Breaking Point (The Point Series: Book 2) (6 page)

Owen plastered on a fake smile and turned to face the cop. "I just got here, officer."

The cop was younger than Owen, probably mid-twenties. Tall, handsome, bored. The type who didn't think he'd have to investigate petrol station car parks when he signed up, no doubt.

"Is that your car parked by the car wash?"

"No, officer. I walked over from the caravan park up the road there."

"You're not local, then?"

"I'm a Warrenpoint man."

The cop didn't give a shite about that. He eyed Owen for a few seconds then shifted his focus back to the big boy.

"Maybe after you serve this gentleman you can come have a look at the car? See if you recognise it?"

"We're very short-handed."

"I'll not keep you long."

Owen realised the other two men were staring at him. He ordered the first thing that came into his mind.

"I'll have twenty Regal Kingsize. And a lighter."

He was back on the fags, then. And minus a car.

––––––––

R
achel pushed the front door open and knew instantly that Brian wasn't in the house. There was a feeling of emptiness that flared on an instinctual level. But she went through the motions and called his name before checking all the rooms on the ground floor. She didn't have the energy to climb the stairs to see if he was in bed. It would have been a pointless exercise. The answer was in her bones already.

What are you up to, Brian?

It was wrong on so many levels that she suspected he was out getting into trouble somewhere. But Brian had always been easily led, a flaw she'd used to her own advantage often enough. He couldn't say no. And Rachel didn't trust that Tony character. His chosen trade was the first black mark. She figured he'd have to be sneaky and an accomplished liar to survive in the drugs trade, especially as a dealer in such a small community. The other black mark was less considered. She just didn't like the look of him. Short and chubby with an arrogant attitude that oozed from his pores. A know-it-all. The perfect replacement for Brian's dead big brother.

Tony couldn't fucking have him. Brian was hers.

Rachel glared at her reflection, her eyes slits of mistrust set deep in her shadowed hollows. She needed more sleep.

But not before she tracked down Brian. She flopped down on the sofa with a glass of water and her mobile phone, selected Brian's name from the list of most recent calls and hummed tunelessly while she waited for him to pick up.

The call went to voicemail.

"Fuck's sake, Brian."

Rachel hung up and dialled again. Got the same result. Third time was not a charm. She resisted the urge to fling the phone across the room. Breaking it wouldn't help anybody.

"You're a useless fucker, Brian Morgan."

Rachel rubbed her belly, her thoughts a conflicted and half-terrified muddle. Would she be raising this child on her own?
Could
she?

She thought about packing up and moving on. But that was the same as giving up, wasn't it? She'd be admitting she'd been wrong about Brian.

They needed to talk.

––––––––

T
ony dipped half a chip into his beans and popped it into his mouth. He slurped on a can of Coke and burped, thumped his chest with the upper side of his fist and grinned.

"That's the stuff."

"I'd have thought a martial artist would need to eat a less deep-fried diet."

"Low body fat and bulky muscle mass isn't really an indication of strength. A bear doesn't have a six-pack. Try wrestling one of those."

"Right." Brian didn't think there was much point in arguing that bears had big claws and sharp teeth and that the fat was necessary for hibernation. Hardly a like-for-like comparison. But maybe he was missing some sort of metaphor.

Brian looked down at his own dinner, a chicken burger with coleslaw. It was a County Down thing he'd adopted since moving out of Belfast. He had a bit of a cheek questioning Tony's food choice when he had his own belly-buster to go through. Though, in fairness, Brian was quite a bit slimmer.

"I think this one should go at the top of the timeline." Tony turned his laptop around so Brian could see the screen. A video featuring a choreographed fight between Tony and Brian played on the finger-smudged screen. Brian stepped in with a boxing-style double-jab and right cross combo. Tony easily deflected all three blows then returned a barrage of fake punches to Brian's head and chest. When Brian retreated, Tony chased after him, tripped him and laid him gently onto the ground then rattled out another bunch of punches that didn't actually make contact. Brian had to admit, it looked pretty impressive.

"Man, if this goes viral, we'll need to move the club to bigger premises."

Brian rubbed his head stubble. "You reckon?"

"This is the best way to market ourselves, Brian. We've nailed it with this one."

"Do you reckon anybody will show up tonight?"

"Yeah, definitely. It'll be convincing them to come back for the next class that'll be the real challenge."

"Any comments on the Facebook page?"

"Not yet. We've got seven likes today, though. And when this video blows up... wow, you know?"

Brian's phone buzzed in his pocket. It'd probably be Rachel again. Could she not wait for him to call her back? After ten seconds of relentless vibration he gave in and answered.

"Hi, babe."

"You have your phone, then?"

"Yeah, yeah. Why, were you trying to call me earlier?"

He could hear Rachel's calming breaths. She was counting to ten.

"Some shady looking guy called into the shop today, Brian."

"Okay."

"He was looking for you."

"Why?"

"He didn't say, but by the look of him I don't think he intended to deliver good news."

There was a danger that Brian would puke half a chicken burger onto the uneaten half. "You didn't recognise him?"

"No. He did say he knew Daddy, though. I called our John to see if he could get me any info. No word from him yet."

"Okay. What do you think I should do?"

"Keep your eyes open and your guard up. Where are you anyway?"

"In Castlewellan. You know the sit-in chippy? The Oak Grill? I'm there with Tony."

"I like chips."

"I know, babe. I'll bring you something home."

"Yeah, right. I'll be half-starved by then. Don't bother."

"You sure?"

She was deep-breathing again. Then, "Are you on the rota tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe you should call in sick? Just until we know what this stranger wants."

"Have we made enough to pay rent this month?"

"Just about."

"Happy days. Will you call them for me? You know I hate those calls."

"When are you planning on coming home?"

"Just a second..." Brian covered the mouthpiece with his thumb and asked Tony; "What time is your class on until?"

"Half eight."

He took his thumb off the speaker. "I'll be there about nine."

"Nine? I'll probably be in bed."

"Sleep well, babe." Brian made a kissy noise then ended the call. He felt a tiny bit guilty but that was better than the snipe-fest Rachel was trying to instigate.

"You going to eat that burger?" Tony asked.

Brian shook his head. Tony snatched it off the plate and tore a huge chunk out of it with an enthusiastic chomp.

"Training gives me a wild appetite."

"So I see."

Tony shrugged. "You fit for another hour of training before the class starts?"

"Yeah, should be."

"Good lad. We'll run through two or three more moves. So long as you know just a little bit more than the new kids on the block, they'll see you as an instructor. That okay with you?"

A martial arts instructor? After one day of training? Had to be a record. Brian felt a goofy grin stretch his lips. He nodded.

"Right, then... actually, you'll like this. I've a spare hoodie with the club's logo on it. You can have it. You needed a new one anyway, didn't you?"

Aside from the threat of his mystery stalker and Rachel's attempts to draw him into an argument, Brian's day had turned out quite well.

––––––––

O
wen resisted the urge to snatch the computer off the desk and launch it through the window. It was so. Fucking. Slow.

He double-clicked the mouse again. Nothing happened.

"Come on, come on."

The computer took a head stagger and decided to shut itself down. Owen called a librarian over. A middle-aged man with a stooped back and less-than-friendly scowl shuffled towards him. Maybe he didn't appreciate Owen clicking his fingers at him.

Fuck ye.

"Is there a problem, sir?"

"Aye, this machine isn't working right. Can you do anything about it?"

"Oh, God. You're asking the wrong man. Don't know a thing about computers, like. I'm a librarian not a... computer-fixing boy."

"So what am I supposed to do? I need to get online as soon as, you know?"

"All I can tell you is to try again when it turns itself back on."

"What about the computer up at your counter thingy?" Owen pointed over to the desk where another librarian stamped books for an aul biddy. "Can I get the internet on that?"

"It's for staff only."

"I'll be five minutes."

"I couldn't possibly..."

"Here." Owen shoved a hand into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled twenty pound note. He pushed it into the librarian's fist. "Call it a hire fee."

"I'm not supposed to accept this sort of thing."

"Give it to your favourite charity, then. I don't care. I just need to do a bit of Googling, all right?"

The librarian looked at the balled-up note in his hand, sighed and pocketed the money. "Just wait until my colleague goes on her tea break, okay? She can be a bit of a cunt."

Owen snapped his head back as if the librarian had taken a swing at him. Then he saw the edges of the older man's mouth twitch and a glint of mischief in his eye. Owen tipped him a wink.

"Much appreciated."

The librarian must have suggested the tea break as soon as he returned to his desk. And she didn't need to be asked twice. Two minutes later, Owen was clicking his way through a computer that actually worked. He rattled Brian Morgan's name into a search engine.

Millions of results popped up.

Owen clicked aimlessly through the web pages and realised he was hunting for hay in a needle-stack. He tried to refine the search details a little and added in the town he'd been told Brian was living in, the town the wee bastard came from, his city of origin... still no joy. In a last-ditch effort he retried the search replacing the town names with those of the surrounding towns and villages. 'Brian Morgan, Castlewellan' kicked back something of interest. Some martial arts club's Facebook page featured his name. There was a video posted just minutes previously. Owen clicked on it.

"There you are, you little bastard."

The website included an address for the club and everything.

Owen thanked the librarian and left the library. He spent a couple of seconds looking for his car before he remembered he'd abandoned it at the petrol station and walked to the library. Bollocks.

He went back inside the library and asked his new friend to order him a taxi. He decided Brian deserved an extra kick in the balls for the hassle.

––––––––

B
rian was pleasantly surprised by the numbers Tony's opening night had attracted. Ten men, aged between twenty and forty, stood in a raggedy huddle. There was a little conversation and a lot of eyeballing. None of the men looked particularly athletic or tough, which was probably why they decided to join the club in the first place. Brian puffed out his chest. He felt important in his official club hoodie and had already detected a couple of respectful glances thrown his way. Tony might actually manage to pull this thing off.

"Welcome to the club, gentlemen," Tony said, his voice dope-husky but loud and confident. "A few housekeeping rules to begin with and then we'll get down to business."

The attendees nodded hellos and agreement.

"First, be sure to practice everything very slowly at first. I'll be teaching you some very dangerous techniques. Used incorrectly, you could harm your training partner."

Somebody muttered and two or three of the lads near him chuckled. Brian smiled in their general direction. The minor hubbub dried up fast. He was going to tell them that it was okay to laugh, but he wasn't completely sure himself so he kept his mouth shut and turned his frown the right way round.

Tony continued: "Respect your training partner, okay? We're all here to help each other, not compete."

A tall lad with steel wool hair and large clusters of freckles on his nose and cheekbones raised his hand.

"Is there any sparring or competitions?"

"Good question. Great question, actually," Tony said. "But no. That isn't what this is about. We're practicing a martial art, not preparing to fight in a ring or a cage. Leave that up to the knuckleheads who want to prove themselves to ring girls and the likes. My club... or should I say,
our
club, is more interested in self discovery first with self defence as a close second."

Brian scanned the gathering to see how this went down. A couple of guys shared an amused glance but the majority were nodding along with Tony's sentiments. He'd expected a much higher level of cynicism. Tony had used the words 'self discovery' for Christ's sake.

Tony opened his arms to his audience, hands at waist level, palms turned outwards. "Any other questions?"

No hands were raised.

"We'll get started, then. A quick warm-up, folks. As we progress I'll teach you some kung fu forms that'll help improve technique as well as provide you with some mild exercise and stretching to help prevent injury."

For a fighter, Tony seemed to have a real obsession with health and safety.

"Tonight, we'll just do some jumping jacks, running on the spot... that sort of thing."