The Hunted: A gripping crime thriller that will have you hooked

Just as Mike was about to explain, the side door opened and in breezed Zara Ezra, Izzy’s daughter. In her early thirties, this tall, slender woman had a swan-like neck accentuated by a wavy multitoned bob. To Mike, she was the epitome of class and grace with an unforgiving, deadly sting in her tail. Her copper, cat-like eyes slowly blinked when she noticed Mike, yet her face remained inscrutable, with not even a trace of a gentle smile. Totally ignoring Mike, she went over to Izzy, pecked him on the cheek and pulled a wad of banknotes from one of the desk drawers.

Mike noticed how Izzy’s face had lit up when she’d walked into the room.

‘Is it all here?’

‘Yes, my darling.’

‘Good. I’ll be back at teatime. Before you say anything, I have Joshua with me.’

Mike watched her every graceful step as she left the room.

‘Nice-looking woman. Is she—’

He never got the rest of the words out of his mouth. Izzy slammed his hands down on the desk. ‘Yes! My fucking daughter.’

Mike couldn’t restrain himself from a slight smirk. He’d definitely got under Izzy’s skin.

‘I didn’t think you swore. Besides, Izzy, I was only gonna pass a compliment.’

Izzy glared with his beady eyes. ‘Anyway, were we talking about a war over a dog?’

Mike nodded heavily. ‘Yep, over a bleedin’ dog. But you and I both know that it’s a statement. So, Izzy, it seems that a little firm run by three brothers, Harry, Vinnie, and Scottie have taken serious liberties, and although we sent them a clear message via their informant, they saw fit to brutalize Staffie’s dog. And in my world, if not in yours, Izzy, that goes against the grain.’

Shaking his head, Izzy smirked. ‘You lot are nuts. Okay, you do what you need to do, but if these Harmans are not found and dealt with in the next forty-eight hours, I’ll take over, and you, Mike, will be owing me … Harmans, you say?’

Mike watched as Izzy’s fingers, which displayed a variety of rings of all shapes and styles, wiggled as if he were about to play the piano.

‘I didn’t, but you knew it was the Harmans all along, didn’t ya, Izzy?’

Izzy gave a slow, deliberate nod. ‘Yes, I just wondered how long it would take you to work that out, Mike. I’m a shrewd man. I watch and listen. I backed off and allowed you to deal with the situation. But I was testing you to see how long it would take you to be upfront and inform me of the issues. You passed that test.’ He waved his hand dismissively. ‘Now, you have forty-eight hours, or you will be working for me.’

Mike huffed. ‘Well, that ain’t gonna happen – ever!’

Izzy leered. ‘Our deal was that if you messed this little arrangement up, then you would be on my firm under my control. Remember, Mike, you are a man of your word. I hope your sidekicks are preparing to be answerable to me.’

Mike got up to leave. He bit his tongue before he said something he would regret because there was no way he would be working for Izzy the Jew – not while he had a pair of balls.

Izzy grinned to himself as he watched Mike leave. He was fully aware of the clout Mike had. He wanted him on his firm, as head honcho if need be, since Mike was gaining a reputation faster than Durex sales during the Aids scare.

Once outside, Mike clocked the tall figure, leaning with her back arched against a newly built brick wall. She was drawing on a long black cigarette holder. For a second, Mike saw her as a flapper girl from the 1920s. Bonnie and Clyde sprang to mind. He stopped and pulled a packet of cigarettes from his inside pocket and flicked open the lid to his engraved silver lighter. Before he put it back into his pocket, he looked at the etched image of his son. He made a mental note to call and make sure Jackie and Ricky had reached Spain safely.

‘Have you upset Daddy, by any chance, Mikey?’ Her words were cold and oozed confidence. He stepped closer and noticed her milky white skin had just a hint of pink, especially on her bare shoulders.

‘You need sunscreen in this weather, Zara.’

She looked his way, ignoring his comment, and then she turned to blow smoke in his direction, her eyes narrowing in displeasure.

‘How are you?’ he asked, with a smirk across his face.

She pushed herself away from the wall. ‘I’m fine, Mikey. Why shouldn’t I be?’

Removing the cigarette butt from the holder, she threw it to the ground and placed her open-toe shoe over the top, stubbing it out.

She started to walk away, acting as if she had no interest in him, but he knew she rarely smoked and had been waiting for him – maybe just to see if there was still a little spark between them.

‘So, you’re back then?’

She shot him a look of anger. ‘I have been for a while. How’s Julie … Joanne, or whatever her name is?’

‘You mean Jackie? She’s a pain in the arse, a nightmare … but, hey-ho, life’s a bitch, and I certainly married one.’

She searched his eyes for any sign that he still had that sexual hunger for her, knowing she could never read him. ‘Well, you made your bed, Mikey. Your circus, your monkey.’

He sighed and looked her up and down. ‘Yep, Zara, you got that right.’ There was an awkward silence for a few seconds. She assumed he still had feelings, or he would have waved and said goodbye – not stood there, looking her over.

‘Well, Mikey, you bred with her.’

Mike had to bite his tongue. That comment was crass and in fact quite vile. His son was his world, and so the words stuck in his throat.

She clocked his stern expression. ‘Don’t look so offended, Mikey. It’s true. You married her and had a kid, so she must mean something.’ Zara took a step closer with a sneer plastered across her face. ‘Unless, that is, Mikey, she is just an exceptionally good fuck.’

In an instant, he grabbed the back of her hair and pulled her face an inch from his. ‘Nah, Zara. You were that.’ And then he planted his lips on hers. Even though she struggled, he held her there, until he felt her relax and then he let her go.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘You bastard!’

Trying to steady his breathing, he shook his head and walked away. He had to make his head rule his heart – once bitten, twice shy. As much as he felt the surge of excitement and rush of lust, she was still the woman who’d left him. Unable to look back, afraid of his own feelings, he marched on ahead. He shouldn’t have kissed her either, but he wanted to demonstrate his power. Seven years ago, he would never have grabbed her like that – ever.

Zara watched him, her mind all over the place. She was seething, but as soon as he was out of sight, she calmed down and then smiled. There was an upside to this latest encounter: he still wanted her. But would he still, if he knew how much had changed?

* * *

By the time Mike returned home and called a meeting, the lads had done their homework on the Harman family and located the address where each family member lived.

‘How’d it go with Izzy?’ enquired Eric.

Mike raised his brow. ‘As expected, he wants the Harmans dealt with as much as we do.’ Not wanting to concern the lads, he deliberately left out the threat Izzy had made.

‘Was he on his own?’ asked Eric, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably.

Mike stiffened and turned to face his brother. ‘Do you mean was Zara there?’

Eric shrugged. ‘No, not really. I meant anyone.’

‘Yes, Eric, I saw Zara.’

Dying to know what went on, Eric had to bite his lip; he couldn’t appear too eager.

Unexpectedly, Mike snapped at him. ‘You fucking knew she was back, didn’t ya?’

Eric felt his face flush red. He looked at the others who had now almost frozen to the spot in disbelief.

‘Well yeah, I did hear that a while ago, but what does it matter? You’re with Jackie and have Ricky. She’s …’

The uncomfortable atmosphere spurred Lou to quickly change the subject. ‘Listen up. Harry, Vinnie, and Scottie Harman’s pads have all been checked over. It seems they’ve gone into hiding. The only place not accounted for is their ol’ man’s.’

Mike sensed that the Zara discussion should be kept separate from the business at hand. He shot Eric a disparaging glare before calling for action.

‘Right, then. Eric and Willie, you come with me. Get a tool and put on a first-class bastard attitude because we’re paying the Harman family’s home a visit.’

Eric looked away to ensure that his brother couldn’t see the darkened scowl on his face. He wasn’t capable of keeping a steely fixed expression like Mike could. In fact, if he was honest, he knew they weren’t cut from the same cloth. And being riled up because Mike met up with Zara was taking his focus away from the job in hand.

Staffie jumped up. ‘I wanna come, ’cos I have a fucking monkey wrench with the name Harman carved on it.’

Mike shook his head. ‘No! Sorry, mate, but your temper will be a liability.’ He held up his hands. ‘Trust me, Staffie. You’ll get a chance to leave ya mark, so be patient. You stop ’ere with Lou.’

With red-rimmed eyes and a sulky pout, Staffie slumped back into his armchair and gulped back the last of his drink. ‘Yeah, well, if you weren’t such a lump, Mike Regan, I’d tell you to go and fuck yaself.’

Mike grinned and gently tapped Staffie’s face. ‘Yeah, and if I didn’t love ya so much, I’d clump ya for that comment.’

‘I want my time with them, though, Mikey. Don’t you kill ’em before I leave my mark.’

‘Staffie, I’m a man of my word. You go and find that monkey wrench.’ He winked and nodded for Willie and Eric to follow him.

Within the hour, Mike was in Lee Green, driving slowly along the road to Frank Harman’s place. He looked at the house numbers and then clocked all the cars in the street, knowing that Harry and his two brothers all drove black Mercedes with private number plates. Yet this street had no flash cars parked with two wheels over the kerb.

‘Looks like the Harmans are not at home, boys.’

‘What does their ol’ man drive?’ asked Mike.

Eric looked at Willie and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Dunno. I only got the details of Harry, Vinnie, and Scottie. I didn’t think about the ol’ man.’

Mike sighed. He loved his brother, but there were times when he was really irritated by him. Why his brother could be so lax when he should have his mind on the task ahead was beyond him. He thought that perhaps Eric was distracted by the stupid notion that he could surreptitiously go after Zara.

Eric had once had his eye on her years ago, but it was made clear to him that Zara wasn’t interested. In fact, her exact words were, ‘I find him a bit creepy.’

‘So, Eric, now we won’t know what we’re potentially walking into.’ He didn’t raise his voice; he’d made his point.

The pained look on Eric’s face said it all: once again, he felt inferior.

Easing his car into a space just three doors down, Mike paused and looked up to see if the street had any cameras. Then he craned his neck to address both Eric and Willie who were seated in the back.

‘When we go in, I want quiet. No shouting. These neighbours are too close. I want you to act like the fucking SAS, got it? I want whoever is inside that house shitting hot bricks with a shooter in their face, and then I want them away from here, back to the lock-up.’

Willie lit up a cigarette.

‘Put that fucking thing out. I’ve just had me motor valeted! Jesus!’ yelled Mike.

After looking up and down the road, he stepped out of the car, followed by the others, and confidently marched up to the house. He nodded for Willie to accompany him and whispered to Eric to stay out of sight of the window, but to stand by the front door, in case anyone tried to escape.

Mike and Willie hurried up the side of the house and into the rear garden where they noticed the back door was ajar. In a flash, Mike pulled his gun from his belt and pushed the door open. As he walked into the kitchen, he detected the sweet smell of cakes being baked. Then he strained to listen, putting his finger over his lips, indicating to Willie not to make a sound. Slowly, Mike crept along the hallway and opened the front door, flicking his head for Eric to enter.

Once they were all in the hallway, Eric gripped his gun and poked his head into the living room, only to find the television on and no one there – as if the house had suddenly been vacated. He strained his ears again, listening; he could have heard a pin drop. That was until, suddenly, they heard the toilet flush. He held his gun, pointing it to the staircase, awaiting the appearance of a Harman. There was silence for a few minutes until the toilet flushed again. Motionless, they waited. Again, the toilet flushed. Mike nodded and raised his brow for Eric to go and investigate. Gingerly, Eric climbed the stairs and listened at the bathroom door, the only one that was shut; once again, the toilet flushed and made him jump. He rapped hard on the door and waited.

‘I told you, Harry, I’m not leaving this house,’ came a woman’s voice from the other side of the door. ‘Now, please, leave me alone, and if you want to use the toilet, then do so downstairs and do not invade my privacy.’

Mike took the stairs two at a time and knocked himself. Again, the person called out. ‘Harry, I’m busy. Leave me in peace. I’m not going to repeat myself, so go, and don’t bother to come back.’

Mike looked at Eric and whispered, ‘Let’s go.’

They headed back down the stairs and gathered in the kitchen. ‘Well, I can only conclude that the Harmans have made a practical realization that the best move is to run, ’cos they know the bogeyman and his posse are after them. Wanting to get their mum away tells me they know there’s gonna be bloodshed, and they’ve a good idea of what we’re all about,’ stated Mike.

Now that Eric knew there were no men in the house, he felt brave. ‘Let’s kick that door in and drag her out. It’ll give them something to be shitting themselves about.’ Just as he was about to head towards the hallway, Mike’s hand grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and fiercely yanked him back.

‘What the fuck!’ shrieked Eric.

Willie looked away. He knew Eric had cocked up again, just by the look of anger in Mike’s eyes.

‘What the hell are you doing? Jesus! Eric, since when do we hurt dear ol’ mums? You are one stupid dickhead.’

Red-faced and boiling, Eric glared at Mike. ‘And since when did they abide by the rules, fucking killing Staffie’s dog, eh?’

‘Keep ya bloody voice down. I don’t want the ol’ girl ’aving a bleedin’ heart attack. Now, we’re gonna wait ’cos she’s expecting her boy back. From what she said, it’s my guess that they’ve upped and gone, but they’ll return for her.’ He pointed his finger up at the ceiling. ‘I mean, think about it. If they believe we’re on the rampage, they ain’t gonna leave her behind, are they?’

Still sulking, Eric replied, ‘Who knows, Mikey? You seem to know probably more than they do. So tell me, then, if they left her behind, why would they come back for her?’ he asked, with a knowing smirk on his face. He wasn’t going to let his brother walk all over him.

‘Well, think about it. If I asked our mum to do something and she refused, I’d get you to go in and ask, wouldn’t I, or the other way around?’

Eric was seething; this was getting so personal now. He knew exactly what Mike was getting at. Their mother, Gloria, would do anything Mike asked of her, but she always questioned him, since he was the son who messed up all the time. ‘Why can’t you think more like your brother?’ she would say. And Arthur, their father, was even worse with his comments. One of his favourite pieces of advice was ‘Take a leaf out of Mikey’s book, and you won’t go wrong there.’

Thinking of his mother, he wondered why she had to be so patronizing towards him. When she rubbed his arm or hugged him, she always gave him that sympathetic expression followed by, ‘Something will come along for you, just you see.’ She used that saying for everything: girlfriends, a good lucky earner, or even a bargain motor. But her advice never worked because Mike seemed to have all the luck.

Willie could feel the tension building and decided to intervene. ‘I’m gonna wait in the living room to see if any of the brothers pull up.’

Mike stared at Eric. ‘You go with him. I’ll wait in the kitchen, in case they come in through the back door.’

Eric was still smarting. ‘Why are you doing that? We’ll see them if they pull up, won’t we?’ His tone was airing on sarcasm.

‘Eric, look at the fucking garden.’ He pointed out of the kitchen window. ‘That rear fence has a gate. They could easily come in from the road the other side, yeah?’

Once again, Eric realized he’d been caught out. Another thing Mike was good at was casing a joint. If he hadn’t been a criminal, he would have made a good detective. Just as Eric walked off in a huff, Mrs Harman appeared, standing there in the hallway. Mike quickly held his hands up, showing he was harmless.

Doris had heard all the commotion downstairs and was about to give the person she thought was Harry a piece of her mind. At that moment, she was drying her hands on her pinny and not taking her eyes off the big man.

‘It’s okay, love. Me name’s Mike. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.’ He edged forward as if he was trying to calm a rabid dog. Yet Doris seemed unperturbed.

‘Excuse me, but my cakes need taking out of the oven.’

Willie appeared. Having been so intent on keeping a lookout, he hadn’t heard her come down the stairs or past the living room.

Although this tall man with a deep scar down his face, twisting an ugly jagged knife in his hand, would probably frighten the life out of most people, his presence left her unruffled.

‘Put that away,’ Mike ordered. Willie instantly shoved it in his belt.

Doris calmly turned back to face Mike. ‘I need to get to the oven.’

Mike was almost taking up the doorframe. ‘Oh, sorry, love,’ he said, as he stepped aside.

Doris waddled past, picked up the oven gloves from the small square table in the middle of the kitchen, and opened the oven door, where she removed two trays of fairy cakes.

Meanwhile, the three men looked at each other in confusion. Their mothers would have been screaming blue murder. Unhurriedly, she placed the trays on the table and closed the oven door.

Rarely did anything faze Mike, but, on this occasion, Mrs Harman had completely wrong-footed him. ‘Shall I put the kettle on, Mrs Harman?’

Eric just shook his head in disbelief.

‘Well, how funny is that. I can only assume that you’ve come to take some sort of revenge on one or more of my sons, but there you are, offering to make tea.’ She made a huffing sound. ‘Not even they do that. Well, yes, I suppose I would like a tea, thank you.’

Mike pulled out a chair for her to take a seat, and then he turned to fill the kettle. Willie leaned against the doorframe. ‘Sorry, missus. I didn’t mean to give you a fright.’

Eric was rolling his eyes. ‘I’m gonna wait in the car.’

Mike nodded.

‘So my sons have upset you, I take it?’

‘I’m afraid they have. But, listen, I won’t take it out on you.’

Mrs Harman reminded him of his own mother. They were roughly the same age, although his own mum was always dressed in the latest fashionable clothes. She wore jewellery and never left the bedroom without a coat of pink lipstick.

This lady, though, couldn’t be more different, with her flat grey hair, a thick waist, swollen ankles, and her old-fashioned twinset-and-pearls look. And the sad, tired expression, no doubt from years of being worn down, certainly accentuated the difference.

The kettle boiled, and Mike spotted the teapot and one china teacup and saucer; the scene reminded him of sitting in his grandmother’s kitchen. ‘Tea should only be drunk from a china teacup, or porcelain if ya can afford it,’ she would say. He remembered her dainty cup with the floral pattern and the chip on the side. He also recalled the day he presented her with a whole tea set that he had nicked from Alders. Her eyes lit up and she hugged him. ‘Aw, little Mikey. Now I can have all me mates over for tea.’ She always called him little Mikey, even when he was six feet tall. He poured the tea just how his grandmother liked it and presented it to Mrs Harman.

‘There ya go, love.’

Doris looked at the colour of the liquid and smiled. ‘Lovely, that. It’s just how I like it.’ She gracefully picked up the drink and sipped it. As she gently placed the cup down, she sighed. ‘So, may I ask what the boys have done now? I’m assuming it’s bad.’ She huffed again. ‘But then, it always is, with my lot.’

‘You’ve no need to be involved. It’s just business. I’m sure they know the rules.’

‘The rules? No, they don’t know the rules, love, I can assure you of that. Um … do you make your own mum a cuppa, then?’

Mike gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘Of course I do. Why do you ask?’

Doris’s eyes clouded over. ‘Does she do your washing?’

Mike frowned. ‘Of course not.’ Then it dawned on him; she was comparing him to her own sons. ‘I look after my mum. I take her for dinner every Sunday, if I can, and I wouldn’t have my dear ol’ mum lift a finger.’

‘Yeah, well, see, that’s where my boys don’t know the rules. In fact, if I’m brutally honest, they’re all shits, even my daughter. All out for herself, she is. You’d think I’d have had at least one good egg among ’em, but, no, they all take after their father, and he’s a real horrible bastard.’

Mike pulled out a chair and sat opposite; he sensed she needed to get her annoyance off her chest. ‘Do they give you a hard time, then?’

She took another sip of tea. ‘Hard time? Ha, that’s an understatement. D’ya know, Harry told me to go and stay with me sister up in Bath. Obviously, he was expecting trouble. I wanted to hit him with the saucepan. My dear sister has been dead for six months. My only ally, my Tilda, and that fat git didn’t even remember she’d passed away. They’re selfish, my lot. They come in this very kitchen with their bags of washing, their tans glowing from their holidays abroad, and then they slap down their shitty clothes for me to scrub. And as for Scottie, I know he has money, and yet he still goes through my purse and nicks me pension. That ain’t right, is it? You wouldn’t do that, would you?’

Mike had a sudden thought.

‘Don’t they offer to take you on holiday? I always make sure my mum has a good two-week break away somewhere nice.’

‘Ha, my kids have never even offered to take me for a Sunday lunch somewhere nice, let alone a bleedin’ holiday. I ain’t been away since I went to Bath with me sister, what, four years ago now.’

‘That’s not fair, is it?’ He softened his gruff voice.

‘Life ain’t fair, love. I should know,’ she replied, taking another sip of her tea. She looked up at him. ‘D’ya treat ya mum on her birthday an’ all?’

Mike smiled. ‘Yeah, I do, every year. I drive my mum to a place called Rye. It’s beautiful, with cobbled streets and views as far as the eye can see. She loves the little tea shops, the antique shops, and the fish and chip shop. She stays in my seventeenth-century cottage and just enjoys soaking up the atmosphere.’

Doris was staring off into space. ‘Ahh, it does sound wonderful. She must be so proud of you.’

‘Well, I tell ya what. Why don’t you go and pack a little suitcase and I’ll treat you to a nice stay in the very same cottage? Call it a birthday treat, seeing that your own boys haven’t seen fit to spoil ya.’

She blinked and came out of her daydream. ‘What? Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly. Besides, I don’t even know you, and, well, I was just having a moan, really. ’Ark at me, chatting away, and you being all nice, an’ all. Suppose you’re really ’ere to bash me boys? Anyway, what have they done now?’

Mike sighed. He wanted to get the dear old lady away from the potential scene of a bloodbath. ‘Yes, Mrs Harman, I’ll probably give ’em a clump, but, really, I just want a word. They did something unforgivable, I’m afraid. In fact, it was very cruel.’