The Reprisal

by Kerry Kaya

  “No, not an actual hit.” Sean crossed his arms over his chest, and for the first time since Devan had arrived, he looked around him and felt a ripple of unease settle at the bottom of his gut. “What’s with all the questions?”

  Still continuing to grin, Devan pulled a small handgun out from the waistband of his jeans. “What do you reckon of your chances?” He took aim at Sean’s chest. “If I was to blast you right now?”

  Sean shrugged his shoulders. “I’d say they were pretty slim.”

  “That’s right. I’d say your chances were pretty low.” He continued to aim the gun. “You see, the thing is, Sean,” he scratched absently at the stubble covering his chin, “I’ve heard one or two whispers connecting me to that bomb and that’s not cool, man. There’s only one place those rumours could have come from, and that was you.”

  Sean kissed his teeth. “So what are you going to do, shoot me?” He glanced around him a second time and picked up on a nervous energy. “Is that what you are planning to do?” he asked, his voice full of arrogance.

  “You know a bit too much for my liking.” Curling his finger around the trigger, Devan shook his head sadly. “And that can never be a good thing.” He smiled once more. “Ta-ra, Sean,” he said, mimicking Sean’s broad Yorkshire accent.

  The gunshot was loud, and in the distance, several dogs began to bark.

  “What shall we do with him?” Marty’s voice shook.

  Looking down at Sean as he writhed on the floor groaning in agony, Devan watched with fascination as blood spilled out of a small round singe-encrusted hole in the man’s chest. He took aim again and fired a second bullet into Sean’s gut. “Leave the loose lipped bastard where he is,” he sneered.

  * * *

  Dressed in a black trousers suit, white silk shirt, and black high-heeled shoes, it took all of Cathy’s strength to climb out of her car and put one foot in front of the other. Her instincts screamed at her to turn around and run, run far away and never look back. Purposely, she had parked across the street from The Jolly Fisherman, and as she walked across the carpark of the public house, her eyes were automatically drawn to a patch of scorched concrete, the only evidence left behind after the car bomb. The image made her feel sick to her stomach and she swallowed down the familiar sense of grief that hung over her like a thick black blanket.

  “Cathy, I’m glad you could make it.”

  She tore her eyes away from the scorch marks and gave Darren Mitchell a weak smile before looking up at the building. Other than the windows that were still boarded up with plywood, the forecourt had been cleared of any remnants the devastation had caused. “How does the inside look?”

  Darren chewed on his bottom lip. “Pretty much how you’d expect. The place has been boarded up for over two months.” He put out his arm and gestured for Cathy to make her way around to the side door. “You need to get the locks changed, and the sooner the better. This one looked as though it had been tampered with.” He looked over his shoulder and smiled reassuringly. “More than likely, kids trying to get in.”

  The inside of the public house was pretty much how Cathy had expected it to look. Unwashed glasses were lined up on the bar in a haphazard gesture of tidying up before the pub had been locked down for the duration. The scent of stale cigarette smoke and beer filtered the air, and fragments of glass still peppered the upholstered seats and tables. She shook her head sadly. It was all such a mess. “How long do you think before we could be up and running again?”

  Darren shrugged. “Within a week or two, maybe.” He paused. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of Lucas, you know, what with him being a joint owner …” His voice trailed off.

  “Lucas isn’t in the right frame of mind at the moment.” She shook her head sadly, knowing full well that Darren would have known of Lucas’s drug problems. After all, they were hardly a secret. “That means, right now, you’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.” She smiled to take the edge off of her words. “Do I need to sign anything?”

  He produced some paperwork, and glancing over the sheets of paper, Cathy added her signature to authorise the go-ahead for any essential work to be carried out. Once done, she slipped the pen back inside her handbag and tilted her head to one side.

  “Oh,” she said casually, “did Paul ever do business with a Devan Barkley?”

  Darren screwed up his face, as if thinking the question over. “Barkley?” he repeated back. “Nope, I can’t say that I recognize the name.” Of course it was a lie, a lie that Cathy immediately saw through. “Why?” His voice was strained. “Is there a problem?”

  Cathy flapped her hand dismissively. “No problem. Stella mentioned him, that was all, and I wondered who he was.”

  Darren nodded. He was clearly rattled and it showed. “Will there be anything else?”

  “No.” Cathy smiled and took a second glance around the bar. Her Paul would have been devastated to see the pub looking so dilapidated. She held out her hand for the keys. “I’ll lock up. I still have a few things to do here.”

  Darren hesitated before handing over the bunch of keys. He could hardly refuse, after all, she was the majority stake holder now. “Any problems, just give me a bell.”

  Nodding her head, she waited for him to leave, then switched off the main lights, sank down onto a bar stool, and held her head in her hands.

  Moments later, a heavy footstep across the polished wooden floorboards caused the hairs on the back of Cathy’s neck to stand upright, and she snapped her head in the direction of the sound.

  “Who’s there?” Her voice cracked, and reaching for an empty beer bottle, she clutched it tightly in her fist. “Darren?” she called out. “Is that you?”

  There was nothing but silence, and as the footsteps edged closer, she wanted to berate herself. Other than a light illuminating the hallway, the bar area was swathed in darkness.

  “I said, who’s there?” Her heart began to beat faster. “I’m armed,” she shouted, “don’t come any closer.”

  The shadow of a figure danced off of the walls, and hopping down from the stool, Cathy braced herself. She raised the glass bottle in the air, ready to crash it down on top of the bar. The jagged edges would make an excellent weapon, one that she wouldn’t be afraid to use.

  “Cathy, it’s me.”

  The voice was so quiet that Cathy was unsure she had heard right. Her heart continued to beat a tattoo inside her chest, and she tilted her head to one side, her eyes wide with fear.

  “It’s me.” Moving out of the shadows, Lucas held up his hands.

  Taking a step away from him, Cathy’s heart was in her mouth. “What do you want, Lucas?” She stumbled backward, hitting the small of her back against a wooden pillar. “I don’t have any money.”

  “I don’t want money.” She could hear the hurt in his voice at the accusation. “I’m clean, I swear to you, Cath, for the first time in a very long time, I’m clean.”

  Looking past him, she tried to gage whether or not she could make it to door before he was upon her. “Why are you creeping up on me? What do you want?”

  Lucas shrugged his shoulders and sat down heavily on a barstool, his tall frame large and intimidating. “Paul and Jay …” He paused and shook his head. Across his face, the pain he felt was clear for all to see. “We were best mates.”

  “When it suited you,” Cathy sneered.

  “I admit, we had our fair share of fall outs. I blamed him, you see, Paul, for something that happened years ago, but I was equally to blame.” He gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. “I could have walked, but I chose not to.”

  Not having a clue what he was talking about, Cathy gave a curt nod of her head.

  “I heard you asking Darren about Barkley.” Lucas glanced around the empty bar, as if remembering the happier times, before fixing his icy blue eyes on her.

  Cathy nodded her head, not trusting herself to speak.

  “You need to be careful. He’s a slippery bastard.” He gave a hollow laugh.
“Trust me, I better than anyone, know that to be a fact.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind.” Gathering up her handbag, Cathy could barely look him in the eye. “I have to go.”

  “I mean it, Cath, watch out for Barkley.” Catching hold of her wrist, Lucas’s voice was serious.

  “If you don’t get your hand off of me,” Cathy hissed out the words, her expression full of contempt, “I’ll scream.”

  Lucas smiled softly. As if anyone would hear her scream, not that he was in the habit of harming women. “This isn’t a game, Cath.” He released his grip slightly. “Use me instead.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Cathy’s eyes widened.

  “Use me to get to Barkley.” His voice was a plea. “Let me do that for Paul and Jason.”

  Screwing up her face, Cathy snatched her hand away. “I don’t need your help.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “No, I do not.” Looking him up and down, Cathy scowled. “Why on earth would I need your help? I despise you. It should have been you who died, and I wish to God, every day, that it had been you.”

  Lucas’s eyebrows shot upward.

  “I know you, Lucas Vaughn.” Two pink spots appeared on Cathy’s cheeks and her eyes flashed with anger. “I know how much grief you caused my Paul. He loved you like a brother, and you threw the help he gave you back in his face.” She screwed up her face, her voice hard. “It was you, you had him murdered, you had my boys murdered.”

  As his shoulders sagged, Lucas sighed heavily. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, but I do, I know everything.” She pointed her finger in his face. “I know what you did and I know why you did it. You want all of this.” She gestured around the bar and took a step closer. “Well, let me tell you now. Over my dead body, will you get a penny more than what you deserve, not a single penny, and I’ll tell you something else for nothing. My Paul was worth ten of you.” She looked down her nose at him. “He was honest and he was decent.”

  Lucas laughed bitterly. “He was honest? Did you seriously just say that? How the fuck do you think he got all of this in the first place?” He motioned around the bar. “I’ll tell you how. He played the game and won. He murdered and schemed his way to the top. What?” he growled, when he saw her face pale. “Did you honestly believe that he asked nicely if he could buy the pubs out? No, he steamed in, using brute force and took fucking over, but all of this was only a front.” He held out his arms. “As you already know, seeing as you think you know everything, a front for the real business, a business that Paul, Jason, and your boys were up to their pretty little necks in.”

  Swallowing deeply, Cathy turned her head away. She didn’t want to hear the gruesome details, didn’t want to hear any slights against her man or her two sons.

  “He was honest and decent? Don’t make me fucking laugh. I take it he told you all about Mad Dougie and Samson Ivers then? And believe me, they are just two from a very long fucking list of men who he wanted rid of. Did he tell you that he was the mastermind behind their deaths? That he had them murdered in cold blood, just so he could get his hands on their businesses, their drug empires? All of this,” he motioned around him, “the boozers, that beautiful house you live in, the cars, the holidays to the Caribbean, oh, and let’s not forget the Maldives … How many times was it that you holidayed there? Five, six times? Well, they were all bought with blood money, and trust me when I tell you, that by association, your hands are just as bloody.” He shook his head at her. “You know your trouble, Cath? You remind me of a spoilt child. Everything you ever wanted, you had in abundance, regardless of how the goods came to you. You’re not stupid, you must have wondered how Paul could afford to buy the pubs, or didn’t it matter, as long as the money kept rolling in?”

  Cathy screwed up her face. The disgust she felt at his words, evident across her beautiful face.

  “I’ll tell you the difference between me and you, darling. I knew the real Paul Mooney, but you, nah, you only saw the man he allowed you to see. It was all a façade, you see, a front, a cover up of who he really was. Of course he could do no wrong in your eyes, because you never knew him, not the real him, but let me tell you something for nothing, Cathy. Grow the fuck up and smell the coffee for what it is. Your golden boy, Paul, was a cheat, a murderer, and a dangerous fuck. He wouldn’t have thought twice of killing someone if they stood in his way. That,” he stabbed a stiff finger forward, “was the real Paul, the Paul I knew and loved.”

  Cathy blanched at his words. It couldn’t be true, not her Paul. Oh, she knew he was no angel, that he was a rogue, but a murderer? She would never believe it capable of him. “I don’t believe you,” she cried.

  Lucas sighed softly and slipped off of the barstool, his large frame towering above her. “Believe what you want, but I am telling you the truth, and sooner or later, your boys would have followed on in his footsteps.” He gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. “If they hadn’t already, of course. Just like Paul, they were vicious fucks, a real chip off of the old block, you could say.” He smiled at her gently, knowing that his words would have stung. “I’m going to go now, but if you need me, you know where I am. Take care of yourself, darling.”

  Cathy didn’t answer, and as she watched him leave the bar, she looked around her and exhaled slowly. In the darkness, the bar had taken on an eerie appearance, and she gave an involuntary shudder, all the while, Lucas’s words were ringing loudly in her ears. Samson Ivers. Had her Paul really murdered him? Her thoughts turned to Devan Barkley. Donna had told her that Samson was his father. Was that was this was all about, a revenge killing? Was her family dead, all because of something Paul had supposedly done over twenty years ago? It was a sobering thought.

  * * *

  With his feet up on the desk, Charlie leaned back in the chair and placed his hands behind his head. He not only looked bored, he felt bored. Turning to look at Darren, he sighed for the umpteenth time that afternoon. “What are we waiting around for?”

  Darren looked up from the documents he was looking over. They were in the portacabin at Stratford, which Paul and Jason had often used as an unofficial office.

  “What do you think we are waiting for?” Darren growled back.

  “Dunno.” Screwing up a sheet of paper, Charlie tossed it in the direction of the waste bin. Much to his annoyance, he missed, which pretty much summed up his day, as far as he was concerned.

  Rolling his eyes, Darren shook his head. “Cathy and Stella …” He gritted his teeth. At times, Charlie reminded him of an insolent child. “We wait and see what they want done with the businesses.”

  “Never knew Mooney’s missus was in the drugs game,” Charlie snorted.

  “She’s not,” Darren snapped back. “She’s not like that. She’s got class.”

  “Class?” Charlie roared with laughter. “You after her or something? Wanna slip her the old one-eyed snake, is that it?” he winked.

  “Fuck off, you prick,” Darren growled. If you asked him, Charlie, the cocky little bastard, had far too much to say for himself. He cocked his head to one side, his expression the epitome of innocence. “How’s your family?”

  It was Charlie’s turn to snarl. It was no secret that he was considered an outcast by his family, and was, in fact, the only member of the Wilson clan who hadn’t stepped foot inside a prison, let alone served time, and that included the women, too.

  “Look lively.” Placing the documents on the chair beside him, Darren got to his feet and jerked his thumb toward the car that had pulled up outside the portacabin. “Feet,” he swiped his arm toward Charlie, who still lay back in the chair with his feet up on the desk.

  “What?” Crossing his arms over his chest, Charlie resumed his position with a smug smirk emblazoned across his face.

  * * *

  Stepping out of his car, Lucas took a few moments to glance around the vast empty plot of land. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember what they had planned for it. Fla
ts perhaps, or maybe Paul had planned to sell it on, who knew. He rubbed at his temples, not for the first time, wishing his brain, and more to the point, his memory, hadn’t been so fucked up by the drugs he’d taken in copious amounts over the years.

  “Darren.” He entered the portacabin, and glancing in Charlie’s direction, took in his arrogant grin. “Charlie.”

  “We were just sorting out a few things, you know …” Darren’s voice trailed off as he nodded down at the paperwork, before moving across the cabin and swatting Charlie’s boots down from the desk. There was a nervousness about him that Lucas immediately picked up on, and he took a wild guess that his sudden appearance was the cause of Darren’s anxiety.

  “Actually, we were wondering if we were out of a job like.” Stretching out on the chair, Charlie grinned. “Taffy Robinson has already been sniffing around looking to hire muscle.”

  “Taffy Robinson?” Lucas looked between the two men. “You mean to tell me that bastard was here, that he actually had the audacity to come here?”

  “Nah, not here as such.” Shaking his head at Charlie, Darren glared. “What Charlie meant was that Taffy has made it known that he’s looking to hire muscle, nothing more than that.”

  Lucas visibly relaxed. He looked down at the scars across his knuckles and swallowed deeply. “What does Cathy Mooney know about Barkley?”

  Darren shrugged. “Nothing as far as I’m aware.”

  “She knows something. I heard her asking you about him.”

  Taken aback, Darren opened his mouth to speak.

  “I was in the boozer. I heard what was said.” He smiled sheepishly and held up his hands. “Guilty as charged. It was me who broke in. I wanted to see for myself the damage caused. So, what does Cathy know?”

  “What? You couldn’t have used a key?” Shaking his head, Darren screwed up his face. “I thought it was kids.”