool me, even though your acting skills were excellent. However, my sensory skills are better. I knew a long time ago, so don’t underestimate me.’

  Mike ignored the comment. ‘Why not Ismail? He’s your son.’

  Izzy nodded with thin lips. ‘Yes, he is, but he’s weak, fragile, and stupid. My only son is a beautiful boy who has his adorable mother’s eyes and heart-shaped lips, but, sadly, he also has her only weakness – her soft nature. He was born to walk around aloof, painting those ridiculous works of art. I knew from when he was five that he was never going to take over my business. A scraped knee, a sore throat, and he would bawl like a baby.’

  ‘And Ismail’s okay with that, is he?’ Mike laughed.

  ‘No, of course not, but who is he to argue? I want my business to be run by a strong leader, and Ismail showed his true colours by throwing a hissy fit when I broke the news. Now, when I was a young man of Ismail’s age, I went out alone. I didn’t just wait for my father to hand everything to me on a plate. I set up my own business.’ He held his palms up. ‘I proved I needed no one and so my father handed his business to me, not my four elder brothers. Ismail has proved nothing. He just wants it all, and he will happily sit back and spend every penny with no clue how to invest it. And, as for using these,’ he looked down at his palms, ‘he has no idea what they are even for. My Zara was different, is different. Never have I seen her cry. As a child, I would watch Ismail in a jealous rage beat her, and she would curl in a ball and wait for him to finish his tantrum, and then, like a serpent, she’d uncurl and attack when he least expected it. She could have killed him if she’d wanted to, but I think in many ways my daughter liked to have an opponent to fight with, so she never hurt Ismail badly enough to stop him coming back for more. I saw the look in her eyes. She was laughing at him. My girl is smart, she watches and listens, and most of all, she’s not afraid.’ He sighed. ‘But you already know that, don’t you, Mike? You have already tasted her breath, felt her passion, and experienced her stone-cold heart.’

  Mike didn’t care what Izzy thought of him. They had tried to keep their past relationship a secret, but, right now, his only concern was for his son, and he wouldn’t waste his energy in thinking up a grand lie.

  ‘She ain’t as cold and ruthless as you think, Izzy.’

  Izzy’s eyes widened, and his jaw tightened. ‘Are you audacious enough to tell me about my own daughter?’ His hand hovered over the gun that lay on the desk.

  Mike laughed, making Izzy jump. ‘You seem to think you know her so well, yet you get uptight when I tell you otherwise. A bit controlling, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘You are taking me for a fool, and I don’t like it, Mike. I’m no clown, and if you think there’s a man out there who can control Zara, then you are the fool, not me. Do you understand me?’

  Mike shrugged his shoulders. ‘Izzy, I ain’t interested in Zara, and if you want her to take over your business, then so what? Why on earth should I care?’

  ‘Because, Mike, I want you to work with her, watch over her, take care of her, and make sure she never comes to any harm. You, Mike, are the one man who is perfect for the job. I’ve watched you run your firm. You are strong and bright. I want that for my daughter – a man who will have her back. Although she doesn’t need anyone, two forces are better than one. And, as I said before, you will earn more than you’ll ever earn running you
r own business, mark my words. Any big deals to be had are pushed under my nose first. I take them or leave them, but that’s always my choice. The leftovers …’ he smirked, ‘they get offered to the likes of you.’

  Mike clocked the seriousness in the man’s eyes. He knew Izzy well enough to understand that an offer like this one was made only with careful consideration; it certainly wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment impulse. So it also meant he could barter. Izzy had laid his cards on the table and Mike would too. This was the only hope he felt he had of getting his son back.

  ‘Look, Izzy. I’ve a proposal for you.’

  ‘Go on. I’m listening.’

  ‘I want the Harmans alive and gagged in my workshop. I want my son found unharmed and back in my safekeeping.’

  Izzy shrugged his shoulders. ‘Yes, but what’s in it for me?’

  ‘You will have me running your firm under your name.’

  Pulling a cigar from his pocket, Izzy lit the end, contemplating Mike’s response. After a prolonged pause, he said, ‘I think you’ve misunderstood me, Mr Regan. I don’t want you to take over. I want Zara to do that, but with you by her side. She calls the shots. You ensure her shots are activated. Do you get what I mean?’

  Answering to Zara was never going to happen. End of. He could see her taking the piss out of him. ‘She can call the shots within reason, but I ain’t gonna be her skivvy or allow her to humiliate me.’

  ‘Just as I thought. You two really did have a relationship. From your words, I can only deduce you left her heartbroken.’

  ‘No, Izzy, I didn’t leave her. The bitch left me because obviously she thought too much of her father to go against his wishes.’

  Izzy gritted his teeth. No one called his daughter a bitch. Still, he wouldn’t lose his rag, not while they were negotiating. He knew what Zara was, and it pleased him to think that she took no shit from anyone.

  ‘A woman in this line of work needs to be cold-hearted and—’

  Mike interrupted. ‘No, Izzy. A woman is supposed to be nurturing and sweet. This isn’t the life for a woman. It’s not natural.’