Kerry Barnes - The Hunted - A gripping crime thriller that will have you hooked

* * *

Zara sat opposite her father, with a deadpan face. ‘So, why do you want Mike Regan on your firm?’

Izzy peered up through his hooded eyebrows. ‘I know, Zara, about you and him.’

Her flushed face was a dead giveaway. All those years she had tried to keep it a secret. Remaining quiet, she hoped her father would elaborate.

He gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘I want him on the payroll … for security.’

She frowned. ‘Security? You don’t need that, do you?’

‘No, I don’t, but when you take over, Zara, you will. I know he would be the one man to take a bullet for you.’

Casting a questioning look, she asked, ‘Why act like you never knew? Why let me carry on stealing secret moments with him?’

Izzy was about to answer her, but she threw her hands in the air. ‘Oh, forget it. It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s married now and I …’ She paused, the words trapped in her throat. ‘I have a business to run.’

Izzy allowed a wide crooked smile to adorn his face. ‘Yes, my child. But you will need Mike Regan, because I will not always be around. And some people have bigger grudges than others.’

* * *

Mike’s phone rang; it was a number he recognized. He stared for a few seconds before he answered and wandered away from the men.

‘Zara?’

‘Yes, Mikey, it’s me, with a message from Izzy. I hope you realize that you only have twenty-four hours, or he’ll be on the case.’ Her voice was unintentionally cold and made Mike want to laugh.

The once sweet woman was now turning into a clone of her father. Unbeknown to Mike, the cold stares and the stern tone were gaining her a reputation in the underworld – she was Izzy’s daughter all right.

‘I told Izzy to leave off, and Zara, me little princess …’ His words were sarcastic. ‘You tell him, if he interferes and the Harmans go missing before I get a chance to find out what they have fucking done with my son, I’ll rip his insides out with a rusty fucking claw hammer.’

There was silence. ‘Mikey—’

He didn’t give her a chance to get a word in. ‘Zara, acting like some cool gangster doesn’t suit your sweet arse. Leave this shit to the big boys, honey. And didn’t you just hear me? These Harmans, they have my son. So now you can understand why I ain’t afraid to wage war on whoever stands in my way. So, if you’re the go-between, then tell Izzy that.’

A sudden feeling of hurt whipped through her, followed by annoyance. How dare he have a go at her? She was only trying to calm the situation between her father and Mike, but he had just made it clear how he felt about her. Feeling hurt and belittled, she retaliated.

‘And, Mikey, having an unchartered temper doesn’t suit your sweet arse either. I’m sorry about your son, but I would take Izzy’s words seriously, if I were you.’

Mike was about to have another go when the phone went dead.

She was right: he did have a temper. And, deep down, he knew he wouldn’t be able to control it, not while he believed the Harmans had his son.

He stormed back into the lounge. ‘Right, call the men. I want them plotted outside all the homes of the Harman brothers. I want someone in the Three Palms, the Cedars Arms, and the Jolly Roger. I want all of fucking South-East London hunting down these bastards.’

Willie, having snorted a line of charlie, stepped forward, his foot tapping and his eyes wide. ‘I’ll go and show me face in the Cedars. That’s their main drinking hole. I can’t stand the fucking landlord, the sly fucker. He may have the little scrotes hidden upstairs.’

Mike could see he was fired up; he was always the same. The cocaine was a great motivator, and Willie was lethal, once he’d had a toot. He could also be a touch too reckless at times, but Mike could always be relied upon to reel him back in if required. However, right now, Mike had no intention of reeling anyone in. When needs must the devil drives , he thought. He was going to do whatever it took to get his son, and if that meant hurting people in the process, then so be it. He was blinded by his need to find Ricky and couldn’t give a shit how he did it.

‘Mikey, ’ave ya checked Jackie’s muvver’s? Maybe, she’s gone there,’ Staffie said. He could see Mike needed to focus on the positive.

The clock was ticking. He knew that the longer the Harmans had his boy, the more likely they were to kill him. But if they did have him, surely they would have sent a message by now, with some form of a deal? With his hands together and two forefingers resting on his lip, Mike broke out of his thoughts.

‘She doesn’t get on with Gilly.’ He let out a deep sigh and sat down heavily on the sofa. ‘I dunno. I can’t think straight.’

Staffie knew he had to take charge. ‘Willie, you go and round the boys up, check out the pubs, and go and visit that landlord. Call us if ya hear anything. Lou, call Eric and tell him to get his arse back ’ere.’

Mike felt sick. Every nerve at the back of his head was on end; it was like a numbing sensation he’d never experienced before. He wasn’t in control, and he knew if he didn’t get a grip soon, he would lose it.

‘Mikey, where does Gilly live?’

Mike rubbed his face in deep contemplation. ‘Just up the road, ten minutes away …’ He stood up, towering over Staffie. ‘I’ll pay her a visit. If the Harmans don’t have my boy, then it means that Jackie has just fucked off. Jesus, give me strength if she has. I’ll throttle her, the bitch.’

* * *

Driving once more like a lunatic, Mike arrived outside Gilly’s house. He stared for a while at the patchy old pebbledash walls, the overgrown lawn, and the cracked front window held together with gaffer tape. It wasn’t until he’d married Jackie that he found out where she came from. She was too embarrassed to take him to her house, always keeping up the pretence that she was from a good home. Jackie’s inferiority complex often proved to be her own undoing. With her nose in the air, she would look down on people – and take enormous pleasure in doing so.

He knocked on a door which had seen better days. A croaky voice called out, ‘Who is it? I ain’t properly dressed!’

‘Gilly, it’s me, Mikey. Open up, love.’

He heard her rattling a key in the lock and struggling to slide back two bolts, before, finally, she pulled the door ajar. Through the small crack, where he could see her beady eye, the smell hit him: the whole place reeked of dogs, fags, and piss.

‘Let me in, Gilly, please. I need a word.’

She undid the security chain and stepped aside, allowing her huge son-in-law to enter.

As he wandered from the passageway straight into the living room, she waddled in behind him, her worn-out features on a par with the equally antiquated Dralon sofa, onto which Mike slumped.

He looked her over and shook his head. Gilly was a state and a half. Her once thick hair was thin and straggly; it was held away from her wrinkled face by two hair clips. A bright-green velour tracksuit with ‘Juicy Couture’ embroidered on the back was her attempt at looking trendy. But the colour didn’t do anything for her muted complexion, and the loose material around the knees and backside made her look even thinner than she was. He wondered if she’d ever been attractive in her younger years. Stick-thin and gaunt, she looked who she was, a typical junkie. ‘What’s up, Mikey? Ya never visit …’ She noticed his white face. ‘Mikey, love?’

‘Jackie and Ricky have gone missing.’ It hurt him even to say those words. A lump idled in his throat.

‘They ain’t ’ere, Mikey … and what’s she doing? If I know my Jackie, and if she did do the off, she wouldn’t take the boy. She loves herself too much, that one. Bastard of a mother she is …’ She realized she’d just spoken out of turn. But there was no love lost: she hated her daughter. Not that she always had; in fact, she’d absolutely doted on her until the day her daughter found herself a Saturday job and started spending money on doing herself up. That was the time she turned on her mother, starting with all the bitchy comments and ending with violence.