End Game: the most addictive nailbiting gangster thriller of the year (Kerry Casey)

  End Game

  Anna Smith

  Contents

  Cover Page

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Also by Anna Smith

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Acknowledgements

  First published in Great Britain in 2020 by

  Quercus Editions Ltd

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  An Hachette UK company

  Copyright © 2020 Anna Smith

  The moral right of Anna Smith to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  EBOOK ISBN 978 1 78747 398 0

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  www.quercusbooks.co.uk

  Also by Anna Smith

  THE ROSIE GILMOUR SERIES

  The Dead Won’t Sleep

  To Tell the Truth

  Screams in the Dark

  Betrayed

  A Cold Killing

  Rough Cut

  Kill Me Twice

  Death Trap

  The Hit

  THE KERRY CASEY SERIES

  Blood Feud

  Fight Back

  For Ross, who has always been there,

  to listen, to talk and most of all to laugh!

  ‘No one you love is ever truly lost’

  Ernest Hemingway

  Prologue

  He was screaming, but behind the duct tape it was no more than a muffled choking sound. Only his crimson, sweating face and the fear in his bulging eyes told of the terror. His ankles were bound tight, and they’d taped his hands across his chest and secured them fast to his body. Like the corpse the sick psychos planned to make him. Wolfie struggled and thrashed as much as he could inside the white satin-lined coffin, but all that happened was that his heart pounded so hard it felt about to burst in his chest. He saw them coming towards him with the coffin lid. They were actually going to fucking screw it down. He could hear the whispers and sniggers. He looked up at their faces so he would remember every single one of them. The whispering stopped, and all he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears as the lid was placed over the coffin. Pitch black. Then the sound of the screws being turned, and he tried to gulp in a breath of air. But there was none.

  Wolfie had had no idea where he was at first when he’d come to after being clobbered on the head in the multi-storey car park earlier. But he’d swiftly realised he was in some fucking funeral parlour. And he wasn’t one of the mourners. His head had been thumping from the blow on the temple that had brought him to his knees, and from the corner of his eye he had seen it was already swollen. Not that it seemed to matter now. He closed his eyes, and for a moment he could see himself as a young man, a girl on his arm, the free, happy charmer that he’d been all his life. And the grief that had overwhelmed him when he’d lost her. Christ! His life really was flashing in front of him like they said it did. Then the face of his darling daughter, Hannah, the beauty she had turned into, and his sadness that the last time he had seen her she had been sitting opposite him in a prison visiting hall, her face thinner, but her eyes as dancing with rage and determination as ever. She was getting out this morning and they’d been going to disappear, the two of them, far away, for a new life. They were rich beyond belief. This shouldn’t be happening.

  The diamond heist had been his fucking idea in the first place. He was the guy who had masterminded the whole operation. He was the man who had put himself on the line, working away inside the bank for the past three months, observing, checking, making pictures and plans of every movement of every member of staff: when they clocked in, when they clocked off, when the alarms went on. And, most importantly, it was him who had managed to sniff out the security numbers to get into the vault. So the success of the whole operation hung completely on him. And these fuckers, who were now about to either bury or cremate him, could never have pulled the heist off without him.

  What kind of treacherous bastards did that? There was no honour amongst thieves any more – that was the problem. All lowlifes these days, cardboard gangsters who talked the talk, hawking their heroin and coke, trafficking women, selling kids as slaves. And they were just going to rub him out like he was some old has-been – once they got their hands on the safety deposit boxes that would not just make them millions, but, as it would turn out when they saw the contents, would also make them bombproof. That was why he hadn’t told them the truth about where he’d stashed the gear. And he would take that secret to his grave if he had to. Which was looking pretty imminent. He tried to control his breathing. If this was it, then he was fucking sure he wasn’t going to go out screaming and thrashing, and have his cold-blooded murderers dining out on the story of how William Joseph Wolfe met his end a snivelling wreck. And who knows, maybe there was something better on the other side. He could hear piped music. Piped fucking music! ‘Nearer My God to Thee’. Jesus fucking wept!

  Then suddenly, the crack of gunfire. One shot, two, then the familiar ratatat of machine-gun fire. His heart stopped. The plinking of glass shattering, groans and angry, urgent shouts. Someone banging hard on the coffin. He kicked with all his might and gagged as he tried to shout. The sound of the lid being hacked and battered and finally prised open, and daylight on the face of big Tommo Gourlay. Wide-eyed and flushed, Tommo leaned in and ripped the masking tape off his face.

  ‘Halle-fucking-lujah! What took you cunts so long?’ Wolfie rasped, breathless.

  ‘Sorry, boss. Trouble trying to find the right fucking funeral parlour.’

  Chapter One

  Kerry had thrown a party at the house for everyone in the Casey family. They were forty million quid up from the sale of the Colombians’ cocaine they had nicked from the truck bringing it over from Spain, after lying in wait for it in an industrial e
state in Manchester. Billy Hill’s men had been standing by when the shoot-out started, and they had jumped straight in the back of the truck like a team of professionals, moving the massive haul of cocaine and getting out before the cops came. In the weeks that followed, Billy had shifted it to buyers he’d lined up, just as he’d promised he would. The money was a windfall, over and above the healthy earnings the Casey organisation already amassed on a weekly basis from their various businesses. The coke money had been squirrelled away by the Casey accountants who would then drip it into the hotel complex on the Costa del Sol under the name of the company set up to build the hotel and acquire more property in Spain and the UK. They were already looking at high-end restaurants along the Marbella coast which they could plough money into as a legitimate, expanding business empire. That side of their business was all squeaky clean.

  For a few moments Kerry stood alone at the far side of the room, focused on the faces that had become so important to her – the people who were now her family. Most of them career criminals – killers, hitmen, robbers, whose life stories were mapped out in the scars on their faces. All of them loyal to the Casey family, and several among them who had murdered on their behalf. The body count after Manchester had been five dead, including Frankie Martin – Kerry’s brother’s trusted friend and right-hand man, who had ended up betraying him to his killers. Kerry tried to pretend she hadn’t relished settling that score. But the biggest scalp of all had been down to Jake Cahill. The story of how he took out Pepe Rodriguez would go down in history among these people and their friends. But few people would ever dare talk to Cahill about it, and as he stood by the window in conversation with Jack and Danny, Kerry could see that people were in awe of him. No doubt Jake would slip out of the room later without a fuss, and Kerry probably wouldn’t hear from him again until she needed his help. That was his way.

  From across the room, Kerry saw Sharon Potter, the woman who’d fled to the Casey family after her husband, Manchester hood Knuckles Boyle, tried to have her executed. It was Sharon who’d delivered Boyle to the Caseys, in revenge for the murder of Kerry’s brother Mickey, and then her mother, who died in the bloodbath at Mickey’s funeral. When she looked back on that now, so much had happened in such a short space of time that Kerry sometimes struggled to remember her life before she’d come back to Glasgow; her life before she’d taken over as head of the Casey family. Sharon, who had moved among gangsters and hoods most of her life in Manchester, had proved to be a solid friend and confidante, and had become a crucial part of the Casey empire. Sharon looked at Kerry then came towards her.

  ‘You look miles away, girl. You all right?’

  ‘Yes.’ Kerry held up her glass of mineral water. ‘On my third glass of this. I could fairly sink a large gin and tonic though!’

  ‘Yeah.’ Sharon sipped from her gin and tonic, and Kerry could see she was quite tipsy. ‘Well you’ll be the only one without a hangover tomorrow.’ She looked around the room. ‘Everyone’s having a good time, I think. I’m just so bloody glad to be alive.’ She glanced over at Jake Cahill then back at Kerry. ‘I owe Jake my life, Kerry. Totally. I’ll never be able to repay him for what he did. If he hadn’t dropped Rodriguez at the moment he did, you’d probably have got sent my head in a box, same as O’Driscoll.’ She shuddered.

  ‘Best not to even think that way,’ Kerry said. ‘Good times are ahead. No news from Vic yet?’

  Kerry knew that Sharon hadn’t heard from her lover Vic, who had been driving the truck full of cocaine for Rodriguez, after the carnage at the industrial estate in Manchester. The last she’d heard was when he called from the boat the night before they docked to give her all the information so that the Caseys could hijack the truck. Kerry had seen him during the bedlam of the shoot-out, and assumed he’d got away. But so far they’d heard nothing. That had been six weeks ago. Kerry felt for Sharon because she knew she had strong feelings for Vic after they’d rekindled an old love that went back a long way, to Sharon’s days in Manchester.

  Sharon shook her head sadly.

  ‘Nope. I’m worried about him. I’m sure he’ll know by now that Rodriguez is dead, so maybe he’s worried that he’ll get linked to double-crossing the Colombians. In that case he’d have to lie low for a bit. But I’m surprised he hasn’t even sent a message or made a call. Danny said he knows for sure he got away after the shooting and before the cops arrived, so he must be out there somewhere.’ She shrugged. ‘Tell you what, though. I’m just going to have to leave it at that. Not much I can do. And we’ll have a lot on our plates in the next few months.’

  ‘We sure will.’ Kerry nodded.

  ‘What about Vinny? You heard anything?’

  ‘No. I suppose he’s gone back undercover.’ She paused, half smiling. ‘Probably trying to track down the cocaine.’

  ‘Well. Good luck to him on that.’ Sharon raised her glass. ‘I’m off to mingle. That old rascal Billy Hill is trying to chat me up. What is it with these old guys? He’s quite funny though.’

  Kerry watched as she walked off, then Marty Kane came across to talk to her. Marty had been the Casey family lawyer as long as she’d known him, and he’d been a close friend of her father Tim, who he’d kept out of jail as he built up his empire. He was the most respected criminal lawyer in Glasgow, but he sailed close to the wind, defending known hoods and hard men who had murdered and robbed their way through life. He was more than the Casey lawyer now – he was a trusted family member, as embedded with them as any of the other hoods in this room. That association with the Caseys had brought him to his knees just a few weeks ago, when the Colombian cartel kidnapped his little grandson, and for a terrifying week there was a real fear they would never see him again. It had almost broken Marty and his family. It was Kerry and her men who had rescued the boy and brought him back, leaving behind a trail of bodies and a seething Pepe Rodriguez determined to wipe out the Caseys.

  Marty looked more relaxed tonight than she’d seen him in weeks. He clinked his glass to hers.

  ‘You all right, Kerry?’

  ‘Yeah. I’m good, Marty. Parties are not really a fun spectator sport for non-drinkers, but I’m happy enough. How’s the family? I feel we haven’t had a chance to speak since all of that happened. Seems like we’ve been under siege for months, even though it’s only been weeks.’

  ‘I know,’ Marty replied. ‘It’s been a tough few weeks for my family. I know they see Fin’s kidnapping as my fault, and I know they’ll never forgive me for it. Joe’s wife has been traumatised and is bursting his head about moving far enough away to be safe, but so far Joe has resisted. I hope he doesn’t move. Apart from us not seeing the boys so much and being in their lives, Joe has really been doing well since he’s taken over the main thrust of the practice from me. He’s getting quite a name for himself as a top defence brief. He’s very able and gaining respect.’

  ‘A chip off the old block. You must be very proud.’

  ‘I am.’ Marty grimaced. ‘But he’s a different generation, Kerry, and I’m not so sure his wife will be as easy-going as my Elizabeth was when I was on the frontline, working flat-out. It’s different these days. Elizabeth did all the hard work, running the home for us and making it a great place for Joe to grow up, but Joe’s wife is very different. And I think they’ve both had a real awakening when they almost lost Fin.’

  Kerry gave Marty a supportive smile, but she could see how he would have no real influence in Joe’s family. She felt the weight of responsibility for his trouble.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Marty. I wish there was something I could do.’ She touched his arm. ‘Try not to worry about it. I’m sure it will all work itself out. Give them time.’ She said it more in hope than anything else.

  From over Marty’s shoulder Kerry saw Jack and her uncle Danny come towards her, drinks in hand.

  ‘One of the good days, eh, Kerry?’ Danny raised his glass and took a sip. He was looking happy and relaxed.

  Kerry smiled.

&n
bsp; ‘Yep. Not been too many of them in recent times, but let’s hope we’ve turned a corner.’

  For a moment all four of them stood surveying the room full of people, the laughter and the chatter. Then Danny took a step closer to Kerry.

  ‘Kerry, sweetheart, seeing as the four of us are here right now, I wanted to run something past you. Because there might be a bit of urgency in it.’

  Kerry arched her eyebrows, glancing at all three.

  ‘Don’t give me any bad news, Danny. Not today.’

  Danny put a hand up.

  ‘No. No. Not bad news. Actually, something that has been put to me by a very old friend and associate, and I wanted to see what you thought.’ He paused for a beat as all eyes were on him. ‘It’s a proposition.’

  Kerry felt herself sigh inside, but her face showed nothing.

  ‘Let’s hear it then,’ she said, looking at Danny.

  ‘Right.’ Danny sipped his drink. ‘Very old friend of mine, well, of mine and your father’s actually. William Wolfe. You ever hear his name? William Joseph Wolfe? Wolfie?’

  Kerry gave him a puzzled look. Her father never confided in her who he worked with or even really what he did, and because she had been away in Spain from her teens, she had had no idea who he was involved with – though she guessed none of it was legal.

  ‘Can’t say I have,’ she replied.

  ‘Wolfie,’ Marty said, a smile spreading on his face. ‘Is that old bugger still around?’

  ‘And how,’ Danny quipped. ‘Haven’t seen him in years, and seldom hear from him apart from the odd phone call and chat maybe once a year. But we go back a long way – me, your dad and Wolfie. Could write a book on it, the things we got up to.’ He leaned in a little. ‘His speciality is cracking codes, safes, et cetera. Like your father, only more sophisticated, dare I say better.’

  ‘Where’s he from? Is he Glasgow?’

  ‘No,’ Danny said. ‘Cockney as they come, Wolfie. Part of the London mob back in the day, but he went freelance, and we did a lot of work together – here and down south, the three of us. Some big jobs.’