by KERRY BARNES
‘Nicolas, mate, I’ve gotta run. I need to meet up with Mikey and tell him what’s happened. Fuck. That’s two men he’ll want to hunt down now.’
‘No, don’t go!’ yelled Nicolas. ‘Not yet! I may need your help too!’
Staffie sighed. ‘I ain’t being funny, Nicolas, but this ain’t my mess.’
‘Staff, he’s your fucking uncle. I thought you’d show him some respect, even for your dear ol’ muvver’s sake.’
Scratching the back of his bald head, Staffie sighed again. ‘All right, but you call Mack. I’ll let Mike know, and then we’ll go over to Mack’s place and see what’s happened. I bet he’s just been very busy. Let’s not panic.’
Nicolas was now dripping with sweat and pacing around in circles. He ended up having to wipe his forehead with the sleeve of his towelling bathrobe. ‘Shit, if Colin has hurt Mack then he, or rather one of his henchmen, will come for me, that’s a dead cert. The man’s a mean, dangerous bastard, and I do believe he stayed away from me because I was with Shelley. But, if she has gone running to him, you can bet ya bottom dollar she’s blackened my name to have her farver back onside.’
With his shoulders slumped and his breathing heavy, he continued to pace, flattening the cream carpet.
‘Nicolas, just call Mack. If he doesn’t answer this time, we’ll have a drive around there, okay? Also, call your lawyer and find out what’s going on with the deeds. He may tell you a bit more. Oh, and bring a tool.’
Nicolas’s flushed face suddenly shrank.
As his uncle dialled his lawyer, Staffie could see the man was a nervous wreck. He left him alone to make the calls while he walked through the kitchen and out into the back garden. He needed fresh air and time to digest all the news.
Liam was safe but what a shock to hear he’d had one of his kidneys removed. Taking a deep breath, Staffie thought about the whole situation, and, for the first time in his life, he had regrets – big regrets. The last few years had been one nightmare after another, and what was it all for, besides money and power.
He’d always thought, since their early release from prison, he should find the man responsible for that evil drug. But it had been a bad idea. He would rather have served his time and been out in another year than be caught up in the war with this monster Torvic, and, as for Liam, it could have been his own son. When all was said and done, it was their boys who were inheriting their name, the Regan firm. Historically, that name had been handed down by Arthur Regan, his own father, and Willie’s father, and now, their boys. History was repeating itself, but things had changed since Arthur’s day. The gangs were different. They didn’t care. There were no rules anymore: it was one big free-for-all. Now, as part of the firm, he was going to have to get involved in fighting the likes of Colin Crawford, and he knew that war would be a fucking tough one.
He looked at his phone for Mike’s number, gritted his teeth, and pressed the dial button.
‘Mike? Listen. I know who’s behind this shit with Liam. It’s Colin Crawford …’ He waited for Mike to answer.
‘What? Seriously? How the fuck did you suss that out?’
‘Long story, but did Willie ever tell you he’d been with Shelley Crawford, as she was then, about twenty years ago?’
Mike sat down. He was in the hotel’s reception, waiting for Zara to come out of the ladies’ restroom before they set off to go out for something to eat. ‘I dunno about that. He may ’ave, but I doubt it. Who’d wanna get involved with her when her father’s Colin Crawford?’
‘Well, Willie for one, because as you very well know, he’s a reckless fucker, and since when would something like that stop him? Ya know what he’s like. He don’t think, does he?’
Mike thought that Staffie had a point. He had to agree because Willie, being Willie, would act first and then think afterwards about the consequences. Fleetingly, his mind went back to Leon Khouri’s cottage where Willie was all set to smash his way in without any thought until he’d stopped him. His mind moved on to the conversation with his mate. ‘He’s always been the bleedin’ same. So, what does all this mean, anyway?’
‘Shelley has a son called Lucas. I swear to God, Mike, the kid’s a dead ringer for Liam. Anyway, Nicolas told me he was in the hospital the last time he saw him. He was on dialysis.’
‘Oh my God! Are ya sure? I mean, are ya 100 per cent sure?’
Staffie felt uneasy again and took another deep breath. ‘Yeah, I am. Nicolas thinks that this Colin has done something to his brother. Nicolas gave up ownership of his house to Mack. It was a ploy to stop Shelley from claiming a share when they split up. Colin probably forced Mack to sign the house deeds over to him – as, by Nicolas’s reckoning, Shelley wouldn’t have had the brains to organize something as clever as that. Since she got with Nicolas, her father disowned her, but now they’re separated, Nicolas thinks she’s gone running to him for his help, which would make sense.’
Mike’s astute mind went into gear immediately. He’d not had a university education. His father had seen to that. What he did have though, was savvy, balls, and a fearless attitude. The likes of Colin Crawford wouldn’t put the wind up him, not in a million years. Stinking rich or not, Colin Crawford was still a man who bought his muscle. Mike, on the other hand, was no stranger to crime, and he didn’t hide behind anyone. He would be the man leading the charge. His firm respected him because he was the first to get his hands dirty and also the last to clean up his own mess.
‘Right, listen. Don’t you worry about Colin Crawford, ’cos we can deal with him later. We need to find Torvic first,’ said Mike, in a commanding tone, ‘and me brother.’
‘No,’ hissed Staffie. ‘I’m gonna help my uncle first. His brother’s not answering the phone … He’s family, so I’m gonna go over there and sort this mess out.’ It was the first time that he’d ever said ‘no’ to Mike, and, in a way, he felt good about it.
‘Okay, mate, of course. You stay safe, bud, and let me know that he’s okay. Tell Nicolas we’ll sort out Colin soon. He ain’t on his own.’
Staffie suddenly felt guilty. Why he’d tried to lord it over Mike, he couldn’t explain. Mike wasn’t a bad person. He should know. They’d been friends since primary school. Mike understood all about loyalty to family and close friends, and there was no doubt that if he asked Mike for help, his buddy would be there in a heartbeat. He wished he could say the same about Eric. Ever since Mike had been locked away, Eric had changed big time. He’d drifted away, acting dodgy – even sneaky – and now after Mike had allowed him back on the firm, there was still something about his brother that just didn’t sit right. Mike might still feel through family loyalty that he needed to trust Eric, but Staffie wouldn’t, and he thought he should actually front Mike about it when they next met up.
‘Cheers. Mike, about Eric …’
‘Yeah, I need to get to the bottom of that, ’cos he’s either working with Torvic, or, as I said, he may be dead. But listen. You sort out your family, and we’ll meet up later, yeah?’
‘Yeah, Mike, no worries.’
Staffie realized that there was no point in discussing Eric any further. Both of them had so much on their minds.
The last few days had really affected him; he was still extremely tired, following the lock-up scenario with the Weller brothers, then the business at Zara’s hangar, and now, to top it all, the emotion of believing Liam was dead and having to watch his own back over this evil bastard Torvic. It was more than most men could deal with. He straightened his shoulders and returned to the lounge to find Nicolas looking like death warmed up. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘Me lawyer said the deeds have been signed over to Shelley and then signed by another lawyer – one of Colin’s. The bastard’s got to him. We need to get across to his place. I just hope to God they ain’t killed him.’
* * *
As soon as Nicolas pulled up outside his brother’s house, he sensed something was wrong. The curtains were drawn; his brother never pulled
the curtains across. The cold air had a bitterness to it that forced Nicolas to pull his jacket tighter around him. The old Victorian house still had the original sash windows that let the cold air in. It was great in the summer but like an icebox in the winter. Mack had never bothered to sell up and get a classy drum like himself. He ploughed all his money into his place in the South of France. Nicolas stared at the central heating vent on the side of the building, hoping to see some activity, but there was nothing. Mack hated the cold; that system was always on if it was cold, and this morning, it was definitely brass monkey weather. His car’s outside temperature gauge showed -6°C.
Staffie looked at his uncle’s face. ‘What’s up?’
‘He’s either fucking dead or he’s not here.’
Staffie didn’t waste time asking why. He marched up the steps to the front door and banged hard.
Nicolas tried to look through any gaps in the curtains, but it was no use. ‘Let’s go round to the back.’
The back of the house was gated. A six-foot wrought-iron fence separated the front from the rear, but, luckily, Nicolas knew the code for the side gate. They hurried through and arrived at the double set of French windows and peered in. In frustration, Nicolas kicked at the glass, and the bottom pane cracked.
‘Whoa! What are ya doing?’ said Staffie, as he pulled his uncle back. ‘Jesus! Talk about a bull in a china shop. Let me do it.’
Nicolas allowed Staffie to take charge, anxiously willing his brother on to be alive somewhere inside that great cold monster of a house.
Staffie pulled his leg back and kicked the doorframe with so much force it immediately flew open.
‘If I’m a bull, what the fuck are you, then? The bloody FBI?’
Pushing past Staffie, Nicolas went into the main part of the house where the dark, gloomy kitchen was. The sounds of the tap dripping and the clock ticking were all he could hear. Holding his breath, he crept along the hallway, with Staffie behind him holding his gun. As they reached the lounge, Nicolas switched on the light and gasped at the sight.
Staffie moved Nicolas aside to see for himself. It was at that point he realized that perhaps his uncle wasn’t as hard as he would let on.
There, stripped naked and tied to a chair with wire, was his uncle. The rolls of fat looked like a lump of pork trussed up for the oven. His head was flopped forward, and his little finger was missing. The room was so cold that his uncle’s skin had turned blue.
‘Jesus!’ yelled Nicolas, who was now crouching down and holding his brother’s head in his hands.
Staffie kneeled next to Nicolas and tried to lift his uncle’s head; it wasn’t stiff, but his body was cold, although not corpse cold. Then he felt for a pulse; it was faint, but it was there.
‘Look here, Nicolas, the poor bastard’s still alive.’
Nicolas looked up and rose to his feet. ‘What? Are you fucking sure?’
He needn’t have bothered to ask: the groan coming from his brother confirmed it.
‘Nicolas, get some wire cutters, will ya? And hurry up!’
Nicolas spun around. ‘Shit, shit, think! Where would he keep his cutters? Oh, hang on.’
Staffie held his uncle’s head, trying to assess the damage. The man’s nose was shattered and blood dribbled from the bottom of his toothless gums. He looked what he was: fucked.
‘It’s all right, mate, stay with us. We’ll get you out of here.’
Within a minute, Nicolas had returned, clearly out of breath and shaking to pieces. ‘’Ere! Use these, Staffie.’
Staffie took the cutters and began snipping at each taut wire. As they pinged apart, Nicolas helped his uncle to the floor.
Nicolas ran up the stairs and grabbed a duvet from the bed and dashed back down again to wrap it around his brother. ‘Staffie, will ya get that fire on? He’s freezing. I’ll make us some hot tea. What else should we do?’ He looked at Staffie with fear in his eyes.
Staffie decided he needed to take control. Although his Uncle Nicolas had been pretty handy in his younger days, what he’d seen today had really shocked him. Shocked them both, in fact. But he knew he would have to take charge of this mess. His uncle was in no fit state to make any decisions.
‘You just make that tea and put some brandy in it along with a load of sugar. He’ll be okay, Nicolas. Just concentrate on what you’re doing.’
They both helped Mack onto the sofa, wrapping the duvet tighter around him. Staffie heard the central heating fire up, and he turned on the log-effect burner, which instantly threw out plenty of heat.
As Staffie checked over his uncle’s injuries, Nicolas returned with a tray of tea and kitchen rolls as well as a bowl of warm water. ‘’Ere, lad, try and get him to drink this.’
Staffie held Mack’s head and gently placed the cup to his lips, easing some of the liquid into his mouth. Mack sipped the tea with his eyes still closed. Some of it dribbled down his chin, but the tea was working. After patiently encouraging him to drink more, Mack blinked and then opened his eyes.
‘Mack, it’s me, Nicolas. You’re all right, fella. We’re ’ere, Staffie and me.’
The hoarse voice replied, ‘No, I ain’t all right. I need the hospital.’
Staffie gave Nicolas a worrying look. ‘That will mean the Ol’ Bill asking questions. It’s up to you, but, me, I’d handle this meself, if I were you.’
Nicolas stood up and began pacing the room. He was struggling to get his brain in gear with all the emotion.
‘Staffie, if it was Colin or his mob, they’ll not be easy to take down. The man knows everyone, and I don’t know a single soul that will go up against him.’
Mack groaned. ‘I ain’t gonna tell the Filth anything. Just call for an ambulance. I’m hurt bad.’
Staffie sighed. ‘Right, then. Get on the blower, Nicolas. I don’t think a couple of paracetamol will cut it. He’s in a bad way.’
While Nicolas went into the entrance hall to call for an ambulance, Staffie stayed with his Uncle Mack.
‘Was it this Colin geezer, by any chance?’
Mack nodded. ‘And he’s coming for me brother next. I tried to fight them off but … they had shooters …’ His words trailed off before he passed out again.
Nicolas was just entering the lounge and heard the tail end of the conversation. He stared at his brother’s wounds and shuddered. He was getting on in years now and didn’t want any trouble. He certainly didn’t need this kind of shit. He wanted to hang on to his looks, or at least preserve what he had left of them.
Staffie could read Nicolas’s mind. ‘Now you know he’s coming for you, at least you can be prepared.’
‘Prepared? I don’t even own a gun anymore.’
Staffie pulled his own from his belt and slapped it in Nicolas’s hand. ‘You do now. Keep it. I have to go. There’s a monster out there who is more fucking dangerous than Colin.’
‘But, what about us, Staffie? I mean, what do I do now?’
Staffie was on his feet. ‘Make sure Mack gets off to the hospital, okay? You go back to your house, and when Colin’s men turn up, you call us. And then you tell them that Ted Stafford and Mike Regan will want a fucking word, and make sure Colin also knows that Willie Ritz will be coming for him, if we don’t get to him first, that is.’
‘Wait, Staffie. He ain’t no two-bit gangster anymore. As I told you, the cunt’s gone international. He deals with the fucking Russians and the Colombians. He’s a multi-millionaire. Seriously, he won’t give a shit about you or the Regans.’
Staffie stood with his hands on his hips and a cruel smirk formed across his face. ‘He could be the Prince of Dubai, but that won’t stop Willie Ritz. He’s a reckless, ruthless bastard. He’ll shoot his way through a fucking army to get to the man that hurt his boy.’
‘But, Staffie, Colin has protection. He knows everyone who’s anyone, and—’
Staffie stopped him, holding his hands up. ‘Wait! So you reckon he literally knows everyone?’
Nicolas frown
ed, wondering where his nephew was going with this conversation. ‘Yeah, why?’
‘Well, he just might know the guy we’re after. It’s this Torvic geezer. We could strike a deal.’
‘Ha ha!’ replied Nicolas, in an exaggerated tone. ‘Strike a deal? No way. Honestly, Staffie, son, you really don’t know who you’re up against.’
‘Nicolas, you haven’t got kids, have you? So you wouldn’t understand. Willie won’t care how powerful this Colin geezer is. He’ll kill him. And Colin will be lucky if he just gets shot, ’cos Willie will torture him first and fucking laugh while he’s doing it. You don’t know him, Nicolas, or Mike Regan for that matter.’
Nicolas lowered his head. ‘I just hope you get him before he hurts me or finishes off Mack.’ He looked at his brother, whose mouth was still weeping with blood and pus. ‘The sick bastard.’
‘Nicolas, you’d better stay somewhere else then, mate. Go to a hotel and lie low, until we sort this shit out. All right?’
Nicolas nodded, looking a little less stressed now. ‘Yeah, I’ll stay safe, but keep me informed, will ya?’
Staffie nodded and was gone as soon as he heard the ambulance.
Chapter 14
Mike was already up and dressed when Zara woke up. ‘What are you doing?’
Mike spun around and tightened his belt. ‘I’ve called Eric a hundred times on his mobile. He ain’t answering that or his landline. I’ve got an uneasy fucking feeling about that last call I made to Eric’s house. Eric may well have been connected to Torvic, but I just have this gut instinct that maybe he was trying to take Torvic down himself. Me brother was always trying to prove himself but fucking things up along the bleedin’ way too. I hate to say it, but I feel that Torvic’s killed him.’
Zara put her hand to her mouth. ‘You ain’t the type to get all spiritual. Do ya really think Eric’s dead?’
Slowly, he nodded. ‘Yeah, I do, but there’s only one way to find out. I’m going to his house.’
Zara sat upright. ‘Okay, I’ll get dressed and come with you.’