The Hunted. Kerry Barnes

any grown man.

      Travis knew he was small fry in comparison to the men surrounding him. Right now, he was shitting himself. He knew it was over: there was no mercy showing on Mike’s face. Those icy, emotionless grey eyes made his bowels move of their own accord.

      It was true. Mike did have a look that was like death calling, a deadpan steely expression that unnerved many a man.

      Staffie, the shortest of the five men, at five foot seven, with no neck, and a goofy, childlike grin, stepped forward holding a torque wrench. ‘’Ere, Mikey, ya don’t wanna get ya hands all messy, now do ya, mate?’

      Mike put his hand up. ‘Hang on a minute. Before I smash the granny out of this geezer, I wanna know all the facts.’

      Staffie nodded, chuckled, and then placed the wrench back on the tool rack.

      ‘Take that gag outta his mouth. I think he wants to talk.’

      Travis’s eyes glistened as he nervously clocked the blowtorch that was resting on the long wooden bench. Terrifying thoughts pierced his mind. Jesus! A childhood memory of catching his arm over the steaming kettle reminded him of the pain, but he knew that would be nothing in comparison to a naked flame. He swooned and felt the warm liquid run down his leg. Totally consumed by fear, his muscles became flaccid and his bowels relaxed. He wasn’t cut out for this work and stupidly he hadn’t looked beyond the actuality of getting caught. However, now he was facing the consequences head-on.

      Willie Ritz, the big meathead with the scar that ran from his forehead down to his chin, cut the gag from Travis using his diver’s knife, his favourite tool. None of the firm ever understood why it was still his weapon of choice, even after an older gang of thugs had taken it from him in a street brawl and run that evil-looking jagged blade down his face. But Willie still turned that knife around in his hand and even kissed the blade. As tall as Mike, but with less meat on his bones, Willie liked to snort cocaine, especially if any violence was to be had. It raised his level of anger and sent him screwy and a little unpredictable. Whenever Willie’s eyes were like saucers, and glared a piercing blue colour, Mike knew his friend had gone over the top, and so he would remove the supply that Willie kept in a pouch shoved down the front of his trousers. Only Mike could get away with it – no one else would dare.

      With trepidation, Travis took a few deep breaths and stared wide-eyed, waiting for the inevitable.

      ‘I think you’d better tell me what you’ve been up to, and, more importantly, who the fuck for.’ Mike didn’t shout or even raise his voice.

      Travis looked at Eric and then back at Mike. ‘No, listen, please, ya got me all wrong. I, er … I was just taking pictures for meself, no one else, I swear.’ He knew it sounded stupid. Really, he had no excuse.

      Mike looked at his brother. ‘Well, Eric, this prick ain’t playing ball, so you’d best tell me what happened.’

      ‘Gladly. We all thought that the Ol’ Bill were tipped off, yeah, and I dunno, I just had this sneaky suspicion that it was this little weasel, and so I followed the rat to his house. But, see, Mikey, Travis, ’ere, ain’t too clever. He left his phone right there on the dashboard of his car with the doors unlocked. So, I thought I’d just have a little butcher’s, ya know, to see if the little fucker had any numbers that I would recognize. Well, fuck me, lo and behold, on the screen was a photo of the London lock-up, and so, after ’aving a mooch through the other pics, I found what I can only describe as incriminating evidence. So, I ran in through his back door and there he was in the kitchen, taking his boots off. The shit-licker only had one of our guns tucked inside his fucking Timberlands.’

      Mike looked back at Travis, who, in turn, looked as though he was going to pass out. ‘So, how do you know he ain’t working for the Filth, Eric? ’Cos I’m guessing you ain’t completely sure on that score.’

      Eric smiled confidently. ‘I ripped the shirt off his back and he wasn’t wired. I tied him up, and the boys and me ransacked his pad. There was no sign of the Ol’ Bill being involved. So, we shoved him into the boot and brought him back here.’

      Mike shook his head. ‘Eric, Eric, you have a lot to learn. I dunno, I still think he’s an informant, but I’ll let Travis tell me the facts.’ He turned back to Travis with a sneer. ‘You will, won’t ya, Travis? You’ll be only too pleased to tell me bruvver ’ere exactly who you are working for, eh?’

      Willie sniggered. He knew exactly how Mike worked and braced himself for claret flowing everywhere when Mike set to work on their captive.

      Travis watched through eyes of terror, as Mike removed his own shoes, his shirt, and then his trousers. ‘Hold me clobber, Eric. I’ve just had them dry-cleaned, and, well, I don’t want them stained, do I?’

      Like a boxer ready for the ring, Mike stood in just his underwear. His legs were as thick as tree trunks and his chest was as wide as a standard doorframe.

      ‘Staffie, hand me a screwdriver. It’s only fitting, since this prick wants to screw me to the fucking wall.’

      Travis let out a high-pitched scream like a girl. Then he began to wriggle and writhe about as if he’d been electrocuted. Mike looked at the others and laughed. ‘Fuck me, I ain’t even touched the knobhead.’

      ‘No, no, all right, I’ll tell ya. Please don’t hurt me, pleeaasse,’ he begged. The tears were streaming down his face and snot was bubbling from his nose.

      ‘Getting covered in claret, it’s pretty disgusting, don’t ya think?’

      Travis nodded furiously. ‘Please, Mike. I’ll tell ya everything ya want to know. Just don’t torture me.’

      ‘Torture? Who said anything about torture? No, Travis, it’s called negotiation. Or do I mean interrogation? Well, let’s hear it, then. Who’s paying you?’ He tilted his head to the side and gave a sarcastic grin.

      Gulping back the fear, Travis thought about the firm he was just about to grass up. Either way, he was a dead man. If only he hadn’t dated the sister. But how could he not? She was such a good fuck he couldn’t get inside her knickers quickly enough. And then he’d had to prove himself worthy of her affections. Really, though, it was her brothers he needed to impress. He was sucked in; before he knew it, they had him planted in among the Regans’ firm. He wasn’t cut out for all this hard-core bollocks.

      He stared at Mike’s lifeless eyes, took another gulp of air, and said, ‘Harry Harman.’ Then he lowered his head and waited for the backlash.

      Mike looked at each man with a deep furrowed frown, searching for some explanation. They either shrugged or curled down their lips. No one had a clue who this Harry Harman was.

      ‘Mikey, do you want the screwdriver or the mallet? What’s ya flavour?’ asked Staffie, now eager to see the carnage.

      With his eyes blinking away the sweat, Travis peered up and winced. ‘Look, Mike, I don’t know much, but I’ll tell you everything. Just … please, don’t use a tool.’

      In an instant, Mike snatched the screwdriver from Staffie and plunged it into Travis’s left kneecap. No one saw it coming, not even Travis. The pain was slow at first, until it reached every nerve in his leg and forced a demonic scream to leave his mouth. Lathered in sweat and writhing, he couldn’t clutch his wound because his hands were tied to the chair. Mike waited for the blood-curdling cries to die down before he handed back the bloodied screwdriver.

      ‘Mike, please, please don’t torture me. I’ll tell you everything, I swear …’ His cries tailed off, as his head flopped down from the unbearable pain.

      ‘And, Travis, me old son, I am a man of my word. Ya see, that weren’t torture, that was a dig. Now then, when you get yaself composed and stop the blubbering, I’m ready to listen.’

      Eric started to laugh but was instantly silenced. ‘Shut it, Eric. This is no laughing matter, and you, ya silly git, took this rat on the payroll.’ He shot his brother a deadly glare and bit his lip.

      Eric