Читать книгу The Hunted - Kerry Barnes - Страница 11

Jackie was nursing a bruised cheek and drowning her sorrows with another large glass of vodka, disguised with orange juice.

Cooking up another storm, she eagerly waited for Mike to get up from his bed and get on his hands and knees to apologize and offer to send her off on a shopping spree with a fat wad of banknotes. Besides, as she saw it, he owed her big time. Little did she know that Mike wasn’t even in the house.

Fifteen minutes later, as she was about to pour another drink, he appeared in the kitchen, looking washed out.

‘Oh, been on a bender, ’ave ya? Well, you best ’ave a fucking big bunch of flowers ’cos this shiner is not going away anytime soon. And if you think I’m gonna say I walked into a wall, you’re very much mistaken!’

Mike was exhausted, his mind now riddled with worry. Getting an earbashing from Jackie was the last thing he needed.

‘Jackie, just shut it!’

She jumped down from the kitchen bar-stool and stood with her hands on her hips. ‘Shut it? Fucking shut it? Have you looked at my face? Well, ’ave ya?’ she screamed like a woman possessed.

Mike lowered his head. At that precise moment, he wished it was Jackie sitting on the chair with a screwdriver through her eye.

‘Don’t you dare walk away from me!’ she screamed, chasing him across the marble floor. ‘You ain’t getting away with it. I swear, Mike, you’re gonna pay.’

In a fit of rage, Mike spun around, grabbed his wife around the throat and squeezed, watching her eyes widen in fear. She struggled to remove his grip and could feel her throat closing up. Unable to breathe, she really believed she was going to die. Then he let go and she collapsed on the floor, retching and gasping.

‘One more word from your vile mouth and I’ll fucking annihilate you. Now, I’m going to my bed and you’re going to leave me in bloody peace, ’cos, Jackie, I’ve had enough of ya.’ His face was red and angry, and saliva had formed at the corners of his mouth.

She knew she’d lost this fight. As he walked away, she grabbed the bottle of vodka with shaky hands and poured it down her throat. Then she slammed the bottle down hard on the worktop. ‘Cunt!’ she said to herself.

Yet, deep down, she knew he wasn’t that bad – well, not to her and their son. There was many a woman who would give their right arm to be married to Mike Regan, living in a fuck-off mansion, with diamonds in the drawer and furs in the wardrobe. However, all she wanted – ever wanted – was his attention. She craved it. Life should be about her. She felt she’d earned it, coming from nothing.

So motherhood was a complete fuck-up. She missed the nights out in the clubs, being treated like royalty just because she was Mike’s bird. She only stopped taking the pill because she thought he was getting a wandering eye. Really, she didn’t want kids, end of. Pregnancy would ruin her very sexy body. Yet as soon as her son was born, she saw the end of the flash socializing and all the attention that had been focused on her.

Mike had taken a new stance on life. At last, he was settling down. The trips to their villa in Spain were spent building sandcastles and going out on their boat; he was totally absorbed in their son. The neglect, as she saw it, turned to resentment, and so she began to despise the boy. He looked at her with either sorrow or hatred, but either expression grated on her. Those sweet words that Mike had said to her before the birth were now reserved for their son, and the truth be known, she was jealous and did everything to draw her husband’s interest back to her.

It started with the boob job because she caught him looking at a woman with bigger tits than hers. Then she turned her attention to her lips because she assumed he liked that sort of thing. However, all the trips to the beauty salon for Botox and fillers made not one iota of difference: he only had eyes for his boy. When the parties at their home became tame, she tried to liven them up by making cocktails and encouraging the men to drink. But when she downed a few herself, that just infuriated Mike, and so he put a stop to those too.

So now she saw herself drowning in a humdrum way of life. And her wild behaviour became a major source of friction between Mike and herself. His sharp digs irritated her. ‘How fucking old are ya?’ he would say, or ‘Grow the fuck up and be a mother. You ain’t on Jeremy fucking Kyle.’

If only he knew how much she wanted out of this prison called adulthood. It was purgatory for a young hot-blooded woman like her, who craved sex and a heady lifestyle. For Christ’s sake, she was only fucking twenty-six.

Just as she was about to reach for another hidden bottle of vodka, the doorbell rang. Without looking through the spyhole, she opened the door. It was Tracey, Eric’s girlfriend.

‘Cor, Jackie, the state of ya face. What’s ’appened?’ asked Tracey, following Jackie into the kitchen. Plonking her new Gucci bag on the floor, Tracey clambered up onto the bar-stool, preparing herself for the gossip.

‘That bastard up there, clumped me one last night.’ She tried to force a tear; at least she could expect some sympathy from her sister-in-law-to-be.

Tracey looked as made-up and fake as Jackie. Perhaps more so. She’d also undergone the boob job, hair extensions, and lip fillers. And yet, unlike Mike, Eric preferred his birds tanned and toned. She flicked her long bleached mane over her shoulder, placed her hands on the granite worktop, showing off her fake fingernails, and gazed down with pride at the tiny crystals she’d recently had glued on. ‘So, what’s ’appened then, Jack?’

Jackie poured them both a drink and sniffed back the fake tear. ‘I dunno, Trace. He ain’t the same. I reckon he’s got another bird. Ya know what it’s like. Fucking give ’em a kid and then they ’ave ya tied down and go off looking for a fresh bit of skirt.’

Tracey sipped the bitter vodka and poured more orange juice to dilute the rough taste. ‘Oh, I dunno, Jackie. Mike ain’t like that. He’s probably got a lot on his mind.’

Jackie gave her an evil glare. ‘And how the fuck would you know, Tracey?’

She was annoyed that her so-called friend was now sticking up for the enemy, as she saw him.

‘Oh, come on, Jackie. We all know what his line of work is! Perhaps he’s having a bit of bother.’

With a screwed-up face, Jackie spat back, ‘Who cares about his business! Look at me bleedin’ face. I didn’t do that meself, did I?’

Tracey raised her eyebrow as if to say ‘Who knows?’

‘What? D’ya think I’m lying, then?’

‘Wind ya neck in, Jack. We all know you like a drink. I’ve seen you so outta ya nut, you’ve fallen all over the show.’

Jackie shot her jaw forward in anger. ‘Don’t come it, Tracey. I know your game. Ya come in ’ere all done up, with ya tits hanging out and half ya arse showing. Hoping I wasn’t in, were ya?’

Tracey slammed the glass down, nearly shattering it. ‘Now, you listen, Jackie. I didn’t come ’ere to bloody row, and I don’t like what you’re saying. But I’ll not be surprised if he does go elsewhere. I mean, look at the state of ya. And, Jackie, you’re hardly Mother Teresa. He ain’t blind, love.’

Those words were like a red rag to a bull. Jackie launched herself off the bar-stool, and on her way to taking Tracey down, she managed to snatch a clump of her hair, pulling her heavily to the floor. Tracey yelped like an injured dog. She had hit her knee hard and was in absolute agony. Her friend’s shrieks of pain brought Jackie back to reality. But before she had a chance to say she was sorry, Tracey pushed her away. Grabbing her bag and hobbling towards the door in her noisy stiletto shoes, she shot Jackie an evil glare.

‘Fucking bad move, bitch,’ she growled.

The door slammed shut and the silence left a buzzing in Jackie’s ear. ‘Cunt,’ she mumbled to herself once more. She’d done it again, and this time she’d pissed off Tracey, her sidekick. She stared at the clump of hair on the floor and felt sick. Yet more disturbing was the threatening tone in Tracey’s voice. Holding the bottle of vodka over the sink, she attempted to pour the last of the evil liquid away, but her hands shook so violently, she just couldn’t do it. Instead, she poured it neat down her throat and swanned out to the garden to soak up the sun.

* * *

By the time Mike had got up from his bed, it was four o’clock in the afternoon. He pulled back the curtains and looked at his wife sprawled out on a sunlounger in the hot sun. He shook his head and thought about Ricky. He would be home from school any minute and would have to face a drunken mother with no cupcakes and sweet words, just drivel and sarcasm. Once he was showered and had climbed into his tracksuit, he went downstairs.

He found Ricky in the lounge, still in his uniform, and Sacha sitting there, looking all forlorn.

‘Dad!’ screeched Ricky, as he leaped from the floor and ran into his father’s arms. Sacha gave him a half-smile and stood up to make her exit.

‘I’m sorry, Mike. You know I love Ricky, don’t you?’

Mike held his son, stroking his back, as his son nestled into his neck. ‘I know, Sacha. Don’t worry, I’ll sort something. You’ve been good to me and Ricky and I won’t forget it. ’Ere, take this.’ He pulled a wad of fifties from his tracksuit bottoms. ‘Take yaself on holiday.’

Sacha looked at him open-mouthed. ‘I can’t take all that.’

Mike’s eyes softened.

‘Babe, call it compensation.’

‘Thank you, Mike.’

He winked and nodded. ‘Don’t worry, Sach. I’ll take care of Ricky. That heartless sket won’t be left alone with him, not if I can help it.’ He put Ricky back on the floor and patted his backside. ‘Go on, Ricky. You get on with your homework.’

He headed to the kitchen with Sacha on his heels. ‘I’m gonna put her in a rehab place, and if she refuses, then she can fuck off. I ain’t messing around anymore. She might be my wife, but Ricky is my son, and he comes first. It’s a mighty shame she doesn’t see it that way. Anyway, you get yourself off home and don’t be worrying.’

Sacha stared out into the garden and noticed Jackie burning up from the sun. ‘Er, do you think you should get her in? Christ, she looks like a beetroot.’

Mike chuckled. ‘Nah, let her fry. It’ll give her something else to whine about. Jesus, she’s one ugly mare. Ya know, she was a good-looking kid a few years ago, but now look at her. She’d give Jackie Stallone a run for her money.’

Sacha laughed. ‘Oh, Mike, come on. She don’t look that bad. She’s fashionably attractive.’

Mike looked away. ‘Not my thing, I’m afraid.’

Sacha felt awkward: she had her wages and there was no reason to stay. Mike smiled sweetly and showed her to the door.

* * *

After playing hide-and-seek, Mike took his son off to a select restaurant just down the road from his huge Kent pad. The staff almost stood to attention and quickly tripped over themselves to have him seated and his food served. A few customers smiled and nodded out of respect. Just as their food arrived, one of his phones rang. It was Jackie, screaming obscenities, and in among all the shouting and bitching, she never once asked if Ricky was with him. With one swift movement, he dropped the phone into the jug of water and laughed.

Ricky, with a straw in his mouth, sucking on a smoothie, looked up and smiled. ‘Was that Mummy?’

Mike would have denied it, but he’d gone past pretending Jackie was kind at heart. Even as young as Ricky was, he knew she wasn’t a good mother.

Shortly afterwards, his other phone – his business one – rang. It was Eric. ‘All right, Mike. All done and delivered.’

Mike smiled. That will teach the dirty fuckers.

* * *

It wasn’t until early the next morning that the phone rang again. This time, he didn’t smile; instead, he flared his nostrils and took a deep breath. ‘Are you fucking sure, Eric? How do you know it was the Harmans?’

Eric was pacing the floor. Maybe they’d gone too far this time; after all, they knew very little about the firm.

‘Mikey, what are we gonna do? Staffie loved that dog. I mean who does that, kills a dog, eh?’

Mike chewed the inside of his mouth. ‘Eric, it ain’t about the bleedin’ dog, you fucking muppet, it’s a statement. They’re throwing down the gauntlet after what we did to Travis.’

Eric felt uneasy. The description of the dog’s dismembered body was horrific, but then, so was Travis by the time they’d finished with him. Mike had used Travis’s own phone to take the photos of the aftermath and returned it to the man’s car. He’d then texted Harry Harman from Travis’s phone saying, photo evidence in my car. After he removed his prints from the phone, he left.

‘I don’t fucking like it, Mikey. I mean, what’s next, and, more to the point, who’s next?’

Mike was livid. ‘Now, you listen to me, ya great pussy. Get a grip. I’ll smash the fucking life out of each and every one of those cunts, if they so much as hurt a hair on anyone’s head. Call a meeting at mine. We need to make a plan. I ain’t taking this lying down.’

Eric felt sick. ‘All right. See you in an hour.’

* * *

Ricky was up early and trying to put his school uniform on, while Jackie was still in bed. The sight of his little boy engulfed in innocence, with his hair sticking up and his shoes on the wrong feet, melted Mike’s heart. Then he had a sudden sickening thought and shuddered. ‘You ain’t going to school today, buddy. You’re going on a trip with Mummy.’

Ricky looked up and smiled. ‘Are you coming, Daddy?’

Mike picked him up and hugged him. ‘Not right away, my boy. In a few days, I’ll join you.’

The sweet smile adorning Ricky’s face drooped, and Mike almost sensed the fear. But, right now, his son was safer with Jackie than … he shuddered to think.

‘Jack, get ya arse down ’ere, now!’ he screamed up the stairs.

Jackie had gone to bed with a splitting headache and her face red raw from the sun. She could hear him shouting and tried to focus, but it was all a blur. She felt an uncomfortable throbbing covering her chest and her cheeks, and the banging in her head was relentless; it was a reminder that she’d fallen asleep in the garden. She sat upright and winced with the various pains. Then, she heard him call her again.

‘All right, I’m coming!’ she screamed back. She wasn’t in the mood to drive Ricky to school. For one thing, she looked an absolute mess, and for another, all she wanted was to go back to sleep. After grabbing her satin robe from the end of the bed, she wrapped it around herself and slowly descended the stairs. With every step, she felt dizzy and had to hold the banister to stop herself from being sick on the spot.

Mike was staring at her in disgust. ‘Fucking state of you. Jesus, you look like someone’s dug you up from a grave.’

‘Bollocks, Mike.’ She gave him a death glare. ‘What’s all the screaming about, anyway?’

‘Listen, Jackie, and I mean fucking listen.’ He was narrow-eyed and deadly serious.

Jackie stopped in her tracks. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Get ya bags packed. You and Ricky are off to Spain. I want you to go to the airport and wait for the next flight. And tell no one where you’re going.’

She rubbed her eyes and tried to straighten her hair. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked again.

Mike didn’t have time to discuss business – not that he would anyway – but, now, time was of the essence. He needed his son out of the country.

‘Jackie, for once in your life, shut the fuck up, get the bags packed, and just go, will ya? I’ll join you when I can.’

‘Well, you’ll have to give me a few hours. I need to go to the hairdressers and the—’

Before she could finish, he aggressively snatched her arm and pulled her close. ‘You’ll get those bags packed and be ready to get on the road in fifteen minutes!’

She knew then she couldn’t push him any further. Something serious was going down.

‘All right. Get off me. ’Ave you booked a flight?’ Her pitch was high and sarcastic.

Mike let go of her and snarled, ‘You’re one useless bitch. Just go to the airport and book the next flight, and if there ain’t any today, then stay in a hotel until there is one! You’ve got the credit cards. Now, use your poxy pea-sized brain and get your arse into gear.’ His deep voice, his spiteful tone, and the urgency of the situation were enough to clear her head in an instant. Without another word, she left the room and headed upstairs.

Unbelievably, Jackie was out of the house with their bags in record time. But he was disappointed by how roughly she bundled Ricky into the back of her white Range Rover. Her shoving Ricky the way she did raised his anger. He wanted to drag her by her extensions and ram her face into the wall. But he couldn’t get caught up in yet another domestic; he needed his son away from here and soon. The thought of speaking to any woman like that, let alone hitting them, was just not part of his make-up. He always treated women with decency and respect and never in his life had he raised his hands to one – until the day before yesterday with Jackie. But there was no love left between them. The only reason he kept her around was because she was Ricky’s mother, or she would have been gone years ago.

* * *

A black Mercedes pulled up on the drive and out crawled Eric, looking the worse for wear; his designer stubble was hardly Calvin Klein, more scarecrow, and his wide light-blue eyes looked dark and sunken. Mike spotted right away that his brother was sweating from fear, a thin layer of greasy mist cladding his face. He had aged overnight.

‘Jesus, Mikey, that poor dog. Those Harmans are absolute animals!’ he said, as he paced the floor, running his hands through his hair.

‘Eric, listen. I won’t let no fucker lay a hand on you. Now, calm down.’

Eric looked up through his long dark lashes, and for a second, Mike felt sorry for him. ‘I’ve sent Ricky to Spain with Jackie, to keep them out of the way. Now, what about your Tracey? Maybe she should join them?’

‘You must be joking. Jackie only nearly scalped my bird, all ’cos she thought Tracey had her eye on you. No disrespect, Mikey, but Jackie was out of order.’

Mike put his arm around Eric’s shoulders. ‘Listen, it’s gonna be all right. And I know what ya mean about Jackie. She’s a cunt. Trouble is though, Eric, right now, she’s my cunt, and I still have to look out for her. Mark my words, though. Once this shit is over, if she doesn’t buck up her ideas, she’s gone for good.’

Eric’s ears pricked up. ‘What? Are ya gonna dump her?’

‘Yeah. She’s pushed me to backhanding her, and that ain’t me.’ He sighed heavily. ‘I don’t love her. In fact, I fucking detest her. I should never have got with her and just waited for … Oh, never mind. I’ve got my boy to think about now.’

They headed to the bar in the lounge and waited for the others to arrive.

Eric thought about his brother’s words and wondered if he was contemplating going back to his ex-girlfriend. He’d heard through the grapevine that she was in London. He’d been tempted to make a play for her himself, but this latest row between his brother and Jackie might have put paid to that pipedream. If Mike split with Jackie and knew his ex was back in London, he would no doubt go sniffing around.

‘Mikey, I think I want to jack it in. I wanna settle down, have a family, and start me own business.’

Mike chuckled. ‘Eric, you are a fucking bell-end sometimes. What ya gonna do? You ain’t even got a swimming certificate let alone a GCSE.’

Eric looked his brother over and felt that nagging sense of envy that seemed constantly to eat away at him. Being classed as second best to Mike was not how he saw his future.

‘Anyway, Eric, we have more serious matters at hand than career advice. ’Ave ya told Farver to stay in Florida? I want him outta the way an’ all. This is a war we are walking into, and I don’t know the level of their army … yet.’

Eric felt his stomach churn. ‘Yes. Dad’s staying another few weeks. Do you think they’ll do us over, one by one?’

The brandy hit the back of Mike’s throat and he swallowed twice. ‘No! I didn’t string up Travis’s cat, did I? I fucking strung him up. They wouldn’t have the guts to open up Staffie. Nah, they cowardly butchered his dog instead. Who the hell do they think they are, eh? The fucking Mafia?’

Within a few minutes, Lou and Willie arrived. Like Eric, they were unsettled. Staffie was the last to arrive and he was freaked out. Mike poured them all a drink, and they headed for the dining room where they used to play poker, until Jackie managed to ruin that too, with all her mad, drunken outbursts.

They sat around the table and Mike looked from one to the other; his sidekicks, they were. It was how it was from when they were born. His father, Arthur Regan, used to run the firm. Willie Ritz’s old man, Charlie, and Staffie’s father, Teddy, were the muscle in the crew. Then there was Lou Baker’s father, Big Lou, who was the brainy one. They were Bermondsey boys with a serious reputation and an eye for a good heist or for pavement work. Robbing the security vans, they ran the manor.

‘I don’t like it, Mikey,’ said Lou, always the voice of reason. ‘It’s not knowing enough about the Harmans that sits uneasily with me.’ His tone was softer than the others and slightly more refined. In fact, Lou looked the odd man out. With his passion for sharp suits and his blow-dried hair sitting neatly behind his ears, he was always immaculately turned out – and more like their lawyer than a villain.

Mike nodded. ‘Well, lads, that’s our first job. I want every single fucker in South-East London interrogated. I want everyone knowing that the Harmans are grasses. I’m gonna make damned sure that no other cunt will wanna work with them – that is, if they are attempting to take over the firms in our manor. These cowardly bastards will regret trying to bring me down, that’s for sure.’

Willie was almost chewing his lips off, his last toot of cocaine having left him agitated, as per usual. ‘I wanna know why they saw fit to grass our operation up to the Filth, and why us? I mean, we’ve got no beef with them. We don’t even know ’em!’

Mike snarled. ‘Well, I’ll get to the bottom of it, even if it means ripping a few heads off along the way!’

Staffie jumped to his feet. He was raging. ‘Well, I swear to God, if I get my hands on any of those Harman brothers, I’ll gut them like a piece of fish. I fucking loved that dog. ’Orrible, evil lowlifes they are!’ After a few deep breaths, he sat back down.

Mike poured him another brandy. ‘’Ere, Staffie. Drink this, mate, and calm yaself down.’

Mike looked at Staffie. He couldn’t remember a time when the man was young or had hair; he was always the big bruiser with a thick forehead and hands like bricks.

‘Right, get on ya phones now and call around. I want to know everything there is to know about these bastards.’