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I keep moving forward to the kitchen where Enzo and Michael are standing. Enzo is on the phone again speaking frantically. He's shaking and I can tell he’s close to snapping. His fist is clenching the phone so tightly his knuckles are turning white. There’s drug paraphernalia everywhere. The counters are covered in white residue and genuine filth, dirty Pyrex jugs piled high in the sink. He’s obviously resorted to selling crack now too, if I looked hard enough there’s probably heroine about. The half-broken table in the middle of the room is littered with scales, little plastic baggies and half-discarded bottles of vodka.
I still have my arm over my face but the chemical smell of drugs mixed with what I think is piss is leaking into my nose. “Luca got a hit on the car. It's in Luton, how far away is that?”
My heart drops and I look at Michael, he's got a grave look on his face. “That's like over an hour away.”
“What the fuck is he doing there?” I ask more to myself than anyone. I don’t know why he would go there as far as I know all his connections are here in London. My thoughts are interrupted by Enzo kicking over the table as he roars, “Fuck.” The contents of the table come crashing to the floor.
“Enzo.” He won't look at me. I take his face in my hands and tilt it down so he's looking into my eyes “Enzo, we are getting him back, you hear me? I don’t care what we have to do, we are getting our son and we are going home.” He starts to nod his head slowly, the all-consuming rage in his eyes never really ebbing.
He doesn’t say anything. He’s not even really looking at me. He looks like he's somewhere else in his brain. He just grabs my hand and leads me down the stairs. Michael and Leah following close behind. We get back in the car, only this time I get behind the wheel.
It's nearly 11 p.m. so the roads are much quieter. We get onto the motorway and I put my foot down like I never have before. All I can think is that I'm getting my son and I’m going the fuck home. I chant the words in my head. He’s fine, he will be perfectly unharmed because that's the only possible outcome. It's that or it's over for me. We're going so fast the road is starting to tunnel vision in front of us but I can't find an ounce of fear in me. A call comes through the car system and Enzo clicks answer so I don't have to do anything but concentrate on getting us there safe.
“Yeah,” Enzo says. His voice is wrong. Distant, empty.
“I’ve found an address in Dunstable registered to Gemma Westbrook?” Luca's voice has an edge to it I’ve not heard before. I think it's stress.
“Isn’t that Marcus’ mother?” Michael asks from the back.
“Yeah. Apparently, she died a couple of months ago. That’s the only place I can find in the area connected to either Tom or Marcus. From what I can see on traffic cameras there’s no one else in the car with them, just Ares.” Luca says.
“Does he look okay?” I blurt out
There's a moment of pause and a sob cracks from my throat. Enzo puts a heavy hand on my thigh. “The picture isn’t that clear but from what I can see he looks okay. I’ll Keep tracking them through traffic cams so I can pinpoint a location. Enzo?”
“I’m here.” He says tightly.
“We should call in a favour with Sean. It can’t hurt to have more eyes looking.”
“Yeah, call him now. Tell him to give his connection in London my number.”
“Okay.” Luca pauses. “If you've not found him by tomorrow morning, I’m flying in with Raff and Carms. The jet is on standby.” His voice is thick. My chest starts to constrict at the thought of us not having him back by tomorrow morning.
“I was about to say the same thing.”
“Keep me updated,” Luca says in a tight voice and the line goes dead. We keep driving in silence. The only noise is the hum of the engine and the sound of the car cutting through the wind.
My mind is going over every piece of information, as well as going over every outcome of our situation. When it starts working its way through the worst-case scenarios, I feel my stomach lurch and I have to wind the window down before I throw up.
We're just coming off the M1 when another call comes through.
“Sean,” Enzo says his voice more familiar than before.
“Enzo, sorry to hear about your predicament. I’ve got in touch with a few of my boys in London. They are on their way to the address Luca sent me should you need an extra pair of hands.” Sean says.
“I appreciate the help; I owe you one.”
48
Enzo
Dunstable, Luton
The address is situated on a quiet road. The driveway is surrounded by a large hedge, hiding most of the doorway from the street.
“How are we going to get in? I'm not sure that door will break so easily,” Michael says, looking at the door, it's a lot more secure than the standard wooden door at the flat.
“Leah, do you have any hair grips?” Casimira asks, turning to her in the back seat.
