by Kerry Kaya
“That’s right, I did say that.” She looked up at him. “And you do look like Terrance, a lot like him actually. There are a few differences though.” She reached up to touch the cleft on his chin. “But only subtle differences.”
“So, who is he?” He kept his voice light. He needed to know exactly who this Terrance bloke was, and more importantly, what he had meant to her, but he decided to play it safe. He didn’t want to sound any more jealous than he already did.
“Terrance …” She turned onto her side and curled herself around him. He could feel the warmth of her body as she slid her arm around his waist. “Terrance Matlock.” She shrugged her slim shoulders. “It was all a long time ago, but I thought I loved him. I was just a kid really. I didn’t even know what love was, and then one day he just upped and left. He disappeared into thin air.” She laughed lightly. “And broke my heart in the process.”
Kieran thought this through, somewhat pleased that he didn’t have competition, and that the man was no longer on the scene.
“They say he ran off with another woman, but I don’t believe that.” She shook her head from side to side and looked into the distance. “I think …” She was quiet for a moment, almost afraid to say the words out loud. “I think that she killed him, her and her new fella.”
“What?” Taken aback, Kieran looked down at the woman he had come to love, and he did love her. She made him feel something other than a need to just get her into bed. He didn’t know how she’d done it. He didn’t even care how she’d done it, but somehow, his Donna as he began to think of her, had managed to do what dozens of women before her could have only dreamed of doing. He was even thinking of introducing her to his mum and dad, a first for him.
“Yep,” Donna sighed deeply, “he was married you see, and well,” she shrugged her shoulders as if embarrassed by her past, “I think she, the wife I mean, I think she killed him, or at least her new bloke did. He’s a face, a serious face.” She sat up and reached for her own pack of cigarettes. “I think together they killed him.”
“A face?” Kieran thought this over. He knew most of the London and Essex faces, all thanks to his dad. “So, what’s the name of this bloke?”
Donna shook her head. It was more than her life was worth than to accuse Paul Mooney of murder. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, dropping the cigarette packet onto the bedside cabinet, and sliding her hand underneath the sheet, “forget I even said anything.”
Kieran shrugged his shoulders, and as he flipped her onto her back, he couldn’t ignore the fact that she had more than piqued his interest. He would do some digging around of his own, he decided.
* * *
Not one to let a grudge weigh him down, Jonah had already somewhat forgiven his best mate for his wrongdoings, and as he studied Jaden’s battered face, he grinned at him amicably.
Jaden, on the other hand, knew that at any moment now, he was in for round two—one brother down, another one to go—that was how it worked with the Mooney brothers. They were like a tag team. Their viciousness spurring one another on, he could only hope that Kieran would put in an appearance, and pretty sharpish. Resigned to his fate, he could only hope and pray that the deed would be over and done with as quickly as possible.
“Chill out, for fuck’s sake.” Jonah puffed on his cigarette as though he didn’t have a care in the world. “I’ll square it with my brother, don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t worry about it?” Jaden would have laughed, if his face didn’t hurt so much. As it was, he was worried that the slit across his eyebrow needed a stich or two, or maybe even three. Every time he moved his forehead, he could feel the pulsating, swollen skin flap open. He studied his friend. It was all right for Jonah to say don’t worry. It wasn’t him who was about to get battered for the second time in less than twenty-four hours.
“Yeah.” As he lounged back in the chair, Jonah grinned. “Like I said, don’t worry about it.”
Just moments later, Kieran entered the small portacabin. The land the cabin sat on was owned by their father, with the hope to one day build apartments upon it. Until that time, they used the cabin as an unofficial office, a place to meet up to drink and smoke a bit of green in relative peace. They had even been known to bring women back on the odd occasion after a night out.
“What the fuck happened to you?” Looking from his brother to his best friend, Kieran’s eyes were wide.
Sheepishly, Jaden looked to Jonah, and as Kieran stepped closer, he braced himself for what was about to come.
“Funny story,” Jonah grinned, “while you were shagging that ropey looking bird of yours, I,” he poked himself in the chest, “was trying to suss out who exactly had gotten their hands on our Katie.”
“She ain’t ropey.” It came across as a little dig, and as such, Kieran screwed his face up at his brother’s words.
“If you say so.” Jonah flicked his hand dismissively, then nodded his head toward Jaden. “As you can see, I sorted the problem out.”
“Well?” Staring at his friend, Kieran shook his head, a bewildered expression across his face. “Who is it then?”
Jonah flicked his hand a second time, and as the realization finally settled across his brother’s face, he stood up, ready to jump in if need be.
“You wanker.” Kieran lunged forward, only to be forcibly dragged back by his brother.
“I said, I’ve sorted it,” Jonah bellowed in his face.
“Nah.” Kieran pulled himself free and his fists were clenched into tight balls ready to attack. “You might have sorted it, but I fucking haven’t, and he ain’t getting away with this, the dirty bastard. You’re meant to be our mate, our fucking pal. We trusted you; I fucking trusted you.”
“Like I said, I’ve sorted it.” Jonah easily restrained his brother and with his arm firmly placed across Kieran’s shoulders, he swept his free arm toward their friend. “Jaden here is going to do the honorable thing and ask our Katie to marry him.”
“What?” Jaden staggered backward, as though the wind had been punched right out of him and his face paled. “I never agreed to that.” He looked to Kieran, his eyes beseeching him. “I never said I would marry her, I’m too young to get married.”
The smile left Jonah’s face. “You should have thought of that.” Stalking forward, he gave a little wink, snaked his free arm around Jaden’s shoulders, and squeezed him to him tight. “Welcome to the family, mate.”
* * *
Katie was over the moon. On her wedding finger was the biggest diamond she had ever seen, and as she turned her hand this way and that, the diamond twinkled underneath the fluorescent lights.
Sipping at her orange juice, she caught her auntie’s eyes and giggled. “Oh, Auntie Cath, I’m so happy. I could literally scream the house down.”
Cathy laughed heartily. It was good to see her niece looking so happy, and as she sipped at her wine, she glanced toward her two sons and Jaden. It was a shame that the groom-to-be didn’t look as happy. She had a niggling feeling that the engagement and upcoming nuptials weren’t quite what he’d had planned out for his future. Still, she reasoned, it had been the right thing to do. A new life was soon going to be brought into the world, and the child would need both a mother and father.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” She felt Paul’s arms wrap around her waist and looked up at him. “Everything’s going well, eh?” He nodded toward the guests who had been invited to the engagement party. Even Stella and Jason seemed to be in good spirits.
“Everything’s going to plan.” She patted his arm, turned around, and reaching up on her tip toes, she kissed his cheek, savouring the familiar scent of him.
“You know,” he pulled her tight and whispered in her ear, “maybe we should think about getting married. What do you say?”
Cathy gave a soft smile, even though it was tinged somewhat with sadness. How could they marry? She was already married to Terrance and that was one can of worms they didn’t want to open up. Her e
yes darted toward their sons. The boys had always believed they were married, as did everyone else for that matter. The fact that she used Paul’s surname and behaved as his common law wife was enough to erase any suspicions they or anyone else may have had. She heard him sigh and cuddled into him. It broke her heart that she couldn’t give him the one thing he wanted, but what was the alternative, she reasoned.
“You didn’t hear me right, Cath.” He cuddled into her even further. “Marry me.”
“What?” Pulling herself back slightly, Cathy looked up at the man she had loved for so many years. “Say that again.”
“Marry me.” Pulling her close once more, he cocked his eyebrow and smiled a cheeky grin. “What do you say?”
“But …”
“I’ve already looked into it.” Paul cut off her words, guessing what she was about to say. “And getting a divorce will be a doddle. So what do you say?”
“I say yes.” Tears glistened Cathy’s eyes as she half-laughed and half-cried.
Behind them, the loud clatter of a glass smashing from the lounge area broke the moment, and seeing the culprit responsible, Paul groaned out loud.
“For fuck’s sake,” he growled. “I’ll end up murdering this fucker.”
Staggering toward them was Lucas. The glazed look in his eyes was enough to tell Paul that he was buzzing off of his head, which in itself wasn’t unusual when it came to his oldest friend. So much for getting himself clean. Two weeks in rehab had obviously done nothing. He only hoped it wasn’t the brown he was on tonight, although he had a sneaky suspicion it most probably was.
“Sorry, mate, sorry, Cath. Had a little accident there.” Lucas opened up his arms apologetically. “I’ll pay for any damage caused,” he said, sloshing the remaining alcohol he was holding over the tiled floor.
Paul closed his eyes in distress. At times like this, he could happily throttle the life out of Lucas. He watched with a mixture of sadness and embarrassment as the guests moved out of harm’s way. He saw the way they wrinkled their noses and he didn’t blame them. He could smell the man from at least twelve feet away.
“You take care of him.” Cathy smiled up at him gently. In her hand, she held a cloth and he smiled his appreciation.
“I’m sorry, babe,” he mouthed to her.
Flapping her hand, she gestured toward the garden. “Get him some fresh air and I’ll stick the kettle on.” Even as she said the words, she knew it would take a bit more than a bit of fresh air and a strong black coffee to sober Lucas up.
As Paul half-dragged, half-guided Lucas toward the patio doors, she failed to notice her eldest son watching the unfolding scene before him with more than a healthy hint of interest.
Chapter 17
Luckily for Kieran, Lucas was a creature of habit, and when he forced his way into the squat, he found the man in question’s prostate form slumped out on a worn and stained rickety sofa that looked as though it would collapse underneath his weight at any moment. He looked around him and wrinkled his nose. Not only could he smell vomit, but it actually smelled as if something had crawled inside the squat and died. He looked around him half expecting to find a body hidden underneath the pile of moth-eaten stained blankets that had been thrown into the corner of the room.
He shook his head in disbelief. He knew for a fact that Lucas was in possession of an upmarket flat in the up and coming Docklands area. He knew that, because it was his father who actually paid for the lease. However, Lucas being the useless junkie he was, preferred to spend his days and nights high on whatever shit he could get his hands on, surrounded by what could only be described as the scum of the earth.
“Oi.” Kieran prodded Lucas with his shoe, and when he received no answer, he kicked out even harder. “Oi,” he shouted, “rise and fucking shine.”
Lucas opened one eye, and seeing Paul’s eldest son before him, he flapped his hand dismissively. “Fuck off.”
“Nah, I don’t think so,” Kieran grinned. It was a heart stopping smile that was lost on Lucas.
“I said …”
As he yanked the big man up by the arm and his face was poised just inches away, Kieran made a mental note not to breath in too deeply. “And like I just said, I don’t fucking think so.” He released his grip and watched with annoyance as Lucas slumped backward, his limbs appearing both heavy and sluggish. “Me and you are gonna go and have a little chat. So sober yourself up and quick. I’ll even make it worth your trouble,” he winked.
* * *
Settled inside a pub on the outskirts of London, far away from prying eyes, Kieran and Lucas made an odd couple. Wearing dark denim jeans, a crisp white shirt and expensive shoes, in appearance, Kieran was poles apart from his father’s friend, who looked exactly what he was, a junkie. The T-shirt he wore was filthy and he stank to boot. It was a mixture of ground-in dirt, stale sweat, and chemicals. The stench was so strong that Kieran could smell him from across the table, despite the expensive aftershave he had splashed on earlier that morning.
“So, what’s this all about? A bit cloak and dagger, ain’t it?” Lucas greedily gulped down his whiskey and immediately picked up the second filled glass that Kieran had placed before him. When the boy had collected him that afternoon, he had fully expected to have been hauled in front of Paul. That’s what they usually did whenever he was summoned. Why they couldn’t just leave him be? For the life of him, he couldn’t understand. He had no interest in the businesses and had more than made that clear over the years. Being a part owner in the pubs made him feel as though he had more than one albatross hanging around his neck, and not for the first time, did he wish that they would just cut him loose and let him live his life how he wanted. And more importantly, how he deemed fit.
Kieran sipped at his drink. He placed the glass down on the table, took out his pack of cigarettes, and after offering one across to Lucas, he lit up.
“You’ve been around for years, been in the same circles as my dad.” He watched the older man closely. Lucas was still a large man, and despite the amount of drugs he had sunk over the years, his icy blue eyes were still sharp and alert.
“Yeah and?” It was said with suspicion, and lounging back in his chair, Lucas raised his eyebrows.
Leaning across the table, Kieran glanced around him before answering. “I want to know about a face.” He sat back in his seat and slightly opened out his arms. “I don’t have a name, but I do have the name of the geezer he may or may not have topped.”
Lucas narrowed his eyes. “What you asking me for? Ask your old man.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I haven’t exactly been keeping track of whose done what over the years, have I?”
“No,” Kieran shook his head, “I can’t do that. You know what my dad’s like. He would ask too many questions. He’s like a fucking blood hound. Once he gets started, he doesn’t let things lie, if you know what I mean.”
“You hiding something from your old man, boy?” Lucas raised his eyebrows and sat up straighter. “What are you digging around for?” he asked, his mood now somber. “Let the past rest; it has no place in the present. I better than anyone know that for a fact, no good comes from dragging up what’s already been done.”
Kieran sighed heavily and slumped back in the seat. He knew that Lucas tried to blot out his demons, whatever the fuck they were, and that over the years, his dad had tried to overcompensate by buying the man all and sundry. Take the Docklands flat for example, his dad splashed out thousands of pounds each month, just to try and keep a roof over Lucas’s head, and still he wasn’t happy. No, within days of acquiring the flat, he had sublet it out to a young city couple. His preference was to doss down in squalid rat-infested squats with the rest of the low-life junkies who he liked to surround himself with. “I just want a name, that’s all.”
Lucas gulped down his whiskey, then gestured toward the bar. “Get me another drink, boy, and then I will see what I can remember.”
Eagerly, Kieron jumped up. He had to know everything ther
e was to know about this Terrance bloke, and more than anything, he had to know who his competition was, even if that meant dragging up the past, as Lucas had so pleasantly put it.
* * *
Alek Symanski was sweating profusely, and as a pool of warm cloying sweat settled underneath his armpits, he resisted the urge to squirm. It didn’t help matters that he was still wearing his trademark long, thick leather coat that felt far too warm and heavy for the confines of the vehicle he was being driven in. He was a big man with a prominent beer belly, shoulder length wavy mousey brown hair, and piercing blue eyes that he had inherited from his grandfather, a Polish immigrant who’d had a penchant for women, boozing, brawling, and skullduggery.
As a child growing up, Alek had looked up to the old man and wanted nothing more than to emulate him, which he subsequently did with vigor. As a result, Alek had a penchant for dipping his greedy little fingers into a lot of pies, and was well known on the streets as a middle man. For a considerable price, he could get his hands on just about anything from Uzi machine guns to large quantities of narcotics.
Thirty minutes earlier, he had been snatched off of the streets outside one of his favourite cafés in Forest Gate, East London. It was from here that he ran his business. Like a king holding court, he could usually be found sitting at a table toward the back of the property, barking out his orders to the unfortunate minions who worked for him.
When a rough hessian sack that stank of petrol had been yanked down over his head, and he’d been roughly bundled into a van so fast that his feet had barely touched the ground, he’d had little chance to comprehend what was going on, let alone take a look at his abductors. Whoever they were, they were professional, and that fact alone frightened him much more than anything else he had ever known.