Ryan Kaine: On the Money: (Ryan Kaine's 83 series Book 5)

by Kerry J Donovan

  “Anything ye particularly wanted to know?” the CPO asked after taking a surprisingly delicate and silent sip.

  Still holding her cup over her saucer, Lara turned to face him.

  “Well, actually, there is.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Bill and I have just taken a stroll around the area,” she started, hesitantly. “We noticed there were a number of houses for sale on Baker Rise and Brooke Street and I’ve just been looking at the prices.” She held up her mobile by way of explanation. “Not bad for this area. What do you think?”

  Joshua made a face that looked like he’d bitten deep into a rotten apple.

  “Well now, lass. If ye want my advice, steer well clear. Wouldnae buy a house anywhere near there.”

  Here we go.

  Kaine leaned closer and rested his forearms on the table. “Why not?”

  “That’s Tribe territory.”

  “Tribe?”

  Joshua nodded, his expression solemn. “Ye saw all them purple PRT tags?”

  Simultaneously, Kaine and Lara nodded.

  “They mark Palmerston Road Tribe territory. Most decent people steer well clear of the area if they can.”

  “Why?” Kaine asked, his interest well and truly piqued.

  “Street thugs and drug pushers, the area’s infested wi’ the wee bastards. ’Scuse my language, Mrs Griffin. They’re led by a real enigma …”

  Kaine and Lara spent the following forty minutes pumping intel out of a first class gossip and top notch story teller. The elderly seaman only stopped when his next customers arrived in a flurry of activity, a burst of jovial chatter, and letting in a blast of freezing air.

  #

  The chatty CPO proved true to his word. Bernie’s place, The Rushmore Hotel, turned out to be exactly what they needed. Although small, it stood on the corner of Lower Street and the High Street, around the corner from Denney’s Grill, and within a thirty-minute brisk walk of the target’s house.

  Clean and tidy, low key, and with off-road parking for their hire car, the Rushmore was perfect. Joshua’s “mates rates” proved to be a forty percent reduction on the standard low-season charge for a double room. While money wasn’t an issue for Kaine and Lara, their alter-egos, Bill and Beth Griffin, were ever so grateful for the generous discount, and they made sure to thank Bernie profusely when they signed in.

  As a standard precaution, and before unpacking, Kaine checked the room for bugs—both living and electronic. He found nothing untoward. Thankfully, the place had been scrubbed hygienically clean.

  By the time they’d finished discussing the plan of action for the morning and settled in front of the TV to watch the late evening news, they were pretty close to exhaustion.

  At 22:30, Lara’s mobile buzzed with a long text from Corky. His initial research threw up nothing problematic related to Joshua, and he promised to keep digging.

  Not long afterwards, Lara fell asleep in Kaine’s arms, as was her way. He stared at the ceiling, listening to the wind howl and the rain attack the double glazing, stewing. How was he going to protect Lara from herself?

  If half of what Joshua had told them turned out to be true, and not simply the overblown hype of an old salt, Lara should be nowhere near Walthamstow. In fact, she shouldn’t be within a hundred miles of the Tribe, let alone within a half-hour walk of their turf.

  You really shouldn’t be here, love.

  Under any other circumstances, he’d have left her at the villa under protective guard, but his go-to guys, Rollo and Danny, were currently otherwise engaged.

  Neither he nor Lara should have been in the UK, but Kaine was honour bound to help Darwin Moore, or at least find out how the young man was doing since his grandfather’s accidental death. His apparently accidental death.

  For the rest of the night, Kaine studied the patterns on the ceiling made by the headlights of cars driving past on the street outside, unable to decide what to do for the best. He hated it.

  Indecision weakened him and put people he loved in danger.

  Chapter 3

  Saturday 18th February – Lara Orchard

  Walthamstow, NE London

  With her hair pulled back into a savage and unflattering bun, and wearing a dowdy, dark-grey trouser suit and minimal make-up, Lara prepared herself mentally for the upcoming meeting. The first with their potential new “client”, and her first as mission leader.

  She and Ryan stood in the hotel foyer and he, ever the gentleman, helped her into her heaviest overcoat. As well as the nondescript and inexpensive shoulder bag, she carried a woollen hat and scarf to protect her from the biting wind and sleet that would greet them the moment they stepped outside.

  “Ready?” Ryan asked, keeping his voice low.

  Poor man looked as though he hadn’t slept much.

  Such a worrier.

  “I think so. Darwin Moore’s a university undergraduate. How hard is this likely to be?”

  Ryan, looking as plain and inconspicuous as he ever could in a short coat, dark trousers, walking boots, and cloth cap, gave her an encouraging smile. The uncorrected contact lenses changed his eyes from warm brown to pale green, and the difference it made to his overall look was striking. Trimming his beard and darkening his hair to remove the grey streaks at the temples completed the transformation. No one would recognise him from the wanted posters. In fact, Ryan’s closest military friends would struggle to identify him in that getup. Still, she couldn’t help but worry, especially when he walked around in broad daylight. Anything could happen—they could bump into anyone outside.

  As far as they could tell, Ryan’s enemies were still on the lookout for him, and there may still have been a massive underground reward on his head.

  He could have chosen to stay out of sight, abroad and safe. After all, he had access to plenty of cash. Heck, he could buy a small Caribbean island and still have plenty left over to live extremely comfortably for the rest of his life. He was taking a terrible risk to keep helping the members of The 83 and she both loved him for it and was terrified of the potential consequences.

  Fair enough that no one could defend himself or protect Lara better than he could, but Ryan was only human. If the police ever caught up with him, even the resourceful Ryan Liam Kaine wouldn’t last long in prison.

  Though he and Lara had proof positive of his innocence, if they made it public, it would take months to clear his name through the courts. In the meantime, he’d likely be held on remand in an open prison and would probably face terrible danger from inmates eager to make themselves rich on the back of Ryan’s death.

  “It shouldn’t be too difficult, but I don’t like involving you in—”

  “Ryan … sorry, Bill,” she interrupted, mentally cursing herself for the slip. “We’ve been through all this. Let’s move on, shall we? Darwin Moore might be okay. If so, we can sort out the financials and head for home this afternoon. Alternatively, he might need our help, in which case, that’s what we’re here for, isn’t it? Until we actually speak to him, we’ll never know. I mean, his grandfather might not have told him about the money or the Trust.”

  Ryan snapped his mouth closed on his response as an elderly hotel guest descended the stairs. The man excused himself, and they stepped aside to allow him access to the dining room. Ryan pointed her towards the exit and, chivalry itself, opened the door to let her through first.

  “After what Joshua told us, we need to be prepared for all eventualities,” he said unnecessarily. “And Corky confirmed everything the old warhorse said.”

  The chill air caught in Lara’s throat and she took the time to pull on her hat and wrap the scarf tightly around her exposed neck.

  Sufficiently protected against the elements and from the anticipated gallery of surveillance cameras, Lara sighed. “Any more clichés to pitch in my direction, Bill Griffin?” she asked, her breath condensing around her head.

  His warm smile melted a little of the growing frost. “Sorry, but this is our
first actual joint mission and … well, I’m concerned.”

  “So am I,” she said, closing the slight gap between them and hugging his arm.

  He pulled on a pair of leather gloves and clamped her hand to his arm, protectively. They descended the steps from the hotel and turned left, retracing their steps from the previous afternoon. Lara leaned against his shoulder, giving anyone who cared to look, the impression of a loving, middle-aged couple out for a gentle morning stroll.

  On Lower Street, directly across the road from them, Denny’s Grill beckoned.

  “Breakfast?” he asked.

  “No thanks,” she said, shivering, but not just against the cold. “I’m too nervous to eat. Can we leave it for later?”

  He smiled and squeezed her hand. “Not a problem. Nerves are good. Used properly, they’ll keep you alive.”

  “Everything’s an opportunity for training, isn’t it?”

  Ryan nodded, but said nothing.

  They reached the end of Baker Rise and turned right into Brooke Street.

  Not long now.

  Lara had insisted on helping and needed to hold herself together to do it. A rumble in her tummy had nothing to do with hunger. Use the nerves, Ryan said, and she would.

  “You have all the necessary paperwork in that huge shoulder bag?”

  She nodded. “Of course. Three sets, depending upon what we find and how we want to proceed.”

  “Good. How are you going to open?”

  She faltered a step, but he held her arm pinned against his and they carried on. “We went through this last night.”

  “Humour me.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve been doing this sort of thing for a while, but this is your first time at the coalface. Humour me, please.”

  “You want me to get my head in the game, right?”

  While Ryan surreptitiously took in the area as they walked, she repeated the initial opening they’d worked on the previous night.

  Cars parked on both sides of the road formed a slalom barrier to the oncoming traffic. Rows of Victorian-era terraced houses crowded in on them, growing more dilapidated the further from the shops they walked.

  Lara cast a glance up. Most of the street lights were broken. “This place will be badly lit at night.”

  “Not the nicest place to live I’ve ever seen, but certainly not the worst either. There’s plenty of money in the pot to help young Darwin, assuming that’s what he wants.”

  “Bill,” she said, “he’s a second year undergraduate with a crippling student loan. We’re going to make his life so much better.”

  “Should do, but there’s no telling how people are going to react to such news. Might take some time for him to come to terms with it. He probably won’t believe us at first.”

  “Which is why I have all this paperwork.”

  “Good,” he said, with a certainty she didn’t feel. “Today should be a piece of cake then.”

  For once, she couldn’t tell if he was being ironic.

  Since leaving the hotel, he’d been distant, deep in concentration. She’d seen him in full operational mode a few times, and knew the signs. At work, he was a different man, cold, intense, dedicated to the safety of those under his protection, and tough. Really tough. A man she still trusted completely but barely recognised from the one with whom she shared the quiet times. A man who would kill, and had killed, to save her and himself, but only when there had been absolutely no alternative.

  Apart from the very occasional passing car and a scurrying pedestrian or two, the south end of Brooke Street was deserted.

  “Keep chatting. Make things appear normal. Damn …”

  His voice trailed off, and an increased tension in his hand on her arm made Lara take notice. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Just keep moving.”

  “Ryan,” she whispered, ignoring the error, “what have you seen?”

  Still smiling, Ryan whispered, “Those guys are paying altogether too much attention to us.”

  Lara followed his gaze. Fifty metres ahead, on the opposite side of the street, three young men gathered in the entrance to an alleyway formed by the ends of two terraced rows. They acted as though they owned the street. All three wore baseball caps, brightly coloured hooded jackets, jogging pants, and expensive-looking training shoes. They carried lit cigarettes and stood in a pall of blue-grey smoke. Scowling, they faced Ryan and Lara, mumbling from the sides of their mouths. The slightly built one on the right flicked ash into the bushes at his back and said something Lara couldn’t hear, but the one in the middle, a huge man with wide shoulders, a shaved head, and night-black skin shook his head.

  “Nah. Chill, man,” he said, his voice booming. “They ain’t the bacon.”

  “What do you want to do?” Lara whispered.

  “Ignore them and keep going,” he said, swapping places and forming a barrier between her and the trio. “Anything else would be inflammatory.”

  “But standing between them and me is okay?”

  Ryan shrugged. “Only to be expected for a gallant husband who wants to protect his beautiful wife.”

  “Me, beautiful, in this getup?” she said after swallowing hard. “William Griffin, you are such a smooth talker. No wonder I fell for you all those years ago.”

  “Yep, that’s me,” he said, smiling but not taking his eyes from the group near the alley. “Mr Smooth, but you’d be beautiful in a potato sack.”

  A skinny kid on a tiny bicycle, dressed in the same unofficial uniform as the others, emerged from the alleyway behind the threesome and squealed to a rubber-burning, rear-wheel-skidding halt. With their attention taken by the new arrival, the three turned away and formed a four-person huddle.

  “Notice their scarves?” he asked.

  “Yes, dark purple. Members of the Palmerston Road Tribe, you think?”

  “No doubt. They don’t look all that scary, but those are just a street crew. Point men. There’ll be dozens of them all over the area. According to Joshua, confirmed by Corky, the leaders are older, more savvy. Not averse to violence either. The police investigated a couple of stabbing deaths in the area last year and a few minor riots.”

  Lara nodded. “Yes, I know. I was there yesterday, remember? In Denny’s Grill, listening. I heard what Joshua said.”

  “Just making conversation. Confirming you know what we’re dealing with here.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself,” she said, more in hope of convincing herself than Ryan, who would never agree to that particular statement.

  Two houses later, they reached number sixty.

  “Here we go. Ready to play Mother Christmas?”

  Lara smiled. “Of course. Are you ready to play one of my elves?”

  He laughed. “Happy to, my darling Beth. Let’s go.”

  Ryan stood a half-pace behind, assuming a passive role, and Lara rapped on the badly scuffed door. Behind the door, the knock echoed through an empty hallway.

  No response.

  They waited.

  The time on her watch read a few minutes past ten. Maybe a little early for a weekend visit to a university student.

  She rapped on the door again, this time a little harder. Once more, the knocking echoed and there was no answer.

  A shadow moved behind her as Ryan edged closer. She turned. The biggest of the men from the group, the leader, stood in the middle of the road, legs apart, arms folded over his massive chest.

  “What you want with, Darwin, wo-man?” he demanded in a voice close to a growl.

  Behind him, two of his cronies watched with keen interest, but stayed in the mouth of the alley, making no attempted to approach. They obviously felt their extra-large friend didn’t need any help on the intimidation front. The little one on the bike looked away, chewing on his lower lip. Lara took a closer look. The cyclist couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven, definitely not yet a teen. Why did his parents allow him to mix with the older ones? Such a de
sperate shame.

  Darn it, Lara. Concentrate.

  Ryan adjusted his position, attempting to block her view of the men, but she leaned to the side. Unless they were armed with more than words, Ryan wouldn’t need her, but she’d help if required. Well, at least she knew enough not to stand in his way.

  “I ask you a question, wo-man,” the big one taunted

  Oh dear. Here we go.

  Ryan dropped his arms to his sides and flexed his fingers in readiness for action. So protective. He and Lara were only here at her insistence and she couldn’t let this get out of hand.

  Lara took a pace to his side. Ryan shot her a warning glance, but she nodded and added a smile that hopefully showed more confidence than she felt.

  “Do you know Mr Moore, sir?” she asked.

  The two men near the alleyway snorted. The thinner, shorter one, who wore his cap backwards, shouted, “Hear that, Barcode? She call you, ‘sir’. When you ever been a ‘sir’?”

  Barcode shot his friend a glowering expression that made the youth snap his mouth shut and stare at his feet.

  “You shut yo’ mouth Dylan, or I’ll shut it fo’ you. The wo-man’s showin’ me respec’. Maybe I oughtta make all my posse call me sir, too. Yeah?”

  Dylan kept his head lowered, but raised his eyes. “Aw, BC. Ain’t no reason to be like that. We shows you respect alla time. Innit.”

  “What you think, Rhino?” Barcode asked the second man.

  Dylan’s buddy shrugged, but kept silent. Of medium height like Ryan, the one called Rhino was stocky. He had bark skin, and bore a jagged grey scar on the left side of his neck. He held his head tilted away from the scar as though displaying it as a badge of honour. Alternatively, it could indicate damage to one of his cranial nerves. Either way, his stance was intimidating. Not a good look for a young man, and it didn’t exactly show him as a caring soul.

  Barcode flicked his fingers at his “posse” and turned his attention to Lara, deliberately ignoring Ryan. “What you say, wo-man?”