Hardened (23 page)

“Of course it’s fucking me. Open up, I’m freezing my nuts off.”

Shit! Shit, shit,
shit.

“Not this time. I want nothing more to do with it, whatever pile of crap you’ve got yourself into.” I’m still playing dumb about the shooting at the petrol station, as much for Molly’s benefit as anything else. I’ve no doubt she’s hearing all of this.

“There’s a grand in it for you. Let us in, you twat.” He punctuates his request by booting my door. The thud reverberates around the house. It’s only the knowledge that Molly is upstairs and probably terrified by all this bloody racket that propels me down the hallway.

“All right. For fuck’s sake, stop making all that noise.”

“Get a move on then. We’re fucking dying here.”

We? I stop, my hand on the lock. “Who’s we?”

“Me, Mikey, and Stevie.”

My heart sinks lower. Apart from getting me locked up eight years ago, Stevie was also one of the idiots who started the riot on G wing and brought my previous encounter with Molly to such an untimely end. There’s every chance he’ll remember her.

“Jared, who is it?”

I spin around. Molly is right behind me, wearing a loose T shirt of mine and a pair of jeans. She frowns as the thumping starts up again.

“I looked out and saw a van in your driveway. Who’s out there? Are you going to let them in?” She turns and heads back toward the stairs. “Maybe I’ll just gather up my things then I can be off and leave you to it. I don’t suppose you’d call me a cab to the nearest station, would you?”

“No!” I rake my fingers through my hair. “I mean, stay. Please. I’ll get rid of them
.
”
I hope.

She looks doubtful, but offers me a brief nod. “I’ll wait upstairs.”

That sounds like a decent plan at least. I resort to yelling at Brad through the closed door.

“There’s someone else here. It’s not a good time.”

“We heard. We’ll stay out of your way. You and your little lady won’t even know we’re here.”

“Yeah? Well you can stay out of my way by going somewhere else. I’m telling you, Brad, just fuck off.”

“No, you fuck off.” A new voice takes up the quarrel. Stevie. “You’ve got five seconds before I blast this fucking door off its hinges.”

For fuck’s sake!
This is all I need. “Have you come up here with bloody guns? Brad, what are you thinking of?”

“We’re thinking you’ve pissed around long enough. Stand back from the door unless you want a face full of this as well.” It’s Stevie again, and I have no doubt at all that he means it. The man’s a card-carrying lunatic.

I twist the lock and pull the door open. “You can have five minutes, no more. In the kitchen.”

The three men troop past me, each one toting a rucksack. Brad treats me to an apologetic grin and a shrug. Stevie’s expression is positively beatific. I recall he always appears that way when he has a double barrel shotgun in his hands, as he does now. He enjoys the sense of power a firearm gives him, but his intellectual capacity is not far up from an amoeba, so he has zero chance of harnessing that potency or of channelling it anywhere useful. Stevie might be more lethal if he had a few brain cells to rub together, but he’s dangerous enough as it is. My third unwelcome visitor, Mikey, is just plain stupid. He’s harmless enough on his own, just a lumbering heap of muscle and brawn really, who does as he’s told. Paired up with Stevie the psychopath, he’s a disaster waiting to happen.

The three of them fill my kitchen. No one comments on the debris littering the floor. Stevie lays the gun down on the table, then plonks himself in the chair closest to it. The others make themselves comfortable too, all three peering at me with varying degrees of expectation.

“Coffee smells good. Is there anything to eat?” Brad stands and heads in the direction of my fridge.

I ignore him for now. I have more pressing concerns. “Give me the gun. There’s no need for that in here.”

“Do you think I’m fucking stupid?” Stevie reaches for the shotgun and pulls it closer to him.

I decline to answer his question and instead pray that Molly has the sense to stay upstairs out of the way, just until I can send them on their way again.

“So, what do you need now? Cash?”

“We got money. We got loads of money.” This from Mikey, who hauls his rucksack from his shoulder and upends it onto my table. A shower of banknotes scatters everywhere, in various denominations, and all look to be used.

“Fucking hell! What have you done? Where did that come from?” I gape at the pile in front of me and wonder how such a perfect day went to absolute shite so fast.

“Tesco. Or should I say the back of the security van after it left Tesco.” Brad leans out around my fridge door to smirk at me. “Like I said, a grand’s yours just for the bother of putting us up for another day or two. Just until the fuss dies down.”

“You robbed a security van? On top of everything else? Where? When?”

“Just this side of Harrogate. About an hour ago.” Brad’s a mine of useful information, imparting a stack of facts I have no desire at all to hear. He emerges from the fridge with a loaf of sliced wholemeal, a tub of butter, and some halloumi cheese. “Anyone want a sandwich?”

“You came straight here? Are you mad? The police will be about five minutes behind.” I’m horrified. The terms of my parole were perfectly clear. As if things weren’t already precarious enough this is a cluster fuck of epic proportions. “You’re leaving. Now. Take your fucking cash and bugger off.”

“Don’t be like that, J. Mikey, count out his share.” Brad dumps the food on the table between the shotgun and the stolen loot as though this sort of conversation is quite normal as we wait for the coffee to percolate. I suppose he’s right. It always used to be in our circles, but I move in different company now.

“Mikey, don’t bother. Keep it and go.” I reach for the nearest bundle of notes, intending to start shoving it back where it came from.

Stevie shrugs. “Please yourself, dickhead. It’s all the more for us. No one’s going anywhere for a while though. Which reminds me, we need to say hello to your little lady friend. Give her a shout, there’s a good lad.”

Bastard.
I itch to plant one right in the middle of his smug face but he’s too near to that bloody gun for my liking. I shake my head. “Leave her out of it.”

Brad does at least have the grace to appear regretful as he slaps butter onto slices of bread, though I’m not convinced it’s just Molly he’s thinking of as he leaves greasy smears all over my table top. “No can do, mate. For all we know she might be phoning the rozzers right now. Best to get her down here with us, where we can keep an eye on her.”

“You go get her, or I will,” snarls Stevie, reaching for the gun.

I make up my mind, and head back out into the hallway. Molly is halfway down the stairs, rooted to the spot, her eyes like saucers. It’s obvious she’s been listening to the conversation from the kitchen. I offer up thanks that she did at least get dressed as soon as the din started, because I know full well that Stevie would have hauled her down here naked if she hadn’t been. I can’t help thinking these disastrous conclusions to our scenes are getting to be a habit.

“Jared? Is that…?” She looks bewildered. And scared.

I nod, my expression grim. “An old acquaintance of mine.” I have my back to the men in my kitchen so I mouth the rest to her.
Don’t let on you know them.

Still out of sight to all but me, Molly nods her understanding. She knows as well as I do the likely outcome if they realise she’s an ex-officer.

“Molly, some friends of mine have dropped in. They’d like to meet you.” At least I can be certain they won’t know her first name. Molly was always Miss MacBride to the inmates of G wing. I extend my hand to her, then wrap my arm around her shoulders, squeezing for good measure. She’s shaking as she appears in the kitchen doorway to face the three thugs, who each regard her with varying degrees of curiosity, speculation, and undisguised lust.

“Stevie, Brad, Mikey, this is Molly, my girlfriend.”

Mikey’s leering gaze is riveted on Molly’s breasts. Brad is somewhat less obvious, managing a smile that would pass for friendly in most circumstances. Stevie just scowls at her, his brow furrowing in concentration.

“Molly, did you say? I don’t remember a Molly.”

“You wouldn’t. We’ve not been together that long.”

“You never said nothing about no Molly.” Stevie looks increasingly dubious about my explanation.

“I’m not about to discuss my love life with you, dickhead.” No point at all beating about the bush, and if Stevie detects so much as a whiff of fear from me he’ll be all over it like a fucking rash. Belligerence is the best strategy with him.

“Yeah, well, can she cook? We’ve not eaten since you chucked us out yesterday.”

I catch Molly’s start of alarm as she realises this latest visit isn’t an isolated occurrence and I tighten my grip on her to keep her quiet. The less she says the better.

“Molly’s more decorative than functional. Best we just send her on her way and we can sort out our business here.” I dig my car keys from my jeans pocket and hand them to her. “Sweetheart, you can take my car. I’ll collect it later.”

She turns her head to look up at me, confused. I kiss her forehead. “I’ll be in touch soon. I promise.”

“But—”

“We’re busy here, love. Make yourself scarce, eh? There’s a good girl.” I start to usher her back out into the hallway, desperately hoping Stevie will accept the story and agree to let Molly go. His zero respect for women is working in my favour here as he seems not to question my patronising dismissal of my girlfriend. In Stevie’s usual circles it’s quite normal to send a woman out into the night to make her own way home when she becomes inconvenient.

We might have made it, but for a sudden and uncharacteristic flash of insight from Brad. “I remember Molly. How are you doing, love?” He beams at the pair of us from his station by the kitchen table, my bread knife in his meaty paw. “Are you still at Armley?”

Stevie comes bolt upright. “Armley? What do you mean, fucking Armley?”

“This is Molly. Miss MacBride as was. From G wing. You look different out of uniform, I almost didn’t recognise you.”

“Uniform? You mean this slag was a fucking officer.” Stevie gets to his feet and grabs the shotgun. He stalks toward us, chin jutting forward as he glares at Molly. His next words are aimed at me. “Are you fucking mad or just plain desperate? You’re bedding a bleeding screw!” The biting contempt in his tone would be laughable if our situation was not so dire.

“Brad’s dreaming, as usual. Molly makes jewellery.” Short of other strategies I still try to brazen it out, though I’m far from optimistic at this recent turn of events.

Brad shakes his head as he butters another slice of wholemeal. “Never forget a face, me. I’m known for it. She was at Armley all right, used to bring the breakfast trays round.”

Apparently that’s proof enough for Stevie. “You, sit down over there.” He brandishes the barrel of the shotgun in Molly’s face. “You too.” He prods me in the stomach with the weapon. We do as he says.

“Mikey, you tie these two up. I need to think what to do about her.” Stevie is pacing, confused and far from happy. Molly and I exchange a glance, our expressions in perfect harmony. An agitated idiot with a loaded gun, such a bad combination.

“Is she still a screw?” Stevie leans on the table, glaring at Molly.

I answer for her, abandoning our ill-fated cover story. “No, not for years. You know that.”

“How would I fucking know?”

“You’d have seen her. You’re only just out, yes?”

He narrows his eyes and nods. “Right, so how do you two know each other then?”

“We met recently, by chance. She
is
my girlfriend.”

“Fucking whore.” Stevie quirks his lip in a vicious snarl. “All of them, fucking slags.”

“Nah, she was always nice enough.” Brad starts carving up my halloumi. “Sit down and leave the lass alone.”

Stevie responds with another obscene observation to the world at large but does at least resume his seat. He continues to regard both Molly and me with unrelenting loathing as he caresses the barrel of his shotgun. Meanwhile Mikey has managed to procure a length of what appears to be washing line from somewhere and he proceeds to secure Molly’s wrists at the back of her chair. I weigh up the likelihood of that gun being loaded or not as he turns to tie me up too. If I’m to make a move it has to be now.

I can’t risk it. I sit quietly while Mikey wraps the rope around my wrists as well.

I remember Brad and Stevie too. I recognised the pair of them as soon as I entered the kitchen. The third man, Mikey, is a stranger to me.

There’s a lull in proceedings as the three intruders help themselves to food from Jared’s fridge. They have little to say to one another, at least not until their stomachs are full, so I have a respite in which to process what seems to be going on.

These men were here yesterday, that much is clear. And they’re on the run. The pile of cash on the table is the proceeds of some robbery that took place today, but I get the impression there’s more to all this, something I don’t know about, something else that happened before today’s raid and was the reason for their earlier visit. Jared clearly doesn’t want them in his home but that might be just because of me, of what I might see and hear. I can tell there’s no love lost between him and this lot, but he’s involved somehow. They knew of this place and clearly expected to find sanctuary here.

I was convinced Jared was no longer involved in anything even vaguely criminal. I absolutely believed that. Why would he? He has so much to lose—a new, successful career, wealth, a family. His freedom. None of this makes sense. I might have decided to trust Jared with my submission, but what if he’s not after all the man I thought he was? The tang of disappointment and betrayal is bitter. I swallow down my dismay and will myself to remain calm.

Someone will come, they have to. These men just robbed a security van, for Christ’s sake, the police must be right behind them. It’s only a matter of time.