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

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.’