Breaking Point (The Point Series: Book 2)

by Gerard Brennan

  "That's the stuff."

  "I'd have thought a martial artist would need to eat a less deep-fried diet."

  "Low body fat and bulky muscle mass isn't really an indication of strength. A bear doesn't have a six-pack. Try wrestling one of those."

  "Right." Brian didn't think there was much point in arguing that bears had big claws and sharp teeth and that the fat was necessary for hibernation. Hardly a like-for-like comparison. But maybe he was missing some sort of metaphor.

  Brian looked down at his own dinner, a chicken burger with coleslaw. It was a County Down thing he'd adopted since moving out of Belfast. He had a bit of a cheek questioning Tony's food choice when he had his own belly-buster to go through. Though, in fairness, Brian was quite a bit slimmer.

  "I think this one should go at the top of the timeline." Tony turned his laptop around so Brian could see the screen. A video featuring a choreographed fight between Tony and Brian played on the finger-smudged screen. Brian stepped in with a boxing-style double-jab and right cross combo. Tony easily deflected all three blows then returned a barrage of fake punches to Brian's head and chest. When Brian retreated, Tony chased after him, tripped him and laid him gently onto the ground then rattled out another bunch of punches that didn't actually make contact. Brian had to admit, it looked pretty impressive.

  "Man, if this goes viral, we'll need to move the club to bigger premises."

  Brian rubbed his head stubble. "You reckon?"

  "This is the best way to market ourselves, Brian. We've nailed it with this one."

  "Do you reckon anybody will show up tonight?"

  "Yeah, definitely. It'll be convincing them to come back for the next class that'll be the real challenge."

  "Any comments on the Facebook page?"

  "Not yet. We've got seven likes today, though. And when this video blows up... wow, you know?"

  Brian's phone buzzed in his pocket. It'd probably be Rachel again. Could she not wait for him to call her back? After ten seconds of relentless vibration he gave in and answered.

  "Hi, babe."

  "You have your phone, then?"

  "Yeah, yeah. Why, were you trying to call me earlier?"

  He could hear Rachel's calming breaths. She was counting to ten.

  "Some shady looking guy called into the shop today, Brian."

  "Okay."

  "He was looking for you."

  "Why?"

  "He didn't say, but by the look of him I don't think he intended to deliver good news."

  There was a danger that Brian would puke half a chicken burger onto the uneaten half. "You didn't recognise him?"

  "No. He did say he knew Daddy, though. I called our John to see if he could get me any info. No word from him yet."

  "Okay. What do you think I should do?"

  "Keep your eyes open and your guard up. Where are you anyway?"

  "In Castlewellan. You know the sit-in chippy? The Oak Grill? I'm there with Tony."

  "I like chips."

  "I know, babe. I'll bring you something home."

  "Yeah, right. I'll be half-starved by then. Don't bother."

  "You sure?"

  She was deep-breathing again. Then, "Are you on the rota tomorrow?"

  "Yeah."

  "Maybe you should call in sick? Just until we know what this stranger wants."

  "Have we made enough to pay rent this month?"

  "Just about."

  "Happy days. Will you call them for me? You know I hate those calls."

  "When are you planning on coming home?"

  "Just a second..." Brian covered the mouthpiece with his thumb and asked Tony; "What time is your class on until?"

  "Half eight."

  He took his thumb off the speaker. "I'll be there about nine."

  "Nine? I'll probably be in bed."

  "Sleep well, babe." Brian made a kissy noise then ended the call. He felt a tiny bit guilty but that was better than the snipe-fest Rachel was trying to instigate.

  "You going to eat that burger?" Tony asked.

  Brian shook his head. Tony snatched it off the plate and tore a huge chunk out of it with an enthusiastic chomp.

  "Training gives me a wild appetite."

  "So I see."

  Tony shrugged. "You fit for another hour of training before the class starts?"

  "Yeah, should be."

  "Good lad. We'll run through two or three more moves. So long as you know just a little bit more than the new kids on the block, they'll see you as an instructor. That okay with you?"

  A martial arts instructor? After one day of training? Had to be a record. Brian felt a goofy grin stretch his lips. He nodded.

  "Right, then... actually, you'll like this. I've a spare hoodie with the club's logo on it. You can have it. You needed a new one anyway, didn't you?"

  Aside from the threat of his mystery stalker and Rachel's attempts to draw him into an argument, Brian's day had turned out quite well.

  Quiet, Please

  Owen resisted the urge to snatch the computer off the desk and launch it through the window. It was so. Fucking. Slow.

  He double-clicked the mouse again. Nothing happened.

  "Come on, come on."

  The computer took a head stagger and decided to shut itself down. Owen called a librarian over. A middle-aged man with a stooped back and less-than-friendly scowl shuffled towards him. Maybe he didn't appreciate Owen clicking his fingers at him.

  Fuck ye.

  "Is there a problem, sir?"

  "Aye, this machine isn't working right. Can you do anything about it?"

  "Oh, God. You're asking the wrong man. Don't know a thing about computers, like. I'm a librarian not a... computer-fixing boy."

  "So what am I supposed to do? I need to get online as soon as, you know?"

  "All I can tell you is to try again when it turns itself back on."

  "What about the computer up at your counter thingy?" Owen pointed over to the desk where another librarian stamped books for an aul biddy. "Can I get the internet on that?"

  "It's for staff only."

  "I'll be five minutes."

  "I couldn't possibly..."

  "Here." Owen shoved a hand into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled twenty pound note. He pushed it into the librarian's fist. "Call it a hire fee."

  "I'm not supposed to accept this sort of thing."

  "Give it to your favourite charity, then. I don't care. I just need to do a bit of Googling, all right?"

  The librarian looked at the balled-up note in his hand, sighed and pocketed the money. "Just wait until my colleague goes on her tea break, okay? She can be a bit of a cunt."

  Owen snapped his head back as if the librarian had taken a swing at him. Then he saw the edges of the older man's mouth twitch and a glint of mischief in his eye. Owen tipped him a wink.

  "Much appreciated."

  The librarian must have suggested the tea break as soon as he returned to his desk. And she didn't need to be asked twice. Two minutes later, Owen was clicking his way through a computer that actually worked. He rattled Brian Morgan's name into a search engine.

  Millions of results popped up.

  Owen clicked aimlessly through the web pages and realised he was hunting for hay in a needle-stack. He tried to refine the search details a little and added in the town he'd been told Brian was living in, the town the wee bastard came from, his city of origin... still no joy. In a last-ditch effort he retried the search replacing the town names with those of the surrounding towns and villages. 'Brian Morgan, Castlewellan' kicked back something of interest. Some martial arts club's Facebook page featured his name. There was a video posted just minutes previously. Owen clicked on it.

  "There you are, you little bastard."

  The website included an address for the club and everything.

  Owen thanked the librarian and left the library. He spent a couple of seconds looking for his car before he remembered he'd abandoned it at the petrol station and walk
ed to the library. Bollocks.

  He went back inside the library and asked his new friend to order him a taxi. He decided Brian deserved an extra kick in the balls for the hassle.

  Enter the Stoners

  Brian was pleasantly surprised by the numbers Tony's opening night had attracted. Ten men, aged between twenty and forty, stood in a raggedy huddle. There was a little conversation and a lot of eyeballing. None of the men looked particularly athletic or tough, which was probably why they decided to join the club in the first place. Brian puffed out his chest. He felt important in his official club hoodie and had already detected a couple of respectful glances thrown his way. Tony might actually manage to pull this thing off.

  "Welcome to the club, gentlemen," Tony said, his voice dope-husky but loud and confident. "A few housekeeping rules to begin with and then we'll get down to business."

  The attendees nodded hellos and agreement.

  "First, be sure to practice everything very slowly at first. I'll be teaching you some very dangerous techniques. Used incorrectly, you could harm your training partner."

  Somebody muttered and two or three of the lads near him chuckled. Brian smiled in their general direction. The minor hubbub dried up fast. He was going to tell them that it was okay to laugh, but he wasn't completely sure himself so he kept his mouth shut and turned his frown the right way round.

  Tony continued: "Respect your training partner, okay? We're all here to help each other, not compete."

  A tall lad with steel wool hair and large clusters of freckles on his nose and cheekbones raised his hand.

  "Is there any sparring or competitions?"

  "Good question. Great question, actually," Tony said. "But no. That isn't what this is about. We're practicing a martial art, not preparing to fight in a ring or a cage. Leave that up to the knuckleheads who want to prove themselves to ring girls and the likes. My club... or should I say, our club, is more interested in self discovery first with self defence as a close second."

  Brian scanned the gathering to see how this went down. A couple of guys shared an amused glance but the majority were nodding along with Tony's sentiments. He'd expected a much higher level of cynicism. Tony had used the words 'self discovery' for Christ's sake.

  Tony opened his arms to his audience, hands at waist level, palms turned outwards. "Any other questions?"

  No hands were raised.

  "We'll get started, then. A quick warm-up, folks. As we progress I'll teach you some kung fu forms that'll help improve technique as well as provide you with some mild exercise and stretching to help prevent injury."

  For a fighter, Tony seemed to have a real obsession with health and safety.

  "Tonight, we'll just do some jumping jacks, running on the spot... that sort of thing."

  The students looked at Tony, ready and willing to follow his lead.

  "Go on, then. Jumping jacks."

  Tony performed three star jumps. "Like that, all right?"

  Somebody, Brian didn't see who, said, "I thought they were called overheads."

  The guy with steel wool hair said, "Nah, man. They're star jumps."

  Brian nodded.

  "Let's not worry about names and all that right now," Tony said. "Just get that heart pumping, okay?"

  The students, a bit helter-skelter at first, found a rhythm and were soon jumping in time. Brian sidled over to Tony and whispered in his ear.

  "Should we not be doing these too?"

  "We've done our warm-up, man. Let these guys catch up with us. Besides, we need to tire them out before we let them attack each other. It's safer that way."

  "I feel a bit weird, though."

  "Chill out. Just walk around the group a bit, act like you're keeping an eye on them, you know? It'll make them try harder."

  Brian nodded slowly, unconvinced.

  Tony rolled his eyes. "Just follow my lead."

  Brian literally followed his lead, tailing Tony on a lap around the students. More than half of them were red-faced and visibly suffering. The heaviest guy in the room had all but stopped, taking three or four huge gasping breaths between each jump. Tony clapped that guy on the back and murmured some encouragement. Brian thought he should probably do the same. He decided against it in the end and offered a tight-lipped smile instead. The heavy guy upped his pace a little. Brian started to worry about the poor fellah's heart and knees.

  Tony completed his circuit. Brian stood beside him at the top of the room, hands itching to hide in the big pocket at the front of his hoodie, but forced them to hang by his hips. Tony waved his arms at the students.

  "Okay, stop. Now, everybody drop down and give me some press-ups."

  The heavy guy gasped. "How many?"

  "As many as you can manage."

  A dark-haired and sallow-skinned lad wearing a Bruce Lee T-shirt raised his hand. "Normal press-ups or on your knuckles?"

  "Whatever you're comfortable with. Just don't cheat yourself. Keep going until you can't do one more."

  The class got to work, huffing and grunting in no time. Some were obviously fitter than others but they all shared a determination to do as well as they could in front of the others. Brian felt even guiltier. He thought he could bang out about thirty press-ups, but it'd been so long since he'd tried he couldn't be sure. What right had he, standing up and staring them all down while they did things he wasn't capable of?

  "What time is it?" Tony asked.

  Brian checked his phone – another missed call from Rachel – and looked at the little digital clock in the corner.

  "It's ten past seven."

  "Is that all? How'm I going to fill the next hour and twenty minutes?"

  "You're the instructor, Tony."

  He forced a smile. "Just messing with you. I've it all worked out. We'll be grand."

  We?

  Brian felt as confident as Tony looked.

  Another Stakeout

  Owen lit his first cigarette in five years. Watching the flame kiss the end of the coffin nail had always been his favourite part. It looked just how he remembered it. The fag tasted like dog shit, though. He got three puffs in then snubbed it out on the bus shelter bench. A little black hole formed on the orange plastic. Owen smiled to himself then grimaced at the tobacco aftertaste. Fucking rotten.

  At least he knew he wasn't a smoker anymore.

  Owen looked across the street to the address he'd got from Facebook. He'd seen Brian go in with a short chubby guy just before seven o'clock but held back. And he was glad he had. About a dozen other fellahs had filtered into the building a few minutes later. None of them looked particularly threatening, but a dozen kung fu enthusiasts might have been a bit of a handful for him. So it was back to the waiting game. When class ended, he'd follow Brian home and take care of him there.

  He had just over an hour to find a car to follow him in.

  Owen lit his second cigarette in five years.

  The 411

  Rachel was trying to decide if it was worth the effort of getting up to make a decaf. She'd already had a little over the recommended daily amount of caffeine during pregnancy, but she craved a decent cup of Joe. Decaf was bound to disappoint. And yet the question remained, was it better than nothing?

  Her dilemma was interrupted by a phone call. The caller ID told her it was her brother, Jailbird John. Outside of his usual business hours too. Sweat popped up on the back of her neck and trickled down her ribcage.

  "What are you doing to me, Bump?"

  She hit the green button.

  "What's the story, John?"

  "I haven't got a lot of time here. The screws will be looking in on me soon." His voice was hushed but clear. "Owen Donnelly is your mystery man. Used to work for Richard O'Rourke. Remember him?"

  "You think I could forget?" He was the crime boss that Brian's brother had worked for. The man who provided the gun that got John scooped for armed robbery. A total prick. "May he rot in pieces."

  "From what I could gather, Bria
n shot Owen in the ear or something?"

  "That guy?"

  "You know him, then?"

  "Brian told me about it. It wasn't even intentional. Lucky bastard that he is, of course it was going to come back on him. I mean, can you imagine Brian doing something like that? Barely believed it myself."

  "Listen, I've got to go. But here, the Donnelly lad's a psycho. Arsonist, like. Make sure you've got a fire escape plan, right? Get out, get the fire brigade out. Stay out."

  "He mustn't know where we live, though, or he wouldn't have pulled that creepy stunt at the petrol station."

  "Probably just a matter of time. Text me tomorrow and let me know you're all right. Night, Sis."

  And he was gone. Such a cheery note to leave it on, too.

  Rachel phoned Brian immediately. Of course, he didn't answer.

  "What are we going to do, Bump?"

  Her instinct was to run away. The more she thought about it, the more attractive it got. She could text Brian with the details as soon as she got to safety. Was that foolproof, though? What if this Donnelly guy had already caught up with him? She'd be blowing her own cover.

  Go and say nothing. This prick has nothing on you anyway.

  She couldn't do that to Brian, though. Yes, he'd become something different since Paul died. Something... less. But she still loved him. It just took a selfish thought to reinforce her feelings.

  Rachel looked at the time on her phone. It wouldn't be long until Brian got home. She'd tell him what she knew then. They'd decide what to do together.

  Jacked

  Owen pulled his hat down to his eyebrows and drew his coat collar up over his chin. If he moved fast, the target wouldn't get a clear picture of him in her head. She was unaware of his approach, distracted by her phone before she even got out of the car. It was a nice big motor, a Toyota Avensis. The girl seemed too young for it, would have been better off in a Clio or something. Maybe she'd borrowed it from her parents. Lucky bitch.

  He grabbed her from behind, before she'd closed the door. She tried to scream but he clamped a hand around her lower face. Blocked her mouth and nostrils. Snatched the keys out of her loose grip. She bucked wildly. Tried to hit him with her phone. He swatted it out of her fist and trailed her effortlessly to the back of the car. Flipped open the boot. Dumped her inside. Clocked her jaw. The girl went out like a light and he closed the lid on her.