decanter.
“Nice round here, ain’t it?”
Garry’s voice was neutral. Kenny didn’t even bother to answer, his disgusted expression saying more than words ever could. The place had more minders than a Southend nightclub and Kenny knew he had no chance of escape. He had to sit it out and see what the score was, hard for him when he was used to being the main man at most events and commanding the kudos his specialist work exacted.
As he watched that nutter, as he always thought of Garry Ryan, Kenny’s mind tried to come up with some kind of getaway plan. He knew the house was large, in its own grounds, and could see a road which he assumed to be the A13 from the window. It was about a quarter of a mile away across open fields. Not much cover but it was dark and if he could get a good run he might be in with a chance. He clutched the glass tightly, wondering at the odds of slamming it into Garry Ryan’s face. The thought made him smile and Garry laughed as he watched him.
“The last thing I need is a full face of Mars Bars, but I wouldn’t advise it, Kenny. You are in no danger from me or anyone else, I
swear to that. But if you start any antics I will have no qualms about nutting you once and for all, OK?”
Kenny nodded. The futility of his own situation was what smarted with him most. He was used to being the man. How many times had he sat somewhere and watched some other mug who had crossed the line shit himself because he had a capture? It was a very revealing few hours.
When Maura Ryan walked into the room Kenny was so relieved he almost smiled at her.
Maura, though, looked far too serious for his liking and he wondered once more if he would ever see his little daughter again or be around to bury his wife.
Sarah Ryan opened the front door to the young priest with a big smile on her face.
“Hello, Father.”
She was preening herself with satisfaction. A man of God at her front door for all the neighbours to see was her idea of Heaven on earth. She knew that they were all aware of exactly who her children were and it amazed her that so many of them were impressed by their violent reputation. She herself was ashamed and scandalised most of the time.
“I am Father Peter, the new priest at St. Bartholomew’s. I came to say hello.”
His Irish accent was like music to her ears and what a fine handsome young man he was, his curly hair neatly slicked down and dark eyes smiling. She ushered him into her lounge with as much alacrity as her advanced years would allow. She was pink with pleasure and the young man smiled at her kindly. As he settled himself on the sofa she watched him eyeing her religious statues and said with pride, “I have always been a good Catholic and a true believer, Father. Now, can I get you a cup of tea and a bit of cake?”
“Thank you, that sounds wonderful.”
As she left the room Sarah was walking on air. This was just what she needed to bump her up a bit. She was so down over young Terry and the new priest showing up when she was at her lowest ebb felt like fate at work. As she made the tea she sifted through stories she could regale the priest with that would make her family look less criminal than they were. She could not think of many and knew that their reputations would have preceded them as usual.
She walked back into the room to see if he wanted sugar and was confronted by a sight she’d never dreamed she would see in a million years. The young priest had gone through her dresser, opening drawers and rifling through letters and other personal effects. He was holding an old photograph of Sarah and her nine children, and as she stood in the doorway watching in amazement he tore it in two.
“What in the name of Jesus do you think you are doing?”
Her voice held a note of command. It was the one she had used years ago when her nine children were rampaging through the house and she had to make herself heard above the din.
The young man stared at her, and suddenly his
“Nice round here, ain’t it?”
Garry’s voice was neutral. Kenny didn’t even bother to answer, his disgusted expression saying more than words ever could. The place had more minders than a Southend nightclub and Kenny knew he had no chance of escape. He had to sit it out and see what the score was, hard for him when he was used to being the main man at most events and commanding the kudos his specialist work exacted.
As he watched that nutter, as he always thought of Garry Ryan, Kenny’s mind tried to come up with some kind of getaway plan. He knew the house was large, in its own grounds, and could see a road which he assumed to be the A13 from the window. It was about a quarter of a mile away across open fields. Not much cover but it was dark and if he could get a good run he might be in with a chance. He clutched the glass tightly, wondering at the odds of slamming it into Garry Ryan’s face. The thought made him smile and Garry laughed as he watched him.
“The last thing I need is a full face of Mars Bars, but I wouldn’t advise it, Kenny. You are in no danger from me or anyone else, I
swear to that. But if you start any antics I will have no qualms about nutting you once and for all, OK?”
Kenny nodded. The futility of his own situation was what smarted with him most. He was used to being the man. How many times had he sat somewhere and watched some other mug who had crossed the line shit himself because he had a capture? It was a very revealing few hours.
When Maura Ryan walked into the room Kenny was so relieved he almost smiled at her.
Maura, though, looked far too serious for his liking and he wondered once more if he would ever see his little daughter again or be around to bury his wife.
Sarah Ryan opened the front door to the young priest with a big smile on her face.
“Hello, Father.”
She was preening herself with satisfaction. A man of God at her front door for all the neighbours to see was her idea of Heaven on earth. She knew that they were all aware of exactly who her children were and it amazed her that so many of them were impressed by their violent reputation. She herself was ashamed and scandalised most of the time.
“I am Father Peter, the new priest at St. Bartholomew’s. I came to say hello.”
His Irish accent was like music to her ears and what a fine handsome young man he was, his curly hair neatly slicked down and dark eyes smiling. She ushered him into her lounge with as much alacrity as her advanced years would allow. She was pink with pleasure and the young man smiled at her kindly. As he settled himself on the sofa she watched him eyeing her religious statues and said with pride, “I have always been a good Catholic and a true believer, Father. Now, can I get you a cup of tea and a bit of cake?”
“Thank you, that sounds wonderful.”
As she left the room Sarah was walking on air. This was just what she needed to bump her up a bit. She was so down over young Terry and the new priest showing up when she was at her lowest ebb felt like fate at work. As she made the tea she sifted through stories she could regale the priest with that would make her family look less criminal than they were. She could not think of many and knew that their reputations would have preceded them as usual.
She walked back into the room to see if he wanted sugar and was confronted by a sight she’d never dreamed she would see in a million years. The young priest had gone through her dresser, opening drawers and rifling through letters and other personal effects. He was holding an old photograph of Sarah and her nine children, and as she stood in the doorway watching in amazement he tore it in two.
“What in the name of Jesus do you think you are doing?”
Her voice held a note of command. It was the one she had used years ago when her nine children were rampaging through the house and she had to make herself heard above the din.
The young man stared at her, and suddenly his
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