Hardened

by Ashe Barker

  “Stevie, Brad, Mikey, this is Molly, my girlfriend.”

  Mikey’s leering gaze is riveted on Molly’s breasts. Brad is somewhat less obvious, managing a smile that would pass for friendly in most circumstances. Stevie just scowls at her, his brow furrowing in concentration.

  “Molly, did you say? I don’t remember a Molly.”

  “You wouldn’t. We’ve not been together that long.”

  “You never said nothing about no Molly.” Stevie looks increasingly dubious about my explanation.

  “I’m not about to discuss my love life with you, dickhead.” No point at all beating about the bush, and if Stevie detects so much as a whiff of fear from me he’ll be all over it like a fucking rash. Belligerence is the best strategy with him.

  “Yeah, well, can she cook? We’ve not eaten since you chucked us out yesterday.”

  I catch Molly’s start of alarm as she realises this latest visit isn’t an isolated occurrence and I tighten my grip on her to keep her quiet. The less she says the better.

  “Molly’s more decorative than functional. Best we just send her on her way and we can sort out our business here.” I dig my car keys from my jeans pocket and hand them to her. “Sweetheart, you can take my car. I’ll collect it later.”

  She turns her head to look up at me, confused. I kiss her forehead. “I’ll be in touch soon. I promise.”

  “But—”

  “We’re busy here, love. Make yourself scarce, eh? There’s a good girl.” I start to usher her back out into the hallway, desperately hoping Stevie will accept the story and agree to let Molly go. His zero respect for women is working in my favour here as he seems not to question my patronising dismissal of my girlfriend. In Stevie’s usual circles it’s quite normal to send a woman out into the night to make her own way home when she becomes inconvenient.

  We might have made it, but for a sudden and uncharacteristic flash of insight from Brad. “I remember Molly. How are you doing, love?” He beams at the pair of us from his station by the kitchen table, my bread knife in his meaty paw. “Are you still at Armley?”

  Stevie comes bolt upright. “Armley? What do you mean, fucking Armley?”

  “This is Molly. Miss MacBride as was. From G wing. You look different out of uniform, I almost didn’t recognise you.”

  “Uniform? You mean this slag was a fucking officer.” Stevie gets to his feet and grabs the shotgun. He stalks toward us, chin jutting forward as he glares at Molly. His next words are aimed at me. “Are you fucking mad or just plain desperate? You’re bedding a bleeding screw!” The biting contempt in his tone would be laughable if our situation was not so dire.

  “Brad’s dreaming, as usual. Molly makes jewellery.” Short of other strategies I still try to brazen it out, though I’m far from optimistic at this recent turn of events.

  Brad shakes his head as he butters another slice of wholemeal. “Never forget a face, me. I’m known for it. She was at Armley all right, used to bring the breakfast trays round.”

  Apparently that’s proof enough for Stevie. “You, sit down over there.” He brandishes the barrel of the shotgun in Molly’s face. “You too.” He prods me in the stomach with the weapon. We do as he says.

  “Mikey, you tie these two up. I need to think what to do about her.” Stevie is pacing, confused and far from happy. Molly and I exchange a glance, our expressions in perfect harmony. An agitated idiot with a loaded gun, such a bad combination.

  “Is she still a screw?” Stevie leans on the table, glaring at Molly.

  I answer for her, abandoning our ill-fated cover story. “No, not for years. You know that.”

  “How would I fucking know?”

  “You’d have seen her. You’re only just out, yes?”

  He narrows his eyes and nods. “Right, so how do you two know each other then?”

  “We met recently, by chance. She is my girlfriend.”

  “Fucking whore.” Stevie quirks his lip in a vicious snarl. “All of them, fucking slags.”

  “Nah, she was always nice enough.” Brad starts carving up my halloumi. “Sit down and leave the lass alone.”

  Stevie responds with another obscene observation to the world at large but does at least resume his seat. He continues to regard both Molly and me with unrelenting loathing as he caresses the barrel of his shotgun. Meanwhile Mikey has managed to procure a length of what appears to be washing line from somewhere and he proceeds to secure Molly’s wrists at the back of her chair. I weigh up the likelihood of that gun being loaded or not as he turns to tie me up too. If I’m to make a move it has to be now.

  I can’t risk it. I sit quietly while Mikey wraps the rope around my wrists as well.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I remember Brad and Stevie too. I recognised the pair of them as soon as I entered the kitchen. The third man, Mikey, is a stranger to me.

  There’s a lull in proceedings as the three intruders help themselves to food from Jared’s fridge. They have little to say to one another, at least not until their stomachs are full, so I have a respite in which to process what seems to be going on.

  These men were here yesterday, that much is clear. And they’re on the run. The pile of cash on the table is the proceeds of some robbery that took place today, but I get the impression there’s more to all this, something I don’t know about, something else that happened before today’s raid and was the reason for their earlier visit. Jared clearly doesn’t want them in his home but that might be just because of me, of what I might see and hear. I can tell there’s no love lost between him and this lot, but he’s involved somehow. They knew of this place and clearly expected to find sanctuary here.

  I was convinced Jared was no longer involved in anything even vaguely criminal. I absolutely believed that. Why would he? He has so much to lose—a new, successful career, wealth, a family. His freedom. None of this makes sense. I might have decided to trust Jared with my submission, but what if he’s not after all the man I thought he was? The tang of disappointment and betrayal is bitter. I swallow down my dismay and will myself to remain calm.

  Someone will come, they have to. These men just robbed a security van, for Christ’s sake, the police must be right behind them. It’s only a matter of time.

  The dangerous one is Stevie Horrocks. He was always volatile, a tiny intellect driven by arrogance and resentment, a sense that the world owed him something and the usual rules didn’t apply to him. He spent most of the time I knew him on basic, only getting transferred onto the relative luxury of G wing a few days before that riot which changed everything for me. And now he sits across from me, glowering and cradling a double barrel shotgun.

  “I need a piss.” Stevie gets to his feet and passes the gun to Mikey. “Keep an eye on those two. Any pratting about, you know what to do.”

  “Sure, mate,” agrees Mikey, his companionable smile deceptively benign.

  Stevie lumbers out into the hallway as Brad starts to arrange the heap of cash into neat piles. He shoves the remains of their meal aside to create the space he needs.

  “If you untie me, I can clear this lot away and help you to count,” offers Jared.

  “Shut it, you. You heard what Stevie said.” Mikey lowers his brows and regards Jared with suspicion. “Neither of you is to shift. I’ve got the gun, so you just do as Stevie said, right?”

  Jared shrugs. “Fair enough, I was just offering. So, does anyone fancy a drink?”

  Brad looks up from his task, his face brightening. “What have you got? Any beer left?”

  “I can do better than that. Best Russian vodka, came off the back of a lorry. There are two cases in the garage.”

  I’m nervous enough as it is with just the shotgun and three hardened criminals to worry about. Add a few bottles of dodgy vodka to the mix and someone’s sure to get hurt. I turn to the man tied up beside me. “Jared, I don’t think—”

  “It’s okay, sweetheart, we’ve got plenty.”
He returns his attention to the huge man with the gun. “I know you like a drop, Mikey. Do you want me to go get it, or shall I just tell you where it is?”

  “Stevie said—”

  “Stevie’s probably having his own party and decided not to share with you. Go on, where’s the harm?”

  “Well, I don’t know… good stuff did you say? Genuine Russian?”

  “From Putin’s private collection.” Jared smiles broadly at the man, who is clearly tempted if somewhat puzzled.

  “Whose collection?”

  “Never mind, believe me, it’s the good stuff. Come on, I’ll show you. You can bring the gun along. Stevie won’t mind if we both go, and Brad can keep an eye on Molly. You’ll be okay here, won’t you, Brad?”

  “Sure, no problem. Me and Molly can get reacquainted.”

  Jared catches my gaze and offers me a reassuring smile. “He’s harmless,” he mouths, for my attention alone.

  I’m nowhere close to being convinced, but Mikey is already loosening the rope fastening Jared to his chair. As soon as Jared is free Mikey picks up the shotgun and jabs it in the direction of the door. “Right, hurry up, you. We need to get back in here before Stevie comes back.”

  It seems to have escaped his thinking that Stevie will cotton to what’s happened the moment he catches sight of the vodka. Jared grins at him and leads the way.

  “So, what are you doing these days?” Brad seems to consider it incumbent on him to make small talk with the woman tied up beside him. He continues to gather the crumpled notes into neat little bundles as he speaks.

  “I make jewellery. Jared told you.”

  “Oh, right. What, diamonds and all that shit?”

  “No. Costume stuff, ethnic designs. I use a lot of copper, and leather. And beads.”

  He looks up from his task, clearly unimpressed. “Yeah? Right.”

  Happily that seems to be the extent of Brad’s social repertoire. He resumes his counting and ignores me so we spend the next few minutes seated in silence. The peace is shattered when Stevie marches back in and spots Jared’s empty chair.

  “Where the fuck did North get to? I said he was to stay put. Where’s Mikey?” He casts his gaze about the room as though the pair of them might be secreted behind a cupboard or under the table. He even looks in the fridge!

  “Chill, man. They just went to get some booze. Look, there they are.” Brad gestures to the door as Jared precedes Mikey back into the kitchen. Jared’s carrying a box labelled in a language I assume to be Russian, whilst Mikey still totes the weapon.

  “What the fuck’s going on? What part of ‘don’t move’ don’t you fucking understand?” Stevie is nose to nose with Jared, so close he sprays him with spittle as he speaks.

  Jared is commendably unruffled by the outburst or the unfortunate spittle shower. “Hey, it’s okay, mate. We just went to grab a few bottles. We might as well make a night of it. Plenty to celebrate, wouldn’t you say?” He nods at the piles of cash. “You guys had a good day’s work.”

  “I thought you wanted none of it. You chucked us out of here and told us not to fucking come back. If you think you’re getting a cut now—”

  Jared grins and waves away his protests. “No, mate, you earned it. I just wanted to be a bit more sociable, help you to celebrate.” Jared dumps the vodka on a spare corner of the table and heads off to a cupboard to collect five glasses. He puts them on the table too.

  Stevie peers at the glasses, mouthing the number as he counts them. Then he looks round the room, assessing the company assembled, and at last works it out. “She’s not havin’ none. I’m not drinking with no screw, especially a bent screw.” Stevie jabs his finger in my direction, as though there might be some confusion over exactly who he means.

  “I’m not bent.” I should perhaps keep my mouth shut, but that accusation stings, not least because I’m not especially proud of my unprofessional behaviour in the past. But corrupt—never.

  “No? How come you’re fuckin’ an ex-con then? And it’s not even normal fucking…” Stevie turns to include his companions in his accusations. “I’ve been having a look around, and there’s all sorts of porn on the walls in the attic. These two are into all that kinky stuff—whips and leather, all that.” He turns back to me, his leer nauseating. “I bet you even kept your own special handcuffs, brought ‘em with you from Armley, didn’t you, slag?”

  Brad shrugs. “Each to their own. I don’t mind a spot of the old pervy stuff myself. Rachel always liked to—”

  “Shut it, or the next time you see your teeth you’ll be shitting them out your arse,” Jared snarls at Brad, lunging for him, fists clenched.

  Brad clearly sees the error of his ways and backs off, his hands raised. “Hey, sorry, man. No offence meant. You know I always thought a lot of your Rachel and even though we’re not together anymore, well… I meant nothing.”

  “Just leave my sister out of this, arsehole. It beggars belief that she ever married a slug like you, but at least she saw sense eventually.” Jared is still glowering at Brad, but seems less inclined to punch him in the mouth. Marginally.

  “Pack it in, all of you.” Stevie seeks to regain control. “You, sit down.” He jabs his finger at Jared. “And you…” he turns to Brad, now moving to retake his seat at the table, “you finish sharing that lot out. Half’s mine, you and Mikey split the rest.”

  “Hey,” Mikey’s the one taking issue now, his resolve perhaps fortified by the generous shot of vodka he has just poured and downed while the others were arguing over my and Rachel’s sexual preferences. “How come you get most? We never agreed that. It’s equal shares.”

  “Is it fuck equal shares,” sneers Stevie. “Since when did you do the thinking in this fucking team? I come up with the ideas, you just do as you’re told and you can think yourself lucky to get a pay day at all.”

  “Yeah? Well if you’re so smart, how come we’re holed up here? We could all end up back inside, and it’ll be your fucking fault.” Mikey grabs the gun and waves it at Stevie. “We get fair shares, or I’m out of here.”

  “You’re going nowhere till I say so. Half the North Yorkshire rozzers are out there looking for us and I’m not having you screwing it all up for me by getting yourself lifted. You’re just a fucking half-wit, you couldn’t wipe your own fucking arse without me to help.”

  “Who are you calling half-wit? You’ll get the same as that bitch in the garage if you don’t shut your fucking mouth.” Mikey levels the gun at Stevie, peering at him down the barrels.

  “Fucking moron. It’s not me you should be worrying about, it’s her.” Stevie points at me and he advances toward Mikey. “She’s the bent copper who’ll grass all of us up given half a chance, her and this soft pussy she’s fucking with the fancy house and ponsy car. The one who thinks he’s too good for his old mates, but has plenty of time for a skank like this one.”

  Mikey lowers the gun, but only so he can take another swig of the vodka. Jared advances toward him, his expression grim, but Mikey points the gun right at his chest and cocks the trigger. Jared halts, standing stock still.

  “Hey, now let’s all just calm down.” Jared’s tone is low, intended to defuse the situation. “We don’t want anyone getting hurt here, do we?”

  “She’s gonna get hurt,” Stevie snarls. “I hate fucking screws and there’s no way she’s telling anyone about this.”

  “She won’t say anything, I’ll make sure of that. Just let me and Molly go, and you three can stay here as long as you need to.”

  Stevie gives a mirthless laugh. “Yeah, right. Do you think I’m fucking stupid? You’ll be on the phone to the law before you get halfway down the drive. Not happening.” He turns to glare at me. “We’ll hang on to your little fuck-toy as long as she’s useful. We might need a hostage and the police won’t want to risk her getting hurt. She’s one of theirs. Then when we’re done, we waste her. You too, fancy boy. There’ll be no one telling tales.”r />
  “Never mind all that, what about my share.” Mikey’s still quaffing vodka, and clearly having trouble shifting his focus from the subject most taxing him. “I want half. It was me who dealt with the guards, I did the most work and took all the risks. You just grabbed the cash and legged it.”

  Mikey still has the gun, and he raises it again. This time his target is Stevie. Jared shifts to the side, moving closer to me. I see alarm flare in his dark grey eyes.

  “Either put the fucking gun down or give it to me. Shit, how fucking dense can you be?” Stevie makes to grab the firearm, then everything happens at once.

  The gun goes off, the sound deafening in the enclosed space of the kitchen. There’s a shriek, someone’s screaming. It sounds like me.

  Jared dives the remaining couple of yards to hit my chair sideways just as the sound of another shot deafens me momentarily. The pair of us topple to the floor. I’m winded, he’s on top of me.

  There’s silence.

  Total, deathly silence.

  Long moments pass. No one moves. My heart is thumping, but that’s a good sign, I’m alive at least. I try to move, but I’m still tied to the chair, though Jared has rolled from me and now lies face down on the floor. I wriggle, starting to panic. Something shifts. I’m free, sort of. The rail at the back of my chair was broken in the fall and I have some movement, enough at least for me to sit up and look around.

  “Fuck! Fuck, man, what have you done? What the fuck did you do that for?” Brad lurches past me to crouch beside the inert form that is Jared. He rolls him over to reveal the growing stain of brilliant crimson spreading across the front of Jared’s T shirt. Mikey struggles to his feet to stand over Jared, his expression stunned, vacant.