The Reprisal

by Kerry Kaya

  “Well?” She looked around her for effect. “Is someone going to explain to me what the fuck is going on, and tell me what this dirty slapper is doing here?”

  Releasing her niece, Cathy spun around, and clasping her mother’s elbow, she none too gently dragged her across the lounge.

  “Not today, Mum, okay? Donna is here, because I invited her, that’s all you need to know.”

  “You invited her?” Angie’s scarlet stained lips dropped open. “After what she did to you, you invited that slapper here, today of all days?”

  That’s right, Mum.” Keeping her voice light, Cathy hissed out the words.

  “Have you gone stark raving bloody mad?”

  Cathy nodded her head. “Yeah, just maybe I have, Mum.” With those parting words, she walked away, and reaching Donna, she held open her arms. “Thank you for coming.”

  Embracing Donna, Cathy’s gaze travelled around the room, her thoughts elsewhere as she wondered for the umpteenth time that morning if she had unknowingly allowed her family’s murderer to step foot inside her home.

  * * *

  The funeral was a grand affair, and as the five horse-drawn carriages trailed through the cemetery gates, mourners lined the tree-lined pathway.

  Five identical oak coffins were carried into the chapel, and clinging to Cynthia, Cathy could barely breathe, so acute was her grief. Following behind the coffins, she felt her legs buckle. Why? She wanted to scream. Why did they have to take her babies? She barely acknowledged those around her as she took her seat in the front pew, and balling a tissue in her fist, her eyes were automatically drawn to the five portraits that had been placed at the altar.

  The first was of her Paul. The photograph had been taken at Katie’s engagement party. He looked so happy, so handsome, and a fresh set of tears filled her eyes. There had hardly been anything left of him, once the bomb had detonated, and she hastily pushed the sickening image away from her mind.

  Secondly, she looked to the photograph of her brother-in-law, Jason. He’d been a good man who had idolized his wife and daughter. She sucked in a deep breath before looking at the photograph of Kieran, her first born, her big handsome son who had looked so like his father. Tears were rolling down her cheeks, and her heart was breaking all over again, by the time she reached the photograph of Jonah, her baby, her Paul’s double, a big strapping lad who’d had his whole life ahead of him. Finally, her eyes settled on the photograph of Jaden, the young man she had known since boyhood. The fact that he would never meet his unborn child made her weep that little bit harder.

  In a daze, she sat through the service and around her, she could hear the sobs that came not only from Cynthia, Stella, and Katie, but also from Jayden’s loved ones. Hers had been a close family and she was proud of that fact. Her boys had been loved, and her Paul and Jason had been loved.

  She turned her head, searching for Lucas and found him toward the back of the chapel. She watched his shoulders heave as he sobbed. Still, she was unable to find it in her heart to feel pity for him. Why was he still alive and her family dead? She wanted to scream out the words, to demand he tell her why his life had been spared, and as she began to rise from her seat, she felt a tug on her arm pulling her back. It was Donna, and smiling sadly at her, she shook her head.

  “Now is not the time,” she whispered.

  Cathy closed her eyes. Of course Donna was right. To cause a scene now would have been so very wrong of her. She glanced back over her shoulder. It would keep, and more importantly, Lucas would keep.

  Chapter 22

  “Are you okay, Auntie Cath?”

  It was early evening, and with the funeral concluded, the women had gathered at Cathy’s home. Looking toward her mother, Katie raised her eyebrows. There was a tension in the room, and the ticking time bomb that was Cathy stood at the patio doors, with her back to them as she stared out across the manicured lawn. She and Paul had loved to sit in the garden with a glass of wine on an evening, the solar lights placed strategically around the garden, making it look both pretty and welcoming.

  “Cathy?” Stella’s voice was both loud and impatient.

  Standing with her arms crossed over her chest, Cathy inwardly sighed as she slowly turned around and studied the three women sitting at her kitchen table. Still dressed in their funeral attire, Cathy had placed several bottles of wine and a carton or fresh orange juice on the table in front of them. It had been a long day, and as weary as Cathy felt, she highly doubted that she would be able to sleep any time soon. At least not without a glass of wine or two first.

  “Was he here?”

  “Who?” Swallowing down a mouthful of orange juice, Donna cocked her head to one side.

  “The man responsible.” Cathy’s eyes flashed dangerously, and walking forward, she held onto the back of the dining chair for support. “Was he here, in my home?”

  The three women shrugged their shoulders.

  “We don’t even know how many people were involved, Auntie Cath. It could have been ten, or it could have been one lone man, for all we know.”

  Cathy flapped her hand dismissively, and turning back to the patio doors, she stared out across the garden.

  “I want him dead. I want to see every single one of them dead.”

  The three women turned to look at one another.

  “Someone knows.” Cathy turned around. “Our men are dead, and someone knows why.” She stabbed her finger forward. “Someone knows who they are, who was responsible. This would have taken planning, careful planning. It was no lone wolf. More than one person was involved, I’m sure of it, but behind them would have been the mastermind. I want to make him pay, I want to see him dead.”

  White-faced, Katie shook her head. “You don’t mean that, Auntie Cath. Even if we did find out who was responsible,” she looked toward her mother and Donna for confirmation, “you, of all people, could never hurt someone. It isn’t in your nature.”

  Locking eyes with Stella, Cathy’s voice was clipped as she answered. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Katie, if I were you.” She picked up the wine glass and chugged back the contents. “Once that baby of yours is born, then maybe you’ll understand how it feels to love someone unconditionally. My babies are dead, and as their mother, I cannot rest until the bastards responsible have been dealt with. It eats away at me.” She thumped her fist against her chest and screwed up her face. “In here, it eats away at me like a cancer. My boys are gone.” Her voice cracked. ”It’s driving me out of my mind. It’s all I can think about. I want justice, I want vengeance.”

  “I’m with you on that one.” Picking up her own glass, Donna raised it in the air. “My kids,” she took a sip of the orange juice, “even this little one growing inside of me, are my whole world and I would kill for them.” She made a slicing action across her throat. “I wouldn’t even give it so much as a second thought.”

  Cathy turned back to face the garden. “So are you with me then?” When she turned back around, her expression was hard. “Each of us have lost someone, someone we loved, and I won’t, I can’t,” she corrected, “let that go.”

  “I’m with you.” Sitting up a little straighter, Donna looked around her, and noting the two horrified faces staring back at her, she threw up her arms. “What? Cathy’s right, our men are dead. We can’t just sit back and do nothing.”

  “Our men?” Stella snapped, her voice hard. “This has absolutely nothing to do with you, and while we are on the subject, Donna, maybe you can explain to me what you are even doing here. You’re not family; you’re not involved in any of this.” She spat the words out with venom, her eyes flashing dangerously.

  “She is family.” Cathy stabbed her finger in Stella’s direction. “Donna is pregnant with Kieran’s child.” She ignored the expression of shock that fell across both her sister-in-law’s and niece’s faces. “And that makes her as much involved as we are.”

  Reeling from the news, Stella’s eyes widened. “Have you gone stark raving
mad? After what she did, are you willing to believe her lies? I doubt she even knew …”

  “I don’t want to hear it.” Cathy held up her hand, cutting her sister-in-law off. “We both know what happened in the past,” she said, referring to Terrance and Donna’s affair. “It’s old history, so please, just leave it at that.”

  Stella raised her eyebrows. Her cheeks pink with indignation, she wasn’t stupid, she knew when to keep her own counsel. Cathy, in her opinion, had clearly lost her marbles. She poured herself a large glass of wine, and lifting the glass to her lips, she swallowed down a mouthful more for something to do than anything else.

  “Someone has to pay. Are you with me on this?” Cathy asked, swiftly returning to the subject in hand.

  “Someone has to pay? Have you heard yourself? You sound like a bloody gangster’s moll.” Not one to mince her words, Stella’s voice was loaded with sarcasm.

  “Well,” Cathy returned the sarcasm, “let’s face it, I’ve lived as a gangster’s moll for more than twenty years; we both have. This way of life is all we know; it’s ingrained up here.” She tapped her temple to emphasize her point. “It’s what we are.”

  “Well, you were obviously privy to more information than I ever was,” Stella snorted. Noting the seriousness that had settled across her sister-in-law’s face, she went on to close her eyes wearily. “Even if we said yes,” she traced her thumb down the length of the wine glass stalling for time, “I wouldn’t even know where to begin. How are we supposed to do what the police couldn’t?”

  A smile spread across Cathy’s face and she snaked her tongue across her teeth. “The police didn’t look in the right places. They couldn’t see what was in front of their noses.”

  “And we could do better?” Stella rolled her eyes. “This is madness, Cath, and deep down, you know that as well as I do.” She jutted her chin in the air. “Where would we even start, huh? Come on, you seem to have all of the answers.” She spread open her arms. “So come on, I’m all ears. Tell me, where do we start?”

  “We start with the one person who was spared.” She sat down in Paul’s usual seat at the head of the table and placed her palms down on the black granite. “We start with Lucas.”

  * * *

  As far as Devan was concerned, Lucas had served his purpose. Earlier that afternoon, he’d mixed together a lethal cocktail of heroin and an opiate commonly known on the street as pink. He grinned to himself happily as he inspected the muddy coloured liquid. He’d even given the deadly concoction a nickname, pink champagne.

  “Got a little prize for you.” His manner was friendly as he waved the hypodermic syringe in front of Lucas’s face.

  Eyeing the syringe greedily, Lucas licked at his dry lips. He was pleased that the squat was empty, that it was devoid of the usual inhabitants. He wasn’t in the mood to share—this was his fix, and his alone. His fingers itched to reach out, grab the narcotic filled syringe, and then plunge the needle deep into his bulging vein. He needed this hit more than he’d ever needed anything else in his life. It was only then that oblivion would come; only then would he find a much needed escape from the daily nightmares that plagued him, each and every time he closed his eyes.

  “You did well.” Devan continued his tone cajoling. “You pulled off a fucking blinder, so think of this,” he flicked the syringe with his forefinger and gave a menacing wink, “as a little reward.”

  “Reward? What are you talking about?” Lucas tore his eyes away from the syringe, and cocking his head to one side, his forehead furrowed. “A reward for doing what?”

  Devan laughed nastily. “You served Mooney up on a plate. You see, I had to get his attention somehow, and you were the bait.” He watched the big man frown and dangled the syringe in front of him a second time. “All I had to do was introduce you to this,” he nodded down at the cloudy liquid, “and you, my friend, did the rest.”

  “No.” Lucas swallowed deeply. Underneath his arms, beads of hot clammy sweat began to pool. “No,” he repeated. “That was nothing to do with me …” His voice trailed off and he closed his eyes tight, but he was unable to drown out Devan’s words. It wasn’t true; it couldn’t be true. “It was you, you killed them,” he spat. “The boys, they were only kids, and you had them butchered.”

  “Nah, man.” Devan grinned widely and once again, he toyed with the syringe held between his fingers. “It was you who killed them. You’d do anything for a hit. You would sell out your own fucking granny for this.” He pulled a thin length of rubber tubing from his jacket pocket and threw it across. “It was you, Lucas.”

  Even as Lucas continued to shake his head, he was dropping to the floor and thrusting out his arm. He wanted oblivion, needed it in fact, now more than ever. In front of his eyes, he could see the faces of his friends, and then the boys, kids he had known since birth. He would never have willingly harmed them, never, even if they were what he’d considered to be a proverbial pain in his arse the majority of the time.

  The tourniquet was tight. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was aware of Devan backing away from him, and his heart began to beat faster. The anticipation was more than enough to send him over the edge, and his tongue snaked out to lick at the beads of sweat across his top lip, whilst waiting for the familiar sharp scratch of the needle, the one that would tell him the oblivion he craved was close by, that it was near. He wanted to fly, fly so high that nothing would ever hurt him again.

  Holding the needle just centimeters away from his bulging vein, Lucas screwed up his face in concentration. Sweat mingled with tears blinded his vision and he used his free hand to wipe his eyes dry. His breath came fast and his heart was heavy, as an image of Paul and Jason flooded his vision. They had been friends since boyhood, brothers-in-arms, and in his mind’s eye, he could see the disappointment for what he was about to do spread across their features.

  “You served your pals up on a plate,” Devan continued to goad.

  Lucas blocked out the words and plunged the needle deep into his vein, and there it was, the sharp scratch he craved. All he had to do was push down on the plunger, and he would have the oblivion he so desperately craved.

  “That’s good, man.” Devan backed away even farther, his voice becoming distant. “That’s really good.”

  * * *

  “Are you sure about this?” Donna warily looked up at the decrepit building. If she hadn’t of known better, she would have fully believed the property was due to be demolished. As it was, it looked like a death trap, and that was just the outside. She had a horrible feeling that the inside would look even worse.

  Pulling her hair up into a high ponytail, Cathy nodded her head. Paul had once told her that Lucas liked to frequent the squats around East Ham and the surrounding areas. After staking the property out, it had seemed as good as any a place to start their search for the man in question. Gingerly, she used her foot to propel the front door open. The splintered door had been patched up with plywood and as it swung ajar, the light from the streetlamp shone through to the hallway, revealing dusty, littered, bare wooden floorboards and graffiti covered walls.

  “I don’t like this.” Pressed against Cathy’s back, Donna whispered the words.

  Cathy ignored her, and stepping over the threshold, she switched on the torch and shone it around the darkened hall. “This way.” She jerked her head toward the end of the hallway, and as she slowly moved forward, every inch of her being was on high alert.

  “What’s that noise?” Gripping Cathy’s arm tightly, Donna’s eyes were wide with terror.

  “For fuck’s sake, Donna.” Gently pushing the other woman away from her, Cathy hissed out the words. “Get a grip. What’s the worst that could happen, eh?”

  “What’s the worst that could happen?” Donna’s voice rose a decibel. “We could end up bloody murdered, that’s what could happen, and I am pregnant, you know.”

  Rolling her eyes, Cathy shone the torch around the hallway. “Come on.” She jerked her head a se
cond time and took two steps forward. In front of a wooden door they came to a halt. She looked over her shoulder. “Are you ready?”

  Donna swallowed deeply. She looked behind, checking that the coast was clear, then nodded her head.

  Ever so slowly, Cathy eased down the door handle. The squeak of the rusting hinges as the door opened were as loud as a gunshot in the otherwise eerily quiet house. As she moved forward, Cathy held her breath, and for the first time since she had entered the property, she realised just how stupid her idea had been. No one even knew they were here. What if Donna was right and they walked in on an addict who was ready and waiting to pounce with the intent of robbing them for his or her next fix?

  A strong odour of mold and dust hit their nostrils as they entered the room, and across the window, blocking out the moonlight, a threadbare woolen moth-eaten blanket had been hung. Cathy’s shoulders slumped downward. The room, much to her relief, was empty.

  “He’s not here,” she said, stating the evident.

  With one last look around the room, they made to walk forward when the sound of heavy footsteps crashing down the wooden staircase stopped them in their tracks.

  As Donna opened her mouth to scream, Cathy slammed the palm of her hand across her lips, her eyes beseeching her to stay quiet. Moments later, they heard the front door swing closed.

  “Oh my God, Oh my God.” Donna was practically hopping up and down, so acute was her terror. “I thought I was gonna piss myself for a minute there.”

  Holding her finger up to her own lips in a bid to quieten Donna down, Cathy ever so gently pulled open the door and peered around the wooden frame. “They’re gone.” She turned to look at Donna and burst out laughing. It was a real belly laugh, tinged with hysteria. Wiping the tears from underneath her eyes, she leaned back against the wall as she tried to catch her breath. “Donna,” she cried, “your face, you look like you’ve seen a bloody ghost. You’re as white as a sheet.”