The Family

saying out loud what they were all thinking. Whoever was behind this night's work would pay, and pay dearly.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty

Veronica was heartbroken, and she knew that if her grandson died she would not be long following him. She still couldn't believe it had happened, that her lovely boy Philly had been shot. Shot in a crowded nightclub, and no one had apparently seen a thing. The shooter had been in and out in no time. In the pandemonium a gunshot always causes, he had dropped the gun on the floor and just disappeared amongst the people fighting to leave the building. There was nothing, not even a decent CCTV picture. It was unbelievable. Who the hell would dare to do something like that to her family? That was what she wanted to find out, and she was placated only by the knowledge that her Phillip was doing everything possible to find out who the culprit might be. Between him and Timmy, Declan and Breda, they had to find out sooner rather than later. Of that, she was convinced.

As she looked at Finoula, still bloodied and bedraggled and sitting a vigil at Philly's bed, she felt the tears once more sting her eyes. The girl had been there beside him for two days, and she hadn't even gone home to change her clothes or have a bath. Her mother had brought her in a pair of jeans and a shirt, but she hadn't opened the bag containing them. She had been there since he had come up from theatre and been placed in the ICU. Her hair was like a rat's nest and her make-up was smeared all over her face. As Phillip remarked, no one could accuse her of being vain – she looked dog rough. But then her Phillip was always brutally honest about most things. Still, Veronica knew he thought the girl was a diamond. She understood that Finoula was frightened that if she left Philly, even for an hour, he would die. This little girl wouldn't go anywhere until she knew that he was going to be OK. They were all very impressed with her. She was loyal and decent and, most importantly, she hadn't been fazed by the events like a civilian would have been. Her father had been shot before, as had one of her uncles. She knew the pitfalls that came with being part of a family like theirs.

She saw the worried eyes of Ted and Eileen Booth and, for once, she didn't have the guts to return their stares. They had gravitated between their daughter, still flat out in a side room, unable to cope with her son's injuries, and their grandson, who was not out of danger yet, not by a long chalk.

She felt the pain inside her belly again; whatever was wrong with her was getting worse. But all she could do was ignore it, and do what she did best: support her family. When this was over she would worry about her own troubles and, until then, she would do what she always did when in doubt, she said the rosary over and over like a mantra. Though even she had to admit, the hypocrisy of her life wasn't lost on her these days.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-One

'Has he fallen out with anyone that you know about?' Phillip was questioning his younger son.

Timmy shook his head.

'An argument with someone? I mean, you know Philly – he can be an awkward cunt. Maybe he mouthed someone off, and they took umbrage?'

Timmy was still shaking his head, he was getting frustrated now with the barrage of questions. 'Look, Dad, do you think I'm fucking stupid or something? I've even asked about in case it's an ex of Finoula's, but there's nothing, Dad, nothing at all.'

His tone was insolent and Phillip looked at this son of his and imagined the boy's reaction if he battered the fuck out of him. Because he might just do that before long.

Declan watched the two men, and he knew that one day there was going to be a battle for supremacy and, if he was honest, he wouldn't write either of them off as the loser. They were both too aggressive for their own good. Whereas Phillip was not averse to letting his feelings known to all and sundry, Timmy was usually good at keeping them under control. But his brother's shooting had shocked them all. It was outrageous.

'I think this has something to do with the clubs and the drug boys, Phillip. We keep hearing Bantry's name and, let's face it, either someone's got a fucking strange sense of humour, or they are trying to send us a message of sorts.'

Phillip nodded, he had been thinking along similar lines himself. But as he had taken out everyone who had anything to do with Bantry, he couldn't see what could be gained from all this. He knew there were still people who believed he had done away with Billy, and that included the Old Bill, but they could think what they wanted. It was proving it that would be the hard part. He had been accused of all sorts over the years, and he had laughed it off. Some things he was responsible for, and others he wasn't. He never said a word either way; he knew there was mileage in letting people think he was the culprit. It gave him a status, and that was what they relied on in their line of work.

But this was scandalous and, standing up, he said quickly, 'Right, round up Breda, all the doormen, and every hard fuck we own. We're going on a manhunt. We're going to visit every cunt in the vicinity, and see what they have to say.'

Timmy smiled at his father's words.

Declan felt uneasy. 'We don't want to be falling out with people just yet, Phillip, we might need them down the line.' He was, as always, the voice of reason, but he knew neither Phillip nor Timmy would listen to him.

'Just get everyone assembled at the farm, and tell Breda to get those black boys on the case. They must have supplied the gun to someone, the Filth have already shown it to me. I'll get Benning to remove it from his evidence locker and we'll see what the fuck they have to say about it.'

Declan sighed inwardly. There was something not right here, because a hundred grand large should have brought every fucking grass out of the woodwork, but they had not even had a nibble, let alone a bite. This felt wrong, it felt very wrong. There was no one big enough to take them on, no one. As Timmy pointed out, there were a lot of new little Faces coming up.

They all thought they were fucking cowboys, but even they would have to be fucking stupid to have a go. There was one family you kept away from – the Murphys.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Two

Breda was in the big barn with Jamal McBride, a huge Rasta with Scottish-Jamaican ancestry. She had dealt with him a lot over the last few years, and found him astute, despite being stoned most of the time, and intrinsically honest. He never promised what he couldn't deliver, and he had never let them down.

Most guns came out of South London, then were dispersed all over the Smoke, so it was strange that Jamal professed to know nothing about the one used on Philly. Still, once he saw the weapon in question, it might jog his memory. She could only hope, because Phillip and Timmy were both getting angrier and more vindictive by the hour.

'I assume these are the legendary ovens that I hear about whenever the name Murphy comes into a conversation?'

Breda laughed at his tone. She knew that if a dog went missing the joke was that Phillip Murphy had incinerated it. The farm was often referred to as Auschwitz by some of the braver, often drunken, locals, though if Phillip knew that there would be fucking murders. He hated the Germans almost as much as he did the French, the Welsh and the Italians. It was an open secret, the big barn, but there was nothing here that could ever incriminate them. The ovens were cleaned almost daily, and any debris was well hidden from the public gaze. Phillip had a crime- scene bloke on the payroll who was quite happy to ensure there was nothing left that could be used against anyone. It was about keeping up with current procedures – if you did that you were safe. Phillip had an analytical mind, he never left anything to chance. This place was probably too clean, in fact, but that was how things were, and how they would always be.