He really didn’t feel comfortable with beating the shit out of a disabled lad, even one built like a shed.
‘They owe me,’ his mother said.
‘What?’
‘You heard. Joey started out with twenty-five grand’s worth of product on him. I want it back. Ask them what they did with it. Go on, ask them!’
Ronan lowered the phone as he walked over to the sofa. He pointed the gun at Scott again.
‘The stuff that was in Joey’s bag. The money and the bags of powder. What did you do with it?’
‘We . . . I threw it away, along with . . . along with everything else.’
‘Liar! All that money, and you just threw it away? I don’t fucking believe you.’
‘Please! It’s the truth. We thought it might be traceable. Plus, we didn’t think we should make money out of what happened. It wouldn’t be right.’
Wouldn’t be right, Ronan thought. Listen to him. Wouldn’t be right. Like anyone else would give a shit about right or wrong when they’re holding that much cash in their hands. It just shows how screwed-up this whole situation is.
Ronan returned to his corner of the room. ‘Did you hear that? They tossed it.’
‘Doesn’t change anything.’
‘What do you mean? They haven’t got—’
‘I’m not interested! I want it back. I don’t care how they get it, but I want my money. They owe me.’
Ronan wanted to puke. This was no longer about Joey. It was about money. That was the only thing concerning her. Maybe it always had been.
He hung up. Went back to the family. The family that looked as though they hardly had two pennies to rub together.
‘You owe me.’
They looked at him blankly.
‘The cash and the drugs. Twenty-five grand’s worth. I want it back.’
‘We can’t,’ Scott said. ‘I just told you. We got rid of it.’
‘That’s your problem. I want my twenty-five thousand back. How you get it is up to you.’
‘That’s crazy!’
Ronan thrust the gun towards him, and he backed down.
‘Look around you,’ Scott said. ‘We don’t have anywhere near that amount of money.’
‘You should have thought of that before you killed my brother.’
‘Look, I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for what happened to your brother. But what’s done is done, and—’
‘No! It’s not done. Not until you pay for what you did. Now, either you get me my money or I tell the police exactly what you and your son did. Your choice.’
‘Please! We haven’t got money like that.’
‘Take out a loan. Remortgage. Sell your car. Rob a bank. I don’t give a shit what you do as long as you pay up.’
‘We can’t get a loan for that amount. And the flat is rented. My car isn’t—’
‘Shut up. What’s your phone number?’
‘What?’
‘Your phone number. What is it?’
Scott told him, and he typed it into his contacts.
‘You’ve got twenty-four hours,’ Ronan said. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow, and I’ll tell you where to meet me with the money. If you don’t show up, I’m tipping off the cops.’
‘No. Please. I—’
‘Twenty-four hours. Don’t let me down. If you really want to protect your lad, you’ll do what I say. And if the name Joey Cobb still sends shivers up your spine, then wait till you see what Ronan Cobb can do.’
And then Ronan left, a sour taste in his mouth.
28
Scott sat in numb disbelief. It was as though a hurricane had just torn through their home, devastating their lives.
