by KERRY BARNES
‘You cunt!’ he spat at Saeed. ‘Fucking grass.’
Saeed couldn’t look at his boss: he was between a rock and a hard place.
Then Leon stared at the big man. For a second, he thought he knew the guy, but while he couldn’t picture where he’d seen him, the man’s stature and his eyes were so familiar.
‘Who does this prick Leon work for?’ demanded Mike, not acknowledging him, as he placed his hands around Saeed’s throat.
Saeed felt the strength of the man’s grip, and he knew that any further pressure would have him gasping for breath. But even if he could say something, he didn’t have the answer to that question because he only knew Leon Khouri.
So, in a whisper, he replied, ‘I swear I don’t know. Leon gives me the goods and I sell them to make my money up. That’s all I know.’
It was a start, Mike reckoned. So he released his gripped on Saeed’s throat.
Willie spotted the man’s brick-red eyes and dilated pupils, his sunken cheeks, and the thinning, wiry hair.
‘You mean you need the money to fund ya fucking habit, you skanky cunt.’
Saeed nodded. ‘He—’
‘Shut ya mouth,’ hollered Leon.
As recklessly as Willie only knew how to be, he backhanded Leon so hard that the man’s legs buckled, and he fell to his knees.
Mike rolled his eyes and sighed. ‘Willie, for fuck’s sake. Let me ask a few questions first, before you go wading in.’
Willie laughed again. ‘Oops.’ Then, suddenly, he frisked Saeed, digging his hands inside the man’s side pockets and retrieving a packet of white powder. He held it close to his face and frowned. Then he opened the packet and dabbed his finger into the powdery drug and tasted it. He frowned again.
‘What the fuck is this shit?’
Saeed tried to swallow against the hand that was now around his throat. ‘Cocaine.’
‘Fucking liar! This ain’t cocaine. I should know. So, what the fuck is it?’
Saeed repeated himself. ‘Cocaine.’
With that, Willie did a more thorough search and pulled out a load of packets. Everyone watched as he poured the contents into the palm of his hand.
‘Mike, open this cunt’s mouth. I wanna see if this shit is cocaine or not, and this fucker is gonna be my hamster.’
Staffie laughed aloud. ‘You mean guinea pig.’
‘Whatever.’
Mike pulled Saeed’s head back and forced his jaws apart. Struggling for all he was worth, Saeed knew full well that if he swallowed that amount, he would be dead by the morning. ‘No, stop!’ he managed to say through gasps and splutters.
Mike let go and allowed the man to straighten up and get his breath.
‘All right, it’s not cocaine, it’s called Flakka.’
Leon was coming around from the backhander and wasn’t so cocky now.
He stayed silent as Saeed gave the men a chemistry lesson on the drug. ‘It’s like cocaine but much more addictive. It either sends you into a coma for a few hours or makes you aggressive.’ He hoped that by giving the details of the drug, it would save his life.
Leon was shrinking into himself. With a zillion questions running through his mind, he wondered how the hell he was going to get out of this shitstorm, and, more worryingly, how he was going to escape with his life. He hoped that under these mean-looking men’s clothes there was a police badge, or he was completely buggered.
Mike continued to ignore Leon, his eyes boring into Saeed’s. ‘How the fuck did you meet Leon?’
‘I bought the drugs from him, and he gave me a job to pay for what I owed.’
‘Where did you meet him?’
Leon was now crumbling; his dealer was singing like a fucking canary, and he knew that if these men sussed out who his own supplier was, he was a dead man.
Saeed’s eyes flicked over in Leon’s direction; he concluded that his boss was the lesser of two evils and that he would do worse if he didn’t grass. ‘The Pomodorra in Peckham.’
A cold feeling swept through Mike. ‘The Italian restaurant? And what would a scummy toerag like you be doing dining in a classy place like that, eh?’
Saeed felt sweat dripping down his back. ‘No, not the restaurant. The ice-cream van outside it. It’s a known place to get gear if you have the password.’ As soon as he said it, he realized he’d said far too much.
‘And the password is?’
Saeed didn’t reply right away; he faltered. It was to prove a big mistake. ‘Er . . . ’ He looked across the road and spotted the sign “Tudor Way” on the wall of a side street. ‘Er, Tudor.’
Mike looked at Staffie. ‘Ya know me, Staff. I’ve always been able to smell a lie a mile away, and this silly little knobsucker has just tried to take me for a fool. And you know what I do to fools that try to mug me off, eh?’
Staffie grinned. ‘Do you want your monkey wrench or your blowtorch? What’s ya flavour?’
Saeed gasped. Jesus, they’re gonna torture me, he thought. He wasn’t ready for such premeditated violence, and, instantly, the shock made him piss himself. ‘No, look, sorry, it’s not Tudor. Fuck, it’s Governor.’
Mike’s eyes widened. ‘You what?’
Saeed’s head was shaking as if he was about to have a fit. ‘Yeah, it’s Governor. I promise, I’m not lying.’
Mike suddenly let Saeed go and turned so fast towards Leon that the man jumped back.
‘Who supplies you?’
‘I don’t know his name. They just call him the Governor. I swear to ya, he just calls me and meets up, drops off the drugs, and takes the money, or he tells me where to drop off the money. That’s all I know.’ He was now crying and pleading like a real wimp.
‘Give me ya phone . . . I said, give me your fucking phone!’ yelled Mike, directly into Leon’s ear, almost deafening him.
Fumbling inside his pocket, Leon pulled out his mobile and handed it to Mike.
He gave Leon’s face a sharp tap and grinned. ‘Now, you listen to me very fucking carefully. I’ll be coming for you if I hear or see any of that shit being peddled anywhere this side of South-East London. Got it? And if you see this bloke called the Governor, tell him from me, I’m the Governor in this fucking manor, and if he wants to argue the point, then he needs to see me.’
Leon wondered who the hell would win in a fight between the Governor and this giant. ‘Who shall I say is looking for him?’
A fully fledged grin adorned Mike’s face. ‘The Big Fucking Bad Wolf. So, you run along, Little Red Riding Hood, and you tell him from me, I’ll take him out if I hear of any of this shit being sold anywhere in my manor!’
He let Leon and Saeed go. ‘Now, fuck off!’
As soon as they were out of sight, running for their lives, Mike looked at the phone and tried to fathom if there were any stored numbers or text messages – nothing. Had the fucking little shit lied or had he just mentally stored the Governor’s number in his head? It was too late to find out now though.
In a black BMW 7 Series, with heavily tinted windows and parked in full view of the back of the pub, sat the so-called man himself: The Governor. He watched and clocked every move, every flinch, and lip-read every word that was spoken. He smiled to himself: he knew he was already one step ahead.
CHAPTER NINE
The next morning, Ricky awoke with a banging headache and unsteadily walked into the kitchen to find his dad as fresh as a daisy. He was sitting at the breakfast bar reading The Sun and sipping a black coffee.
‘Where did you go, Dad? We turned around and you lot had gone.’
Mike laughed. ‘I’m surprised you could even see straight. You were as pissed as a fart.’
Ricky laughed. ‘I was just having a good time. It was such a laugh, Dad. The lads were blinding, and I did get to have a snog an’ all. The barmaid, Kendall, she gave me her number. I said I would take her out tomorrow night. She’s got the night off.’
‘You make sure you have protection with ya.’
Ricky�
��s eyes widened. ‘What? Ya mean a gun?’
‘No, ya daft sod. Ya need condoms. Ya don’t wanna go getting some tart pregnant.’
Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by Mike’s phone ringing. It was a withheld number. He guessed right away it was the Police Commissioner. ‘Hello!’ He knew his voice sounded abrupt.
‘Mr Regan, we need to talk. I think you may have taken things a little too far. We want the scum taken off the streets but leaving them dead in an alleyway shows the media we have a more serious problem on our hands. The whole point of having you to help us is to stop the media scrutinizing how we are handling the situation. Leaving two dead dealers for all to see will have the papers crawling all over it.’
‘Hang on a minute. I haven’t killed anyone. I did shake up two deadbeat dealers and put out a warning, but we never fucking killed anyone. What did they look like?’
‘One was a Somalian. The other was a white guy – black trousers and a white shirt. Well, not so much white now. Once we removed the hessian sacks over their heads, we found their faces were left completely annihilated. Look, Mr Regan, we gave you the lead, but now they’re dead.’
‘Right, hold on a fucking minute. You asked me to do a job. If ya are gonna start with accusations, you can forget the whole damn idea. ’Cos the truth is, even talking with you – a cozzer – turns my stomach. So this whole thing ain’t doing my digestive system much good.’
Stoneham felt the full force of Regan’s voice. The intimidating growl made him sit up and be very careful in future over his choice of words. Two months before Mike was released, they’d discovered two dead drug dealers with sacks over their faces, so he wasn’t too surprised to hear Mike deny the murders. ‘Please, Mr Regan, accept my apologies. I jumped to the wrong conclusion. I should not have accused you without establishing the facts. But your threat to their set-up has undoubtedly shaken someone’s tree.’
Once Mike calmed down, his anger diminished, he finished the call and sat there in contemplation. The Pomodorra was Zara’s restaurant, run by Italians, but it was used to sell cocaine to the toffs. It was concerning that this Flakka drug was being sold from a van across the road. Something was definitely not adding up. He wondered about the Lanigans. Were they taking over right under Zara’s nose and supplying her punters? As he understood the situation from Zara, years before the Segals tried to take over, she persuaded the Lanigans to go in and take back her business under their name. She was being paid fifty per cent, and as far as he was aware, the money was piling up in her offshore bank account. However, now she was back, taking control of her business. Perhaps they didn’t like the idea? he thought.
‘Damn!’ he said out loud, to the surprise of Ricky, who jumped and spilled his coffee.
‘What’s up, Dad?’
Mike tutted. ‘Nothing, Son, but I need to go and pay Zara a visit.’
‘Something troubling you, Dad?’
Mike nodded. ‘Yeah, there is, Son, but it don’t need to concern you.’
‘But—’
Mike raised his hand. ‘No, Ricky. Leave it to me, Son. You just nurse that hangover. I’ll be back later.’
***
By the time Mike had arrived outside Zara’s house, he had conjured up a serious assumption. It was one that wouldn’t bode well for her.
In his mind, the Lanigans had taken over her business and were selling this highly addictive drug to any kid and toff who wanted to get high. Of course, they would pay Zara just to keep her nose out of it. Neil Lanigan getting stabbed may have happened because one of the druggies had become high and aggressive, resulting in the Irish fella coming off worse. Immersed in his own thoughts, he didn’t plan on how he would confront Zara over it. Instead, he banged hard at her door.
Zara was in the process of having the house redesigned and was flicking through some swatches. She heard the loud knock at the door and then turned to her newly installed security monitor that showed the whole perimeter of the house, just as her father had once had it set up. She stared for a moment at Mike, who was running his hands through his hair in an agitated state. Her heart beat fast as she watched him. In her mind, she assumed that by keeping herself to herself, she would rid him of her thoughts and eventually turn her feelings off. But there he was on the screen, like a thousand trombones ringing in her ears. No one could send her emotions through the roof as much as Mike.
She took a deep breath and opened the door.
Mike seemed almost surprised to see her standing there, as if he half expected her either not to answer the door or to be out of the house.
He looked her up and down. ‘Are you okay?’ His reason for talking business went out of the window, the minute he clapped eyes on her. ‘You look good, babe.’
She stepped aside and nodded for him to come in.
‘Are you looking after yourself all right?’
Zara so wanted to laugh. This wasn’t her tough-talking Mike. He was acting more like a naughty schoolkid sucking up to get out of detention.
‘I’m fine, Mike, as you can see. So, what did you want?’ Really, she wanted to fall into his arms and kiss his face, but he was the one sucking up, and so she would milk it for all its worth.
Her coldness annoyed him; he wanted his kind, soft-spoken Zara back. ‘Well, it’s about business. Are you on your own?’ His tone soured.
Zara felt a little choked up; she was hoping he would get on his hands and knees and beg for forgiveness. She remained silent and waited.
‘The Pomodorra, do you still own it?’
Unimpressed by his tone, she walked into her office, ignoring him, but hoping he would follow so that she could sit on her office chair that was higher than the one opposite and take up her position as head of her business and conduct it in a way her father would have done.
Mike followed and sat down, just as she planned. It worked a treat. She definitely had the height advantage. She leaned back and raised her eyebrow. ‘Why do you want to know, Mike?’
He realized she was playing the tough cow and rolled his eyes. ‘For fuck’s sake, Zara. Stop being so bloody stubborn, will you? Look, I know what you saw after the party, but it wasn’t like that. I was drunk, I fell asleep, and that little tart did likewise on the other sofa, end of. She had nothing to do with me!’
Zara stared at him silently, with those copper, catlike eyes peering impassively. She knew she’d got right up Mike’s nose.
‘Come on, Zara. You know me better than that. Look, I’ve left you to have time to yaself, but, seriously, do you think I would be with some tart when I’m engaged to you?’
‘Mike, you said you were here on business, so what do you want?’
Mike jutted out his jaw, and, like Zara, he leaned back on his chair. ‘All right, Zara, fine. I think the Lanigans are taking you for a right mug. They are peddling drugs right under your nose.’
A sudden laugh left her mouth. It made Mike flare his nostrils. ‘And what’s so fucking funny about that?’
‘Mike, my restaurants have been used to supply cocaine for years, but surely you knew that? I know while you were inside you had a lot on ya mind, but you knew about the Italians.’
Mike shook his head. ‘Of course, I fucking knew. I ain’t deaf or blind. I’m not talking about cocaine, I’m talking about this new drug called Flakka. It’s being flogged from an ice-cream van opposite the Pomodorra.’
Zara’s eyes narrowed. ‘Well, my restaurants are all closing down. The managers have been terrorized by some gang, so they’ve fucked off back to Italy.’
Mike frowned. ‘You never said. Christ, what the fuck’s been going on?’
‘A lot, Mike, a bloody lot. So, if you don’t mind, I have much to sort out.’
Just as Mike was about to quiz her, there was another loud knock at the door. She looked across at the security monitor. ‘Sorry, Mike. Would you excuse me? I have a meeting.’
‘What? Who with?’
‘Look, a lot has happened. You were away for twe
lve years, I was locked up for five, and then we probably fell into each other’s arms because it was meant to be at the time, if you know what I mean. The party – you didn’t need me, and the truth is, you probably never did. I guess, like me, you had thoughts of us being in a bubble of romantic bliss, and they kept us going during those cold, lonely nights, but reality has a way of slapping you in the face. I have a business to take care of, and you have yours, and, Mike, the only thing we have much in common is the arms business. Other than that, we owe each other nothing.’
Totally gobsmacked, Mike was stunned into silence.
‘Sorry, Mike. Like I said, I’ve a business meeting. Would you excuse me?’
Mike’s face suddenly dropped, and his shoulders slouched. It was over, and he could see in her cold, dark eyes that the former passion had gone. It was dead.
As she opened the door to Victor, Mike didn’t even acknowledge him. He hurried past, marching to his car. Zara stared at the only man she really loved as he walked away. She could feel her ears tingling as the lump in her throat made it almost impossible to swallow. The hot tears pricked her eyes, and she quickly shied away, not wanting Victor to see her heartbroken expression.
But Victor was sharp. He noticed right away the chemistry between the two of them. It was perfectly apparent that the big guy was the one she gave her heart to.
‘I take it that was Eric’s brother? Jesus, two peas in a pod.’
‘Yeah, they are. Come in. We’ll talk in my office.’
Victor followed her.
After they had settled themselves, Zara asked, ‘Any news to report?’
‘Not really. My pal down at Margate said that these gangs of Yardies made horrendous threats, and when he didn’t take them seriously, he found a dead cat in his living room. The bastards actually broke into his house and left a death threat, and so he gave in, sold up, and moved. I followed Eric, but he was just going about his normal business. He was at home most of the time, and then he made a few visits to the pub, a visit to his mother’s, and had a few bets in the bookies. He didn’t go anywhere else, so I reckon he must have overheard your conversation with Neil or Davey and decided to take a look for himself.’