The girls strolled back into the villa, and Ricky, ever the gentleman, decided he would escort them upstairs to their rooms.
Liam and Arty followed Terrence into the games room, which was more of a lads’ room, comprising a full-size snooker table, a poker table, and a well-stocked bar, with a huge curved TV screen set up on the wall.
‘Cor, Terrence, this is the mutt’s nuts, mate.’
Terrence nodded. ‘I had it put in for when your farvers come over for a break, so don’t you youngsters go and have wild parties and fuck it up, will ya?’
Arty laughed. ‘Terrence, have ya seen those two girls? The wildest they’ll ever get up to is a glass of Pimm’s over a game of Scrabble.’
‘I see one has a bruised face. She looks as though she’s been in a car crash!’
Liam exchanged glances with Arty. Terrence looked on, wondering if he was witnessing a private exchange, until Arty realized that his dad’s mate hadn’t been briefed on every event over in England.
Accordingly, he said, ‘Unfortunately, you ain’t far wrong, mate. Ricky met Poppy in hospital when he was recovering from the attack. Ya knew about that, right?’
Terrence looked at them both, all traces of humour now over. ‘No, not that. Mike told me a lot about what’s been goin’ on, and, quite frankly, I just couldn’t believe it at first. What he didn’t mention, though, was the business with the girls. He just said that they were with you and would I treat them like I would you lads.’
‘Well, Poppy and Brooke’s muvver is the local MP. She’s a dodgy prat. Anyway, she ran Poppy down, probably by mistake, ’cos it was dark, but she didn’t stop, so it was a fucking hit-and-run. I think she’s now on remand, but I don’t know if the girls know that.’ Arty noticed Terrence’s face, which was poised for more information.
‘The twins, Brooke and Poppy, had a stepsister called Kendall. She was Lance Ryder’s daughter, who was killed during the attack on Ricky,’ said Arty, eager to fill in the missing details.
‘About the twins. Who is their father?’
‘Well, funny you should ask. They thought their ol’ man was Alastair, the son of this Torvic bloke. But they only just found out their real dad is Lance Ryder.’
‘Mike told me about this Alastair bloke. Do the girls know he’s dead?’ Terrence suddenly lowered his voice.
‘No, but from what I can gather, they weren’t that close to him. In fact, they weren’t close to their muvver either. Kendall’s dad, this Lance bloke, is looking out for them now,’ said Liam, who had remained quiet up until this point.
‘Fucking hell. There’s a lot of coincidences,’ said Terrence, with a deep frown.
‘No, not really. The only fluke was Ricky dating Kendall. The blokes who attacked Kendall were after Ricky because he’s Mike’s son, but they killed Kendall. The sick twist is that not only did that bastard Alastair play a hand in killing his own stepdaughter but he fucking raped her first,’ said Liam.
‘The dirty fucker! Right, I’d better show you the gun collection.’
Terrence then walked over to the cabinet and unlocked it. As the door was opened, Arty grinned. ‘Cor, fucking tasty, mate.’
Ricky appeared in the doorway and made his way over to see what they were looking at. ‘I told the girls to check out the upstairs. Ya don’t mind, Uncle Skid, do ya?’
‘No, lad, not in the least. Right, now you’re all here, those three guns there are loaded. I’m supposed to have them separate from the ammo, but I didn’t see the point. Anyway, don’t get drinking and start playing silly buggers, ’cos I don’t wanna have to explain how the fuck any of ya got shot.’
Arty patted his shoulder. ‘Terrence, in case you ain’t noticed, we’re all grown men now.’
Terrence raised his brow. ‘Yeah, is that right? Well, you’re still kiddies to me. Okay, in that drawer, there are two small handguns for the girls. Now, look on those walls. See those red buttons? If ya press them, make sure no one is near the windows or the doors, ’cos you may well lose a foot. The minute you press any of the panic buttons, those metal shutters come down, and trust me, they’re fucking heavy and they hit the floor like shit off a shovel.’
As confident and self-assured as Arty was, he suddenly felt uncomfortable. ‘Terrence, tell me, mate. How serious is this business back home? We were given a quick briefing at the airport, but, I mean all this.’ He pointed to the gun cabinet. ‘What’s going on?’
Terrence leaned against the bar. ‘Sit down, lads. Ya wanna brandy?’
Liam nodded. ‘Yeah, sounds as though we’re gonna need one.’
As soon as the tumblers were placed in the boys’ hands, Terrence took a deep breath. ‘Okay, there ain’t been many times when Mikey Regan calls me in a right two and eight, so when he does, I pay attention. All you really need to know is that some geezer called Torvic, a dangerous fucker by all accounts, was held captive by Zara Ezra and Mikey, while they tried to get information out of him. Ya know, “the Mikey way”. Anyway—’
‘Hold it, Terrence. What do ya mean by “the Mikey way”?’ interjected Ricky.
Liam put a hand on Ricky’s shoulder. ‘Oh, trust me, buddy, you’ll live and learn, now you’re part of the firm.’
As Ricky turned to face him, Liam winked. ‘Our pops take no shit.’
Ricky thought back to the brief spell he’d spent in prison when he’d been reunited with his father, and how he had put the fear of God into people. ‘Yeah, Liam, I ain’t really surprised.’
Terrence was relieved that the boys’ fathers hadn’t kept them wrapped in cotton wool. Clearly, they were following in the footsteps of their fathers and grandfathers before them. But he didn’t know what they knew and what they didn’t. Although he and Mikey spoke on the phone occasionally, they never spoke about business. That was a no-no in their line of work. Fucking GCHQ and all that listening bollocks was apparently being extended from listening in on known espionage and terror related set-ups to any nefarious activity that was making serious money and denying the government of valuable revenue.
‘Well, this Torvic bloke was set up by Zara and Mike. Torvic’s sons got murdered, and his precious granddaughter was threatened. The deal was that Torvic would lead them to a man called Barak Segal in exchange for Torvic’s granddaughter’s life. Anyway, Zara and Mike had ’em locked up overnight only to find that the bastard and his granddaughter had escaped by the morning. This Torvic geezer is on the loose, and, apparently, from what Mikey told me, he’s one sick fucker who will come for one or each of you, out of revenge.’
‘Why did they kill the man’s sons?’
Arty tutted. ‘For fuck’s sake, Ricky, they would’ve had their reasons, wouldn’t they?’
‘I know that, but I wanna know why.’
Terrence poured them all another drink. ‘Because, Ricky, and Liam has just confirmed this, one of his sons was responsible for your beating … and another thing,’ he pointed his finger upwards to where the girls were, ‘he was supposedly their father … a bloke called Alastair. It’s all a bit of a mess. Torvic was importing a drug called Flakka into the whole of South-East London and had gangs of druggies doing his dirty work. But the bastard was killing and hurting innocent people. His son, Alastair, also killed his own stepdaughter by forcing that Flakka shit down her throat before he raped—’
‘Kendall?’ interrupted Ricky, horrified by what his uncle was telling them.
Terrence had been gauging the effect his news was having on the lads and particularly on Ricky. ‘Yeah, sorry, son. She was ya girlfriend, weren’t she?’
Ricky looked away, tears forming, and he suddenly felt very light-headed. He took deep breaths, as suggested by his nurse Constance at the hospital, whenever he experienced a flashback where he was subjected to that savage beating in Kendall’s flat. He got up from the bar stool and walked around in circles, processing this news, while Terrence, Arty, and Liam spoke quietly, trying to give Ricky some private time.
Terrence knew this would be difficult for Mikey’s son. In truth, he hadn’t wanted to get involved in all of this mess, but he owed Mikey big time for all the work the big man had given him, and, of course, for the rewards he was now blessed with. He needed to be there for the lad, and he would be.
Five minutes later, Ricky was back, sitting at the bar. His mind made up now, he said, ‘Evil cunts! Ya best show me how to use one of these guns, because if this geezer shows his face, I’ll blow the fucker’s head off!’
Arty and Liam had never seen Ricky get angry. But then, Ricky was a relatively new face, as an adult, anyway.
Ricky had just started school when Jackie, his mother, had taken him from Mike’s home, ostensibly to escape to Spain and to safety, following a war that had just taken place between the Regans and both the Harman and Segal families. Jackie, though, didn’t go to Spain. She used all the money she had siphoned from Mike to buy a house in Cambridgeshire, intending to shack up with Scottie Harman. But her illicit involvement with one of the Harmans was a step too far for Mike. Knowing what Mike would do if he caught her, she scarpered off to Ireland, back to her roots, to live in a caravan. No one knew where Ricky was until fate decreed that both Ricky and Mike would be reunited in HMP Maidstone.
The handsome, cheeky chappie with an innocent smile had transcended into someone far more frightening. Now his look of rage was identical to Mike’s. Even Terrence spotted it.
‘Cor, you’re your father’s son all right. It’s like watching Mikey all over again.’
‘So, are you gonna show me how to fire that thing?’
Arty got up and pulled Ricky away. ‘Listen. They’ll find this Torvic fella, so slow yaself down. Let’s get settled in and then we can have a little target practice, but first, mate, you need to get rid of that anger, ’cos no one learned anything when their mind’s on revenge.’
By the time Terrence had given them the complete rundown and left the villa, they were ready for the pool except they had no swimming gear, only their underwear. The situation was so bizarre to the girls that they were done with being so ladylike and self-conscious. The boys were in the pool in just their boxers, which was okay by them. Arty thought, though, that the girls might be a little embarrassed going into the pool wearing only a bra and knickers. But Poppy and Brooke didn’t need asking twice: they stripped off and joined them in a flash.
Enjoying the attention, the girls played around in the infinity pool. Meanwhile, the lads still had the looming threat firmly on their minds and kept ever vigilant. And they had to be even more so now that Poppy and Brooke were with them because they had lived somewhat privileged and sheltered lives, and so they wouldn’t really have a clue how serious this situation was. But their fathers had made it clear that if Torvic showed up, then there was to be no messing about: they were instructed to shoot to kill. It was the first time ever that they’d been told to kill anyone, so they weren’t going to take any chances. It was the day they had to grow up – to step into their fathers’ shoes and to take no prisoners.
Chapter 5
Once Mike had been informed that the boys were safe, he knew he would be able to relax a bit. Staffie and Willie continued to make calls, trying to track down Torvic and anyone linked to him. Shamus and Neil had their men covering the restaurants. They would probably be places that Torvic would likely go to find them. Mike, though, hoped his firm would be one step ahead.
By nightfall, there was no news on Torvic’s or his granddaughter’s whereabouts. There was damn all left to do but sleep. Zara and Mike returned to Mike’s house where they tried to rest, but it proved to be an impossible task. Any noise caused them to sit bolt upright. Zara slept very little anyway: she was tossing and turning, thoughts of what she’d done to Torvic’s sons firmly on her mind.
* * *
It was seven o’clock in the morning when Zara arrived at the hangar, which had now been the focus of two macabre episodes in the last decade or so: the demise of some of the Harman family, and, most recently, the deaths of Torvic’s sons.
She shivered as her eyes fell on the two chairs taking centre stage in the secret back room. There, on the floor, lay the abandoned ropes that had been cut by the mystery person coming to the rescue of Torvic and his granddaughter. Bizarrely, everything else had been left untouched. Even the remote device remained on the worktop.
Shamus stood by her side, his jacket lapels turned up, shielding him from the cold breeze that encircled the large open area. He had his hands in his pockets, and his shoulders were slumped. ‘See what I mean, Zara? It’s as if they’ve just vanished. I don’t like it one bit.’
Zara looked over at Mike who was wandering around the room. ‘Someone must have been hiding back there in the bushes with a pair of binoculars and watching the whole fucking drama. All I can say is they couldn’t have been strong-armed because they waited for us to leave before they came to set Torvic free. Which means one of two things: either he had already planned to have someone there that night, believing that I wouldn’t kill him, or one of our own men went back. Me, I think he was one step ahead of us.’
Neil shook his head. ‘I don’t get it, Zara. How could he have been so cocksure you wouldn’t kill him?’
Zara slowly and deliberately turned to face Neil. ‘Because he’s fucking clever, that’s why. He threw me a line that I would go for, and, stupidly, I took the bait – hook, line, and sinker. He knew I needed information and putting out that Barak was the main supplier was a clever ploy on his part. He shrewdly guessed that name would have me determined for a meeting. He knew about the past; the bastard knows everything, including how to fucking play me. Jesus, how could I have been so gullible? Of course it’s not Barak who supplied him with the drugs. He threw that in there to secure his own life. The man knows too much about me. How the hell he does is a mystery, but the fact is, he does. But I have to hand it to him. He employed the oldest trick in the book. Give your interrogator something that sounds convincing and they’ll buy it. Well, it worked, didn’t it?’ She shook her head and sighed. ‘Okay, now we know that Barak is not behind this, we’d better put out a few feelers and find out as much as we can about this Torvic bloke.’
She paused as she watched Mike’s eyes focus on one of the kitchenette cabinets. Ignoring her, he squatted on his haunches and placed his cheek on the cold concrete floor.
‘What are you doing, Mikey?’
Still ignoring her, he tried to stretch his arm under one of the units that was attached to the back wall. He groaned as he reached further. Then, suddenly, he was on his feet, holding a piece of paper. ‘Zara, your hangar, as you once told Staffie, is always as clean as a surgeon’s scalpel, so what’s this?’ He unfolded the tatty piece of paper as Neil, Zara, and Shamus hurried over to see for themselves. The note was partially printed and in the corner was part of an address. At first, they all looked dumbstruck: no one recognized it for a moment.
‘It may have just blown in with the wind. The back room’s been open to the elements,’ said Shamus.
But then, Zara looked at Mike’s face. He was staring as if what he was seeing meant something.
‘Mike?’
He snapped out of his gaze and slowly turned to face her. ‘I’ve seen this before, but … no, there must be some mistake. I, er …’
‘Mike, spit it out! What’s going on?’ demanded Zara.
He scratched his head. ‘This is mental. When Jackie was at mine, I tipped her bag out. She told me that on one of her court summonses there was an address of the Flakka supplier. It was Number Three, Sycamore Cottage. To me, this looks like the start of that address. And look at the corner of this paper. It has a reference number and serial numbers. That’s an official letter, like a court summons.’
Zara stepped back and screwed her face up. ‘Aw, come on, Mike. This has to be a coincidence. I mean, Jackie, your fucking ex-wife, in cahoots with Torvic? Give me a break. The bird’s a tent short of a circus, as thick as pig shit, and twice as stupid. No way!’
As Mike stared at the paper, he tried to remember if it was the same one he’d read at his home at the time of finalizing the divorce with his wife.
‘Zara, this is no coincidence. Who writes down addresses in pen these days? In fact, who uses a pen? Nah, this was in her bag, I’m telling ya.’
Stunned by the find, Zara paced the floor. She pulled a packet of cigarettes from her pocket, removed the cellophane with her teeth, and, after lighting up, she puffed away like a steam train.
‘I’m going to fucking kill her,’ Mike said. ‘Doesn’t the stupid bitch realize what she’s done? My Ricky could be in fucking danger because of her. Right, I’m going to Essex, and I’m gonna burn her fucking caravan down, with the ugly prat in it!’
‘No! Don’t be so reckless. That piece of paper may not confirm she was the one who released Torvic and Tiffany. For all we know, he may have been in her company, and, in some way, that piece of paper ended up with him.’
Mike stood with his hands on his hips and gave her a defiant glare. ‘Give over, Zara. It’s more likely that he’s given her a stash of money, and we all know she’ll do anything for cash. I ain’t gonna stand here and leave her be. I’ve had enough. She’s been the fucking thorn in my side for years now. It ends today.’
‘Mikey Regan, you might just find yourself back in the same position you were thirteen fucking years ago, with you inside and no help to anyone …’ She paused, allowing the words to filter. ‘Listen. Torvic was one step ahead of the game, but we have something now. We have Jackie. We ain’t going in like escaped maniacs, we’re gonna plan this out and find a way to get to Torvic. Jackie can wait. There’ll be plenty of time later to deal with her.’
Mike rolled his eyes and bit his lip. Zara was right, of course, so he had to control his urge to let rip.
* * *
As the Spanish sun dipped beneath the horizon and the cold crept in, Arty went inside. He decided to make a fire. It would give them all something to focus on and they could enjoy time snuggling up on the sumptuous sofas with the big screen on. It was essential, he reasoned, for them to keep their minds firmly on doing things. Otherwise, too much time spent on reflection would bring all their worries to the fore. Poppy and Brooke were fun to be around, the three lads were tight, and all five of them seemed to gel effortlessly.
The screeches and laughing simmered down as they slowly wandered inside. Poppy and Brooke were both huddled in the entrance hall, shivering inside their towels. Their eyes lit up when they spotted see-through bags of what looked like tracksuits, T-shirts, and jumpers. Arty was prodding the logs, stopping them from sliding off the grate.
‘All right, girls. We should be warm pretty soon unless you want the heating on as well.’
Poppy looked tired. The pool was great for the recovery of her leg injury, but she still hadn’t really had enough time to recuperate from her ordeal.
Brooke, however, was still lively and wandered over to the bags. ‘Arty, are these for us?’
Arty was still kneeling on the floor, attending to the fire, but he looked over to see what Brooke was referring to. ‘Oh, yeah. Terrence stopped by. He dropped off some clobber. He doesn’t want us to leave the villa unless it’s an emergency.’
Brooke was trying to see what exactly was in the bags; it wasn’t every day she was given new clothes.
‘Can I have a look? I need to get something warm and clean on.’
Poppy sat shivering close to the fire. ‘Y-e-ss, me-e to-o.’
With the go-ahead, Brooke began opening the bags. To her delight, they were crammed with designer clothing, with authentic labels, no less. Two fleece-lined Nike tracksuits in pastel shades caught her eye and instantly she looked at the size. They were spot-on. ‘Here, Poppy, this will warm you up. They’re lovely, so soft, and, Poppy, they’re Nike. Wow, I love them. Do you think we could keep them?’ she asked excitedly.
Arty stood up and helped Brooke to carry the bags into the lounge. ‘Of course, babe. I don’t think they’ll look much cop on Terrence.’
Brooke giggled and blushed, and then turned to her sister, who, by now, had blue lips and was covered in goose bumps. ‘Hey, are you okay?’
Poppy nodded. ‘I’ve just got too cold, I think. Maybe I overdid it a bit.’
Brooke quickly got her sister to her feet. ‘Come into the other room, get out of those wet bits, and I’ll help you get dressed. You will warm up soon enough.’
While the girls left to get changed in the games room, Liam and Ricky came into the lounge, still laughing. Both looked like drowned rats. ‘Where are the girls?’ asked Ricky, clearly concerned for them.
‘Getting changed, I believe. Oh, yeah, there are tracksuits for you two. Terrence dropped them off. We ain’t to leave the villa, apparently. He brought us some big steaks an’ all, so we can have a right good feast up.’ He stepped back away from the huge TV screen and fiddled with the remote. ‘There we go, lads. A warm fire, a good film, and you, Liam, ya think ya some kinda naked chef, so you can cook us all dinner!’
Liam rubbed his hands together, beaming. ‘Yep, ol’ Gordon Ramsay has nothing on me.’
Ricky laughed and shook his head. He enjoyed Liam’s sunny personality. He was always so upbeat and funny. In fact, he laughed at everything, including himself, sadly.
As they all sat around the fire, drinking beers, Liam, the joker, dressed in just an apron, came into the lounge holding a frying pan. ‘So, how d’ya like ya steaks?’
They all fell about laughing as he turned around to show his bare backside. Poppy winked and laughed along. ‘If I could get to my feet quick enough, I think I’d slap that arse of yours.’
Her sudden change to a cockney accent made everyone roar, including Liam, who was loving the attention, especially from, as he saw her, the prettiest girl in Spain.
Ricky threw him a tracksuit. ‘Get dressed, or the sight of your two cheeks will put me off me steak.’
Liam dodged the tracksuit as it flew past him and landed in the kitchen. Laughing away, he returned to cook the steaks.
Poppy had stopped shivering and was now curled up sipping her beer, while Arty flicked through the TV channels.
Ricky laid his head back and closed his eyes. With tiredness sweeping over him, perhaps he too had overdone the playtime in the pool.
Brooke chatted away to Arty about the best Marvel movie she’d watched, which impressed Arty because he had a liking for the same film.
After a few minutes, Arty called out to Liam, ‘Oi, chef, are you fucking milking that cow or cooking it? I want mine rare, mate.’ He chuckled, but there was only silence.
Suddenly, the room went quiet. Ricky opened his eyes and held his breath. Brooke looked at Poppy with tremendous fear on her face. Arty silently got up and put his finger to his mouth, telling the others to be quiet. He backed away from the lounge, hurried to the games room, and returned with a gun in his hand. ‘Liam!’
Ricky was now on his feet and behind Arty as they crept towards the kitchen. As they reached the door, Arty cocked the gun and peered in, but the kitchen was empty. The frying pan was sizzling away, but the tracksuit was on the floor, and Liam was gone.
‘What the fuck?’
The side door slammed shut. Arty ran across the marble floor and ripped the door open. Outside, there was no sign of movement, and the air was still, with no obvious sound whatsoever. And no lights could be seen. It was baffling. Liam had seemingly vanished into thin air.
‘Liam!’ screamed Arty.
Ricky ran back to the lounge to check the girls were still there. ‘Liam’s gone. Stay there. Don’t move.’
Poppy grabbed Brooke’s hands, and, instantly, they both held each other. This was so terrifying, like one of those slasher movies.
