Bloodlines

  Bloodlines

  A Jim Locke Novel

  P.F. Hughes

  BLOODLINES

  * * *

  by P.F. Hughes

  * * *

  Copyright © 2021 by P.F. Hughes

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Email: paul@pfhughes.com

  Web: www.pfhughes.com

  First published in 2021 by Punch Publishing

  Cover photographs © Shutterstock

  For Family.

  * * *

  Blood is blood.

  Contents

  SURVEILLANCE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  ANIMALS

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  BLOODLINES

  TWENTY ONE

  TWENTY TWO

  TWENTY THREE

  TWENTY FOUR

  TWENTY FIVE

  TWENTY SIX

  TWENTY SEVEN

  TWENTY EIGHT

  TWENTY NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY ONE

  THIRTY TWO

  THIRTY THREE

  THIRTY FOUR

  THIRTY FIVE

  THIRTY SIX

  THIRTY SEVEN

  THIRTY EIGHT

  THIRTY NINE

  FORTY

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by P.F. Hughes

  PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW

  SURVEILLANCE

  ONE

  "Are you a gambling man, Locke?"

  Was I? Not really. I don't think I'd ever set foot in a bookie's in my life. I wouldn't know where to start with placing a bet, couldn't give the slightest fuck about horse racing, not even the Grand National. My poker face was just my usual expression and I wouldn't know a card game if I tried. I never was one for chasing a win, and a tip was something I gave to the barmaid if I thought she was doing a good job at keeping me in beer. I occasionally bought a lottery ticket if it was a big one and I sometimes took risks - dangerous risks as Laura kept reminding me - so that was probably as far as my gambling went. I'd gambled with my life many times, and yet I'd always came out the other side relatively unscathed, except for the seven-inch scar across my abdomen. You could say those gambles mostly paid off. But was I a gambling man? Did I place bets? No.

  "Not really," I said. "Can't say I am."

  Seamus Connolly looked me in the eye and smiled. His youngest son, Kian, had returned to the table with a bottle of Jameson and two glasses. Grinned as he joined us and sat down. His older brother, Shane, the middle of the three brothers, lifted a Guinness and drank.

  "I'm surprised by that," Seamus said. "I really am. But then what's a little bet now and then, eh? This one's just for fun."

  "I suppose I could give it a go," I said, eyeing the bottle. "Looks a decent drink."

  "Smooth as a baby's arse," Kian said. His accent was pure Mancunian, as was his brother's, when he bothered to speak. Seamus, on the other hand, was a mix of heavy Dublin coated in Manc and somewhere in between. He popped the cork from the bottle and poured two good measures into each glass, pushing one to me.

  "What do you say we drink a dram each until this bottle is finished and the last one standing gets to take this home?" He dipped into his trouser pocket and pulled out a large wad of cash in twenties. Dropped it on the table. "A grand. Yours if you can keep up."

  "A grand? You'd seriously give me a grand if I'm still standing after this?"

  "That's what I said."

  "I couldn't, Seamus. It's a lot of money."

  "You'll have earned it."

  "And if you win? I have to give you a grand. Is that how it works?"

  "Ah, we just call it quits. Just for fun, like I said."

  "But you're still willing to give me a grand? That's a lot of money to lose, if you don't mind me saying so."

  "I don't intend to lose," he said, leaning in. "But I'm a man of my word. The cash is yours if you manage to finish on top. What do you say? Come on, it's St. Patrick's day. Live a little."

  I looked down at the whiskey. It was one I knew well. Could I match him, dram for dram? On a night like this? "Are you sure about this?"

  "Deadly."

  And then the band kicked in, a six-piece fusion set, kind of like a cross between The Pogues and Toss the Feathers. If it wasn't lively enough, it was about to get that bit livelier. When the drums counted in a one-two-three-four, and the tables bounced, Kian and Shane jumped up to join the party, and Seamus and I raised a glass and drank it in one. I poured us another and told him I was planning on savouring this one. I saw him laugh and he mouthed something that I think was meant to be funny, but I couldn't hear him over the noise. Instead, I caught his daughter's eye, a pretty young twenty-something standing over near the bar with a handful of men around her. She looked over her shoulder at me sitting with her old man when Kian whispered something in her ear. Then she turned away and moved into the crowd. I suspected she had no idea she was the reason he'd brought me here in the first place. And I needed to know that reason, too. Last night's phone call had taken me by surprise. "Meet me at Mulligan's," he'd said. "I've got a proposition for you. I'll make it worth your while."

  So here I was, feeling drunk, weeks of sobriety falling away like rocks down a cliff. Suddenly, I was back in at the deep end.

  Seamus left his seat and joined me on the bench, squeezing in between a fat girl who was half asleep. He nudged me and downed another dram. Urged me to do the same. I did, thinking that this could end messy, and watched him top us both up again. It wasn't a drink to be reckoned with. Best not to treat it as a session whiskey but I doubted Seamus Connolly would agree.

  "So," he said. "Like this cash sitting right here," which he pocketed in his shirt breast pocket, "this job I want you to do for me is easy money. I wouldn't even call it work, to be honest, but if anyone can do this kind of thing, I suppose it must be you, eh?"

  "What kind of thing?" I said. I'd also have liked to ask him to get to the fucking point, but you don't challenge Seamus Connolly, not if you value your teeth. "How can I be of service?"

  "Surveillance," he said. "Just the straightforward kind."

  "Meaning?"

  "Just keep your eyes open," he said. "And report back to me on a weekly basis or as and when, depending on what you find."

  "And who am I watching, exactly?"

  He nodded into the crowd, and I followed his gaze. "My youngest daughter. Aisling. You see her?"

  How could I miss her? She was beautiful and alluring, dancing away to the band in a short brown dress, her black hair tied up in a green velvet band, her blue eyes sparkling. Slim but curvaceous in all the right places and an arse that wouldn't look out of place in anyone's bed. She was a young twenty-three, a party girl if the rumours were true, and every kid in town was in love with her. It was easy to see why.

  She was also untouchable given that her fathe
r was the patriarchal boss in the family, a family whose tentacles stretched into every corner of the country. Protection, drugs, loan sharking, prostitution even, if the latest reports were to be believed. I knew Seamus had various properties scattered around, and his eldest son, Connor, was about to invest in the latest skyscraper apartment boom in a big way. Gangsters that even the gangsters feared. It was well known they'd fuck you up if you crossed them. Well known that Seamus and perhaps some of his boys were responsible for far more than breaking fingers. Bodies had shown up just recently that had their stamp all over it, though in this town, Seamus was king. I had no doubt he'd kept the local politicians happy in exchange for their protection from the law. Rumour had it he'd kept the police quiet too, and it didn't surprise me at all. Despite all that had gone down in recent years, the smell of corruption had never really gone away. It was just the faces that had changed.

  "So she's your daughter then?"

  "Youngest," he said. "My eldest, Siobhan, is settled with her own family back in Donegal. She's thirty-five now. Two kids, a boy and a girl, and her husband, Kevin, has taken over his dad's farm. Pigs, mainly. They never run out of bacon."

  If it was meant as a joke, I didn't find it funny. I looked at him, this old man pushing seventy-five but still sixteen stone of raw muscle and hands like shovels. Not a rare breed for an Irishman, but I knew people often wondered why he kept himself in the game at his age. I felt it was because he loved what he did. It kept him young, gave him something to live for. Kept the blood pumping through his veins. He topped us up again, and I saw the bottle was slowly going down. I thought about what I could do with that grand he had in his breast pocket.

  "So why do you want me to watch her?" I said. "Make sure she's okay, that kind of thing?"

  He shook his head. "She can handle herself. She's like her mother. Soft on the outside, hard on the inside. Won't be taken for a fool, you know? No, she'll be okay, I'm sure. I just don't want her to be taken advantage of, if you know what I mean."

  "Not quite."

  "A little bird tells me she's been seeing a fella."

  "No surprise there," I said. "She's a good-looking woman."

  He nodded. "Young lad, about her age. But I worry about her because of who he is."

  "You know him then?"

  "Know of him," he said. "And the rest of his family. Anyone else and I wouldn't normally give a fuck. But this lot..."

  "Sounds like you're not too happy about it. But kids are kids, Seamus. It'll just be a fling, I'm sure."

  "If I find out he's fucking her, I'll murder the bastard."

  "Who?"

  "One of the Poles," he said. "Lukasz. Lukasz Badowski. You may have heard of his father."

  I had. Wiktor Badowski was a well-known career criminal around Manchester. He'd done time back in the eighties for manslaughter, but everyone knew he was a murderer. His younger brother, Oskar, had taken over the reins for a few years while Wiktor counted the days inside, making connections and striking up deals in unlikely places. But then Oskar was found dead in a reclamation yard out in Cheshire and it kicked off a war among the Poles and the Irish and the Italians. A few people were killed, including one of Connolly's boys, a young Cork man called James Dunne. Since then, the Connollys have not been best of friends with the Polish, least of all Wiktor and his lot, having long suspected him of being involved in Dunne's demise. They'd found him hanging from the Stockport viaduct, a hundred feet from the ground, on Good Friday in nineteen eighty-nine. Since then, it's said a truce was called and patches respectfully not crossed. The Connollys and the Badowskis had agreed to leave it at that and move on with their respectful businesses. But there had always been the suspicion among both sides that either one was up to no good. So for Aisling Connolly to be romantically involved with the young Badowski kid, Lukasz, things had appeared to have taken a turn in a very different direction. And judging by the look on Seamus's face, I guessed he wasn't too keen on his daughter getting involved with the enemy.

  "I find it hard to trust anyone," he said, "let alone a Badowski. See, Aisling likes to think she's streetwise, and she is to a certain extent, but I just don't trust these bastards. Which is where you come in."

  "You think he's got an ulterior motive?"

  "Something like that, yeah. And if he has, I'd like you to find out what that might be."

  "As well as follow Aisling around and keep you informed of what she's up to?"

  "That's right," he said. "You'll be well sorted for anything you need. All you need to do is ask. Cars, assistance, whatever."

  "I like to work alone in cases like this," I said. "Too many cooks and all that."

  "Let's just make something clear from the outset, though. I don't want you to feel like I've got some kind of power over you, you know. You know my reputation, Mr. Locke. I don't want you to feel like you're working for me. I'm your client. I'll pay you an excellent rate. Only fair for what I'm asking you to do."

  "Normally I'd charge a straight five hundred per week for this kind of surveillance job. That covers my time, petrol allowances, the spying kit, you name it."

  He waved this away like he was swatting a fly. "I'll double it. A grand a week, cash in hand. Shall we say every Sunday? Just come to my house and we can sort everything there."

  It was silly money and he knew it, and I knew I could drag this shit out for as long as it took. A grand a week in cash in my pocket would do very nicely, thank you very much.

  "When do I start?"

  He finished his whiskey and took the wad of cash from his breast pocket. He put it between my twitching fingers. "You win," he said. "I'm done, anyway. No time like the present. We can iron out any paperwork you'd like me to deal with on Sunday. That's when you'll get your first payment."

  "Seamus, this is good enough. Forget the bet, I don't gamble anyway. It feels wrong to just take this money."

  "I never shirk on a bet, Locke."

  "But I couldn't, really."

  "You can and you will." He stood up and I did the same, suddenly feeling high and light as a feather. I was drunk, and the party was kicking in. Someone - I think it was Shane - put a fresh Guinness in front of me, then vanished into the crowd. Seamus and I shook to seal the agreement. It was easy enough.

  "We'll look forward to learning what she's up to," he said. "And remember, Locke. She's my daughter and I love her. I want to know everything, for her own good."

  "I'll need some details," I said. "About her. Where she likes to go, who her friends are, that kind of thing."

  He nodded. "Come to mine on Sunday. I'll give you everything you need."

  "Just one thing to start me off," I said. He nodded, but looked impatient. He was ready to call it a night. "Who told you she might be seeing Lukasz?"

  "You'll have to speak to Kian," he said. "He knows all about that."

  I glanced around for Kian, who was watching from over at the bar. When I turned back to Seamus, he'd gone. I watched him walk away, out the side door and into the night.

  I sat for a while, just minding my own business and watching the party get into full swing before the last band was due to come on. It was only just gone ten o'clock and I was beginning to think about one for the road. Thought about the job Seamus wanted me to do and his reasons for it. I suppose he'd do whatever it took to feel better. I just wasn't entirely sure I was the man for the job. If he didn't like whatever I had found out, how would he react? I'd heard my share of bad things about the Connollys over the years. There was no telling what these people could do, given half a chance. I decided right there and then to do the right thing and be cautious with the truth if I knew it would make relations go tits up. My initial thoughts on this romance was that it was destined for disaster, but then what did I know these days? Not much.

  My phone buzzed, and I drained my pint and pulled it out, stepping outside via the front door. Two bouncers moved aside as I stumbled into the street. The night was noisy and beyond, the traffic on Deansgate moved like a
n electric snake.

  "Laura."

  "You said you'd be home by now."

  "When have I ever been governed by time?"

  "That's a point. So, you on the way back then?"

  I glanced back at the pub. It was bouncing. I felt a temptation - no, more than that - an urge to get back inside and get acquainted with the subject of my new job. Well, that was my excuse. What I really wanted, I knew, was another pint.

  "I'm on the way."

  "I've been waiting for you," she said. "It's lovely and warm in bed."

  I knew what she wanted and was more than willing to oblige. But already a new case had whetted my appetite. It had been a while since I felt the buzz of it again. My last major case had gotten me hurt and had been enough to put me off the job for life... until I got bored hanging around the flat all day. It was time to get back in the saddle. I could only take so much of insurance fraud. Surveillance was my bread and butter and a job that paid as well as this was enough motivation.

  "Sounds like an invitation," I said. "How could I refuse?"

  "Just hurry up. But anyway, what did Connolly want?"

  I told her.

  "Seems easy enough, eh? A grand a week would be just fine."