his mouth and let out a heavy sigh. Releasing Mike Regan and his firm early in return for cleaning the streets of the Flakka drug was questionable at every turn and not a decision he’d agreed with at the time. As far as he was aware, the firm had found the gang leader, the man they referred to as the Governor, and that was the end of it. The team were told not to ask questions, and, sure as hell, he wanted the least bit of involvement as possible. His superior, the Police Commissioner Conrad Stoneham, was on leave, and it was a good job too since it wasn’t looking good for him at the moment. For Stoneham’s sister, the MP, had been arrested for failing to stop at an accident, and, right now, with the Commissioner’s face plastered across every newspaper, he was right to take time off. Having Regan brought in for questioning was something he really didn’t relish, but it might have to be done. He would put it off though until Stoneham returned. The Commissioner could take the stick if Regan had killed his ex-wife. He himself wanted nothing to do with it.
‘Damn you, Stoneham. You should’ve let sleeping dogs lie,’ he mumbled to himself.
Roaring along the lane, Torvic suddenly braked; his car and his mind were running out of control. A recollection stabbed him hard, bringing his hopes down to earth like a bloody great boulder crushing him. What if he was wrong and it was Jackie leaving the site in a hurry? If she had double-crossed him – murdered his granddaughter – then, no doubt, she would be heading for Mike’s drum. ‘Bitch!’ he yelled, as he banged the steering wheel. ‘The fucking bitch!’ Anger and frustration burned the back of his throat as his eyes stung with bitter tears.
He had no time to plan his next move. All he could think of was to go in like a bat out of hell and shoot every last one of the Regans and then carve up Zara like a Sunday roast. Jackie, though, if she was alive, would suffer a different fate. He would take extra delight in consuming her to ashes. He would first douse her in petrol and then watch her burn alive. No one hurt his Tiffany and lived to tell the tale.
* * *
Jackie felt relief as she approached Mike’s house. She had looked a hundred times in her rear-view mirror to check that Torvic wasn’t chasing her.
She went over and over in her head how she would approach Mike. What was her excuse for rescuing Torvic? How would it look to Mike? Yet she had the granddaughter locked in her own caravan, and she’d passed Torvic on his way back. She could hand Mike the keys with a smile on her face and say, ‘All yours.’ She would look the hero, except for the fact that she’d rescued Torvic and his granddaughter in the first place. So how was she going to overcome that little issue?
Slowing down as she approached Mike’s drive, her palms felt clammy, and her heart was suddenly racing. Fuck! What was she thinking? Who was the lesser of two evils? Mike hadn’t physically hurt her, even though she’d stolen his money and taken Ricky away from him. She still had one thing over him, though: she was Ricky’s mother. So many questions kept popping up in her mind, she had to stop the car and take a deep breath. Out of the blue, another thought materialized. What if she told him that she’d had no choice? What if she said that if she hadn’t rescued Torvic, he would have instructed one of his men to have Ricky killed – their beloved Ricky?
The gates were closed, and so she had to ring the buzzer set into the wall. There was no answer. She buzzed again and waited, pulling her tatty old coat tighter around her as if by a miracle it could protect her from the cold. Staring up at the house, she noticed that there were no lights on, and as it was still quite dark, they almost certainly would be if he was there. A final press of the intercom had her worried. If Mike wasn’t at home and she didn’t find him soon, then it would be over because Torvic would no doubt come gunning for her. She swallowed hard when she realized that no amount of buzzing would make Mike miraculously appear.
Returning to her car, she locked herself in. Chewing her fingernails down to the quick, she winced as the sores stung. There was only one thing left to do and that was to go to his parents’ place, Arthur and Gloria’s. She shuddered, knowing full well that they would look at her with utter disgust and probably send her packing – with a swift kick up the arse as well, if Gloria had her way. All she could hope for was that Mike would be there.
* * *
Torvic knew exactly where both Mike and Eric lived. He drove like a madman to his lock-up, a dirty old garage at the end of his dead mother’s garden. It was an unsuspecting place, which was overgrown with weeds and ivy. He’d kept the house going and used it as a safety net; it was his hideout when needed. Inside the garage, he kept his tools, his weapons, including an arsenal of guns, a few hand grenades, and his collection of butcher’s knives. He put on the single centre light and wasted no time in scooping up the firearms and carrying them to the boot of his car. Luckily, the lane that ran the length of the back of the houses onto the main street was hardly ever used. Most of the residents were elderly pensioners who didn’t own a car. Once his boot was full, he slammed it shut and zoomed away.
In his mind, he imagined shooting the Regan brothers down like tin soldiers. So what if he went to jail; he really didn’t care anymore, as long as he killed them all – every last one of them.
* * *
Eric checked the back door was bolted shut. ‘Dad, listen. You have to keep this door locked, right?’
Arthur gave a grin that said he was up to something.
‘What?’ asked Eric, concerned that his father wasn’t taking the situation regarding his own safety seriously enough.
With that, Arthur pulled a gun from the back of his trousers.
‘Jesus, Dad, this Torvic geezer ain’t like any old-school fucking gangster. He’s on a whole different level. He won’t talk and give you time to pull your bloody gun out. He’ll come in like a tornado.’
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