The Reprisal Read online

  “Are you trying to imply that I don’t know what I saw?”

  The tone in her husband’s voice caused the hairs at the back of Cathy’s neck to stand up on end. “I’m not implying anything.” She shrugged off her woolen coat and draped it across the arm of the artificial leather covered sofa. “Why would I do that?”

  “Yeah, why would you do that?” Terrance’s eyes were hard. “Why would you call me a liar?”

  Cathy’s mouth dropped open. “I didn’t call you a liar.” She stumbled backward, bumping the back of her legs against the sofa. “I would never call you that.”

  “But you just did.” He cocked his head to one side and gave her a quizzical stare.

  “No … no I didn’t.” Cathy screwed up her face as she tried to think back. Had she called him a liar and maybe not realized?

  “Yeah, you did.” There was an edge to Terrance’s voice. “That’s what you blatantly said.”

  The first slap that connected with the side of Cathy’s face was as loud as a gunshot, followed in quick succession by a second and third slap around the back of her head.

  “Stop,” she cried. Still, the blows kept on coming. Falling back onto the sofa, Cathy held her arms protectively across her bump. “You’re going to hurt the baby.”

  “Mine or his?” Terrance’s face burned bright red, and between each slap and punch, he roared at her. “Is that what this is all about, you want to protect his kid?”

  “It’s your baby,” she cried.

  Still the slaps rained down on top of her.

  * * *

  Not only was Paul Mooney fast on his way to becoming a known face, but his reputation proceeded him.

  “So, what do you reckon?” Jason Milner, Paul’s business partner and sidekick, asked.

  “I reckon he’s taking the piss out of us.”

  They paused inside the entrance of a snooker hall, and as they looked around, they spotted the man in question hunched over a snooker table toward the back of the premises. With a cue stick in hand, he gave a carefree laugh as he stood poised to take a shot.

  In unison, they moved forward, and snatching up a cue stick of his own, there was a purpose to Paul’s swagger. “Oi,” he shouted out.

  Seeing Paul Mooney charge toward him, Michael Nicholls made a run for it in the opposite direction.

  “Oh no you don’t, you slimy little fucker.” With ease, Paul caught up with him, and grasping a handful of the man’s hair in his fist, he dragged him toward the fire escape. Outside in a narrow alleyway, he slammed Michael up against the brick wall. “You owe me money.”

  “And I said I’d get it to you; I gave you my word, didn’t I?” Michael looked between Paul and Jason. They were big men, huge in fact. Both were tall with wide shoulders and athletic builds to match their height. The fear Michael felt came off of him in waves. Beads of sweat broke out across his upper lip and he snaked his tongue across it. “I’m just having one or two cash-flow problems,” he stammered. “As soon as I’m back on my feet, I’ll get you your dough.”

  Paul thought this through. “So you’re telling me you haven’t got my cash?” he asked with a smile.

  Michael relaxed slightly, hoping more than anything that Paul was in a good mood. “Nah, not yet, but I will, honest to God I will. I swear to you on my kids’ lives that I’ll get you your money.”

  The smile slid from Paul’s face. “So, you haven’t got my dough, but you’ve got the money to come in here have a game of snooker and shove chisel up your fucking hooter?”

  “What?” Michael’s face paled and he wiped the back of his hand underneath his nose, giving away the fact that just as Paul had predicted, he’d recently snorted a line of cocaine.

  “You heard me, you fucking degenerate.” Taking the cue stick, Paul smashed it into the man’s gut. The fact that Michael worked for Samson Ivers, a serious face, meant absolutely nothing to him. “You’re putting my money up your fucking nose,” he roared.

  Groaning in pain, Michael slumped forward, and using the cue stick, Paul repeatedly crashed it down across the back of the man’s skull. “No one,” he spat, “takes the piss out of me and gets away with it, and that includes fucking you.” For good measure, he drew back his steel-toe-capped boot and executed a sickening kick to Michael’s ribs. “You’ve got twenty-four hours to get me my money, and if you don’t,” he kicked out once more, taking great delight as he heard the sickening crunch of bone snapping in two, “you’re a dead man fucking walking.”

  Barely even breaking out in a sweat, Paul pulled back his shoulders flung the cue stick on top of Michael’s semi-conscious body, then walked out of the snooker hall as though he didn’t have a single care in the world.

  * * *

  Lifting the back of her hand, Cathy pressed it against her cheek that was still smarting from the stinging back hander her husband had dished out. “Why do you always do this?” she cried. “Why do you always have to do this to me? I’m your wife.”

  “Wife?” Terrance roared back. “That’s right, you’re my wife. You’re my property to do with as I please, as I see fit.” His brown eyes darkened, and as he screwed up his face, he clenched his fists into tight balls. Launching himself forward, he backed his wife up against the kitchen counter. “You’re mine,” he screamed in her face. “Mine, not Paul fucking Mooney’s.”

  Recoiling backward, Cathy turned her face away. She could smell alcohol and stale tobacco on his breath. The fumes were enough to make her want to gag. “And what about Donna Cassidy?” She stuck her chin in the air and there was a steely glint in her eyes as she confronted her husband. “I’ve heard the rumors; I know what you’ve been getting up to behind my back.”

  “What are you talking about?” Terrance swallowed deeply and as his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, he narrowed his eyes. “Has your mother been putting ideas into your head again?”

  “Everyone is talking about the two of you.” She pointed out of the kitchen window. “You and her, that Donna,” she spat, “you’re the talk of the estate.”

  “Nah.” He took a step backward and gave a nervous chuckle. “Don’t be daft, Cath.” He looked around the open plan lounge and kitchenette. It might not have been much, but it was his, or more to the point, it was Cathy’s, seeing as the tenancy was in her name. If she was to throw him out on his arse, he’d have nowhere to go, and he knew for a fact that he didn’t fancy kipping at Donna’s place, what with her mum, dad, and half a dozen siblings all squashed together in a two-bedroom flat. “They’re jealous, that’s all. Jealous of what me and you have got.”

  “Jealous?” Cathy scoffed. “Jealous of this?” She swept her hand around the small, outdated kitchen. “Why the hell would anyone be jealous of this?”

  “I dunno, babe.” Thinking fast, he pulled her roughly into his arms. “They’re jealous of us. Jealous that we’ve got a bright future ahead of us. Me and you, we’re going places, ain’t we?”

  “Going places?” Cathy shook her head from side to side as she eased herself out of his embrace. The fact that he hadn’t denied the affair hung heavy in the air. “And where the fuck are we supposed to be going exactly?”

  “Come on, Cath.” He gave her a beaming grin, showing even white teeth. “It’s me and you, ain’t it? You know what I’m like. She doesn’t mean anything to me. You’re the only woman I want. We’re married, ain’t we? That’s gotta tell you something.”

  Cathy’s blood ran cold. So, the rumors were true after all.

  * * *

  Leaving the snooker hall, Paul climbed back into his car. It was a brand-new Range Rover with tinted windows, alloy wheels, and cream leather seats. He turned to look at Jason. “Twenty-four hours,” he reminded him. He was in half a mind to drag Michael back out of the hall by the scruff of his scummy drug infested neck and drag him to the nearest cash point. “That’s all we are giving him, and if the slimy bastard doesn’t pay up, I’ll cut his fucking bollocks off and give ‘em to his missus as an early Christmas
present.”

  Jason chuckled. Paul was hot headed all right, and although it had been said in a jocular manner, he knew better and knew for a fact that Paul meant every word he said. It was at times like this that he was reminded just how dangerous his best mate actually was.

  “So, where to next?” Tearing his eyes away from the snooker hall, Paul leaned back in his seat and lit a cigarette.

  From his jacket pocket, Jason pulled out a small black leather-bound notebook. As he flicked through the worn pages, he ignored the snigger that came from his mate. The little notebook contained every debt owed to them. Unlike his business partner, for the life of him, he was unable to remember who owed them what. The bottom line was that this little book was his only way of keeping track. In fact, the notebook was more than worth its weight in gold, as far as he was concerned. “Head toward Tilbury.”

  “Are you sure?” It was said tongue-in-cheek.

  Snapping the notebook closed, Jason held it aloft in the air. “Say’s so right here in black and white.”

  Paul rolled his eyes and started the ignition. At the side of his jaw, a nerve twitched. “Did you see that ponce Terrance Matlock in the boozer tonight?” His arms were taut as he turned the steering wheel. “What the fuck Cathy see’s in him, I’ll never know.” He gave Jason a sideways glance and shook his head. “That slapper Donna Cassidy was all over him like a fucking rash and right in front of Cath an’ all.” His fists tightened around the steering wheel. It was only the fact that he had bigger fish to fry that was stopping him from going back to The Jolly Fisherman and smashing his fists into Terrance’s face.

  Jason nodded his head. As always, he was amazed at just how quickly Paul’s mood could change. He was also one of only a few people who knew the extent of Paul’s true feelings toward Cathy Townsend, as she had been known before she’d married. He knew for a fact that her waster of a husband had been given more than one swerve over the years out of Paul’s loyalty to her. “He’ll get his comeuppance, mate.”

  “Yeah, and you’d better believe it.”

  As the car sped through the streets, Jason snatched the seat belt and snapped it into place. He wouldn’t want to be in Terrance Matlock’s shoes when Paul finally caught up with him and showed him the full force of his wrath.

  * * *

  Thoughts of her husband and the slapper Donna Cassidy in bed together ran through Cathy’s mind. She breathed heavily through her flared nostrils, and as she swallowed down a mouthful of bile, the acrid bitter acid burned the back of her throat. He may have well as thrust a steel blade into her heart, so intense was the pain his latest betrayal had caused her. She watched her husband begin to right the furniture that had been knocked over during their fight, and fought the urge not to scream out loud. “No,” she spat. “No, no, no.” Her voice became louder, bordering on hysterical.

  With the dining chair poised in his hand, Terrance looked up. “What the fuck is wrong with you now?”

  “You and her,” Cathy screamed. She reached for a bread knife and sliced it through the air. “I want you out! I want you out of my home! I want you out of my life!”

  Terrance narrowed his eyes. With her hair sticking up all over the place, his wife looked deranged and he burst out laughing. “Leave it fucking out, Cath.”

  “I want you out.” With the knife remaining firmly clutched in her fist, Cathy took a step forward. “I mean it,” she screamed, “I want you out!”

  “Tough fucking shit.” Flopping down on the sofa, Terrance opened up a newspaper and pretended to read through the headlines. “This is my gaff,” he said, not bothering to even look up. “My fucking gaff.”

  “I said that I want you out.” When her husband still made no attempt to move, Cathy darted across the room, spread open her handbag, and fished out a small address book. Her hands shook, so intense was the rage that pumped through her veins. Every fiber of her being threatened to be consumed by the grief his infidelity, his betrayal, had caused.

  Over and over again, he had hurt her, and not just physically. She’d lost count of the amount of times that he had climbed into bed beside her in the early hours of the morning, reeking of an unfamiliar perfume. Not to mention the amount of times she had scrubbed lipstick marks from the collars of his shirts, a shade of lipstick she would never have been seen dead wearing. He had no shame in parading Donna around. He hadn’t even tried to hide the affair. How many times did he expect her to believe his lies before fighting back? “If you don’t get out,” she growled, “then I’ll call Paul Mooney and tell him to come and drag you out.” Stony-faced, she began frantically flipping through the address book.

  Terrance looked up. He swallowed deeply, watching as her fingers flew through the pages of the small book. “Leave it out, you stupid mare.” A coward through and through, a shiver of fear ran down the length of his spine. The last thing he wanted or needed was Paul Mooney on his case. “You want me out, eh?” He slammed down the newspaper and jumped up from the sofa. “I’m gone.” He stabbed his finger toward her. “This’ll be the biggest mistake of your life, darling.”

  “Nah, I don’t think so.” She yanked off her wedding ring and threw it in his face. “Marrying you was the biggest mistake of my life.”

  Ducking down to dodge the ring, Terrance straightened up. “You’ll regret this,” he spat.

  “Never.” Cathy watched as her husband headed for the front door, and when she heard the front door slam behind him, she promptly fell to her knees and sobbed her heart out.

  Chapter 3

  Two weeks later, after a hard days’ graft, Paul and Jason headed for the local café for a well-earned spot of lunch.

  Jason studied the menu; he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his stomach. “I’m so fucking hungry I could eat a scabby horse.”

  Paul chuckled, and giving over his order, he leaned back in the chair and looked to Jason expectedly.

  “I’ll have the sirloin steak, medium, with fries and tomatoes.” He snapped the menu closed and looked up at the waitress. “And can you take the seeds out of the tomatoes?”

  Shaking his head, Paul burst out laughing, “Take the seeds out? What the fuck is wrong with you, Jay?”

  “What?” Jason protested. “I don’t like them.”

  “And I don’t like looking at your boat every day, but I don’t have any other choice, do I?” With a smile upon his face, he shook his head a second time and looked up at the flustered waitress. “He’ll have the tomatoes as they come, love.”

  The waitress smiled her gratitude and walked away.

  “Take the fucking seeds out,” Paul continued to chuckle.

  His cheeks turning red, Jason shrugged his shoulders. Lifting his mug, he took a deep gulp of tea as he studied Paul over the rim of the cup. “Did you hear that your Cathy threw that waste of space Matlock out?”

  Leaning back in the chair, Paul drummed his fingers on the table. It had been a long time since Cathy had been referred to as his. “Yeah,” he finally answered, “I did hear something along those lines.”

  “And what about him, Matlock?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

  “Matlock,” Paul gritted his teeth, “let’s just say, now that Cathy has seen sense, he’s fair game as far as I’m concerned, and trust me, when I get my hands on the no-good ponce, he’s gonna wish he’d never been born.”

  Jason nodded his head. Paul’s reply came as no surprise to him. Even as he’d asked the question, he’d already known what his best mate was going to say.

  * * *

  Terrance had just about had enough. With nowhere else to go, he’d reluctantly found himself at Donna’s home, and after initially placing his size ten feet firmly underneath the table, the situation he now found himself to be in was starting to wear thin.

  He rubbed wearily at his temples as the start of a blinding headache made him feel as though his head was in a vice.

  “And so I said to her, keep your nose out of mine and my Tel’s business.”
/>   “What?” Terrance looked up. Half the time, he drowned out Donna’s incessant chatter. He leaned to one side as one of her younger siblings chased the family dog around the kitchen table, and he swallowed down his irritation. At times, it reminded him of living in a zoo, and he wasn’t only referring to the stale stench that permeated the property.

  Donna took a long drag on her cigarette. “Cathy’s bloody mother,” she snapped. “She was talking shit about me and you.” She blew out a long stream of smoke, then stubbed out the cigarette in an overflowing glass ashtray. “And I won’t put up with that, Tel. What me and you have is special.”

  “You spoke to Angie?” He could feel his temper begin to rise and he resisted the urge to lash out. Shacking up with Donna, because he had nowhere else to go was one thing, but she certainly wasn’t about to become a permanent fixture in his life.

  “Yeah I did, and I put the old bat straight an’ all.” With a smug expression across her face, Donna leaned back in the chair and spread open her arms. “Going on and on, she was, about that kid your ex is about to drop, as if it’s something special. I mean, anyone would think she’s the only woman in the world to ever get pregnant, the way she was carrying on. And like I told her, it’s only a matter of time until me and you have a baby of our own, ain’t it?”

  “A baby?” Terrance choked on his words, and as he began to cough uncontrollably, he glanced down at her belly, hoping more than anything that she wasn’t hinting she was already pregnant. He could think of nothing worse. Just the very thought of having a child with Donna was enough to bring him out in a cold sweat.

  “Well, it’s gonna happen one day, ain’t it?” She picked up her cigarette packet, plucked out a fresh cigarette, and brought it to her lips. “Let’s face it,” she said sitting forward in the chair, “it’s the only way the council will give us our own place.” As she lit her cigarette, she turned her head. “Ain’t that right, Mum?”