by Anna Smith
She shook her head as Jack told her that he’d been to see the guys’ families and told them they’d be looked after.
‘You know what I hate more than anything?’ Kerry said. ‘I hate that I don’t even know these men. I never even met them, and they are lying in the mortuary because they worked for me.’
Danny glanced at Jack, then leaned forward.
‘Don’t beat yourself up about it, Kerry. Believe me, Tonzo and Jim would have been working for some other crew if it wasn’t the Caseys. Don’t be thinking they are just innocent wee lads. They were tough guys, hard asses who served time in jail, and they weren’t any strangers to violence in all shapes and forms. Sure it’s unfortunate, as they were good enough men, and reliable, and we can be sorry for their families, but we’ll see them all right. But we’re in the middle of a battle here, and we’ve a long way to go. So we can’t worry about every single casualty.’
Kerry nodded slowly, thinking that Danny was talking like some old military man, as though lives were just collateral damage. But the truth was, in this game, as in conventional war, they were. He was right. She had to stop over-thinking it and get on with the fight.
‘Anyway,’ Jack said, ‘we have to gear ourselves up for even more trouble. I’m hearing that Durkin’s mob, or what’s left of them in Dublin, have gone over to the Colombians. And that they have people here in Glasgow to get us.’ He clasped his hands on the table and looked at Kerry. ‘A couple of guys called Joe Boy and Felix are running it for the Irish here, backed up by their IRA mates on the south side of the city – Shawlands mostly. So they’re up for a fight. We need to be ready for more of the same from last night. But the thing is, we don’t have any businesses they own to knock out, and we don’t have enough bodies to go to Dublin and do damage to their businesses there. The Monaghans will do that for us – but we’ll need to put a lot of money their way. When it comes to here, we have to rely on intelligence here to see where these bastards are holed up. I’ve got people working on it, who’ll do anything for money, so if they find out where they are, then they’ll tell me, no matter whose side they’re on. Money talks. Always has. So we’ll find out where the fuckers are, then we’ll hit them.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
Sharon stood looking out from the terrace as the Costa sun burned away the clouds. She’d only come back yesterday from Glasgow, but it already seemed like ages since she’d seen Tony. The way he’d hugged her so tight as she left for the airport brought a lump to her throat as she remembered him trying to fight back tears. She swallowed hard. Soon this would be over, she told herself, and things would be different.
Sharon was finding the extra security suffocating at times, but she knew there was no option. After that Colombian lowlife’s stunt, kidnapping Tony just to show that he could, nothing was being left to chance. There were extra guards around the house and also posted on the twisting road up to where the house stood in the secluded spot overlooking the sweeping landscape far enough away from Marbella, but close enough to the motorway if they had to move fast. She’d only left the house to visit the architects and builders on the site of the hotel as they began to clear the debris and work out how long the firebombing of the complex would put them behind schedule. It had all looked so promising just a few short weeks ago. Now she felt like a prisoner, holed up with only the staff at the house and the guards for company. It couldn’t go on like this, she promised herself. She had to find a way to hit back at Rodriguez. But the one man who could help her hadn’t been in touch since Tony was returned. Sharon had been desperate to ask Vic if he’d known of Rodriguez’s stunt, but she was sure if he had he would have tipped her off. At least she hoped he would have. He’d already saved her life at the meet in San Pedro with his phone call to say Rodriguez’s men were on their way. She hadn’t even yet been able to thank him and had expected him to get in touch later that night, but nothing. She wondered if maybe Rodriguez was doing a post-mortem of the operation and trying to find out who tipped her off that they were coming. The longer she didn’t hear from him, the more she worried that Rodriguez had found out it was Vic who was the traitor inside his organisation. If he had, then for sure Vic would be dead by now.
In her more paranoid moments, she worried that maybe Rodriguez knew what Vic was doing but was letting him carry on, watching him closely, having him followed in the hope Vic would unwittingly serve her up to him on a plate. But deep down she knew Vic would be wise to that. He was smart and cunning, and surely he’d be one step ahead of the rest of them. And she consoled herself by the fact that so far, two of Rodriguez’s operations had already failed – one in Glasgow to get Kerry Casey, and the other in Spain, to destroy Sharon and the rest of the organisation. In her conversations with Kerry they’d agreed that Rodriguez might be a ruthless, brutal bastard, firebombing the hotel site and taking out a few bars on the Costa, but he had failed to hit his main targets. There was weakness in his armour, and Sharon just had to find it. If only she knew where he moved, any place that he would be, she could work on it, but she needed Vic for that kind of insider knowledge. And as she lay in bed this morning, watching the darkness lift and light spread across the sky, she realised she needed Vic for more than that. Their encounters had been brief, but she was surprised at the sense of longing she felt for him, for his touch, his strength and power alongside her as they’d made love. Two lonely souls who could recall a lifetime ago when they trod on dangerous ground, among killers and robbers and drug dealers – but nothing as perilous as they faced now.
Sharon’s mobile shuddered on her bedside table. She checked the time. Six thirty. Then she recognised the number and she pulled herself up on the bed. It was Vic’s mobile. She picked it up – would it really be him on the line? What if this was Rodriguez or one of his sidekicks with Vic’s phone, because Vic was already dead? She pushed the answer key and put the phone to her ear.
‘Sharon.’
She recognised Vic’s voice. He was alive. She was surprised at how relieved and glad she was. She waited two beats.
‘Sharon? You there? It’s me.’
‘Vic,’ she said. ‘Christ, man. I was so worried about you! I thought you were . . .’
For a second he didn’t answer, then he spoke.
‘Dead? Me? Come on, Shaz. It’ll take more than any of these fuckers to bring the Vickster down.’
She smiled, picturing his mischievous grin, all bravado and flair, the stuff that had drawn her to him all those years ago. Christ! She should have left Knuckles then, taken the consequences, but at least she would have been with someone she was pretty sure would never plan her execution. But that was water under the bridge. This was now, and Vic was here, and alive.
‘What’s happening? I didn’t hear from you, then that bastard took our Ton—’
Vic interrupted. ‘I know, Sharon. What an absolute cunt that Rodriguez is. When I heard he’d taken your lad, I felt like cutting the fucker’s throat. But I didn’t know anything about it until it was already done. I was away – dropping Frankie Martin at Málaga airport. When I got back, he told me about it. Cunt was laughing. And I knew you’d be in bits. I don’t know how I stopped myself from ripping his lungs out.’
Sharon swallowed, touched by his concern.
‘It was the worst two hours of my fucking life, Vic. If anything had happened to our Tony, I’d just chuck it, honestly I would.’ She paused. ‘But I promise you this – it’s not finished. It will only be finished when I put a bullet in that bastard’s head.’
‘I know, sweetheart. Believe me. I know how you feel. But you have to be careful. You mustn’t let your anger cloud your judgement. You’ll get him back. When the time is right.’
‘Will I, Vic? I mean, will I ever be able to get out of this bloody house, get back to what me and Kerry were planning to do, and build ourselves a legit business here? I feel as though I’m being bombarded from every angle, and all I’m doing is fighting back but not winning. Kerry feels the same way too.
It’s all going shit crazy back in Glasgow – bodies everywhere.’
‘Yeah. I heard,’ Vic said. ‘Frankie is doing a good job over there, from Rodriguez’s point of view, and he’s throwing plenty of money at it. So Kerry Casey’s boys have a fight on their hands.’
‘She’s up for the fight, Vic. We all are. But it’s like dodging bullets all the time, and when it comes to collateral and money, the Colombian will have more resources.’
‘Yeah. But there’s more than one way to skin the cat, Shaz. You just have to be canny. Listen. We need to meet. I’ve got some stuff to tell you.’
‘What. What stuff?’
‘I don’t want to say on the phone. But I know there is a way to really hit this bastard so hard he might not get back up again.’
‘You do? Seriously?’
‘Yep. But it’s going to take some balls. And some organisation.’
‘What is it? Talk to me.’
‘Not now. Look. Can you get out of the house and meet me for lunch this afternoon? In the Doña Lola hotel outside Marbella.’
‘Every time I go out of the house I have at least two bodyguards. I feel I’m being followed all the time.’
‘But if you can get to the hotel, you’re safe. Nobody will be following me, so once you’re in, we’ll be on our own. Don’t worry. He can’t have eyes everywhere. He’s not that powerful. Can you do it?’
Sharon was already out of bed and walking towards the terrace doors. She could do it. She wanted to. She had to.
‘Okay. Can you meet me there at two?’
‘Great. I’ll call you to say exactly where I’ll be. I have use of a suite there, but nobody knows about it. And I mean nobody, apart from one of my old muckers who rents it long term.’
‘Okay. Call me when you’re on the way.’
‘Will do, sweetheart. It’s been too long.’
He hung up before she had a chance to reply, and she held onto the phone for a moment, as eager to see him as she was to find out what information he had.
*
Before she left the villa, Sharon had called Kerry to tell her what Vic had said. Kerry had been a little sceptical, even though she said she trusted Sharon’s judgement. What if it was a trap? Sharon assured her that all of her instincts told her that Vic would never do this. He’d already saved her life, and if he’d wanted to take a step back then he would. But the way he was talking, she told Kerry, he seemed as keen to get the Colombian as they were. She related what he said about Frankie Martin, and Kerry was intrigued and told her to find out as much as she could on Frankie and the mob he’d surrounded himself with in Glasgow. The word on the street there was that various crews in the city were coming together to work against the Caseys, so they were running out of allies.
As Sharon’s blacked-out silver Merc swept into the car park of the Doña Lola hotel, she told Larry, her bodyguard, that he could go for lunch in the hotel and relax for a while until she called him. Larry was a man of few words, and whatever he was thinking you couldn’t see it in his stony face as he nodded slowly, keeping his eyes front. She knew he would probably assume that it was more than a business meeting that had brought Sharon out of the villa and down here, but it wasn’t his place to pry. The bodyguards and security that now surrounded Sharon at the villa and in most of their businesses along the Costa were handpicked by Danny to do what they were told and ask no questions. A couple of them had come from Scotland and some from Belfast and Dublin. Sharon had already seen how they did business when Rodriguez had sent his men to wipe her out at the café that day, so she felt she was in good hands.
She got out of the car as her mobile rang and Vic’s voice told her to come straight up to his suite on the second floor. She walked briskly through the automatic glass doors of the hotel and across the foyer to the lift, a quick glance around the place where the well-heeled came for lunch or for business, or for secret, discreet assignations. As she stepped into the empty lift and pushed the button for the second floor, she felt a little stir of nerves in her gut. When it pinged and the doors opened, she got out and walked along the quiet corridor, her heart beating a little faster, she couldn’t stop thinking that if this were a trap and she’d been lured here, then there really was no way out. She pushed the thought away as she gently knocked on Room 203. The door opened, and Vic stood there, a smile spreading across his suntanned face, his eyes bluer than ever in the sun streaming in the window onto him. For a couple of seconds they didn’t speak, then he stepped back and made a mock bow to beckon her in. As she did, her eyes took in the splendour of the room, white sofas and furnishings, lavish paintings on the wall. Then she turned and looked at Vic.
‘They couldn’t get you an upgrade then?’
They both smiled, and for a short, almost awkward moment it was as though they didn’t know what to say. Then Vic stepped closer and brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. He drew her into his arms and kissed her softly on the lips, brief and tender, then lingering. She could feel him against her and had to fight the urge to let herself go. She eased away, feeling a little breathless. He took a step back.
‘Jesus, Vic. I could get all hot and bothered here, but we’ve got things to discuss.’
He smiled and took her hand and led her across the room to where a table was laden with food and silver domes.
‘We have,’ he said, turning to her. ‘But tell you what, Sharon. I’ve missed you. No messing or nothing like that. I just missed seeing you, holding you like that.’
‘Me too,’ Sharon said and she meant it.
They sat and poured glasses of chilled white wine and she surveyed the table of fresh fish and salad as they clinked glasses.
‘To the future, Sharon,’ he said.
‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I hope so. Most days I can’t get beyond the next day, never mind the bloody future. But sure, here’s to it.’
‘Right. Okay. Let me get down to it now and tell you what’s going to happen and see how you and the Caseys can get a way in to this Colombian bastard and his gang of dickheads.’
‘I’m all ears,’ Sharon said.
‘Okay. Frankie Martin. You know he’s in Glasgow, don’t you?’
‘Yeah. We do.’
‘Rodriguez sent him to Dublin to get Durkin’s boys onside with him, or as many of them as he could. It wouldn’t have been easy because a lot of them will never forgive him for the way he executed their boss – even if Durkin was a little prick. But Frankie has pulled it off, and got a lot of them with him – paying them plenty – and they’re in Glasgow.’
‘This much I know,’ Sharon said, wishing he would get to the point. ‘He’s already started doing some damage.’
‘I know. But I also know that he’s got an even bigger job on hand. And this is how you may be able to get to him.’
‘Really? What kind of job?’
‘Frankie has to handle a shipment of coke when it arrives in the UK. He’s to handle the deals and distribution.’
‘Frankie Martin doing distribution? He’ll not be pleased about that. He doesn’t like to get his hands dirty like that.’
‘I know. He’s well pissed off. But this isn’t just any old shipment of coke.’ He paused, knowing by the look on her face that Sharon was intrigued.
‘Well go on then, for Christ’s sake! Don’t keep me guessing.’
He made a gesture with his thumb and forefinger.
‘This is the best, the purest Colombian marching powder the UK will ever have seen, Sharon. Uncut. Pure. Straight from the coke factories in Medellín. Eight fucking tonnes. We’re talking forty-four million quid here as soon as it hits the UK, and ten times more on the street once it’s cut.’
‘Eight tonnes?’ Sharon’s mouth dropped open. ‘You have to be kidding me. Nobody shifts that amount of coke into the UK in one go.’
Vic nodded and raised a finger.
‘Oh yes they do, if you’re Pepe Rodriguez, with the powerful Colombians and their money behind you. Pepe is using
the pure coke to pull every major dealer from Glasgow to London and everywhere in between into his web, because once they cut this shit, they will make so much more than anything they’ve ever bought before. It’s only going to top dogs, big shots who run their own show, and who have agreed to buy into his mob on the promise that they will make millions faster than they could ever imagine by dealing with anyone else.’
‘Christ! They’ll be flocking to him like flies around shit.’ She picked up her glass and swirled the wine around. ‘And he’s put Frankie in charge of it, I suppose, because he thinks he’s the only one who can make sure it all goes down successfully.’ She glanced at Vic. ‘He’s putting a lot of trust in a double-crossing bastard who might just take the lot and disappear.’
Vic shrugged. ‘Sure. But then where would he go to? He’d be hunted down and Rodriguez would be hanging slices of his liver all over the place as a lesson to others.’
‘Yeah. Suppose so. But Frankie will still be raging that he has to be actually physically involved.’
‘Yeah. But he knows if he passes this test, then he’ll become Rodriguez’s right-hand man in Spain, and that makes him a millionaire with a lot of power. In that position, Frankie could really wipe out the Caseys once and for all. At the end of the day, even dealers and crews who are faithful to Kerry and the Caseys for the old man’s sake, well, they’ll see pound signs and a chance to be top dogs, to be part of a Colombian cartel. Christ, some of these witless fuckers would dine out on that alone. They’ll all be vying for position, and Frankie will be the guy dangling the carrot in front of them.’