Fight Back

by Anna Smith

  Marty touched his shoulder. ‘Son . . . Just concentrate on your family. That’s all you do. Your mum and me will go home now and leave you be.’ He looked into his eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Marty turned away from his son, because there was nothing more he could say. Nothing more he could do. But he prayed that he had not lost him.

  Chapter Twenty

  Sharon began to stir in the coolness of the late-afternoon breeze drifting in from the terrace. She opened one eye and took in the muscular chest of Vic Paterson, as he lay beside her, breathing softly in a deep, contented sleep. This was not supposed to happen, but it had, and the truth was she had loved every frenzied, mind-blowing moment of it.

  The small tattoo on his shoulder of a lion up on its hind legs moved with him as he slept. She hadn’t remembered seeing that during their brief fling many years ago. And when he’d stripped off earlier today, Sharon had been so swept up in the moment of passion that she barely took time to notice his body. The rush she had felt through her from just having the feel and strength of a man to pull her into his arms and devour her the way Vic did had almost knocked her off her feet. Nobody had ever made love to her like that – never Knuckles Boyle – and not even Vic, when they had their secret trysts all those years ago. They were either improving with age, or just so yearning for the touch of each other that they couldn’t get enough. Finally, they’d collapsed, spent, exhausted, and fallen asleep. Now, as she was fully awake, she expected a feeling of guilt. But there wasn’t one. Sure it was reckless, but it had happened so quickly after Vic had insisted on walking her to her door in case there were any problems. They’d kissed on the doorstep, and by the time they’d got down the hallway, their clothes were strewn everywhere. Sharon couldn’t even remember the last time she’d behaved so recklessly. But the very last thing she felt right now was guilt. She was old and wise enough to know what this was, and smart enough not to worry if it didn’t go any further.

  Vic had made a proposition to help the Caseys and that was why she had been seeing him, and this shouldn’t have been on the cards. But true to his word, he’d been helping and dropping crucial information in the past few days to Sharon since their meeting in Fuengirola, and had been bang on in everything he’d told them about the Colombian, being able to say how many bodies were coming with him to Glasgow, so Kerry could get her operation organised. She trusted him. That much she was sure of. And he was being well paid for his trust and work as Kerry had already agreed. He was on their payroll now too. It was a perilous path Vic had taken, because if he was rumbled by the Colombians or the Irish mob or that weasel Frankie Martin, he wouldn’t see daylight again. Vic knew that. But he was fearless. And smart. Sharon ran her finger across the lion tattoo and he woke up. He turned to her and pulled her on top of him and she could feel how quickly he was stirred. They stayed that way, him moving his body and pulling her to him and she could feel his breath begin to quicken.

  ‘Sharon. You are one very sexy lady.’

  She smiled and kissed his neck. Then she leaned over and picked up her phone. It was almost four thirty. Shit! She had to pick up her son from school, so there was no time for this caper. Reluctantly, she eased herself off him.

  ‘You’re just a bit sexy yourself – you with your lion tattoo. What’s that all about?’

  He smiled, touched it.

  ‘It was one of the lags in the nick. He was into all this spiritual, symbolism shit and he said that was mine – strength and power he said, was stamped all over me. Aye, cheers, mate, I told him. That’s why I’m doing nine in the slammer. Not much power in there.’

  ‘You’ve plenty of power.’ She stood up from the bed. ‘But you’re going to have to take it elsewhere, darling, because I have to pick up my Tony. So you need to make yourself scarce.’

  He reached out and grabbed her gently.

  ‘You’re making me feel like a cheap whore – throwing me out after you’ve had your way with me.’

  She kissed him. ‘Come on. You know how it is. We must promise ourselves not to bloody do this again.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He kissed her back. ‘Not for a few days anyway.’ He gave her a playful slap on the backside as she stood up.

  As she crossed the room towards the shower, Vic’s mobile rang on the bedside table and he answered it.

  ‘What? Fuck me, Frankie. Sure. No problem, mate. I’ll head to Málaga airport now.’

  Sharon turned around as he leaped out of bed.

  ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Fuckin’ hell, Shaz! That was Frankie. The Glasgow business went tits up. Rodriguez got shot, and the Caseys dropped two of their men, for fuck’s sake – Colombians. Christ! Kerry Casey really knows how to ruffle the fuckin’ feathers, don’t she?’

  Sharon smiled to herself. ‘He didn’t say anything about the kidnapped boy?’

  ‘Yeah. They only fuckin’ weighed in and stole the kid back! Christ!’ He pulled his polo shirt over his head and shoved his legs into his jeans. ‘Tell you what, Shaz. The shit is going to hit the fan all over the shop now. You’d better get onto your mate and let her know. I’ve got to go and pick up Rodriguez at the airport and we’ve got to get him fixed up by docs. But he’ll be fucking foaming at the mouth, the cunt.’

  ‘Good,’ Sharon said. ‘Serves the bastard right for stealing a little boy. Fuck him!’

  But despite her bravado she knew there would be hell to pay for this. She would phone Kerry on the way to pick up Tony, but she would bring one of the guards with her for protection. As she came out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, Vic was ready to leave. He put his arms around her and held her close, kissing her on the lips, then he looked her in the eye.

  ‘Sharon Potty-mouth. You are some woman, and I’m not giving you up easily this time. You do know that, don’t you?’

  She kissed him back. ‘Vic. We are living very dangerously. You do know that, don’t you?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have it any other way. But seriously. I don’t want this to be a one-off.’

  She smiled. ‘Go on. You’ve got work to do. Try not to crash your car with that Colombian bastard in it!’

  He grinned and walked to the door.

  ‘I’ll let you know how the land is lying. Just you be careful out there, sweetheart. You sure you can trust all your men, those guards around here?’

  ‘Yep. I’m sure. They’re Kerry’s men. They’ll be fine. I’m okay.’

  And with that he was gone, and she stood looking at herself in the mirror knowing that whatever the rest of the day brought, it would not be pleasant.

  On the way to school with a guard in the front seat, she phoned Kerry. She answered immediately.

  ‘Sharon,’ Kerry said. ‘I was about to call you. That Colombian bastard got his comeuppance today, courtesy of the Caseys.’

  ‘I’ve just heard about five minutes ago. Vic told me. I was with him. That bastard Frankie Martin phoned, said Rodriguez got shot and two of his men got dropped as well.’

  ‘Three I think was the final count. Two of his Colombian mob and one from Glasgow or Dublin or wherever. Rodriguez is not happy.’

  ‘You do know that this will get a lot worse now.’

  ‘I know, Sharon. That’s why I was calling you. We need to get a few more people out there. And I want everyone on high alert. Rodriguez’s mob will hit us pronto. That much I’m sure of. What does Vic know?’

  ‘He’s on his way to the airport to pick up Rodriguez and the others and then he’ll be told. When he knows, I’ll know. And I’ll call you immediately.’

  ‘Good. But you’re going to have to dig in over there with our bars and, especially, the hotel site. Is the site all locked down?’

  ‘Yes. We have armed security there. There isn’t much more we can do. The work has started and there’s a lot of heavy plant there.’

  ‘Okay. We’ll have to tee them up. And the bars too. Just tell everyone to be on their guard. I’ll get some more people out tomorrow. Just bodies in case we nee
d numbers. But we’re preparing for some kind of hit back here too. Durkin will probably take care of that since he’s in bed with Rodriguez. He was part of all this shit, Sharon. I haven’t spoken to him since that first day, but he must have been part of the kidnapping too, and in my book he’s history.’

  ‘Mine too. But we have to just be very careful how we play it. Danny and Jack will see you all right. What about Jake Cahill?’

  ‘He’s still here. It was him and young Cal and Tahir who stormed the kidnappers. Proper operation it was. I haven’t seen them since, but Jake said they are taking care of some unfinished business. I didn’t ask.’

  ‘What about Marty? He must be so relieved to get Finbar back. The family must be so happy.’

  ‘I’m seeing him later, so we’ll see how he is. But he’ll be glad it’s over. I’d be surprised if we don’t get a bit of heat from the cops in the next day. There was already something in the news about a shoot-out in the restaurant. Once it leaks out that the boy is back, they’ll be hammering a few doors – probably mine first.’

  ‘Okay, Kerry. I’m at the school now, so I’ll talk to you later.’ She hung up.

  *

  The Colombian looked to Frankie like he was trying hard not to explode. They were sitting on the terrace of the sumptuous villa-cum-fortress where Pepe Rodriguez was holed up along with his most trusted henchmen. It was only the second time Frankie had been to the villa, and he clocked that there were even more armed bodies lining the road up to the house than he remembered the first time. His new boss was definitely feeling under threat. Frankie couldn’t help but gloat a little inside that the Caseys had fucked him over in spectacular fashion. This prick had come to the Casey turf and tried to rip their heart out, and had been sent back with his big-shot fucking tail between his legs. Yes. Frankie was glad, and there was no doubt that he did feel a little gutted that he wasn’t a part of it. That surprised him a little, but in some twisted way he admired the way the Caseys had come lashing back. But there was no point in even spending a breath brooding over what was past. Frankie had chosen his path and now he had to stick with it. It wasn’t as though he had a lot of choices anyway. Once he had gone over to the other side by betraying the Caseys, there was no going back. The people who had been his friends and associates, men he’d stood with when their backs were to the wall in turf wars in Glasgow, would now be glad to cut his throat. Well, fuck them. That was never going to happen. It was all about survival. And he was with the Colombians and the Irish mob now. He’d well and truly burned his bridges back in Scotland, but he knew there was a place for him here with this bunch of fuckers. Rodriguez liked him – he could tell that, and he had trusted him to be the go-between with Kerry, trying to get the ransom demand sorted. But now that it had gone tits up, he hoped Rodriguez wouldn’t suspect that he had dropped Kerry Casey the gypsy warning that had enabled them to be so primed and ready for Rodriguez.

  Frankie sat on the sofa next to Vic Paterson, who had picked Rodriguez and his cohorts up from the airport and brought them to the house, where the doctor had treated the Colombian’s wound. His thigh was a bit of a mess, but the doctor patched him up, telling him to keep his leg raised and the weight off it for at least a week until it healed. Various flunkies fussed around Rodriguez and he waved them away or beckoned them when necessary. There were three other men in the room – two of them Colombian killers who Frankie had met before, and Pat Durkin, who sat fidgeting with his cup of coffee and looked well edgy. Frankie was wondering if Durkin was beginning to feel that he’d got in too deep with this mob, but if he was, it was too late now. That pleased Frankie too, that Durkin was slightly squirming. He sensed his fear of the Colombian, but Frankie – even though he knew Rodriguez was one ruthless bastard – did not fear him. And from the body language of Vic Paterson since he met him, he got the impression that he didn’t fear him either. Everyone else in the room was more or less shitting their pants in case Rodriguez pointed the finger. Frankie braced himself as he turned to him.

  ‘So, Frankie,’ Rodriguez said. ‘Your Kerry Casey was not so easy to destroy this time. Why do you think that was?’

  Frankie didn’t quite know how to answer that, but just by the tone of this fucker there was something sinister in the way he said it.

  ‘What do you mean, Pepe? Did you not expect her to fight you? You’ve met her very briefly, and I remember you said that you thought she was a tough bitch – or she tried to be with you.’

  He made a face, his mouth downward.

  ‘No, no. I thought the bitch was a bit of a tiger, but this is not the way I expected it to turn out. We rip the heart from her family by taking the little boy. I did not expect her to take a big risk with that.’

  Frankie waited for a moment, then he answered. ‘Well, Pepe, with all due respect, then perhaps you should have made Kerry come to you instead of you going to her.’ He paused, knowing all eyes were on him. ‘Look. I did say to you that if you could bring her to you, here to Spain, then you would be better protected. But you wanted to go there. I honestly thought that might be risky. There is no real protection for you in Glasgow.’

  ‘That’s not true, Frankie,’ Durkin chipped in, a little petulant. ‘I had my boys there. We cased the place and checked it over and we were tooled up.’

  Frankie risked a shrug but tried not to look nonchalant.

  ‘Yes, Pat. You were tooled up. But as it happens, the Caseys were more tooled up. And that’s what happens if you go onto their turf.’

  Rodriguez turned to Durkin. ‘I expected better protection from your people, Pat.’

  Durkin’s face fell, and right at that moment he looked as though the writing was on the wall for him. Frankie glanced at Vic whose face showed nothing. The air was crackling with tension. Beads of sweat formed on Durkin’s head as the room became silent.

  ‘Pepe, my men were ready. We had plenty of people. There was nothing much more we could have done. You have to believe me on that.’

  Durkin glanced anxiously at Frankie as though he was hoping he would help him out here. Frankie stared straight at Rodriguez, his face like flint. Silence for a long moment. Then Rodriguez took a deep breath and his nostrils flared. He made a gesture at his raised leg.

  ‘This bitch shot me. She could have killed me if she wasn’t such a bad shot. Where did her gun come from, Pat? Your men frisked her when she arrived, yes?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course, Pepe.’ Durkin nodded furiously, squirming in his seat. ‘She was clean when she came in. I’ve spoken to my boys and they searched her. But . . . but . . .’

  Rodriguez raised his eyebrows as though toying with Durkin. ‘But . . . but . . .’ Rodriguez repeated. ‘But someone on the inside of the restaurant was able to slip her a gun. Right in front of all of us. So how did this happen? Who of your men checked this place out? They didn’t check it out well enough.’

  Durkin nodded.

  ‘I know. I’ve spoken to them, Pepe.’

  ‘They failed. Your people failed. And because of that three of my men are dead and I have this.’ He pointed to his leg. He waved a finger and shook his head. ‘There is no room for failures in my organisation.’

  Durkin nodded vigorously, his face flushed. Nobody spoke. Then Rodriguez snapped his fingers. From the other side of the terrace, one of his men stood up and walked across, making for the open patio doors as though he was going inside. But Frankie watched as he didn’t go in. Instead, he pulled a pistol from his shoulder holster, and in one seamless movement stuck it into the nape of Durkin’s neck and fired. The shot echoed around the hills in the distance, and Frankie tried to keep his poker face on as Durkin for a single second looked like a fish gasping for breath, then keeled over onto the floor. Frankie glanced at Vic and they watched straight-faced as the blood seeped out of Durkin’s head and a crimson pool formed across the white marble tiles.

  The silence was deafening. Without even looking at Durkin’s body, Rodriguez turned to Frankie and the others.


  ‘Now, we must be ready to hit back at Kerry Casey for her foolish actions. You understand me? Everybody? This time we do not fail.’

  ‘Of course.’ Frankie was the only one who answered. The others all nodded but said nothing. He wished he could be a fly on the wall when Kerry Casey got this latest news.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  ‘He did what?’ Kerry shouldn’t have been shocked at hearing how Durkin was shot like a dog, but she was. ‘Christ almighty! This changes things. The Irish mob won’t take this lying down. The Durkins were big shots for a generation. They’ve executed the head of a big organised clan.’

  ‘I know,’ Sharon said. ‘But that’s what Durkin deserves for getting into bed with the bloody Colombians in the first place. It’s all about greed, Kerry. Pure greed. A fat lot of good it did the little bastard, because now his organisation will be in chaos.’

  Kerry’s own words, ‘executed the head of a big organised clan’, rang in her ears, because it sounded a little close to home. Rodriguez had already shown how unscrupulous he was when he kidnapped a three-year-old boy. But assassinating the head of a powerful gang who he’d just hooked up with was either reckless, or sending a message to everyone that this was what happened if you messed with him. Kerry was beginning to wonder if Rodriguez was really thinking things through, or if he was a bit out of control. And if he was, then the cracks would start to show.

  ‘What’s your thinking, Kerry?’ Sharon asked.

  ‘Well. Just shocked really. But also thinking how much of a mess that leaves for the Irish mob, and how we could benefit from it. I think I need to talk to Billy Hill, back in London. He was more in cahoots with Durkin’s crowd over the years, and in recent months, so he might have a bit of intelligence on who will be jostling for position.’

  ‘They’ll all be cutting each other’s throats in Dublin to take over,’ Sharon said. ‘But they have a good chunk of manpower over in Spain, and they are currently with Rodriguez. Once they get wind of Durkin’s execution, they’ll either shit it and do a runner, or pledge allegiance to the Colombians.’