The Hunted

by KERRY BARNES

  Davey eased himself off the sofa and stretched his legs. He seemed to have aged since the fight and the bruise on his face made him look vulnerable. ‘I think someone else will like your feminine company too.’

  He shot Neil a look and smiled. Zara suddenly felt awkward. Neil was a looker, a muscle-bound hunk with gorgeous eyes, but her love was for Mike.

  Tania overheard them and was in the doorway before they could say another word. ‘If that bitch is staying, she can have the front room. It’s aired, fresh, and warm.’

  Zara wanted to laugh again, but the thought of a comfortable bed suddenly made her feel very tired.

  ‘Neil, fetch her things in.’ Tania turned and looked Zara up and down. ‘I’ll show yer to your room.’

  Immediately, Zara felt her world had just become somewhat bizarre.

  The spare room was beautiful with soft lemon walls and pure white bed linen covered by a thick duvet.

  Tania’s tone became sweet and more mumsy. ‘Now then, girl. Through that little door there is the en suite. If yer draw the curtains, you can get a few hours’ sleep. Driving for hours has probably washed the life outta yer. If yer need anything, just scream for me. The others do.’

  Zara tapped the short woman’s shoulder. ‘Thanks, Tania, and look, I never meant to cause such a mess to Davey’s face.’

  With a guttural giggle, Tania nearly lost her breath. ‘Aw, no, Zara. He’s always been that fecking ugly.’

  Joining in with the laughter, Zara began to relax her guard and felt exceptionally secure in her surroundings. So much so, she forgot herself. ‘Tania, I am okay here? I mean …’

  Tania’s eyes searched her face. ‘Of course yer are.’ She looked at the bedroom door and back to Zara. ‘Between you and me, Davey said yer were a fair woman. My Neil came home in one piece and that’s your doing. And sorry about earlier. I just thought yer would barge in my house like a bully, demanding all fecking sorts, but yer seem just normal, really.’

  Zara had no idea what that meant, but she was going to take it as a compliment anyway. Hopefully, tomorrow, things would look up.

  * * *

  Ricky sighed when he saw how small the window was. He had grown so much in the last eighteen months that slithering through a tiny window was painful. More often than not, it left him with cuts and grazes. Tatum gave him a leg up and told him to hurry. No sooner was Ricky on his feet in the downstairs toilet than he heard a sound from outside the door. He froze, not knowing what to do next, but then he heard Tatum calling through the window. ‘Get a move on, boy!’

  Ricky faced the door and then looked back at the window. He listened again but there was silence. He quickly grabbed the handle and pulled it open to make a quick exit to the back door. But, as he did so, a deep growl was followed by a sudden chomp on his left leg. The growling sound was coming from a large dog that had pulled him to the ground and now had his leg firmly in its mouth. The situation didn’t bode well for Ricky. The monster was shaking him around the hallway floor like a rag doll. Ricky couldn’t even scream; the fear engulfed him, sending him into a panic. He tried to grip the dog’s head to pull its huge jaws from his calf, but this only incensed the animal. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw an umbrella leaning against the wall. He reached out and managed to clasp the handle; with all his strength, he hit the dog on the head, but to no effect. So terrified that it was going to rip his leg off, he held the umbrella like a spear and thrust it as hard as he could straight into its eye. Relief came when the dog yelped in pain and ran off up the stairs. Ricky could hardly catch his breath. The pain and the oozing blood, seeping through his torn trousers, fed his fear. With so much adrenaline now coursing through his body, he mustered the strength to get to his feet to open the back door, before collapsing on the doorstep. The rest was a blur; he could hear Tatum’s voice somewhere in the background but it was hazy. Apart from the dog biting his leg, all he could recall was lying in the front seat of the truck while Tatum drove.

  He woke up in a hospital bed. A doctor was talking but he could only see his lips moving. The bright lights against the white ceiling made him blink. Then he experienced the distinct taste of anaesthetic. A tube was slowly pulled from his throat, leaving it dry and sore.

  The doctor, a slim, clean-looking man with pure white hair and flushed cheeks, gave him a generous smile. ‘So, you are with us now? Do you know where you are?’

  Ricky nodded. He remembered being in a hospital once before, when he’d tripped over a brick wall and needed stitches to his eye.

  ‘Your father tells us you can’t speak. Is that right?’

  Ricky widened his eyes. What? Had he heard the doctor correctly?

  ‘Can you speak?’ asked the doctor again.

  Ricky shook his head and tried to sit up. He had to see if his father was there. Maybe Jackie had got it wrong after all, and his dad had come for him, but any glimmer of hope was quickly dashed. Leaning against the wall was Tatum, with an over-the-top smile. Ricky then realized that Tatum had made out he was his father. A tear suddenly escaped, although he tried to brush it away.

  The doctor turned to acknowledge Tatum. Ricky listened hard.

  ‘Elijah will have to stay in for a few days, until we’re satisfied that the wound is knitting together. We’ve tried to use the skin to seal the laceration, but it’s very likely that it may not heal as we’d like it to. So, in my judgement, it would be best not to move him. He will be on antibiotics and taken to the ward. My team will keep a close eye on him.’

  Ricky was in despair. Not only had Tatum effectively treated him as a nobody, but the man had also pretended he was his own son.

  By the time he was on the main ward, Jackie arrived. He watched, cringing, as she stumbled into the room, knocking a steel trolley flying. The highly polished floor was slippery, and in her stilettos she struggled to balance as if she were on an ice-skating rink. Dressed in a denim miniskirt, a crop top, and her hair dyed the blackest it could be, Jackie plonked herself on the chair beside him. More pissed than normal, she slurred her words. ‘I’ve a good mind ta sue the arse off the owner of the dog that bit ya foot.’

  Her behaviour was enough to put anyone off drink for life. She looked and sounded so ridiculous that he closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep, but she went on and on just talking shit. Then she was quiet, and he heard another voice.

  ‘I’m Dr Larkin, your son’s surgeon. Elijah will need peace, quiet, and rest, so it may be an idea if you pop back tomorrow, Mrs Menaces.’ His words were short, sharp, and commanded attention.

  With his eyes still shut, Ricky could visualize her squirming.

  ‘Oh, all right, if that’s what you binks vest. I mean, I loves me boy, poor sod.’ She was so drunk that she couldn’t have strung a coherent sentence together if she’d tried.

  The sound of her clip-clopping heels and the doctor saying, ‘Oh, be careful, Mrs Menaces,’ told him she was leaving. He opened his eyes to see the doctor standing in the doorway and staring down the corridor, watching in horror – or was it fascination? He glanced back at Ricky and gave him a pitiful smile.

  PART THREE

  Chapter 19

  2009, six years later

  Guy Segal stroked his long beard and scrutinized the accounts. There were papers strewn across his desk, leaving just enough room for a large computer, showing a spreadsheet of complicated calculations.

  ‘It appears that you have made some enemies, Ismail. The Italians have turned their backs on us, and when one of my men went to collect the takings, he was met by another fucking Irishman, who claims that he’s running the restaurant. Since when do the Irish make fucking pasta, eh? That’s four pizza houses and two restaurants run by leprechauns. I can’t lose any more business,’ he stated, with a raspy tone to his voice.

  Ismail bravely replied, ‘In our line of work, what do you expect! It’s dog eat dog. But I’m working on a deal with the Turks. Now, they don’t mess about. Any Irish who step on their turf, trust me, they�
��ll be butchered. The Turks are handy with a kebab knife.’

  Guy slowly snarled. Ismail was pushing his luck.

  ‘It’s a shame, Ismail’ – he looked him up and down – ‘that you do not resemble your father, for as much as he became my enemy, he was still a man to fear and respect. But you, Ismail, I am beginning to have less and less respect for. Maybe I was wrong about you.’ His eyes were boring into Ismail. ‘It’s not the middlemen I’m concerned about, it’s the supplier. Without the cocaine, you idiot, we have nothing.’

  Ismail had worked out a deal with the Turks, for them to sell on cocaine from their takeaways. With a vast financial reward, the Turks had grabbed the arrangement with both hands. Yet Ismail hadn’t considered the fact that he didn’t have a current supplier. Marchant, who had supplied his father and who had been supplying Ismail, was now blanking him. Standing in the bright, sleek office, the complete opposite of his father’s, he wondered if he’d taken on too much.

  From as young as fifteen, he had been made aware that his sister was the one his father had chosen to take over the business. His big sister, the golden child, who could wrap Izzy around her little finger, was held in high esteem and paraded as a trophy. He felt she was rubbing his nose in his failings. He was a nobody, and as the years went by and Izzy’s dismissal of him increased, he had begun to detest Zara and his father.

  Naturally, he would go where he was respected and praised. The fact that his supporter was Guy Segal, his father’s enemy, made the relationship even sweeter. At least Guy was honest with him and told him the truth about the feud between his father and the Segal family. Ismail felt empowered and had one thing over his sister, and that was the truth. His father may have hidden his tattoo, but the day he’d died was the day Ismail went and had his own one done, as a mark of respect for Guy, and as a dishonour to his father.

  But now he felt uncomfortable with how Guy was grilling him; it was like Izzy all over again. Those black burning eyes full of disappointment made Ismail shiver. He had to be on top; he yearned for the pat on the back.

  ‘Carlos can still supply us. The more the merrier. Let’s face it, he can supply the Irish and us. And slowly I will have the Irish run out of London.’ As the words tumbled from his mouth, he knew how absurd they sounded. As if Carlos, who was only a small-time supplier, would be capable of dealing with both him and them.

  Guy’s anger was climbing. ‘I can’t believe that you really are so stupid. You swan around like a fucking fairy, snorting half the poxy gear yaself. You think you have a deal with the Turks, you silly prick? They’ll rob you blind, cut you up, and serve you like a fucking doner kebab.’

  After throwing his hands in the air and banging them down on the desk, with such force that it sent some loose papers flying, Guy launched another verbal attack. ‘You have no supplier, Ismail. Don’t you get it? Christ, you told me you could sell ink to a squid, ice to an Inuit, but you can’t even tie your own bloody shoelaces up.’

  Stupidly, Ismail looked down at his feet.

  ‘My God, Ismail, you really are pathetic. You still have no idea what’s happened to your sister, and there you are, telling me that you have everything under control.’

  Ismail attempted to speak but was shouted down. ‘If my sister went missing, I would have the whole firm out finding her, but not you, Ismail. You sat back and tried to walk in her shoes, sorting business, and acting like you’d taken over from Izzy. And yes, Ismail, it should have been like taking candy from a baby, but even with her out of the way, you still couldn’t get it right! All you had to do was let everyone believe that you had your sister’s back and continue to run the business in the hope that she’d return. Yet, for some reason, you’ve fucked it all up.’

  Ismail knew Guy was right. Before, it was simple: to be the eyes and ears for Guy. It was a doddle, placing bugs in Zara’s car and in her handbag and listening behind closed doors. They would never dream that behind the paintbrush and canvas were those big ears of his, listening to everything. Zara wouldn’t suspect her own brother.

  If only Izzy hadn’t treated him as if he were the poor relation, only humouring him when the need arose. Revenge was sweet in his mind.

  After a honeymoon period, when Ismail could do no wrong, now it was different – almost like the relationship he’d had with his father. He didn’t get the pat on the back for all the useful information he’d shared with Guy. In fact, he wasn’t held in high esteem anymore because the fact was, his father was right. He didn’t have the balls to front men or go in hard – he was a pathetic wimp. His vision of swanning around in a flash car, with men kissing his feet, and having the respect his father had enjoyed, was now going up in smoke.

  He suddenly had the need to sit down. His legs felt wobbly and he experienced a tightening of his throat. Did Guy want to do away with him?

  ‘Stop trying to get the business back. What you need to do is to find out who’s behind this Irish firm and also find out what’s happened to your sister. Everything is still in her name, and you, Ismail, need to get proof that’s she’s dead before you can take her assets. We need a serious cash flow, and since you have failed to keep the business going, you need to free up some of the money locked down in all those properties of hers.’

  Ismail nodded, just to stop Guy from screaming at him.

  ‘Now, fuck off, Ismail, and come back when you have good news!’

  Ismail was only too eager to swing on his heels and leave. Guy had a tendency to make him need the toilet. As he hurried away, out of the office and along the corridor of the dry-cleaners, he was met by Guy’s son. He couldn’t stand Benjamin, with his narrow eyes and pale skin; he was ugly, both in looks and attitude.

  The feeling was mutual. For a while, when Ismail had been treated like the golden boy, it had enraged Benjamin to the point where he couldn’t bear to see his father singing Ismail’s praises and treating him to gifts. Even a gold watch – a family heirloom that was worth a mint – was given to Ismail. It should have been handed down to him.

  ‘Fucked up yet again, Ismail, did you?’

  Benjamin stood with his shoulders almost touching the corridor walls. His cold grin, showing off his heavily chipped and stained teeth, turned Ismail’s stomach. He couldn’t put up with anything less than perfect when it came to a person’s mouth.

  ‘Well, well, Ismail, the runt. You can’t get fuck all right. Father is gonna be so intrigued by what I have to tell him.’

  Ismail wanted to shoot Benjamin, but, again, he didn’t have the guts – or a gun for that matter, too afraid that it would be turned on himself. ‘That’s good, Benjamin. Maybe you will lighten his mood.’ He didn’t wait for a reply; instead, he shuffled past Benjamin and slithered away like the snake he was.

  Dressed in his long grey coat, which could have covered a bear with room to spare, Benjamin strolled into his father’s office. His beaming smile, marred by the lack of dentistry, didn’t make Guy cringe. His son was a big, manly man, not groomed and polished like that tart Ismail.

  ‘Ah, my boy, what news do you bring?’ He knew his son’s expression meant he had something up his sleeve.

  ‘This Irish firm is run by Davey Lanigan.’

  Guy shook his head and sighed. ‘I thought you were going to tell me something I didn’t know?’

  Taking a seat, Benjamin laughed. ‘Yep, but I bet you didn’t know that the Lanigans are working with Willie Ritz and Teddy Stafford, did you?’

  With a raised eyebrow, Guy leaned back on the chair, the cogs turning, as he tried to process this news.

  ‘The Lanigans and Ritzes? But I assumed … I mean, after the set-up, I thought that they’d be archenemies. How did they do that? Their fucking head honcho, Mike Regan, is inside – just where we want him. Ritz and Stafford wouldn’t have the brains to …’ He paused and took a deep breath. ‘What business is this, then?’

  ‘Guns.’

  Benjamin’s smile was not reciprocated. His father’s grave expression was a concer
n. ‘I thought you’d be pleased. You’ve always said knowledge is power.’

  Guy snapped out of his gaze. ‘Yes, but so is a dangerous fucking army!’

  He picked up his silver engraved pen and twirled it between his fingers. ‘Are you sure that the Lanigans are working with them? Because I can’t see it myself. I mean, I heard there was a nasty battle, and old man Lanigan came off worse.’

  ‘Who told you that, Father?’

  Guy waved his hand. ‘One of the drivers. He’s one of Izzy’s weaker men, but I keep him on because he’s useful. I had him almost paralytic, and he told me all he knew. However, what he didn’t tell me was what must have gone on inside that guest house, after Ronnie was shot in the head. Fuck me, we have been so damned stupid.’ He flung his hands in the air and his body deflated.

  ‘What is it? What’s going on?’ asked Benjamin, uncomfortable with the resigned look on his father’s face.

  ‘We’ve taken too much for fucking granted. Jesus, how could I have overlooked that?’

  ‘Father, what are you talking about?’

  Guy flared his nostrils, and in one sudden fit of anger, he wiped clear the remaining papers from his desk, the sudden, explosive movement making Benjamin jump.

  Guy stood up and then banged his fist on the desk. ‘It’s Zara, that fucking scheming cunt!’

  ‘I’m lost. What are you talking about?’

  Guy glared at his son. ‘She’s not fucking dead, you imbecile! The Lanigans haven’t done away with her. No, they’re fucking working with her. Five fucking years, and she’s been right under our bloody nose. Why didn’t I realize? Only she would have known the deals, the suppliers, and my business. Izzy would have told her everything. Jesus, I just can’t believe I assumed she’d been murdered. She’s fucking playing us at our own game!’

  Hesitantly, Benjamin spoke his innermost thought. ‘You’ll need to be careful. Don’t tell anyone you’ve messed up—’