by KERRY BARNES
As if he was reciting his early morning prayer, Ismail began exposing the truth. ‘Dad said that he found out who had killed his brother. It was a man who lived down their street, but Guy Segal didn’t believe him. They argued and fell out over it. It was his sister, Carmella, who wanted to bring you all down, one by one, and she married Ronnie Harman to help her do it … Look, please, that’s all I know.’
‘It was Tracey Harman who cut off my hand, wasn’t it?’ growled Zara. Her brother slowly nodded.
‘But you have to believe me. That was never meant to happen. You were working for the enemy …’ He paused. ‘They wanted everything the Regans earned, as compensation for Guy’s little brother’s death. And …’ He stopped and looked up at his sister with guilt written across his face. ‘They wanted to take over Izzy’s empire, also, as compensation.’
‘For what?’ she shrieked.
‘Because you … were not only fucking the enemy, you were working with him too.’
Zara let out a fake laugh. ‘Oh my God, you lot are so sick. This was never about retribution for the murder of the boys. It was about jealousy and fucking greed. But my father must have seen right through Guy because, unlike you, Ismail, Izzy was a clever and fair man. But you! You’re bloody stupid. The Regans’ success ate away at Guy, and you, ya faggot, were sucked in by his pathetic pledge – your tattoo is pitiful. Why do you think Izzy hid his? I’ll tell you why: because he grew up and learned the truth!’ She glared at her brother and instantly wished him dead.
Suddenly, Ismail lost his little-boy look and showed some gumption. ‘You’re fucking wrong, Zara. You believe you know everything because Izzy put you on a pedestal, but these old men did kill those boys and Guy is a man of his word. He promised Carmella, who was close to him, unlike me and you, that he would …’ He paused, as he slowly turned to face Arthur. ‘He would destroy all of you, and your sons, and anyone else who got in the way.’ His eyes then focused on Zara’s scarred wrist, a smug look taking shape.
Without warning, Arthur cracked him hard around the face. ‘And my grandson, an innocent kid. Where is he?’
Before Ismail could answer, a noise came from upstairs.
‘Shhhh, there’s someone coming,’ said Lou.
Instantly, Arthur grabbed Ismail with his hand around his mouth and lifted him off the floor. ‘Who’s that?’
Zara answered. ‘It’s Guy and Benjamin, no doubt.’
They dragged Ismail behind the staircase, and Zara went back inside the room and acted as if she was a zombie again. Arthur pushed his gun against Ismail’s head. Through gritted teeth, he whispered, ‘If you say one word, I’ll blow your fucking head off.’
Just as Zara expected, Guy and Benjamin opened the door and strolled down the staircase entirely unaware they were about to be ambushed.
‘Ismail, where are you?’ Benjamin called out.
The weight of the man caused the wooden stairs to bow … and creak.
No sooner had their feet touched the floor than Charlie and Lou appeared, holding guns in their hands and smirks on their faces. ‘Well, well, well, if it ain’t fucking Tweedledum and Tweedledee,’ said Charlie.
Arthur emerged, holding Ismail. He clocked the fear on Guy Segal’s face. But not only that, he recognized the man. Although he was much older, thinner, and less upright, it was the same person who had nearly beaten him to death all those years ago when he’d stepped off the bus.
‘What is this?’ demanded Guy.
Arthur pushed Ismail towards Eric. ‘Lock this cunt up, Eric. And Mr Segal has just become the hunted! The tables have turned, and before I rip your head off, know this: I never killed those two kids. So you and your pathetic pact, with ya bravado tattoos, have wasted your whole life trying to bring us all down. But I think you knew that. You and the Harmans just used that as an excuse to get a firm together to take over my manor.’
He grabbed Guy’s arm and glared at the tattoo. ‘This should translate as “sly fuckers”.’
Guy’s mouth fell open; he’d worked out who they were, and, more to the point, what they would do. For a second, he took his eyes away from Arthur and glared at Zara, who had now joined them. She looked a different woman: clear-headed, eyes focused, and her mouth tight, not distorted and dribbling. With narrowed eyes and pursed lips, he hissed, ‘I should have let you die!’
‘No, Guy, you are so spineless that you got your kicks, along with your prat of a son, out of watching me. You thought I was damaged beyond repair, and in your sick, twisted minds you enjoyed having that power over me, a defenceless, mutilated woman.’ Leaning on Arthur’s arm, her chest heaving, she spat, ‘You couldn’t fight my father because he was stronger than you, and far cleverer and richer. You hated him, detested him, because it wasn’t about the little boys who died, it was all about power. You and your son will never amount to anything because you never had it in you!’
‘You ugly slag. Who cares? You’re nothing now but a one-armed withered old bitch!’ retorted Benjamin.
It was Eric who voiced his opinion. ‘She may only have one arm, but unlike you, ya fucking monster, she’ll have her freedom. And you and your father and everyone who wears that tattoo will be hunted down and taken out. But first, I’m gonna have you locked up.’
Arthur gripped his gun; he wanted nothing more than to put a bullet through Segal’s head. Benjamin looked at the metal door and the rooms beyond, but his gaze was pulled back when Eric laughed.
‘No, not down here. I’m calling the police. You’ll know how it feels to serve time like my father and my brother have. You’ll get to meet real men, because inside you can’t hide who you really are. My brother knows enough inmates to make your life a misery. Everyone will know what you’ve done, and I hope you suffer.’
Even Arthur was shocked at Eric’s idea. Grassing went against the grain – an unspoken rule – and yet Eric had a point. And in any case, since when did the Segals and Harmans play by the rules?
He smiled at his son. ‘Yeah, call them. Fuck it. Zara, is it okay with you?’
She felt fragile, and it showed on her pale face. She nodded and almost collapsed, but Charlie managed to catch her in time.
The Segal family knew they could never get away with what they’d done. It was over, they knew.
‘And, just so you know,’ Eric said, ‘when you do get released, if you ever do, then I’ll come for you, and, mark my words, I will have that tattoo inked right across my back. I will be the hunter, and you,’ he chuckled, ‘will be the prey.’
Arthur and Charlie locked Ismail and the Segals inside the basement and waited for the police. Eric took Zara and Lou home.
* * *
Gloria was like a mother hen, fussing over Zara. It was very well received, since Zara had been living locked away for five long years with no hugs and no fuss except from Palo. He’d never held her, seeing that it was not his place to do so.
Plumping up the cushions and pushing a pouffe under Zara’s feet, she wiped the woman’s hair away from her face. ‘Oh, my darling, I just can’t believe it. Our Mikey’s gonna go ballistic, but at least he has you back. He was distraught when you went missing. As you can imagine, we all thought the worst, but you’re here now, and it won’t be long before Mikey is home too and—’
‘Mum, please give Zara a chance to breathe, will ya? Go and put the kettle on.’
Gloria apologized. ‘Sorry, love. I’m just a bit overwhelmed. Anyway, I’ve left a message at the prison for Mikey to call. The only thing is, apparently, he’s in transit. They’re moving him to another jail, so I hope he gets the message.’
Zara looked down at her scars. ‘It’s good of you to help me like this, but …’ she choked back a tear. ‘He won’t want me now. How can he? I’m …’ It was hard to say the words. All she could do was stare at the remnants of her arm.
Gloria felt tears prick her eyes. ‘Now then, you listen to me. Our Mikey loved you so much, and it knocked him sideways what with Ricky … and then you di
sappearing. He would love you, no matter what.’
‘Mum, how did you know where Zara was?’
Gloria shrugged her shoulders. ‘Listen, Son, that doesn’t matter now.’
Eric turned to face Zara. ‘It’s over now, love. They’re all gone. Ismail and the Segals will be in prison, so you can stay here and get better and put some meat back on those bones.’
He felt a sudden sense of guilt. He’d wanted Zara for himself and even with her missing hand he would still have wanted her, so he knew it wouldn’t put Mike off – after all, his brother had always loved her more than any other woman.
Zara blushed and then her thoughts turned to Tracey. ‘They ain’t all gone. Tracey is still out there somewhere, and I swear to God, when I find her, I will—’
‘No need, babe, she’s dead.’ With that, Gloria swanned off to make the tea, leaving both Eric and Zara gobsmacked. Eric stared at the back of his mother and wondered if she meant that she had killed Tracey. Surely not?
Eric turned to Zara. ‘How did you know Tracey was a Harman?’
Zara grinned. ‘She was with Paris. I had a tip-off that Paris was seen in Blackheath. I caught up with them, and I assumed she was just a mate of hers. I beat them both, but then some bloke from the local Chinese called the police, so I had to run. But then, when she cut my … anyway, I recognized her and then I saw the tattoo. I just put two and two together. Still, it doesn’t matter, now. They’re all dead.’ She frowned and pointed to the kitchen. ‘But ya mum, though. I think that’s more shocking. Ya don’t think she killed her, do you?’
Eric chuckled. ‘If she did, she ain’t gonna tell us because my mum won’t want us to worry.’
Zara gave a tired smile. ‘I guess ya mum’s a tough cookie.’ She yawned.
Eric shook his head. ‘Well, like they say, I guess behind every successful man there is a dangerous woman.’
He looked at Zara, who was now asleep, and tears filled his eyes. He felt so guilty and vowed never to abandon his brother again.
Chapter 24
The judge stared with beady eyes at Ricky. He had never come across a mute before. He wondered if it was a flaw in the gypsy gene pool.
‘Richard Menaces, you have been found guilty on three counts of burglary, and so I sentence you to a year in prison.’
With no expression on his face indicating any emotion, Ricky stared back.
‘Take him away!’ ordered the judge.
Escorted by the court officer back down the stairs into the holding cells, Ricky nervously waited for the sweat box to take him to prison. It had finally happened; he was going down. The previous times in court he’d got away with a fine, then community service, followed by a suspended sentence. This time, it was not so easy. Sitting on the edge of the seat with his hands under his legs, he anxiously tapped his feet. He’d heard stories from the other lads on the site how tough it was inside, especially if you were a pretty boy. He didn’t regard himself as pretty though, not when he looked in the mirror. No one ever referred to him as anything other than mouse, oaf, or retard.
* * *
Tall for eighteen, he was also skinny and lanky. He’d never thought much about himself. He’d not had a normal childhood and had no education to speak of. That was down to his mother. She had made sure of that, especially after the incident in the hospital where the social services were called in.
He remembered it well, and at the time had hoped beyond hope that they would do as they said and take him away into foster care. He recalled the lovely lady, Elouise, with her soft voice and warm hands, as she stroked his hair away from his face. She’d given him a pen and paper and asked him to write down the answers to her questions, but he couldn’t because he wasn’t any good at spelling. He could only nod or shake his head. She’d asked so many questions. Did he go to school? Did Jackie often get drunk? Was the dog that bit him from their gypsy camp? He had thought about answering her honestly, but the fear of the consequences, if his mother found out, stopped him from doing so. So when the sweet lady asked if Jackie had ever hurt him, he shook his head.
* * *
His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the cocky, angry voice of Tyrone. ‘Get yer fucking hands off me, you cunt.’
Tyrone’s court case had been directly after his, and Ricky could only assume that he’d also received a prison sentence. Tatum had gone from using Ricky to climb through the windows, to pretending they were builders and robbing people blind. They were wanted by the Irish police, so they’d upped sticks and moved to England, to a site in Essex. Seth had another brother, who had bought a large plot of land and tarmacked most of it to withstand the caravans. Tatum, Tyrone, and Ricky had been caught red-handed, because unlike in Ireland, the CCTV system was different. The estate they robbed had hidden cameras, and, unluckily for them, a detective also lived there. Ricky couldn’t speak, so Tatum made a statement that Ricky was the ringleader, the organizer. The judge, of course, didn’t buy it, but because this wasn’t their first offence, by any means, they were all sentenced to one year.
Ricky nervously waited and hoped that Tatum and Tyrone would be shipped to another prison, away from him. At least he was grateful that Tatum’s other son Elijah hadn’t been nicked as well, or he would have had three of them to contend with.
His life, already filled with shit luck, didn’t end today. Travelling in the sweat box to Maidstone Prison, he kept his head down, but Tatum and Tyrone didn’t. They chose to mouth off with their loud gobs. He wondered if the lip they gave did them any favours. Sure enough, it didn’t. The officer pointed to the claustrophobic boxed area that Ricky was sitting in and then almost threw Tatum into his. A last dig of his baton made Tatum shut his mouth. He knew then that being mute wasn’t such a bad thing.
‘’Ere, Mouse, are yer shitting it yet?’ called out Tyrone.
Ricky was used to the jibes and the piss-taking and had only ever tried once to fight back. He’d ended up with not only Tyrone but also Elijah on his back. They blacked his eyes, split his lip, and tore his ear. He didn’t cry but scurried away to the log at the edge of the woods.
The transport van came to a shuddering halt and the back door was opened. There, awaiting him, was Blair, Ricky’s personal officer, dressed in a white short-sleeved shirt and black trousers with a dangling chain. He called out, ‘Richard Menaces!’
Ricky nodded.
‘You call me Gov. Got it?’
Ricky’s eyes widened, and then the officer, who initially loaded him into the van, whispered in Blair’s ear.
‘Well, Menaces, you’re gonna have to find a way to communicate …’ He sighed. ‘Okay, move on.’
Ricky trembled. The officer had the meanest eyes and there was not a jot of niceness about him. Still handcuffed, Ricky walked ahead, along the wire fence walkway, until he could go no further. Blair pressed a button and a loud buzzing sound went off. The toughened glass door slid open and Ricky was asked to walk ahead. Another official, a tall, slim man with a beard, guided him inside to a desk where three other officers stood. They handed him prison issues and ordered him to go into one of the side rooms where he had to strip, while one of the tall bearded officers checked him over. Then he was required to squat, although he had no idea what for, but he did it anyway. The officer then placed a mirror underneath him. Apparently satisfied, he then checked the inside of Ricky’s mouth. The officer made him walk through a metal detector and then sent him into another side room to get dressed in his prison issues. Ricky hurriedly put on the grey tracksuit bottoms and pulled a drab grey T-shirt and then a lighter grey sweatshirt over his head. A plastic bag was then handed to him, which contained a few essentials.
As he waited by the next metal door, he saw Tatum and then Tyrone appear. Tatum was jumping about, acting cocky as usual, and Tyrone wasn’t much better. They were also ordered to strip, at which Tatum made some comment about the officer being bent. Ricky looked away, determined to ignore them and keep his distance. He didn’t want to be viewed
as a pikey.
Blair pressed the buzzer by the wall and the heavy metal door slid open.
‘Go in, Menaces!’ he ordered.
As Ricky walked along the long corridor, he held his breath. The roughly plastered yellow walls were so cold-looking. On both sides of the corridor were metal doors painted in green gloss. A wrought iron staircase led up to the next level. They moved forward, and Blair instructed him to climb the stairs. It was as if the prison was empty; there was not a sound to be heard except for the loud clanging of doors being shut. Once he reached the top, Blair unlocked a door and stepped aside.
‘This is your cell. You’re lucky, mate, ’cos you’re on your own.’
Ricky smiled but his gesture was lost on the stony-faced screw, with his watchful eyes.
Once Ricky was alone, he shut the door and looked around. A metal bed, a plastic-coated mattress, and a chrome toilet took up most of the cell. At the end of the bed were sheets and a blanket. He placed his plastic bag on the small desk and his toothbrush on the shelf.
Just as he lay on the unmade bed with his hands under his head, he heard what sounded like a mass of men. Some were shouting, others laughing, and the cell doors were banging and clanging. He hadn’t realized that while he was arriving and being shown to his cell, the men were on the exercise yard.
A voice he recognized was just outside his door. ‘Oi, oi, Henry, boy!’ called Tatum. Ricky remained in his cell. He could picture Tatum bouncing about and showing off.
‘Cor, bruv, what yer doing ’ere?’ asked Tatum.
The gruff voice replied, ‘Same as you, Tat, no doubt. I got chored down in Dover. I upped sticks about two years ago, boy, and moved down ta Kent. On yer own, Tat?’
‘Nah, Henry. I got me boy Tyrone. He got chored wiv me and ol’ Jackie Menaces’ boy, Richard, although he’s a bit of a retard. He don’t talk.’
Ricky strained to hear.
‘Jackie Menaces?’
‘Yeah, she’s been back on the site for years now, bruv. She’s a right dirty whore an’ all. But ol’ man Seth won’t ’ave a bad word said about her.’