The Hunted

by KERRY BARNES

  Guy tore into him. ‘Me?’ He poked himself in the chest. ‘You should have been holding the reins by now. What are you, forty-one years old? And you’re still tied to my belt. And why, I ask myself? It’s because you, like fucking Ismail, are completely incompetent. Spoiled, you are. You’re a lazy, spoiled bastard. Throwing your weight around, when you have four or five men behind you, I know you, Benjamin. You’re a bully, when it comes to the weak, and now you have the bare-faced gall to tell me not to admit I made a mistake … me … bloody me.’ He looked for something to throw at his son, but apart from his computer everything was on his polished oak floor. Instead, he banged the desk again. Benjamin, afraid that his father would hurt him, or, worse, have a heart attack, got up to leave the room.

  ‘Don’t you dare walk away!’ screamed Guy. His face was red against his white hair and beard, his eyes glowed green, and the veins bulged from his temples. ‘Sit back down! Now!’

  Slowly, Benjamin resumed his seat but held his head down in shame.

  ‘I trusted you, Benjamin, to run my business with the help of that prick Ismail, but look at you, the pair of you. Even with Izzy’s men now on my side, you’ve still allowed his business to slip out of our hands. My God, your generation have no stamina. All you could ever provide are clowns, fit for a circus.’

  Not wanting to lose face, Benjamin said, ‘Look! Now we know she’s behind all this, we’re one step ahead. I’ll have her hunted down and buried.’

  Guy’s eyes were now bulging with temper. ‘You stupid, stupid arsehole!’ he screamed. Looking at his son’s downcast face and his hands trembling on his lap, Guy took a long, deep breath. If he carried on like this, he would have a coronary. Accordingly, he moderated his tone, but only slightly. ‘Hunt her down? Benjamin, you are not fit to wear your tattoo. You are no hunter, I’m afraid. You, my silly boy, are the fucking hunted, mark my words. Zara is far cleverer than you are. My God, you may bully your wife and any other women, but Zara is not some weak female who you can just take down. By Christ, Benjamin, she’s slowly but surely built an empire, leaving us to think that we’ve taken a small piece of hers. It’s not the Irish who have taken over the biggest deals, it’s fucking her. And you think you can just take her out?’

  ‘Well … yes, I mean, we know now. And I’d love to break her long scrawny neck, the evil bitch.’

  Guy gave an exasperated laugh. ‘Well, take note, Benjamin: Zara is certainly Izzy’s daughter, and like him, she’ll be one step ahead of you, as she has been for the last five years. Also, know this. She hasn’t just got the Irish, she has Regan’s firm backing her. So, if you want to take her down, be warned. You’ll need to have an army stronger than hers, and a brain far smarter.’ He paused as he cast his eye at his son and finally shook his head. ‘The only way, my boy, that you’ll ever win, is to weaken the firm. Firstly, have Mike Regan’s firm out of the way, locked up. You need to grass them up to the police. Then, you must deal with the Lanigans!’

  Benjamin felt his heart go in his mouth. This went against the grain and demonstrated just how weak they really were. If their own way of taking over was to grass, rather than using fear and violence, then it clearly proved they were powerless. Still, without her mob backing her, she’d be exposed and on her own, ready for the taking, and he would be the one to show her how wrong she was to have laughed in his face. And whilst he was doing that, he would show his father that he was fit to wear that tattoo.

  ‘Contact your cousin. She’ll know what to do, since you’re clearly not capable of even wiping your own arse. She’ll be more than eager to sort out Zara’s and Regan’s firms. After losing nearly all her family at their hands, I’m sure she’ll relish getting stuck in. My sister would be turning in her sick-bed if she knew what was going on. So, go and find your cousin. She’s the only one out of all of you who I can honestly call a hunter. She has more fucking balls than all my family put together.’

  In shame, Benjamin lowered his shirt to cover his wrist.

  * * *

  It was late and the evening air made Ricky shiver. He sighed with disgust when Tatum said it was an old lady’s house they were aiming to burgle. At thirteen years old, he was now of an age to know the difference between right and wrong.

  The house had been carefully chosen because the sash windows were so old and rickety. Ricky watched as Tatum used his knife to break the lock. He knocked the pivot catch by inserting a knife between the two frames and dragged it along until it hit the lock and it broke open. Tatum lifted the window and nodded to Ricky to climb through. Just as Ricky swung his legs around and was sitting on the windowsill, a police siren sounded. Tatum let go of the top window and because the sash inside had rotted, it no longer held the window up. The frame came crashing down, releasing its glass pane and hitting Ricky squarely across his shoulders. As the separated glass sliced into his back, the pain was instant and took Ricky’s breath away. Worse, Tatum didn’t have time to lift the remains of the window carefully. Instead, he instinctively put his arms around Ricky’s waist and dragged him out. Traumatized and gasping for breath, Ricky was suddenly launched into the back of the truck. Tatum must have used all his strength because Ricky wasn’t small anymore. The shock crept into his bones and with the blood seeping through his shirt, he began to shake all over. The journey home seemed to last forever, and so by the time he reached the site, he was faint with pain and sick with fear.

  Both Tatum and Tyrone had to help him into Jackie’s caravan. It was so dark outside that Tatum hadn’t seen the state of Ricky, nor the amount of blood on his clothes. But once inside the caravan, the bright lights showed the effects of the bungled break-in: there was claret all over his own shirt and arms.

  Jackie was absolutely raging but not about the state of Ricky. She was swearing and shouting about the blood getting onto her carpet. But then, as Tatum removed his shirt, she gasped. ‘Fuck me, Tatum. The boy needs stitches. How the hell can I take him to the hospital after last time?’

  Ricky watched the pandemonium through watery eyes, as his mother, who he now saw as just Jackie, flapped around. Then, to his enormous relief, she told Tatum to fetch Mena. Mena was good to him; she would make him better.

  If he hadn’t been in so much distress, Ricky might have laughed at Jackie for being reprimanded by Mena. Viciously poking Jackie in the chest, Mena called her every name under the sun.

  Gently, she laid him on the table and spoke with soft words. After carefully plucking the glass out with tweezers, she used glue to hold the deep cuts together.

  Jericho, Mena’s husband, then came barging into the van, knocking Jackie out of the way. ‘’Ere, Mena, give the boy me tablets. I can go a day without painkillers. It’ll take the edge off the dear chavi.’

  Gratefully, Ricky took the tablets and was out cold within minutes.

  Chapter 20

  After a few months staying with the Lanigans, Zara had looked for a property of her own. She found a farmhouse for sale, which was only twenty minutes’ drive away, and quickly snapped it up. As a cash buyer, with no mortgage, there was no way anyone could trace her whereabouts. Its location was perfect: it afforded excellent views of the surrounding countryside and gave Zara early warning of visitors, be they friend or foe. The security shutters and doors, installed for her own protection, gave her peace of mind. She felt safe in the middle of nowhere in Ireland; it surely would be the last place anyone would expect to find her.

  Her office was the room on the right of the house, opposite the living room. It had a window to the left side and one to the front. For security, she installed cameras covering the perimeter of the property, placing one facing the lane, so that she could spot anyone approaching. The lane was more of a dirt track, that ran for three hundred yards up to a minor road, which in turn led to a main road two miles further on. Other than the Lanigans and the postman, very few people knew where she lived.

  She enjoyed the solitude and tranquillity, but she was not there to stargaze. Her new home w
as the hub of the business. And like her father, she was adept with technology and could run her affairs in Ireland without getting her hands dirty.

  Davey hadn’t quite let go of the reins, but he was slowly handing over his company to Neil and Jed, his youngest son.

  Sipping her morning tea, Zara spotted a red BMW gliding along the lane. She smiled when she recognized the driver – Neil had obviously bought himself a flash new motor.

  He stopped right outside and came bounding through the door, bigger than ever, wearing a tight T-shirt, a Dublin Hurricanes baseball cap, and faded jeans. His hair had grown, the gentle waves now curled around his ears, and the summer sun had kissed his cheeks and given him a glow.

  ‘You look pleased with yaself, Neil.’

  She stood up to embrace him. ‘Fancy a drink or …’ She looked him up and down. ‘Have you got a date?’

  He kissed her cheek. ‘How did yer guess?’

  If she hadn’t been so in love with Mike, she would have been drooling over Neil’s strong Irish accent.

  ‘The aftershave, the designer jeans, and the permanent smile on ya face, perhaps?’ she replied, with a grin on her face.

  He laughed and then blushed. ‘Well, yeah, she’s a real beauty and not a child either. She’s my age, with long blonde hair and big blue eyes.’

  ‘Blimey, you are smitten, if ya know the colour of her eyes.’

  Like a teenager, his face looked young and excited.

  He followed her to the kitchen where she put the kettle on. ‘Coffee?’

  He nodded. ‘I think she’s the one, yer know.’

  Zara spun around to face him. ‘Wow, it must be serious. How come you haven’t mentioned her before?’

  He shuffled from foot to foot. ‘My last fair lady dumped me at the fecking altar and left me humiliated, so I keep my girlfriends private. Well, that is until now. She wants to get married. In fact, she proposed to me, so …’ He delved into his back pocket and pulled out a small box. ‘What do you think?’

  She opened the lid and stared at the dazzling diamond. It was plain but clearly worth a mint.

  ‘One lucky girl, is all I can say.’ She handed back the box and her eyes fell to the floor. It was another reminder that she was alone and how she would have to wait another six years for Mike, when she would be older and less attractive. Mike may not even want her by then.

  ‘Oh, no, wait till yer meet her, Zara. I’m the lucky one.’

  She squeezed his hand. ‘Perhaps I’m biased.’

  After that initial shaky start, the relationship between the Lanigans and herself had become stronger as each week passed, as they worked together to secure a thriving business all over London. Her knowledge of the underworld and the moneymakers was slowly but surely coming to fruition, and the proceeds were shared equally between herself and the Irish firm. Davey had put out the word that they’d instigated her death and were taking over her business. No one believed otherwise.

  ‘So, when do we meet the future Mrs Lanigan then?’

  He laughed again. ‘Well, I was going to bring her to meet you yesterday, but she was unwell, so we turned back. She loves Ireland and said she could see herself living here. It was a shame because we’d almost reached the turning to your property when she was hit with a migraine.’ He removed his cap and waved it under her nose. ‘I’m taking her to see the Hurricanes play baseball in Dub—’ He watched the blood disappear from Zara’s face, as she stood there aghast.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Sorry, Neil, it’s nothing. I was just thinking about Mike, that’s all,’ she lied. Why would someone want to turn back so suddenly? She could have popped in, had a drink, and gone.

  ‘Anyway, can you chase up Staffie? The shipment didn’t arrive this morning. I checked the port. The ferries were on time and there was no weather disruption,’ said Neil, wondering if perhaps he’d just misread Zara’s expression.

  But he hadn’t. Her eyes were suddenly like a bush baby’s, her heart in her mouth. ‘Fuck! I know that shipment left the coast last night.’

  Quickly, she hurried from the kitchen into the office and turned on the computer. Neil was not far behind her. ‘What’s going on, Zara?’

  Neil registered her different expressions as her fingers flew across the keyboard. Scrolling through recent e-mail messages, her face changed from confusion to exasperation. ‘Something’s fucking wrong. I’m now checking the tracker. I can follow all the vehicles transporting the cargo, so I can pinpoint where they are.’

  ‘I didn’t know you could do that.’

  She waited for the tracker system to load up on the screen. ‘I learned a lot from my father, and I should have been one step ahead. I guess this time I just took my eye off the ball. Fuck it!’

  As the screen lit up, her heart beat like a pneumatic drill. With her head in her hands, she gasped, ‘Oh no!’

  ‘What, Zara? What am I looking at?’

  She pointed to the four flashing lights and the map of London. ‘The cargoes have been intercepted. Shit! The fucking police in London have them all … Look! That’s their forensic headquarters.’

  She snatched her phone and checked to see if there were any messages – nothing.

  ‘I hope to God, they haven’t been nicked. I can’t even call because the Filth will trace it. Phone your father and tell him to get the lads in London to swing by the lock-up. And it might be an idea to stay low and perhaps move out of your house. I have no idea how much they have on us.’

  She ran her hands through her hair and tried to calm her thumping heartbeat.

  Neil was mortified. ‘Jesus wept. How the fuck did the police know? We were so careful.’

  ‘Well, something’s definitely gone tits up. Neil, get on the blower and let’s sort this shit out.’

  He didn’t bother calling his father right away; instead, he spoke to Shamus, his cousin, who was in London, negotiating a deal with the Turks. The phone rang three times before Shamus answered.

  ‘Shamus, get over to Staffie’s and see if he and his men have been nicked, will yer?’

  Listening to the conversation, Zara was shaking. There was a pause while Shamus spoke urgently to someone else.

  ‘Right. Staffie, Willie, and Lou have all been nicked. The old man, Arthur, escaped capture,’ replied Shamus, out of breath.

  ‘Get back to Ireland, Shamus, and pull the men out. Something’s going down,’ said Neil, taking control.

  He turned to Zara whose face was as white as a pearl and her eyes filled with dread. ‘We need to leave!’

  She looked around the office. ‘No, listen, Neil. You get going. I need to clear this lot up, just in case the police have my card marked – because we don’t know what they know, and everything they need to lock us away for twenty years each is in this room. You go and let me clear up.’

  He hesitated, not wanting to leave her behind, but he’d learned over the last few years that she was brilliant under pressure.

  ‘Go, Neil, go!’ she hollered, her nerves now completely rattled.

  Acting on her demand, he tore away at full throttle.

  She couldn’t take the contents of the office with her, in case she was stopped, but it was almost painful not to, knowing the score. One of her father’s sayings popped into her head: it was ‘Knowledge will always have you one step ahead.’

  She grabbed the notebooks containing all the contact details, the files with the accounts, and the specifics of all the restaurants, the owners, the dealers, and literally everything that would bring the whole business to its knees. She’d been converting everything onto a hard drive, so that she wouldn’t find herself in this situation, but she’d obviously not done it fast enough. In a panic, she grabbed the paper files and threw them on the open fire. Setting the evidence alight, she ran back to the office and loaded her arms with more, frantically fuelling the fire.

  Out of breath, she ripped her computer from the desk and placed it on the fire along wit
h her phone and hard drives. Sweat dripped down her back from the temperature in the room. She couldn’t think straight: her head was pounding, and the fumes from the burning plastic were making her gag. She opened the windows and the front door, to let the heat out while she tore around the house, searching for anything else that the police would find of interest. Her bedroom side tables and drawers were clean. She stopped, took a deep breath, and let out a heavy sigh. All done. All that remained was for her to leave, PDQ. Grabbing her gun from under her pillow, she flew back down the stairs and into the living room to find her car keys.

  But in her mad mission to get out, she hadn’t spotted the two cars that were hammering down the lane to the property. Stepping into the entrance hall, she suddenly clocked the door was wide open. As large as life and as ugly as ever, standing two feet away from her, was the man she detested the most, the only person on the planet who made her blood curdle and her skin crawl – Benjamin Segal.

  They both glared at each other with eyes full of contempt. Zara noticed that Benjamin’s hands were empty. For a split second, Zara felt she had the upper hand because her gun was tucked in the back of her trousers. She wasn’t going to talk or give him a chance to manhandle her, as he’d done in the past. Whipping out the weapon, she held it in front of her, pointing it at his face. She didn’t say a word but tried to gather her thoughts. Holding that gun gave her time to digest the last few minutes.

  Then it dawned on her: his family had grassed up Staffie and the boys and had, no doubt, sussed that she was working with the Irish firm. But her mind had no time to dwell on recent events – it was the present she had to contend with, in the shape of this ugly bastard who was looking at her right now with a cocky sneer across his face. There was no expression of concern that a gun was pointing at him. Then she wondered if someone had broken in and removed her bullets. It was bizarre, and nigh on impossible. She was clearly paranoid. Yet the way he just stood there, confident and smug, put her on edge. Perhaps that was the plan; maybe Benjamin was shitting himself. But if he was, he was covering it well, with that annoying half-cocked grin that exposed his disgusting rusty railings. Except for a bird tweeting, there was silence. It was the same eerie stillness she always experienced when the snow fell late at night, like the calm before the storm.