by KERRY BARNES
‘That, my son, is probably true, but, in my case, my children were born into the wrong bodies. Ismail is like a girl and Zara is like a man.’
Mike threw his hands in the air. ‘Okay, whatever. But, right now, I need you to get my son back. I have covered every pub, club, and whorehouse to find out where the Harmans are hiding, and I’m coming up against a brick wall. You’re my last call. And, yes, I will work for you, if my son comes back to me in one piece.’
Out of the blue, Mike heard a ringtone. It was coming from Izzy’s top drawer. Even Izzy jumped before he retrieved the phone. From the corner of Mike’s eye, he saw the side door close. For a second, he thought he was imagining it because that door had been closed when he’d entered Izzy’s office. His eyes flicked back to Izzy.
Mike couldn’t hear who was on the phone, but the look of concern on Izzy’s face said it was serious. His eyes twitched, and as he spoke to the person on the other end, he kept looking over at Mike with an expression of alarm and … was it disgust? Mike wasn’t sure. He then realized that the conversation was about him. He waited until Izzy had finished.
Mike was on the edge of his seat. ‘Who was that?’
‘The deal’s off, Mike. You’re on your own.’ He stood up to dismiss him.
‘Wait! Hold on. What the fuck was all that about?’
‘You haven’t been truthful with me, Mike, have you? That was my man from the Met, asking where you are.’
Mike cocked his head to the side. ‘So, Izzy, you’re an informant? Well, fuck me. I thought you had some respect.’
‘I’m no informant. Nevertheless, let me explain something. I am who I am, and someone who is far higher up than you. So, if that means I have the chief of the Met turning a blind eye in return for a few scallies’ names, then that, my son, is called business. And while we’re on the subject of right and wrong, I thought, you, Mike, had morals. I thought your lot lived by some code – no hurting women, children, and old men – but it seems to me now that you don’t.’
Mike screwed his face up. ‘What the hell are you on about?’
‘You killed the old Harman man and made a right pig’s ear of it. You got a bit sloppy, leaving the man in his own bath of blood, with half his skin missing. I’m not sure I want to have you in my firm, and certainly not looking out for my daughter. I mean, who makes a mess like that? I thought you had more savvy.’
Mike was still digesting Izzy’s words. ‘What the hell are you talking about, Izzy?’
‘The Filth have nicked your firm and are now looking for you. They’ve had a tip-off that you and your lot went into Harry’s old mum and dad’s home. Apparently, you brutally murdered the old man and left him half-mutilated in the bath, before you did away with the old girl. So, the deal’s off. I told them I haven’t seen you, so you’d best scarper because I ain’t getting involved in a shoddy mess like that, Mike.’
Rubbing his face and shaking his head, Mike tried to comprehend what Izzy was saying. The idea that his firm had been nicked was one thing; mutilating the old geezer in the bath though?
‘Hang on a fucking minute. I ain’t touched the old man, and if I did, I certainly wouldn’t leave him in his own bath, would I? Jesus, yeah, I am a man with some kinda moral values. That weren’t me or mine, I can fucking assure you.’
Izzy watched Mike’s face and was taken aback by the look of shock written all over it. ‘Then who, eh, Mike?’
An intense frown lowered Mike’s eyebrow as he stared into space. His mind was replaying the moment he’d arrived at the Harmans’ home, and then, like a camera zooming in on the action, he recalled the constant flushing of the toilet. He shook his head and sighed. ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told ya who I think it was.’
‘Try me,’ Izzy sardonically chuckled.
‘Yeah, I did go to the Harmans’ place. They weren’t there, except for the old girl. She was up in the bathroom. I thought it was weird when she kept flushing the bog and banging on about her privacy, saying she was busy. I thought it was really strange at the time. The whole incident was off the wall. Even her reaction when she saw me in her kitchen, it was as if we were old mates. She didn’t seem bothered at all. She was more interested in her fucking fairy cakes. Looking back, maybe when she said, from the other side of that bathroom door that she was busy, she actually was.’ He paused and crumpled his face in disgust. ‘I bet she was trying to dispose of ol’ Frank’s body bit by bit down the toilet. Anyway, I assumed there’d be a nasty row if one of her sons walked in, so I took her away for a short holiday.’
Izzy laughed again. ‘And what sort of man would do that, eh?’
Mike glared with contempt. ‘A man who has fucking morals, that’s who.’
A satisfied grin spread across Izzy’s mouth. ‘Yeah, it stands to reason. Why am I surprised? Ah well, you’d better make plans, ’cos no way are the police gonna let this go. From the description of the old man, they’re going to pull out every boy in blue and have them on the hunt. So, for now, you’d best put yourself up somewhere.’
‘But, Izzy, Scottie Harman has got my boy drugged and locked up in a room somewhere. I can’t get nicked, not now, not until I know my boy’s safe.’
‘I’ll tell you what. A snake I might be, but if you honour your promise to work for me, I’ll help you get your boy back.’
Mike took a deep breath and let out a loud sigh. ‘Deal, mate, but please make sure no harm comes to him, yeah?’
Izzy held out his hand and gripped Mike’s tightly. ‘Shame my Ismail isn’t more like you. Take one of my old bangers, the blue Polo, and you can plot up in a flat in Lee Green.’ He pulled open the second drawer in the cabinet and handed Mike a bunch of keys along with a phone.
* * *
As soon as Mike left, Zara appeared from the side door. ‘I heard the conversation.’ She smiled sweetly, just the way her father liked.
‘He’s all yours … as long as he doesn’t get banged up. And remember, Zara, he works for you. He’s not your plaything.’
Zara gave a sneering glance back. ‘So, what’s the next move?’
‘We get his boy back.’
‘And the wife?’
Izzy grinned. ‘He never mentioned her.’
With a hopeful spring in her step, Zara was about to return to the accounts, when her father called out. ‘Zara, I want you to be very careful. The Harmans must be very brave, very stupid, or have serious backing to take on Mike Regan and his firm. So that leaves me concerned. What are the Harmans really up to?’
She walked back and sat on the corner of the desk, like he often did. ‘Do you know this family?’
With a tired look, he stared off in deep thought. ‘Yes, I did, a very long time ago.’ Suddenly, his eyes focused. ‘Anyway, make sure someone has your back at all times.’
Hidden behind Zara’s smile was a concern for her father. He seemed worried, which wasn’t a part of his make-up.
Chapter 8
Jackie returned to the house. The sun was hot, and the bright yellow fields almost resembled a desert.
Once inside, the fresh air having given her respite, she dabbed her shiny face with a tissue. The house was nowhere near as grand as her home with Mike, but she had made every effort to replicate some of it.
She unpacked the shopping and called up to Scottie. There was no answer; she assumed he was stoned again. She poured herself a double vodka, added ice from the freezer, and topped it up with orange juice. She smiled to herself. All these months of adding the touches to her new home had paid off. The freezer was stocked, the furnishings were coming along a treat, and she still had money to add more.
She’d been smart, managing to hide her bank account from Mike. Every penny he gave her, even the wads of banknotes lying around, she helped herself and stashed them all away. In his trusting days, he’d allowed her to open a bank account for Ricky, but her name was down as the signatory if there was a need to make withdrawals before he reached eighteen. There was almost a hundred gra
nd in his account. The Rolex and the diamonds were all sold and added to the pot. She had well and truly rinsed Mike for everything she could. As she saw it, the twelve hours of labour and the slithers of white stretch marks had earned her that money.
She ran up the stairs and then looked at the locked door. She paused; she’d forgotten to feed Ricky or take him to the toilet. She couldn’t send him back home sick – Mike would kill her. Slowly, she turned the key in the lock, almost afraid of what she might find. But, there he was, sitting on the edge of the mattress. He was in a daydream, his huge eyes staring at her, and his tiny face looking so frightened. He didn’t speak; he just waited to see what she had in store for him, but what she saw staring back at her were Mike’s eyes judging her.
‘D’ya need the toilet?’
He nodded and tried to get to his feet.
Jackie noticed how wobbly he was – he was wandering, almost incoherently – but she assumed he was faking it. ‘Stand up properly, for fuck’s sake.’
She steered him to the toilet and stepped back. He tried to pull his pants down, but he was clearly struggling. Impatiently, she ripped them down herself, nearly knocking him over.
‘Ahh, for Christ’s sake, Ricky. Hurry up, will you!’
As he started to pee, he cried out, ‘Mummy, it hurts!’
She looked down at the toilet bowl and noticed he was urinating blood. She tutted. ‘That’s all I need.’
Ricky was too dazed to notice the claret; he just felt the pain and began whimpering.
She silently led him back into the bedroom, forced him onto the mattress, and hurried down to the kitchen. She poured cold water into a tall glass and rushed back up the stairs. Thrusting the glass under his nose, she demanded he drank it. She stood and waited until he swallowed every last drop. However, his little stomach couldn’t handle so much, and in one movement, and to her utter horror and disgust, Ricky’s bodily fluids ended up splattered all over her new beige carpet. Then it dawned on her that she’d given him orange mixed with the vodka. Her six-year-old was drunk. He flopped onto the makeshift bed, his face a sickly shade of grey. Jackie began to worry now. If her son had alcohol poisoning, Mike would kill her, for sure. She hurried into the bathroom and poured more water into the glass. Trying frantically to get him to drink, she called for Scottie to help, but, again, there was no answer.
‘For fuck’s sake, Scottie, come ’ere, will ya?’
She held Ricky’s head and forced his mouth open, using the edge of the glass. ‘Ricky, will you drink this? Come on, it’ll make ya better.’ But her tone was far from sweet.
Ricky murmured and tried to drink the cold water, but he gagged and was almost sick again. Following her own remedy for a hangover, she decided to leave him to sleep it off. Something made her look out of the landing window, and then it dawned on her that Scottie’s car was missing. She hadn’t noticed when she’d arrived home, too eager to get inside. In a flash, she hurried to the bedroom. Scottie was gone. There was no point in calling his phone because when he arrived at the house she’d surreptitiously removed it from his back pocket, turned it off, and hidden it under the bed. She wanted their new life to be free of the past. She looked around for his holdall but that had gone too. What had happened? One minute he was all over her and the next he’d done a runner. She went back to the spare room and kneeled down beside her son. His deathly white face and the beads of sweat across his brow would have had any mother calling for an ambulance, but not Jackie. She shook his arm.
‘Ricky, wake up. Where’s Scottie gone?’ She thought that maybe he knew. Ricky just murmured. She shook him again, this time harder. ‘For Christ’s sake, wake up. Where did Scottie go? What did he say?’
With his mother’s voice ringing loudly in his ears, Ricky tried to wake up. ‘Daddy’s coming.’
‘What? Ricky, wake the fuck up. What did you say?’ Her heart was pounding.
‘Daddy phoned me. He’s coming to get me.’ Ricky was still semiconscious, and his words were ramblings, but Jackie didn’t see it that way. The fear of Mike finding her screwed any notion that Ricky may have had the wrong end of the stick.
Jackie sat back on her haunches and stared at her son drifting off to sleep. He must have been mistaken, surely? Mike couldn’t have phoned her, as her mobile was switched off. She frantically ripped Ricky’s clothes from the suitcase to see if he had one of his own. Then she leaped up and flew into her bedroom, searching everywhere for a phone. There, in the middle of the unmade bed, was a small Nokia flip phone. Her heart was now in her mouth. Of course the brat would call his precious daddy, and Scottie wouldn’t hang around. After all, Scottie Harman was shagging Mike Regan’s wife. Mike would go ballistic. He may have turned a blind eye to the odd indiscretion; however, setting up home with someone was a whole different ballgame. She looked at the clock and knew that Ricky, if he’d had the chance, could have only called his father an hour ago. It would take Mike at least two hours to reach her, and so she had to leave, and pretty quickly too.
With no time to waste, she packed her bags, retrieved her bankcards, and loaded up the car. Ricky was still incoherent and looking sickly. She rolled him in the quilt and carried him to the car, heavily plonking him onto the back seat. Then, she hurried back, took one last look around the house, locked the windows and doors, and went to her car. Not knowing where she should go, she headed north, as far away from London as she could.
Eventually reaching the M6, she paused, to the annoyance of the driver behind her. Ireland, she thought. She could go back to her roots.
Leaving the gypsy community had been a big wrench for both her and her mother. Even though she’d committed a massive faux pas, she should have been able to count on support from her mother, who had once been a tough cookie, and who would have fought any woman to keep them there. And she also would have had her Uncle Seth fighting her corner. But, instead, she and her mother had suffered the inevitable slur in being ousted from the gypsy community. It had been a hellish deal at the time, and incredibly embarrassing for Jackie – and her mother.
But she was sure that despite everything, the gypsy community would look after their own and keep her safe. And they were good at hiding people. She hoped she would be able to count on her Uncle Seth once more. Furthermore, she had enough money to secure a decent caravan, a new state-of-the-art wagon, and hoped this would help her to make amends with her family. With enough money, she could buy her way back in. Once they were on her side, she could live her life with protection.
She headed towards Liverpool to take the ferry over to Ireland. Ricky made a whimpering sound and Jackie felt her stomach turn. If he died, then Mike would use every man in his firm to track her down. She had to make sure he was okay. The next service station was just up ahead, so she pulled in to the car park. Locking the car doors, she trotted to the food hall, and there, to her horror, on one of the big-screen TV sets, was her husband’s face. She froze and listened to the newscaster. ‘Yesterday, the brutal remains of Frank Harman were found at his home. The police are now looking for thirty-four-year-old Mike Regan in connection with the killing.’
Jackie’s mind went into overdrive. Jesus! What if he’s on the rampage? He would sure as hell be coming for her. Nothing would get in the way of him tracking down his precious son. She had to make sure that, if he did find them, Ricky was a picture of good health – or she’d end up like this Frank Harman fella.
Pulling away, her mind was now back on Scottie and she felt a lump in her throat. Alone with a kid, and now ditched by the new man she’d believed would make her happy, she really thought life was a bitch.
As she drove along the motorway heading for Liverpool, an unexpected tear escaped her eye. What had she done? Perhaps Scottie was fun and sexy, and he’d treated her like the only woman alive in the hotel rooms, but did he love her? Was this dream life only in her mind? She’d started saving money for a house long before she’d met Scottie, so perhaps she’d seen something that was never there. She
wiped her eyes before her mascara ran and left her looking like a panda. If Scottie truly loved her, then he wouldn’t have scarpered, surely? Her breathing became rapid, a panic attack gripped her, and she felt her throat tightening. Reality struck: she had just given up everything, and for what? All she’d had was a regular shag with Scottie, and she didn’t even know his surname. Months of sleeping with him, sharing a joint, and enjoying a few meals followed by a bottle of vodka, what had she been thinking? He’d never said he wanted a relationship that was anything more than a quickie every so often. She tried to recall if he’d ever told her he loved her. Perhaps he never had, and yet he’d created this new scenario whereby he would move into their new house and play happy families. She went over in her mind the conversation she’d had on the phone after she’d left the family home. He’d agreed to pack a bag and meet her at the address she’d given him. She tried to recall if either of them had actually said the words ‘live together’.
It was a sad but sobering thought. Neither she nor Scottie had discussed this idea, nor, in fact, ever planned it. He’d arrived before her with his holdall and a few bottles of vodka. Not much was said after that, as they were too busy shagging. She tried to cast her mind back to what they’d ever talked about, and it was either about how awful Mike was being to her, or what he was up to. Why she always ended up talking about her husband was a mystery, but the fact was she did all the talking. Scottie never said much at all. However, that hadn’t been the case initially. He’d spoken for fucking England when Tracey introduced them at the Cat’s Whiskers nightclub. He was her old schoolmate – so she said. Jackie winced at the sudden realization that Tracey was probably blindsiding her, hoping that Jackie would fuck off with Scottie so that she could get in with Mike. Good luck with that, Jackie thought.
A sudden crash of thunder dragged her out of memory lane. The skies had darkened, and she was driving into a summer storm. Life the old way was becoming more appealing by the minute. She just prayed that the police would have Mike nicked before he found her.
