Fight Back Read online

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Maybe they could be over here, on the ground. They’re the right age to be working in bars gathering intel and stuff. Getting close to people. That’s something we should look at for the future. I think they’re shaping up to be good hands.’

  Kerry listened. The thought of putting her lifelong friend Maria Ahern’s boy Cal in the frontline sent a shiver through her, as an image of O’Driscoll’s severed head flashed up. She couldn’t take the chance of something happening to Cal. He was a good lad, who’d only ended up working for them because Maria had come to her destitute and in hock to loan sharks. Kerry had given Maria a job with the firm, put her and Cal in a flat the Caseys owned in Hyndland, and given him work to do on the fringes. But she hadn’t thought of turning him into a serious criminal.

  ‘Let me think about it,’ she said. Then she looked around the table. ‘Are there any thoughts or information on how the hell they knew where to send the delivery yesterday? I thought nobody knew we were here.’

  ‘I just don’t know for sure,’ Danny looked at her. ‘But I’ll tell you this. I got some word on the grapevine from back home yesterday that Frankie Martin was in Spain. Nobody here has seen or heard of the cunt. But it came from a good source. Knowing that treacherous fucker, he could be worming his way in with the Colombians. He’d be useful to them with his background knowledge.’

  The thought of Frankie back from the dead, trying to bring them all down after everything that was done for him as a kid, brought an angry flush to Kerry’s cheeks.

  ‘I need to know more on that, Danny. As much as you can, as quick as you can. If Frankie is out there trying to damage this family, then we take him right out of the game.’

  ‘I’d be up for that on a personal level, since the slimy bastard was leading me to my execution by my late and less than loving husband,’ Sharon piped up, almost bringing a smile to the faces of everyone around the table.

  One by one they filed out of the room, until Kerry was alone. She sat gazing out at the hills to her left and the blue of the ocean in the distance. Winter was still trying its hardest on the Costa del Sol, but a watery sun was breaking through the greyness, and by midday it would be pleasant and warm even though it was January. It was so beautiful and peaceful here, she thought. The kind of perfect hideaway where she would make her base as she flitted from Glasgow to Spain, making sure she was hands-on in the new hotel and property business. Perhaps, eventually, she would even settle here, like a lot of the old hoods did once they had made their money and turned legit. She half smiled to herself at the idea of her being one of those relaxed, suntanned gangsters she used to see on the Costa del Sol, wealthy, but without any obvious means of income. She’d met many of them – associates and friends of her father – while she lived there as a teenager. She’d never really given much thought to how they all got there, rich and respected. Until over the years she listened to them tell their stories of robbery and drugs and wheeling and dealing. She had never judged them, because she knew her father had been a crook and that her family had made their money from crime. Although she had been a corporate lawyer for most of her life and far removed from how her family operated, she had always had a sneaking admiration for their philosophy that if you get dealt a shitty hand from the day you’re born into poverty, then you have to go out and get what you can. Even if it wasn’t all legal.

  They would tell her that, at the end of the day, they were all gangsters – the lawyers who kept them out of jail, the crooked accountants who laundered their money, the politicians at local and national level who took bungs to make things happen, and worst of all the bankers. The suits who moved your money around didn’t give a toss where it came from, as long as they could get their cut. Meanwhile the rest of the punters, toiling away in their nine to fives and weekend shifts, got shat upon from a great height. By everyone.

  And so, many of them had come to the Costa del Sol, to capitalise on the proceeds of crime, just like her – even though her route here had been one of private schools and university degrees. She was here nonetheless, among them. And now she was planning on how the Caseys were going to hit back to avenge the execution of John O’Driscoll, one of her most trusted lieutenants. John had served and protected her father and their family since as far back as she could remember, and now he had paid for it with his life. She had to be ready for this fight.

  Chapter Two

  Marty Kane watched his little grandson Finbar, relishing the moment. Days like this, relaxing in a café with his wife, and delighting in the chatter of the three-year-old boy were all too rare. And he’d promised himself and Elizabeth that things would be different in the future.

  The most sought-after criminal defence lawyer in the country was rarely in court these days. He was winding down. The bulk of his legal firm was run by his son Joe, a chip off the old block, making a name for himself as a more than able brief. Now Marty’s main work was with Kerry Casey, steering her empire out of the swamp of drugs and bloodshed, and turning it into a legitimate and enviable property kingdom here and abroad. Such was Kerry’s dream, and so it had been for her father, his old friend Tim Casey, a very long time ago. But it was proving to be a difficult task. And the body count was already piling up. The news from Spain last night about Johnny O’Driscoll being executed by the Colombians had turned his stomach. Marty remembered Johnny’s father, and the swashbuckling character he’d been back in the day when Tim Casey and his gang were building up a name for themselves in Glasgow and beyond. They were hard men, lawless men who carved a massive niche for themselves in the underworld. But they didn’t gouge out the eyes of their enemies. It took a certain kind of pond life to do that.

  ‘You’re miles away, Marty,’ Elizabeth said, picking up her handbag from the floor.

  Marty shook himself back and looked at her.

  ‘Just thinking how pleasant this is,’ he lied.

  Marty knew that Elizabeth could read him like a book, but he also knew she would never ask too many questions about his work.

  ‘Sweetheart,’ Elizabeth finished her coffee and placed the cup down, ‘I’m nipping across there. See if the sales are up to much.’ She stood up, pointing to the big designer clothes shop in the mall opposite the café. ‘You stay here and keep an eye on Fin.’

  ‘I want to go with you, Gran,’ Finbar piped up from blowing bubbles with a straw into his chocolate milkshake.

  ‘Darling,’ she touched his cheek, ‘you stay here with Grandad. I’ll only be ten minutes.’

  ‘Okay.’ Finbar turned to Marty.

  ‘That’s my boy.’ Marty ruffled his shock of blond hair as Elizabeth walked off.

  They’d only been sitting a few minutes when Fin slid himself out of his seat and took his hand.

  ‘We go to the toy shop, Grandad?’

  Marty drained his coffee, left some notes on the table beside the bill, and got up. They walked two shops down, Fin eagerly pulling his hand, leading him towards the big, bright toy store.

  ‘Look, Grandad. Zillions of toys.’

  They stepped inside amid the garish balloons and toys piled high on shelves: every kind of motorised car and dolls and soft toys lining the aisles. Other children ambled up and down, some with parents, some alone. Finbar let go of Marty’s hand.

  ‘I go up here, Grandad.’ He skipped off without waiting for an answer.

  Marty watched as his grandson stopped at several displays, pushing buttons, lifting toys off the shelves and onto the floor and trying them out. Then he went up and around the corner into the next aisle, as Marty crossed from the bottom to where he could watch him play. Then Marty’s mobile pinged with a message. Automatically, he opened it and scrolled down to read. It was from Kerry – there was more grief from Spain – O’Driscoll’s headless corpse had been found in a suitcase in the boot of a car at Málaga airport. Bad news was coming thick and fast – only five days before another of their boys had been shot dead outside a bar in Fuengirola on the
Costa del Sol. The papers were saying it was mistaken identity, as that’s what Kerry had made sure was drip-fed to the press. He was about to text her back, but he decided it could wait. He looked up from his phone, but suddenly Finbar was no longer in the aisle. He crossed to the next aisle expecting to see him. He wasn’t there either. An explosion went off in Marty’s chest as he went to the last aisle, this time his steps quickening to his thumping heartbeat. Nothing. Blind panic swept through him. He hurried back along the aisles calling for Fin, his legs heavy with every step. But no sign of the boy. Then Marty rushed towards the young man on the till.

  ‘A little blond-haired boy? Three years old. My grandson, Finbar. I came in with him. He was in that aisle, just a second ago, but he’s not there now. Did you see him go out?’ Marty blurted.

  ‘No, sir. Place is quite busy. But I didn’t see a kid wandering out by himself. Mind you, I’ve been tied up on the till.’ The boy called to another staff member on the floor, ‘You see a little blond boy leave?’ The boy shook his head and shrugged.

  Marty rushed out on weak legs, his eyes scanning the length and breadth of the shopping mall on the first floor where they were, and down the escalators to the ground. A sea of weekend shoppers. He looked across to the clothes shop Elizabeth had gone into to see her coming towards him. Christ! She was alone. When she saw his anxious expression and she realised he too was alone, Elizabeth went white. Marty opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.

  ‘Marty! Where’s Fin?’

  He heard the question somewhere in the distance as the place swam in front of him. He gripped the handrail of the escalator.

  ‘He . . . He was here, in that shop just one minute ago. But . . . he’s vanished. Oh Christ, Elizabeth! I can’t find him.’

  ‘Marty, don’t say that! Finbar! Finbar!’ She began running up and down the mall, screaming, ‘Finbar!’

  But Marty knew Fin was gone. He knew even before his mobile rang with the caller identity hidden from his screen.

  ‘Marty Kane. We’ve got your boy,’ the voice said in a strong Glasgow accent.

  The line went dead before he could draw breath.

  Within minutes the mall was crawling with police and security, as Marty and Elizabeth were escorted to an office on the ground floor. Marty’s whole body was trembling and he could barely make it to the chair, slumping down, his head in his hands as his wife, flushed and crying, pleaded with everyone, ‘Please. You have to find him. He must be here somewhere . . .’

  Marty put his arm around her as her voice trailed off and she buried her head in his shoulder. He swallowed hard and tried to square his shoulders a little to pull himself together. He looked up at the big uniformed police Inspector standing over him, legs apart, his walkie-talkie crackling on his jacket.

  ‘Mr Kane?’ the man said. ‘I’m chief Inspector Richard Marsh. I know it’s hard, sir. Try to stay calm. We need a description. As much as you can tell us right now – what was Finbar wearing, for instance?’

  Marty’s mind was suddenly blank. He tried to think back, watching Fin’s little legs swinging on the chair. But he couldn’t remember anything else.

  ‘I . . . I . . . Christ! I can’t remember what he was wearing . . . Oh! Brown boots! You know. Like the ones kids wear. Suede, I think.’ He turned to Elizabeth, who tried to sit up straight.

  ‘A dark blue jacket,’ she managed to say. ‘One of those little bomber college type things, with a striped collar. He had beige trousers on. And a red jumper. He has thick blond hair . . .’ Her voice began to catch. ‘And blue eyes. Beautiful big blue eyes.’ She broke down. ‘Oh, Inspector. Please hurry. Fin wouldn’t run off. He’s not that kind of boy. He’s a good wee boy. Kind. He . . . I know he wouldn’t run off.’

  Marty’s eyes darted from the inspector to the PC standing behind him, her lips pulled back in a sympathetic grimace. He knew what she was thinking. Some pervert had lifted the boy. That was the fear of everyone these days. But Marty sat there, knowing that he knew differently, but unable to admit that. If his wife knew what he was hiding she would completely lose it. But he didn’t dare do anything. He would have to phone Kerry. He stood up.

  ‘Excuse me. I need to go to the bathroom.’ He went outside, his head still light and slightly dizzy, and rushed to the toilets nearby. He punched in Kerry’s number.

  ‘Marty,’ she answered after two rings.

  ‘Kerry. I’ve only got a minute.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Kerry.’ Marty could feel his voice quiver. ‘Someone’s taken our Finbar. My wee Finbar. We were in the shopping mall in Princes Square. With Elizabeth – she went into a shop and left me with him. I was with Fin in a toy shop. I looked at my phone to see your text, and when I looked up he was gone. Christ, Kerry. My boy. Then within two minutes I got a phone call. No name. Just a voice. It said we’ve got your boy.’ He paused to stop himself crying. ‘It must be Rodriguez’s men, Kerry. Who else could it be!’

  ‘Jesus Christ, Marty! I’m so sorry. Listen. I know you’re terrified, but we’ll find him. Are the cops there?’

  ‘Yes. It was sheer panic. We had to call them immediately. The whole place is turned out. But obviously they don’t know about the phone call.’

  ‘You did the right thing. The police will be all over it. But I need to get started here. If it’s Rodriguez or any of his mob, then they’ll get in touch.’ She paused. ‘Marty. They won’t harm your grandson. He’s only a little child. They won’t hurt him.’

  ‘I wish I could believe that.’ His voice trailed off.

  ‘I’m coming home from Spain. I’ll be in Glasgow in the morning. Stay strong.’

  Marty hung up and put his phone back into his pocket. He walked quickly back to the office where his wife was being comforted by a young female officer. Elizabeth looked up at him through tears.

  ‘Why Fin? Why our Fin?’

  Marty looked her in the eye, but he didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because this was down to him, down to being part of the Casey family. And because of that his own family, the one he had lovingly created and which was the centre of his universe, was now faced with the most unimaginable nightmare.

  Chapter Three

  Frankie Martin wanted to punch Pat Durkin out for the way he was salivating over the job the Colombians did on Johnny O’Driscoll. Fair enough – O’Driscoll had never been his bosom buddy when he was growing up with the Caseys. And once or twice when Frankie was in his teens and O’Driscoll was early thirties their dislike for each other had come to blows. But the way the Colombians had mutilated the poor bastard was just fucking ridiculous. O’Driscoll didn’t deserve that. And he’d made that clear to Durkin when they spoke on the phone this morning, before they arranged this lunch down in Puerto Banus.

  ‘What the fuck is wrong with you, Frankie?’ Durkin looked a bit incredulous at Frankie’s anger. ‘It was you who fingered the bastard for us. Now you’re going all queasy on it. Get a fucking grip, man.’ Durkin lifted the sweating glass of lager to his mouth and took a long drink.

  ‘That’s not the fucking point, Pat. I mean, gouging the bastard’s eyes out. What the fuck is that all about? That’s just shit, man. No need for that.’ He shook his head, and leaned forward, lowering his voice. ‘Sure, I set the fucker up. I’ve no regrets about that. Business is business, and I’m sure O’Driscoll would have had no qualms about putting a bullet in me. But that’s all that was required to send a message back to Kerry Casey. Sending him in a body bag would have been enough, but a fucking head in a box? And that shit with his body at Málaga airport in the boot? Fuck me, man. That’s pure psycho stuff. And I’m no fairy when it comes to dealing out some shit to people. But this. I mean it’s just fucking wrong.’

  ‘Ah, give your head peace, you fucking nancy boy. It’s no worse than what some of our boys have done down in Limerick to grasses.’

  ‘Well I’m not happy with it, and there’s no point in me saying otherwise.’ Frankie folded his arms, sulking. �
�Where is this Rodriguez cunt anyway? I’m starving.’

  Durkin looked beyond Frankie at the black Land Rover gliding along the quayside just a few yards from where they were sitting. He raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement as the car slowly went past.

  ‘Here he is now,’ he said. ‘Driver is doing a recce to make sure there’s no snipers lying in wait.’

  Frankie could see that Durkin was visibly excited that Rodriguez was joining them, and he’d seen that from the first time he’d hooked up with Durkin when he arrived in Marbella. Frankie had lain low for a few days when he’d arrived, keeping his head down in case any of the Casey crew down here were looking for him, which they no doubt would be. But he knew enough of them to make sure he kept away from the usual haunts. It was only when he contacted Durkin that he decided it might be safe enough to put his head above the parapet. When Durkin had filled him in on the deal he and the Colombians were trying to do with Kerry and how she was seriously fucking it up with her attitude, Frankie realised he could be useful in this. He didn’t know Pepe Rodriguez, except by reputation, but had heard Durkin talking about him recently, almost like he had a schoolboy crush on the bastard. When Durkin had told him about the deal they were trying to cut with Kerry – about buying the stash of coke that fucker Sharon Potter stole from Knuckles Boyle – Frankie could see how useful he could be if he threw in his lot with them. And from where he was sitting after having done a runner from Glasgow and the Caseys, it wasn’t as though he had a lot of options right now. So here he was, ready to break bread with Rodriguez, who was clearly a complete fucking nutjob. Frankie wasn’t scared. He knew that if he didn’t like what he saw here, then he had enough money to go far enough away that nobody could find him. He could reinvent himself. But the lure of having a bigger part to play, and of taking down Kerry Casey – who was in the fucking job that he should have – was the biggest attraction on his horizon at the moment.