The Hunted. Kerry Barnes

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      Jackie gave her an evil glare. ‘And how the fuck would you know, Tracey?’

      She was annoyed that her so-called friend was now sticking up for the enemy, as she saw him.

      ‘Oh, come on, Jackie. We all know what his line of work is! Perhaps he’s having a bit of bother.’

      With a screwed-up face, Jackie spat back, ‘Who cares about his business! Look at me bleedin’ face. I didn’t do that meself, did I?’

      Tracey raised her eyebrow as if to say ‘Who knows?’

      ‘What? D’ya think I’m lying, then?’

      ‘Wind ya neck in, Jack. We all know you like a drink. I’ve seen you so outta ya nut, you’ve fallen all over the show.’

      Jackie shot her jaw forward in anger. ‘Don’t come it, Tracey. I know your game. Ya come in ’ere all done up, with ya tits hanging out and half ya arse showing. Hoping I wasn’t in, were ya?’

      Tracey slammed the glass down, nearly shattering it. ‘Now, you listen, Jackie. I didn’t come ’ere to bloody row, and I don’t like what you’re saying. But I’ll not be surprised if he does go elsewhere. I mean, look at the state of ya. And, Jackie, you’re hardly Mother Teresa. He ain’t blind, love.’

      Those words were like a red rag to a bull. Jackie launched herself off the bar-stool, and on her way to taking Tracey down, she managed to snatch a clump of her hair, pulling her heavily to the floor. Tracey yelped like an injured dog. She had hit her knee hard and was in absolute agony. Her friend’s shrieks of pain brought Jackie back to reality. But before she had a chance to say she was sorry, Tracey pushed her away. Grabbing her bag and hobbling towards the door in her noisy stiletto shoes, she shot Jackie an evil glare.

      ‘Fucking bad move, bitch,’ she growled.

      The door slammed shut and the silence left a buzzing in Jackie’s ear. ‘Cunt,’ she mumbled to herself once more. She’d done it again, and this time she’d pissed off Tracey, her sidekick. She stared at the clump of hair on the floor and felt sick. Yet more disturbing was the threatening tone in Tracey’s voice. Holding the bottle of vodka over the sink, she attempted to pour the last of the evil liquid away, but her hands shook so violently, she just couldn’t do it. Instead, she poured it neat down her throat and swanned out to the garden to soak up the sun.

      * * *

      By the time Mike had got up from his bed, it was four o’clock in the afternoon. He pulled back the curtains and looked at his wife sprawled out on a sunlounger in the hot sun. He shook his head and thought about Ricky. He would be home from school any minute and would have to face a drunken mother with no cupcakes and sweet words, just drivel and sarcasm. Once he was showered and had climbed into his tracksuit, he went downstairs.

      He found Ricky in the lounge, still in his uniform, and Sacha sitting there, looking all forlorn.

      ‘Dad!’ screeched Ricky, as he leaped from the floor and ran into his father’s arms. Sacha gave him a half-smile and stood up to make her exit.

      ‘I’m sorry, Mike. You know I love Ricky, don’t you?’

      Mike held his son, stroking his back, as his son nestled into his neck. ‘I know, Sacha. Don’t worry, I’ll sort something. You’ve been good to me and Ricky and I won’t forget it. ’Ere, take this.’ He pulled a wad of fifties from his tracksuit bottoms. ‘Take yaself on holiday.’

      Sacha looked at him open-mouthed. ‘I can’t take all that.’

      Mike’s eyes softened.

      ‘Babe, call it compensation.’

      ‘Thank you, Mike.’

      He winked and nodded. ‘Don’t worry, Sach. I’ll take care of Ricky. That heartless sket won’t be left alone with him, not if I can help it.’ He put Ricky back on the floor and patted his backside. ‘Go on, Ricky. You get on with your homework.’

      He headed to the kitchen with Sacha on his heels. ‘I’m gonna put her in a rehab place, and if she refuses, then she can fuck off. I ain’t messing around anymore. She might be my wife, but Ricky is my son, and he comes first. It’s a mighty shame she doesn’t see it that way. Anyway, you get yourself off home and don’t be worrying.’

      Sacha stared out into the garden and noticed Jackie burning up from the sun. ‘Er, do you think you should get her in? Christ, she looks like a beetroot.’

      Mike chuckled. ‘Nah, let her fry. It’ll give her something else to whine about. Jesus, she’s one ugly mare. Ya know, she was a good-looking kid a few years ago, but now look at her. She’d give Jackie Stallone a run for her money.’

      Sacha laughed. ‘Oh, Mike, come on. She don’t look that bad. She’s fashionably attractive.’

      Mike looked away. ‘Not my thing, I’m afraid.’

      Sacha felt awkward: she had her wages and there was no reason to stay. Mike smiled sweetly and showed her to the door.

      * * *

      After playing hide-and-seek, Mike took his son off to a select restaurant just down the road from his huge Kent pad. The staff almost stood to attention and quickly tripped over themselves to have him seated and his food served. A few customers smiled and nodded out of respect. Just as their food arrived, one of his phones rang. It was Jackie, screaming obscenities, and in among all the shouting and bitching, she never once asked if Ricky was with him. With one swift movement, he dropped the phone into the jug of water and laughed.

      Ricky, with a straw in his mouth, sucking on a smoothie, looked up and smiled. ‘Was that Mummy?’

      Mike would have denied it, but he’d gone past pretending Jackie was kind at heart. Even as young as Ricky was, he knew she wasn’t a good mother.

      Shortly afterwards, his other phone – his business one – rang. It was Eric. ‘All right, Mike. All done and delivered.’

      Mike smiled. That will teach the dirty fuckers.

      * * *

      It wasn’t until early the next morning that the phone rang again. This time, he didn’t smile; instead, he flared his nostrils and took a deep breath. ‘Are you fucking sure, Eric? How do you know it was the Harmans?’

      Eric was pacing the floor. Maybe they’d gone too far this time; after all, they knew very little about the firm.

      ‘Mikey, what are we gonna do? Staffie loved that dog. I mean who does that, kills a dog, eh?’

      Mike chewed the inside of his mouth. ‘Eric, it ain’t about the bleedin’ dog, you fucking muppet, it’s a statement. They’re throwing down the gauntlet after what we did to Travis.’

      Eric felt uneasy. The description of the dog’s dismembered body was horrific, but then, so was Travis by the time they’d finished with him. Mike had used Travis’s own phone to take the photos of the aftermath and returned it to the man’s car. He’d then texted Harry Harman from Travis’s phone saying, photo evidence in my car. After he removed his prints from the phone, he left.

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