Revenge

by Martina Cole

  ‘I’m sorry about this, Declan, but the fucking Barbers have turned up looking for a fucking row.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Dicky Barber was drunk enough to be reckless, but not so drunk he couldn’t hear the warning bell that was clanging loudly in the back of his mind.

  As he looked at the men policing the gates of Patrick Costello’s home, he could see that they would happily die before giving the Barbers and their entourage entrance. They were just standing there, completely unconcerned at the turn of events, armed, of course, and adamant that the Barbers were not on the guest list.

  Dicky knew they had made a colossal fuck-up. Neither of them had thought it through. Dicky wished he wasn’t so drunk. The reality of the situation was dawning on him, and he knew he and his brother looked every inch the complete cunts they were.

  Rob, however, was experiencing no such qualms. He was still determined to make his mark, make a public statement to the world. But, as a man who had never once had the nous to plan ahead, to try and cover any eventualities that might occur if things were to go wrong, he was not taking onboard that the men who had accompanied them were now backing away, realising they were outnumbered and outclassed. He was being treated as a minor irritation, and not as a serious problem.

  Rob was quite affronted that they had not been granted immediate access to the Costello home. He had believed they would be ushered in like visiting royalty. But they were still outside the gates, and that was not going to change.

  Rob was shouting now. ‘Just tell him we are here, will you? It’s a fucking party, ain’t it? We are fucking guests.’

  A heavyset man in his late fifties stood in front of the gates. He sighed. It was like dealing with football hooligans – all drink and bravado and not a brain cell between the lot of them.

  ‘As I said before, you are not on the guest list. I would strongly advise you to put the weapons away and get yourselves home.’

  The security was much heavier than they had anticipated. Dicky had counted at least seven men on the gates alone, and that was without the security for the cars that lined the country lane leading up to the property. These men were not about to be intimidated by anyone, and they were more than willing to do what they were paid to do.

  Still, it was a shock to see just how Patrick Costello actually lived. Even from outside the electric gates, the house looked like something from a film set. It was lit up like Battersea Power Station for a start, and the drive – if they ever got past the gates, of course – appeared to be a good seven hundred yards long. The night air was filled with the sound of music, conversations and laughter. Everyone in that house was completely unaware that anything was amiss.

  Dicky had already clocked the brick wall that surrounded the property, knew that it was as secure as Parkhurst. No one was getting in there without a fucking Sherman tank.

  The only thing they had achieved tonight was signing their own death warrants, after showing the world just how amateur the Barbers actually were. It was a joke – a bad one at that.

  Costello’s drum was full of just about every Face in the Smoke and the surrounding areas. But not the Barber brothers. That said it all really. If they had any kind of status they would have been in there now, enjoying the hospitality like everyone else.

  Dicky felt the cold fingers of fear envelop him as he looked around and saw the men they had brought with them reassessing their chances of getting away from here alive. It had already gone too far. They had gone too far the minute they had arrived on Patrick Costello’s doorstep. It was the man’s anniversary, a party to celebrate his family life. His kids were somewhere in there, for fuck’s sake.

  Dicky knew that even if they backed away now, they were still dead men. This was a real piss-take, an insult of Olympian standards. It was a drunken fucking faux pas that was so outrageous it could never be overlooked.

  Jonny had been right: the Costellos had given them respect, and allowed them to work their own turf, even though they could have taken it from them easily. He could see that now. Fucking stone-cold sobriety and hindsight could often be a truly terrible thing. Drink was a fucking curse – it caused more trouble than it was worth. It gave people false courage and, even worse, it had the added bonus of fuelling the smallest of fires until it was suddenly a raging inferno of hatred and anger.

  Rob already had his shotgun out; it was a small-gauge sawn-off, not really a weapon for something like this. Dicky Barber cringed with embarrassment. This really was fucking amateur night, and Dicky hated that he had, once more, let his hate rule his head.

  But Rob needed to prove himself, needed to show that he was not about to cry off and walk away. He was going to make his mark.

  ‘You don’t fucking scare me, you cunts.’

  Dicky saw his brother raise his firearm and knew he was going to use it. He watched helplessly as his brother was taken out within seconds by a crossbow.

  It was as quiet as it was lethal. It was all over.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The party was in full swing and Josephine was watching Carmel Costello closely. She could see the woman was getting more and more irritated by the second, and she couldn’t blame her. Patrick Costello had hardly shown his face all night and, as it was his party, that was not only rude, it was also worrying her personally, because Michael had not been near or beside her either.

  The music was good, the food was fantastic, and the drink was flowing like water. All around her people were having a great time but, like Carmel, she couldn’t help wondering where the fuck the men were.

  She saw Carmel slip out of the large living room, and she followed her up the staircase and across the landing into the master bedroom. She could see how upset Carmel really was, and she couldn’t blame her. It had to be a work situation of some description, but surely, on a night such as this, work could take a back seat?

  She tapped gently on the bedroom door and then, without waiting for an answer, she slipped inside, closing the door quietly behind her. Carmel was sitting on a king-size bed and, for the first time ever, Josephine saw her with her guard down. She was wiping her eyes with a tissue, and she looked very fragile, very vulnerable. Josephine had never realised how thin Carmel actually was. Looking at her now, she seemed to have disappeared into her clothes. It was awful. She seemed older, defeated somehow. Her lovely face, always so perfectly made-up, and always with her trademark smile, looked haunted. It was a real eye-opener for Josephine.

  Josephine went to her without even thinking about it and, putting her arm around the woman’s shoulders, she hugged her gently, aware that Carmel needed comforting, needed someone to share her burden.

  ‘Are you OK, Carmel?’

  Carmel Costello looked around her sadly. The room was beautiful, it was something most women could only dream of. She had walked into this room once and felt that she had finally got it all, had finally made it. Yet it meant nothing to her now, at this moment in her life. It was as if the house, the cars, the lifestyle she craved were nothing more than an illusion because, until tonight, she had never felt such acute loneliness. Patrick had disappeared and left her alone at his own party, and that had hurt her more than she had thought possible.

  Oh, everyone was enjoying themselves and they would assume that Patrick, being Patrick, had important business to attend to; it wasn’t in any way a slur on her. But it had hurt. Being left alone for so long and putting on a brave face was difficult when all she really wanted to do was stab him through the heart. She had not realised how much she had wanted him to be beside her, how much that would have meant to her.

  It was nice being comforted by young Josephine. She believed the girl meant well and wouldn’t broadcast every word spoken by her to the nation. She could trust her, she felt that and, for the first time in years, she let herself say what she really meant – she needed to get it off her chest.

  ‘I’ll be all right in a minute, Josephine. It’s just sometimes I could kill Patrick. He’s
left me out there on my own for hours. It’s our night – he could at least remember that. I feel such a fucking fool.’

  Josephine sighed. ‘Tell me about it, Carmel. Michael’s on the missing list as well, and Declan too. It has to be work. Something that needs sorting sooner rather than later. You’re right to be upset, but I bet you it’s something very important. Patrick worships you, anyone can see that.’

  Carmel could see the girl was trying to make her feel better, and she appreciated that. It was kind of her to try and lift her spirits. But Carmel was feeling truly grieved. Josephine was too young and too innocent to understand the life she was getting into. She would soon learn the reality. It was easy to be so cavalier when it wasn’t her husband who had left his own party.

  ‘Listen to me, Josephine. Michael is just like my old man – he will always put his work first. Unlike most men, the work they are involved in can’t be left till the morning. The world they live in means they are on their guard every second of every day. Literally anything can happen and, when it does, they have no choice but to make sure any problems are sorted, pronto. It means you had better get used to being alone most of the time, get used to worrying that the Filth will somehow take him from you, get used to looking over your shoulder constantly because you never know what the future might hold. You have to learn to look out for number one so that, if the worst does happen, you have made sure you have covered your own arse. It’s a world of illusion, a world of pretending and putting on a front. It’s a world that I really wish I had never entered. It’s a world I craved, and one that I now feel trapped in.’

  Josephine was shocked at Carmel’s words – at the vehemence and also the truth of them.

  Seeing Josephine’s face, Carmel felt awful, sorry now that she had ever spoken. ‘I’m sorry, Josephine love, take no notice of me. I’m just angry, that’s all. I have a houseful of people, and Patrick has bloody well left me to it, and on our anniversary, if you please.’

  Josephine just hugged the woman tightly once more, aware that Carmel regretted letting her guard down, showing her weakness, admitting her unhappiness.

  ‘Listen, Carmel, I know I come across as a bit wet at times, and I know you have just told me the truth. But I love Michael and, no matter what happens, like you with Patrick, I will always stand by him. So don’t worry about me. I’m stronger than I look!’

  Up close, Josephine could see the fine lines around Carmel’s eyes, and she could sense the woman’s sadness. For the first time ever, she had seen the real Carmel Costello, and it had been a real eye-opener. She felt desperately sorry for her, more so because she knew how much Carmel Costello valued her reputation as a woman always in control.

  ‘Come on, Carmel, let’s get back to the party, shall we? If I was you I would go in that office and give him a piece of my mind!’

  It was the right thing to say and Carmel laughed. ‘You’re right, Josephine. Come on, let’s get back downstairs.’

  But her words stayed with Josephine; she knew that she would never forget them.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  ‘What a fucking abortion that was! The Barbers have to be on something to actually think they could come here.’

  Michael was as shocked as the Costello brothers at the turn of events. It was unbelievable. He turned to Patrick, saying angrily, ‘Dicky’s still breathing by all accounts, but Rob’s on his last legs. Still, he is one strong fucker, I’ll give him that. I’ve said to go and pick up Jonny. Then, when the party’s over, we can finish this once and for all.’

  Patrick nodded. He was absolutely outraged at the whole turn of events.

  Declan was watching him carefully, and he could see the signs that denoted Patrick’s true nature. His brother rarely allowed himself the luxury of giving his natural inclinations free rein, but he would now no doubt. Patrick would make sure that the Barbers paid for their sins a hundredfold, and who could blame him? It was a monumental piss-take but, worse than that, it was utterly fucking disrespectful. If the Barbers had planned it properly, and given them a run for their money, at least they would have had some respect. But to show up like that, without a fucking thought, was no more than a diabolical liberty. It had kept Patrick from attending his own party. It had caused him untold aggravation. A wedding, an anniversary, a birthday, a christening, or a fucking funeral – these were sacrosanct. They were private family functions and they were, because of their very nature, taboo. Anywhere wives, children or close family were all together was off-limits. This kind of action was something that only a fucking lunatic would even consider, especially when it involved a family like the Costellos.

  Michael changed tack, trying to play it down when he could see that Patrick was becoming unhinged. That wasn’t something that would benefit any of them.

  ‘I’ve kept it quiet so far, Pat. No one here knows anything has occurred, but it will probably get out at some point. The Barbers’ entourage are long gone – the fucking tossers were willing to serve up Jonny to get a pass. I’ve got people disposing of them as we speak. So, as fucking outraged as we are, everything is under control. It’s sorted.’

  Declan laughed suddenly, he had always had a strange sense of humour. ‘Look on the bright side, Pat – saved us petrol money, eh? We’ve got them now. Jonny won’t give us any trouble. From what I can gather he had nothing to do with the night’s entertainment, but he’ll know it’s over for them.’

  Patrick looked around him. He was still reeling from the shock of how close the Barbers had got to them. To his home. His family.

  Michael had done well. He had organised the security with Declan, and he had not underestimated the need for men who were not only fearless, but who were also sensible enough to know that any trouble needed to be dealt with as quietly as possible. The use of a crossbow was genius.

  ‘Imagine turning up somewhere like this with a fucking sawn-off! It just tells you how fucking ignorant and cheap they really are. Imbeciles. Fucking morons.’

  The door opened then, and Carmel Costello stood there like the avenging angel. ‘Patrick Costello, it’s our wedding anniversary, remember? And you have spent most of the night in here! Are you thinking of joining your wife and guests at any point?’ Carmel was fuming, that was evident.

  Patrick immediately looked contrite. He knew she had a point, and she would be bringing this up till her dying day. His voice was soft as honey as he placated her. ‘Look, Carmel darling, there’s been a bit of aggro with your present, and I’ve been in here on the blower trying to sort it out. I’m so sorry, love.’

  It was exactly what she wanted to hear, and she forced a smile on to her face. Patrick had apologised, and he was finally joining the party, so at least she might salvage something from the evening.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Jonny Barber was resigned to his fate. It was all over bar the shouting – the only thing he could do now was try and take whatever came his way with aplomb.

  He was sitting in a damp, dark cellar somewhere, waiting for the Costellos to arrive and finish what his idiot brothers had started. Knowing Patrick Costello, he would want to finish this job off personally – and who could blame him? Jonny would have done the same thing himself.

  He was cold – not that that mattered much in the grand scheme of things. He could hear his brother, Dicky, muttering away under his breath, and he guessed that he had come to the same conclusion as he had. They were living on borrowed time. Dicky had taken a beating; he had put up a good fight, but come off worst.

  Jonny sighed heavily. He was still reeling from the turn of events. Rob, his baby brother and the bane of his life, should already be dead, but not him! The moron was fighting for every breath, lying on the filthy floor. The crossbow had hit him square in the chest, but it had obviously missed his heart. Jonny was surprised at the lack of blood, though he knew that a weapon such as a knife, or a crossbow dart in this case, stopped the bleeding if it was left in situ. If a knife was pulled out of a stab wound it brought t
issue, muscle, guts, all sorts with it, and caused serious bleeding. If the knife was left in the wound, then it was unable to do any real damage – it stopped the bleeding for a start. Ironically, the dart was the reason his brother was still alive.

  He could hear the conversation that was going on behind the door. The noise was comforting in some ways – there was a radio on somewhere; he could hear the music in the background. It almost sounded normal.

  He sighed. He had tried to talk to Dicky, but he was already away with the fairies. Terror at the realisation of what he had brought on them all had robbed him of his reason. Lucky Dicky.

  At least he was assured that his family would be all right. Patrick Costello was a lot of things but he was first and foremost a gentleman. Jonny thought back on the road that had brought him to this. He had been a man who had embraced violence; he had lived by it and, like his brothers, he had enjoyed it. The Barbers had been big fish in a very small pond – now that pond would be owned by the Costello brothers. Jonny had no doubt that all the people who had been forced to pay homage to him would be overjoyed at his sudden demise; there were very few who would have been willing to stand by his side. Oh, hindsight was a wonderful thing.

  His old dad’s favourite saying had been ‘those who live by the sword, die by the sword’. He should know – the wife-beating ponce. He had finally beaten his wife once too often, and had then been taken out by his own sons. What goes around comes around, that was another of his old man’s sayings.

  Jonny Barber was astounded by how calm he was about his own situation, and how easily he seemed to have accepted his fate.

  But when Patrick Costello was making him watch as Michael Flynn tortured his brothers to death, and he could hear their screams of agony ringing in his ears, he finally snapped out of his stupor. There would be no mercy; they were sending out a message that would be heard and remembered by everyone in their orbit for many years to come.