The Hunted. Kerry Barnes

but Mike took that position. He always had – at school, at work, and at home. But it was worse when it came to women. Eric’s mind wandered, as it often did, to the one woman he’d wanted more than anyone – except Mike had got in there first. He was furious that when he’d expressed an interest in the woman, his brother had then dated her himself. Mike insisted he had already been seeing her, but Eric never believed that for a minute. However, he had the last laugh when she left the country, and Mike ended up with Jackie the tramp instead of his one true love.

      ‘So, Travis, from the beginning, what the fuck are the Harmans doing nosing around my business?’

      Travis tried desperately to put up with the pain and concentrate before Mike stabbed his other knee. The Harmans had sworn they had his back. Come what may, he wouldn’t get hurt and when the business came their way, he would have a hefty cut of it. All he had to do was to find out where the lock-ups were, who their supplier was, and to record the evidence. The rest was up to them. Now, he wished he’d never agreed to any of it. It was no secret as to who he was doing over or how hard these men were.

      The history of the Regans went back decades. The old man, Arthur, ran the firm with an iron fist. With his crew, they controlled the streets in Bermondsey.

      Mike and Eric were Arthur’s pride and joy. He brought them up to be a pair of chips off the old block, and they were – to the extent that they were even more fierce and reckless. Learning everything they knew from their father and his contemporaries, so they wouldn’t have to learn their criminal trade within the walls of Wormwood Scrubs, it was almost an early baptism, except it began when they were aged thirteen and twelve respectively.

      Travis often drank in the local haunts frequented by Eric and Mike. For years, he was just there mooching in the background, dealing a bit of cocaine and weed or selling knocked-off merchandise. It was Eric who had taken him on board, totally unaware that he was colluding with the Harmans. Yet, Eric wasn’t as sharp as Mike, and had royally fucked up this time, by not doing his homework on Travis.

      ‘So, tell me then, Travis, because I ain’t got all night, see. Are you gonna be the problem or the solution? It’s your choice.’

      ‘Harry Harman wanted me to take pictures of your lock-ups and stuff.’

      Mike’s blank expression spoke volumes. Travis had to put more meat on the bones to satisfy Mike’s hunger for information.

      ‘I was seeing their kid sister, Paris. I swear, I didn’t want to get involved, but they … Oh my God, they’re gonna fucking kill me …’

      ‘No, they ain’t, Travis, because—’

      No sooner had Eric opened his mouth than Mike spat, ‘Shut it! Eric, I do the talking, if ya don’t mind.’

      Eric took a step back and bowed his head to hide his clenched teeth. It was outrageous. Mike was really getting in his face now.

      ‘Sorry about that, Travis. You were saying?’

      ‘I didn’t want to work for them, but they saw it as payback for seeing Paris. They said I owed them for taking liberties, and the only way to pay them back was to take poxy photos … That’s all I know, I swear.’

      Mike held his hand up for Travis to stop talking. He paced the floor and then spun around. ‘Staffie, give me that screwdriver.’

      In a sudden panic, Travis screamed, ‘Please! No! They know all your lock-ups and how you’re transporting the guns.’ His breathing was fast, and he was tripping over his words. They left his mouth like a pisshead on the run with his pants down.

      Mike twirled the screwdriver around with his huge fingers. ‘You missed out the part about our supplier, Travis.’

      Travis shook his head. ‘No, they don’t know, Mike. I swear, because I don’t even know.’ His round puppy-dog eyes looked over at Eric, urging him to say something.

      ‘Is that right, Eric?’ demanded Mike.

      Eric snapped out of his sulk and mulled over the past events, trying to work out if there was any way that Travis would have known. He thought he’d been careful. But, had he been careful enough, though, by Mike’s exacting standards?

      ‘Yes, Mike. That’s right.’

      Mike wasn’t a man to take unnecessary risks. ‘What I wanna know is this: what the fuck are they intending to do with that information, Travis? Oh, and don’t leave anything out. I want to know every last detail or … Well, let’s just say I can replace those fucking guns with your body parts.’

      Travis eagerly nodded. ‘Oh, please. Come on, Mike. I don’t know. They wouldn’t tell me, would they?’

      Mike held his hands up. ‘Tell me this, then. Did the Harmans grass my lock-ups to the Filth?’

      Travis nodded. ‘Yes. They want you outta the picture, by any means, even if it means grassing. I swear, if I knew then what I know now, I would never have got involved.’

      ‘Get the man a drink, Eric. It’s gonna be a long night. Travis, I want everything you have on these Harmans.’

       Chapter 2

      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