The Price

by Kerry Kaya

  How could she have been so stupid to believe George’s lies? How could she have been so blind as to put her son at risk, and for what? Some easy cash? A few sun bed sessions? Despite his kind words to begin with, George was and always would be, a stranger to them. Just the very thought of what could have happened, was enough to make her want to weep.

  Later that evening, when Fletch returned home, Tina flung herself into his arms. She felt his body stiffen and she held on even tighter, praying that he would return the hug and comfort her. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about the meeting with his father earlier on that afternoon, and as she followed him through to the lounge, she bit down on her lip.

  “Fletch.”

  “What?” Barely even looking at her, Fletch flopped down onto the sofa, kicked off his boots, and picking up the remote control, he pointed it toward the television.

  “I …”

  “What?” Fletch turned his head. “Spit it out, Teen.” His voice took on a bored tone. “Don’t tell me, I can already guess. You want money out of me, as per fucking usual.”

  “It’s not that.” Tina shook her head.

  Turning his attention back to the television, Fletch sighed. “What do you want then?” When she didn’t answer, he turned his head once more and shrugged his shoulders. “Well?”

  Tina began backing away. “Don’t get angry, but … it’s your dad.”

  Fletch felt his body involuntarily stiffen and threw the remote control down beside him. “What have you done, Teen?” He clenched his jaw tight, and braced himself for what was about to come out of her mouth.

  “You were right,” she grimaced. “He’s bad news.”

  “What have you done?” Fletch jumped up from the sofa and advanced toward her. “What did you do?” he roared.

  “Nothing.” Tina’s heart began to pound inside her chest. She’d known that he would be angry, but seeing him stalk toward her with his fists clenched at his sides, didn’t just frighten her, it absolutely terrified her. In that instant, she made a dash for it and ran toward the safety of the bedroom.

  “What did you do, Teen?” Fletch chased after her. As she ran around to the far side of the divan bed, putting distance between them, he thumped his fists down on the duvet cover. “What did you do?” he asked, between gritted teeth.

  Tina put out her hand. “Okay, okay. I met him at the park.” She swallowed deeply, barely able to catch her breath, so acute was her fear. “He scared me, Fletch. He wanted to take Austin away from me, from us.”

  “What?” Fletch snapped his head toward his sleeping son. He could barely take in what she was saying. Was his dad really willing to go that far to break him?

  “But I didn’t let him near the baby. He didn’t even touch him. I swear on Austin’s life, I made a run for it.”

  “You met up with my dad, even when I told you not to?” Fletch straightened up. “You put our son at risk?” he snarled. “For what, Teen? What were you going to get out of it?”

  “It wasn’t like that.” Tina had the grace to look away. The shame she felt flooded through her. “I’m sorry,” she choked out.

  “You’re sorry, fucking sorry?” He shook his head, disgusted at her. “Answer me, Teen, what were you going to get out it?”

  “Nothing.” She looked away a second time.

  “What were you going to get out of it?” He raced around to the other side of the bed and grasped her elbow, yanking her toward him. “Answer me, for fuck’s sake.”

  Tears slipped down Tina’s cheeks. “Nothing,” she cried, shaking her head from side to side. “Nothing, I swear.”

  “Tina.”

  “Money,” her body sagged. “I thought he would give me money.”

  In the cot, Austin stirred, and they both snapped their head toward where he lay.

  “Money?” Fletch growled. He shoved her away from him and watched as she fell across the bed. “You put our boy at risk for money, for a few lousy quid?”

  “I didn’t mean to,” Tina sobbed. “I didn’t know what he was I like.”

  “I told you last night,” Fletch roared back. As he looked down at her, his lip curled up in disgust. “Me and you,” he spat, “we’re done.”

  “No,” Tina cried. “No, don’t say that, please,” she begged of him.

  “We’re done,” he reaffirmed.

  With those parting words, he walked out of the bedroom and slammed the door behind him so hard that the vibrations shook the hallway wall. Behind the closed bedroom door, he could hear Tina comforting their now screaming son. The very thought of what could have happened, made his body shake.

  He massaged his temples, wishing more than ever that he could strangle her with his bare hands, and get her out of his life, once and for all. The fact that she had put Austin at risk for money, for greed, sickened him to the core.

  He made his way into the lounge and sat down on the edge of the sofa, wiped his hand across his face, and closed his eyes.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Fletch snapped his head upwards. Standing beside the lounge door was Tina, and in her arms, she held their son. He looked at his boy’s face, so like his own, and shook his head.

  “We’re done, and the sooner you get that into your head, the better.” He stood up, shoved on his boots and walked past her.

  Silent tears slipped down Tina’s face, and as the front door slammed closed, she physically jumped.

  “I’m sorry,” she screamed, before slumping down on the armchair and sobbing her heart out.

  Chapter 19

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Stevie asked.

  All thanks to Tina and her antics, for most of the night, Fletch had lay awake, staring up at the ceiling, as he pondered over his next move.

  “I haven’t got any other choice. No matter what, I need to keep my family safe.” Switching off the ignition, he followed Stevie’s eye-line, and gestured toward his father’s mock Tudor mansion. Of course he didn’t want to do it. In fact, short of poking out his own eyeballs with a rusty spoon, he could think of nothing worse, than stepping inside the lion’s den and having a chat with his father. “I can tell you now, though, this is the last fucking time I come here. The bastard has got me running around after him like a headless chicken.”

  Stevie nodded his head. “Do you want me to come in with you? Because I will, if that’s what you want.”

  “What, and put yourself on his radar? Trust me, mate, you’re better off out of it.”

  “I dunno, Fletch.” Stevie turned to look back at the house. “I’ve got a really bad feeling about this.”

  “I’ll be all right,” Fletch answered, full of bravado. He pulled on the door handle, swung open the door, and climbed out of the car. “Just remember what I said the last time. If it looks like shit is going down, get the fuck out of here, and don’t stop until you’re back on our manor.”

  “Yeah, I will.” Stevie promised him, knowing full well he would do no such thing.

  “Right then, here goes.” He slammed the car door shut and made his way across the street. As he stood in front of the house, he looked over his shoulder and gave Stevie a wide reassuring smile, then walked toward the front door. Pausing for just a second, he hastily lifted the cast iron door knocker, before he could change his mind.

  * * *

  As soon as the front door was opened, Fletch was hauled across the threshold, slammed up against the wall, and patted down.

  “I’m clean.” Gritting his teeth, Fletch spat out the words.

  “Shut your mouth,” the henchman growled. He turned to look at his boss, and nodded his head, confirming the fact that Fletch was carrying no weapons.

  “Bring him in.” Walking into his study, George’s face was a mask of anger, as his eldest son was frog-marched behind him into the room.

  “We need to talk.” Fletch winced as he was slammed down into a leather bucket chair opposite the desk.

  “What you need to do, is tell me where your
brother is.”

  Screwing up his face, Fletch’s throat felt suddenly dry. “Why?”

  “Why, he asks.” George gave a menacing chuckle and nodded his head toward the group of henchmen gathered in the hallway.

  Ice-cold fear ran down the length of Fletch’s spine as he turned his head and watched the men leave the house. “Where are they going?”

  “Where do you think?” George growled. “If the mountain won’t come to Mohammed, then …” He left the sentence unsaid.

  “No. Don’t.” Even from his position, Fletch could see that the men were armed, and he began to push himself up out of the chair, only for the two remaining henchmen to push him back down. “If they touch one hair on my brother’s head, I’ll kill em’,” he roared.

  “Your brother.” George pondered over the word. “Now, your brother, he’s in a lot of fucking shit.” He clenched his fists into tight balls and stepped toward his son. “And when I get him here, when I get my hands on him, he’s going to know what pain really feels like.”

  “Don’t, Dad.” Fletch’s voice cracked and he hated himself for addressing his father in such a manner. “Don’t touch him. He hasn’t done anything wrong. He didn’t do anything to Albie or Mickey, I swear he didn’t.”

  “Who said anything about Albie or Mickey?” George gave him a wolfish grin. “But while we’re on the subject of my brother,” he took a menacing step closer, “you’d best start fucking talking, and tell me everything you know.”

  Immediately, Fletch realised his mistake and inwardly groaned. “What I meant was …”

  “What?” Leaning forward slightly, George spread open his arms. “Well, come on … I’m all ears.”

  “I meant …” Fletch briefly closed his eyes. How the hell was he going to get out of this one? He looked up at his father. “… I dunno. I just thought that’s what you meant, that’s why you wanted to see Spence.”

  George chuckled. “You’re good, I’ll give you that, but you’re not quick enough to pull the wool over my eyes.” He resumed his position and leaned casually against the desk. “Now, I’ve put everything together. You could say that I’ve connected the dots, and each time I look at the situation, only one person jumps out at me. There’s only one culprit who could be responsible for all of this fucking aggro, and that’s your brother.”

  “Nah, you’ve got it wrong.” Fletch’s voice was high as he answered.

  “I’m not wrong. Pete here,” he waved his hand toward his number two, “Pete got a good look at him and identified him as the cunt who attacked him.”

  Turning his head, Fletch looked up at the henchman behind him. He squirmed in his seat, as Pete’s large fingers dug into his shoulder blades and kept him in place. “He’s got it wrong. Spence didn’t do anything.”

  “Do you hear that, Pete?” There was amusement in George’s voice. “He reckons you’ve made a mistake.”

  “Nah.” Pete dug his fingers in even harder. “There’s no mistake. I know who I saw.”

  “So, that leaves us with a bit of a dilemma, doesn’t it? Who exactly should I believe, one of my own men, or one of King’s?”

  “I’m your son.”

  “Thought we’d already had this conversation,” George grinned. “Your mother …”

  “And I’ve already told you,” Fletch spat out, “I’m not that fucking lucky.”

  “No, I suppose you’re not.” With slow fluid movements, he took a cigarette out of its packet, tapped it on the box, then placed it between his lips. “So, where is he then? Where is that brother of yours hiding out?”

  “I don’t know.” Fletch clenched his jaw tight as he answered.

  Lifting his head to blow out a stream of cigarette smoke, George studied his son. “He can’t hide forever. I will find him, and when I do, I’m going to do more than tear him apart. I’m going to destroy him.”

  It took all of Fletch’s strength to not shudder at his father’s words. There and then, he knew what he had to do. As always, Stevie was right. Someone needed to die, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to get to his father easily. The fact that he was surrounded by henchmen, day and night, was enough to tell him that.

  “So, where do we go from here?” George pretended to think the question over. “I could always get your mother in here.” He gave an evil grin. “Might need to make her scream a little bit first though, but only until she’s told me where he is.”

  “I’ll find him and bring him to you.” Fletch’s shoulders slumped downwards in mock defeat.

  “That’s exactly what I thought you might say.” Nodding to the henchmen, he indicated for them to step back, and as his son got to his feet, he called after him. “Harry.”

  Fletch turned his head.

  “Do you see this here?” Between his fingers, George held a cigar. He ran the length of it underneath his nose and inhaled the aroma, before tucking it into his shirt pocket. “I’ll keep hold of this.” He took note of the expression across his son’s face and laughed. “The perfect way to celebrate your brother’s demise, don’t you think?”

  “Fuck you.”

  George laughed even harder. “Oh, and Harry, one more thing. Don’t even think about crossing me. I’m not the kind of man who likes to be messed around. If you don’t believe me, just ask your mother.”

  Without answering, Fletch smoothed down his shirt, slung back his shoulders, and walked out of the house.

  * * *

  “Well?” Stevie’s eyes were wide open as Fletch climbed back into the car.

  Gripping onto the steering wheel, Fletch’s knuckles had turned white as he stared ahead of him. “We do it today, right now.”

  “Do what?” Whipping his head around to look over at the house, Stevie’s forehead furrowed. “What do we do?”

  Still not turning his head, Fletch’s voice was hard. “We take Spence out of the equation.”

  “Woah, hold on a minute. I didn’t actually mean what I said. I was only trying to make you see how serious the situation was. You can’t kill him, he’s your brother.”

  Fletch turned his head. “I’m not going to kill him, fuck me, what do you take me for?” He shook his head, astounded that Stevie would even suggest such a thing. Hell would freeze over before he would even contemplate the idea of hurting his brother.

  “Sorry, mate.” Stevie put up his hands. “I just thought … I dunno … I thought that maybe, you know …”

  Fletch continued to shake his head. “Leave it out, mate. Do you really think I would do something like that? This is Spence we’re talking about.”

  “Nah, I know you wouldn’t. I don’t even know why I said it.” He gave an embarrassed smile and shrugged his shoulders. “So, what are you going to do then?”

  Leaning forward in his seat, Fletch stretched his forearms over the steering wheel, thinking the question over. “I need to find him, before Bannerman does. We need to hide him away for a bit.” He turned his head a second time. “Can he stay at your place for a while, just until I’ve sorted this mess out?”

  Stevie held open his arms. “You should already know the answer to that question, mate.”

  It was exactly what Fletch had expected him to say, and starting the ignition, he screeched away from the kerb. The sooner he found his brother, the better.

  * * *

  “Don’t you bloody dare.” Stepping inside the kitchen, Jenny wagged her finger toward her youngest son.

  “What?” With a Tupperware box held in his hand, Spencer froze.

  “Don’t you dare put those filthy things on my kitchen table.” Eyeing the box, Jenny shuddered. “I still have nightmares from the last time you dropped the whole bloody lot all over my floor.”

  “That wasn’t me, it was Fletch.” Spencer gave a lopsided grin. “They’re not maggots anyway. Look.” He prised open the plastic lid and held out the plastic box for Jenny to inspect. “It’s only luncheon meat.”

  “Well, that’s all right then.” She gave him a playful wink,
and moved across the kitchen. Filling the kettle, she eyed him warily. “Are you sure that you’re up to going fishing today? The doctor said you should rest.”

  “Course I am, Mum.” Spencer flexed his biceps. “I’m as strong as an ox, me.”

  “Well, just be careful, darling. I don’t want you over-doing things.”

  “I won’t.” Turning his back on her, Spencer began to pack his fishing bag.

  “Here. I’ve made you your lunch.” She passed across a second Tupperware box, filled with cheese sandwiches, and watched as her son placed it into his bag. “And make sure that you take these with you.” She handed him the painkillers he’d been prescribed by the hospital. “Remember to take one after you’ve had your lunch, and only one, Spence, no more than that.”

  “I know.” Rolling his eyes, Spencer slipped the little brown bottle of painkillers into his jacket pocket. “You worry too much,” he complained.

  “That’s what mums do.” She gave him a warm smile, and watched him gather up his belongings. “Don’t stay out too late, sweetheart.”

  “I won’t.” Kissing her cheek, Spencer bound out of the kitchen and made his way toward the front door. “See you later, Mum,” he called out.

  “Bye, my darling.” She gave a soft smile, and looking out of the kitchen window, she shook her head in wonder. Still, to this day, she was unable to see the attraction in fishing. She’d much rather be curled up in the armchair, in front of the box, with a nice glass of wine.

  * * *

  An hour later, Spencer was in a world of his own. Pulling back his arm, he cast the fishing line into the lake, and standing back slightly, he watched as the neon float bobbed up and down, causing large circular ripples to fan out across the water. Satisfied that the hook was exactly where he intended for it to land, he sat down on the grass, and leaned back on his elbows.