by Conrad Jones
“You double-crossing bastards!” Ray shouted. A heavy blow to the back of the head silenced him, dropping him to the floor with a thump. Liam knew that they were as good as dead. Karpov couldn’t risk the Tuckers finding out who had set them up. If he was going to kill them then he needed to do it right there and then because Liam wasn’t going to wait; being made to dig his own grave, in the woods, at gunpoint wasn’t how it was going to end. He knew that there was no time left. In a split second, he decided that he wasn’t going to die without putting up a fight. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and ran full pelt at the window.
9
Ward five had descended into chaos. The wind and rain was blowing into the room unchecked, curtains flailing almost horizontally. Bryn was whisked out of his room, the bed pushed down the corridor and into another anteroom that had no windows. A nurse dabbed at superficial cuts on his face caused by flying glass. Most of the blood on his skin belonged to Jacob Graff. His father and brother were ushered into the room, normal protocol broken for their own protection. Uniformed backup and an armed response unit had been summoned, their sirens audible in the distance.
“Are you okay, son?” Robert Evans asked, while thinking that he had never seen Bryn looking worse. He hugged his son and held him tightly for the first time in a long time. The bruises from the beating were blackening, the swellings deforming his handsome features. He resembled a car crash victim.
“I’m okay,” Bryn said, recoiling slightly from the smell of stale smoke but enjoying the rare show of affection. Sometimes he felt older than his years but now he felt like a child again, vulnerable and in need of a parent’s protection. “How is Jacob?”
“We don’t know anything,” his dad said running a hand over his son’s scalp. “This is a nightmare, son. What the hell have you got yourself into?”
“I honestly don’t know, dad,” Bryn sighed. “I wish I’d never gone to the park.”
“How can things get so out of hand walking the dog to the park?”
“Someone is dead, dad. Take it easy on him.” Mark said.
“I didn’t mean to do it,” Bryn said defensively. His face reddened and his eyes became moist again. He was frightened and confused by what had happened. Remorse was pulling at his soul. “The bloke attacked me for nothing. He was going to stab Alice.”
“Better if he had done than all this,” Robert said shaking his head. “What did you think would happen if you hit someone on the head with a house brick?”
“I didn’t think at all,” Bryn protested. “He was going to stab Alice!”
“Leave him, dad,” Mark said calmly. “Whatever is going on, it is hardly his fault is it? He’s hardly to blame is he? Look at the state of his face!”
“I’m not blaming him,” Robert said reaching out to touch his son’s hand. The nurse carried on with her delicate task. “I’m not blaming you, Bryn. I’m asking you if you know what’s going on. What happened in your room?”
“I don’t know,” Bryn said again. He was as confused as the rest. “How the fucking hell would I know?”
“Don’t swear at me,” Robert stuttered. His face was purple and his hands were trembling, his body craving nicotine. “I’m asking a question, that’s all.”
The door opened and a uniformed sergeant stepped into the room. “Just to let you know that everything is under control for now,” he said with a reassuring nod. He looked at Robert and gestured him out of the room. Mark followed and closed the door behind them, leaving Bryn to his treatment. “I need to let you know what happened. I’m sure you’re concerned.”
“That would be good,” Robert said, looking at a trolley being pushed along the corridor. “Bloody hell!” he said with a sharp intake of breath. “Is that Jacob Graff?”
“Yes,” the sergeant replied in a hushed tone. The bloodied face was swollen and bruised, the silver hair stained deep red. “Someone threw a brick through the window, caught Mr Graff square in the face.”
“Did you catch them?” Robert asked weakly.
“No. I’m afraid not. Nobody saw it happen.”
“Was it aimed at Mr Graff or Bryn?” Mark asked.
“We’re not absolutely certain but we have to assume that it was for your brother’s benefit,” the sergeant confirmed his worst fears with a nod. “Has anyone spoken to you about the victim’s family?” Mark and Robert exchanged glances, neither finding the words to answer. A shake of their heads was enough. “Anthony Farrell is from a very bad family. This is exactly the kind of reaction that we should expect but let me assure you that they will be spoken to. We won’t tolerate this kind of intimidation.”
“Spoken to?” Mark said sarcastically. “They need more than a talking to!”
“They’ll get the message, don’t worry.”
“You said they were a bad family. What do you mean ‘bad family’?” Robert asked.
“They’re career criminals, part of a wider criminal organisation,” the sergeant tried to play down the situation. “But you mustn’t worry.”
“Do you mean they’re gangsters?”
“Yes.”
“You said they’re bad, how bad?” Robert asked. His shoulders had slumped as if the life was being sucked from his body.
“They’re angry. As far as they’re concerned, one of their family has been murdered. We will protect you but I wanted to tell you so that you can look out for each other,” the sergeant said touching his arm. “That’s all I can say for now. Please stay in there with your son and we’ll keep you updated.” His mobile rang and he turned his back and took the call, walking further down the corridor as he spoke. He looked angered as he turned back to them. “Mr Evans, we’re having your wife brought here. She’ll be here shortly.”
“I don’t want her to see Bryn like this,” Robert complained. “She’s not well enough to come here. That’s why we left her at home.”
“We have no choice I’m afraid,” the sergeant sighed. He looked tired of the case suddenly, his enthusiasm and confidence sapped from him. “There’s been an incident at your house. She’ll be safer here.”
“What kind of incident?” Mark asked, disturbed. Anger flashed in his eyes, his muscles tensed and the tendons in his neck protruded like wires. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine. It’s a precaution.”
“What happened?” Mark wouldn’t be fobbed off.
“Someone sent a wreath to the house,” the sergeant replied. “Please wait with Bryn and try not to alarm him. He’s been through a lot.”
Mark took his father by the arm and guided him into the anteroom, noticing how much the muscles in his flabby arm had atrophied. His face was deathly pale and his breath was coming in shallow gasps. Bryn looked on, strain and concern etched onto his young face. Mark saw a frightened boy not a murderer. He put on a false smile for his younger brother but behind it, he knew that a storm was brewing; one that he wasn’t sure that their family could weather.
10
Six thousand miles away, Eddie Farrell was sitting on a bar-stool watching the sun go down into the Andaman Sea. The island of Koh Lanta was a tropical paradise, white sands, turquoise seas, and thatched beach-bars baked in sunshine all year round. He loved the local food, the beer and more importantly, the virtually non-existent police force. It was the perfect place to conduct business with his Russian partners. They could talk openly, play golf, drink, and plan the next shipment or the removal of their enemies with impunity. However it was not the place to be when the news of his oldest son being murdered arrived.
“One more Chang,” he said pushing an empty bottle across the bar to a local woman whose smile never faded. He kept the Koozie, a sleeve that keeps bottled beer cool. He slid the new bottle into it before taking a deep slug, emptying half the contents. The sun was still hot, making sweat run down his shaven head. His Adidas vest was sticking to him and his shorts were uncomfortably moist. He looked at the screen of his phone, desperate for more information, willing it to ring. He
shared idle chitchat with the other patrons, hardly focusing on what they were saying, their words a blur. By the time it finally rang, he was on his third bottle.
“Eddie, I am glad that you have a signal at last, I have been calling for an hour but your phone goes straight to voice mail. It was terrible news today, my condolences to you and your family.” The voice was familiar. “How are you?” Nicolai Karpov sounded preoccupied, slightly insincere.
“How do you think I am?” he slipped his feet out of his flip-flops and dug his toes into the soft sand. Normally it relaxed him but not today.
“Sorry, that was a stupid question,” Nicolai conceded. “I know that you don’t want to make small talk so I’ll give you the itinerary briefly and then I’ll text your travel plans to your phone later.”
“Thanks, Nicolai. I need to get home, when do I leave here?”
“There will be a taxi with you in one hour, seven o’clock your time, that will take you to the harbour where the fast boat to Krabi leaves at eight,” he paused. “Your flight to Bangkok from there, leaves at nine-thirty and then you’re booked on the first flight out of Bangkok tomorrow morning with Emirates.”
“Thank you,” Eddie said swallowing his Chang. He gestured to the barmaid for another. “Tell me what you have found out about Anthony. Who killed my son?”
“He went to see Big Paulie and got into a fight in the park,” Nicolai told him. “The kid he was fighting with cracked him across the head with a brick. He died instantly. I’m very sorry for you, Eddie.”
“Who is he?” Eddie felt his fingers gripping the bottle painfully tightly. Anger rose in his throat, threatening to blow the top of his skull clean off. Even the beauty of the glowing orange orb sinking into the blue sea couldn’t quell the pain, the anger or the burning desire for revenge. Eddie had recently lost his wife, the mother of his sons, to cancer following a long drawn out battle. His sons were his life. The thought of not seeing Anthony alive again was like a red hot spike through his guts. He clawed at the warm sand with his toes, desperate for some comfort but not finding any.
“His name is Bryn Evans,” Nicolai said. He thought about adding more detail to it, but wasn’t sure what was apt so he resisted. The silence was deafening.
“Is that it?” Eddie asked astounded. “My son has been murdered and all you give me is a name!”
“What more do you need at this stage?” Nicolai asked. Anthony’s death was nothing to him. He had never liked Eddie’s sons. He found them arrogant and thought they were a liability. They strutted around the city like peacocks, attracting unwanted attention in their flash cars and brash clothes. He was pandering to Eddie because his Uncle Victor had ordered him to.
“What do you know about him, who is he?” Eddie asked biting his lip. “I want to know who killed my son, Nicolai!”
“Calm down, Eddie,” Nicolai quipped impatiently. “He is a local kid from the Stockbridge Village housing estate across the road from the park.” Nicolai was offended but he bit his tongue. “Do you know it?”
“Yes.”
“We have done some digging. We have his address, family names, everything that we will need when you arrive home.” He waited for Eddie to comment but he didn’t. “We have already sent a message to him.”
“Like what?”
“I’ve sent a wreath to his parents. They’ll know what’s coming.”
“Good. I want this fucker dead!” Eddie slapped the bar with his hand, not realising that the other customers were watching him. “I want him to suffer and I want him dead.” Eddie looked around him suddenly aware that he was swearing, his voice, raised and angry. A couple stood up and moved away, taking their drinks onto the beach. He lowered his voice. “I want his entire family dead!”
“All in good time, Eddie, the police are all over this,” Nicolai cautioned. “It is a murder investigation.”
“I know what it is.”
“Then you know that we need to let the dust settle for now but we’ll do what you want when you get home. We must not overreact yet.”
“Which prison is he in?” something niggled at Eddie about how blasé Nicolai was about the death of his son. Overreact? How could he overreact?
“He isn’t in prison yet.”
“Why not?”
“He’s at the hospital.”
“Hospital?”
“Anthony hurt him badly.”
“Good,” Eddie grunted. “He’ll be remanded once they’ve treated him?”
“I’m not so sure about that but we’ll see.”
“Why aren’t you sure?” Eddie paused. Something was missing. “What are they playing at?”
“I don’t think they will remand him to a prison because of his age, maybe he’ll go to a young offenders’ unit or something.”
“What?”
“He is fourteen.”
“Fourteen?”
“Yes.” Nicolai sighed.
“Anthony was killed by a fourteen-year-old kid?”
“Yes.”
“What the hell happened?”
“All we know is that Anthony attacked him in the park, chased him for a while and then beat him up,” Nicolai explained. “The kid fought back and hit him with a brick. Our sources at Canning Place think that it is a case of self-defence.”
“I don’t believe this,” Eddie hissed angrily.
“He is a young boy and because Anthony is your son,” Nicolai sighed. “You’re not a favourite with the police. I don’t need to spell it out for you, but there are doubts about what Anthony was doing. We’re not sure ourselves.”
“Surely it’s obvious?” Eddie said trying to keep calm. “He was looking after business.”
“How do you figure that out?”
“I thought he was a dealer from the estate?”
“That is what Paulie told me but I’m not so sure.”
“Sure about what?”
“He might not be.”
“What are you talking about?” Eddie was beginning to lose his cool. “If he was in that park he’s either a dealer or a junkie, either way someone must know him.”
“What if he’s just a school kid walking his dog?”
“Why would my son be fighting with a school kid?”
“We don’t know. That is not clear at all.”
“But I thought you had asked Paulie all about this.” There was an edge creeping into his voice, almost accusing; hints of disbelief.
“I have spoken to him on the telephone, Eddie however I don’t trust what Big Paulie is saying,” Nicolai said defensively. “I don’t trust that fat fuck as far as I could throw him. I think he has more to do with this than he’s letting on.”
“We need to find out quickly. When can you speak to him properly?” Eddie asked confused, “I mean face to face?”
“We can’t do anything right now. The police are all over the park, the house and Anthony’s vehicle, Eddie,” Nicolai explained. “We’ll have to wait for them to finish what they are doing.” He was becoming irritated. “Look, I’m doing everything that I can. Once you’re home, we can decide what to do next.”
Eddie thought for a second, the distance from home frustrating him. “Can’t you get a message to him or something?”
“Like what?”
“Are you sending Boyce to represent Paulie?”
“He’s on his way.”
“Good. Then ask him to find out exactly what happened,” Eddie said taking a swig of beer, “and send someone to search the kid’s house too,” he added. “I want to know everything about his family, jobs, bank accounts, siblings, partners, hobbies, phone numbers, what is in their bins, everything... I want to know everything.”
“That is all in hand,” Nicolai said calmly. His tone became icy. “I know you’re upset but please remember that we know what we’re doing.”
“Okay, okay, sorry. I know you do,” Eddie agreed, resigned to his position. His hands were tied until he got home. “Don’t let the little bastard that killed
my son out of your sight.”
“Do not worry, we won’t. Have a safe journey.”
The line went dead and Eddie felt a surge of anger rushing through his veins. Nicolai was a patronising bastard at the best of times. He had been a willing partner over the years; working with the Karpovs was better than working against them, plus the fact that they were backed by the Russians made them a potent force in the city and beyond. The agreement was to be equals, equal share of profits and equal share of decision making. Sometimes Eddie realised that he wasn’t Victor Karpov’ equal whether he liked it or not. That was about to stop. The balance of power needed to change. “One more Chang and a SangSom,” he said turning to the bar. He wanted the Thai whisky to take the edge off his nerves for a while.
“We need to talk,” Yuri Karpov appeared on the stool next to him. The heavy scent of Aramis arrived with him. He twisted the Rolex on his thick wrist, the hairs on his arm bleached blond by the sun. Eddie looked at him and smiled sourly at his garish flower patterned shirt, the buttons straining to bursting point across his gut. “I’ve been speaking to Mikel about what has happened.” He paused and called the barmaid over. “Two more Chang, please.”
“Where is Mikel?” Eddie asked looking towards the path that led to the rooms. Yuri and Mikel were cousins to the Pakhan, Victor Karpov. Their role was spreading the Karpov ‘franchise’ and developing outfits, like the Farrells, to control operations on the ground.
“He’s still in his room talking to Victor on the phone,” Yuri paused to take the beers and took a long slug from his. “Victor is very concerned.”
“About what?”
“Anthony, of course,” Yuri drained half his beer and raised it up. “Another Chang. It is so hot, I’m thirsty!” He turned back to Eddie. “He sends his condolences by the way. Your loss is our loss. We will pay for the funeral, of course.”
