Breaking Point (The Point Series: Book 2) (7 page)

The students looked at Tony, ready and willing to follow his lead.

"Go on, then. Jumping jacks."

Tony performed three star jumps. "Like that, all right?"

Somebody, Brian didn't see who, said, "I thought they were called overheads."

The guy with steel wool hair said, "Nah, man. They're star jumps."

Brian nodded.

"Let's not worry about names and all that right now," Tony said. "Just get that heart pumping, okay?"

The students, a bit helter-skelter at first, found a rhythm and were soon jumping in time. Brian sidled over to Tony and whispered in his ear.

"Should we not be doing these too?"

"We've done our warm-up, man. Let these guys catch up with us. Besides, we need to tire them out before we let them attack each other. It's safer that way."

"I feel a bit weird, though."

"Chill out. Just walk around the group a bit, act like you're keeping an eye on them, you know? It'll make them try harder."

Brian nodded slowly, unconvinced.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Just follow my lead."

Brian literally followed his lead, tailing Tony on a lap around the students. More than half of them were red-faced and visibly suffering. The heaviest guy in the room had all but stopped, taking three or four huge gasping breaths between each jump. Tony clapped that guy on the back and murmured some encouragement. Brian thought he should probably do the same. He decided against it in the end and offered a tight-lipped smile instead. The heavy guy upped his pace a little. Brian started to worry about the poor fellah's heart and knees.

Tony completed his circuit. Brian stood beside him at the top of the room, hands itching to hide in the big pocket at the front of his hoodie, but forced them to hang by his hips. Tony waved his arms at the students.

"Okay, stop. Now, everybody drop down and give me some press-ups."

The heavy guy gasped. "How many?"

"As many as you can manage."

A dark-haired and sallow-skinned lad wearing a Bruce Lee T-shirt raised his hand. "Normal press-ups or on your knuckles?"

"Whatever you're comfortable with. Just don't cheat yourself. Keep going until you can't do one more."

The class got to work, huffing and grunting in no time. Some were obviously fitter than others but they all shared a determination to do as well as they could in front of the others. Brian felt even guiltier. He thought he could bang out about thirty press-ups, but it'd been so long since he'd tried he couldn't be sure. What right had he, standing up and staring them all down while they did things he wasn't capable of?

"What time is it?" Tony asked.

Brian checked his phone –
another
missed call from Rachel – and looked at the little digital clock in the corner.

"It's ten past seven."

"Is that all? How'm I going to fill the next hour and twenty minutes?"

"You're the instructor, Tony."

He forced a smile. "Just messing with you. I've it all worked out. We'll be grand."

We?

Brian felt as confident as Tony looked.

––––––––

O
wen lit his first cigarette in five years. Watching the flame kiss the end of the coffin nail had always been his favourite part. It looked just how he remembered it. The fag tasted like dog shit, though. He got three puffs in then snubbed it out on the bus shelter bench. A little black hole formed on the orange plastic. Owen smiled to himself then grimaced at the tobacco aftertaste. Fucking rotten.

At least he knew he wasn't a smoker anymore.

Owen looked across the street to the address he'd got from Facebook. He'd seen Brian go in with a short chubby guy just before seven o'clock but held back. And he was glad he had. About a dozen other fellahs had filtered into the building a few minutes later. None of them looked particularly threatening, but a dozen kung fu enthusiasts might have been a bit of a handful for him. So it was back to the waiting game. When class ended, he'd follow Brian home and take care of him there.

He had just over an hour to find a car to follow him in.

Owen lit his second cigarette in five years.

––––––––

R
achel was trying to decide if it was worth the effort of getting up to make a decaf. She'd already had a little over the recommended daily amount of caffeine during pregnancy, but she craved a decent cup of Joe. Decaf was bound to disappoint. And yet the question remained, was it better than nothing?

Her dilemma was interrupted by a phone call. The caller ID told her it was her brother, Jailbird John. Outside of his usual business hours too. Sweat popped up on the back of her neck and trickled down her ribcage.

"What are you doing to me, Bump?"

She hit the green button.

"What's the story, John?"

"I haven't got a lot of time here. The screws will be looking in on me soon." His voice was hushed but clear. "Owen Donnelly is your mystery man. Used to work for Richard O'Rourke. Remember him?"

"You think I could forget?" He was the crime boss that Brian's brother had worked for. The man who provided the gun that got John scooped for armed robbery. A total prick. "May he rot in pieces."

"From what I could gather, Brian shot Owen in the ear or something?"

"
That
guy?"

"You know him, then?"

"Brian told me about it. It wasn't even intentional. Lucky bastard that he is, of course it was going to come back on him. I mean, can you imagine Brian doing something like that? Barely believed it myself."

"Listen, I've got to go. But here, the Donnelly lad's a psycho. Arsonist, like. Make sure you've got a fire escape plan, right? Get out, get the fire brigade out.
Stay
out."

"He mustn't know where we live, though, or he wouldn't have pulled that creepy stunt at the petrol station."

"Probably just a matter of time. Text me tomorrow and let me know you're all right. Night, Sis."

And he was gone. Such a cheery note to leave it on, too.

Rachel phoned Brian immediately. Of course, he didn't answer.

"What are we going to do, Bump?"

Her instinct was to run away. The more she thought about it, the more attractive it got. She could text Brian with the details as soon as she got to safety. Was that foolproof, though? What if this Donnelly guy had already caught up with him? She'd be blowing her own cover.

Go and say nothing. This prick has nothing on you anyway.

She couldn't do that to Brian, though. Yes, he'd become something different since Paul died. Something... less. But she still loved him. It just took a selfish thought to reinforce her feelings.

Rachel looked at the time on her phone. It wouldn't be long until Brian got home. She'd tell him what she knew then. They'd decide what to do together.

––––––––

O
wen pulled his hat down to his eyebrows and drew his coat collar up over his chin. If he moved fast, the target wouldn't get a clear picture of him in her head. She was unaware of his approach, distracted by her phone before she even got out of the car. It was a nice big motor, a Toyota Avensis. The girl seemed too young for it, would have been better off in a Clio or something. Maybe she'd borrowed it from her parents. Lucky bitch.

He grabbed her from behind, before she'd closed the door. She tried to scream but he clamped a hand around her lower face. Blocked her mouth and nostrils. Snatched the keys out of her loose grip. She bucked wildly. Tried to hit him with her phone. He swatted it out of her fist and trailed her effortlessly to the back of the car. Flipped open the boot. Dumped her inside. Clocked her jaw. The girl went out like a light and he closed the lid on her.

Owen looked around. He hadn't been spotted. Good. He retrieved the girl's phone and adjusted the driver's seat before planting his ass in it. Mirror, signal, manoeuvre. Owen drove out of the town square and parked in a space in front of the kung fu club. He'd read online that they'd be done by half past eight. Only ten minutes. His skin tingled with anticipation.

Eye for an eye, ear for an ear? Fuck no. The little fucker was going to burn for what he'd done. Burn, burn, burn.

A big engine revved behind Owen. He checked his rear-view mirror. A black and chrome monstrosity had pulled in, bull-bars reflecting the orange of the setting sun. It was a Land Rover, a motor used by cops and gangsters alike. This one didn't look like a peeler model; windows tinted but lacking the sheen of bulletproof glass. A dubstep bass-line throbbed from jacked-up speakers. The modifications were drug money financed, no doubt.

The 'music' died and the driver's door popped open. A man in a sharp suit hopped out. Then a much bigger man in a much duller suit got out of the passenger side. Brains and muscle respectively. Owen figured there was something complicated going on. He didn't like it. Complications could get in his way.

The gangsters moved towards the kung fu club. Owen couldn't let them hurt Brian Morgan. That was to be his pleasure alone. He cursed and got out of the Avensis. Time to turn on the charm.

––––––––

B
rian couldn't believe that Tony managed to pull it off. After a shaky start with the poorly prepared warm-up and some mumbled complaints, the class picked up. Tony demonstrated the self-defence moves he'd rehearsed with Brian earlier that day. Then he let the students have a crack at it, again warning them to take it slow until they got the hang of it. And then they were hooked.

Tony got right into the thick of it, giving advice and correcting technique. Brian hovered around the periphery of the mass of wannabe masters.
Sifus,
as Tony had taught him. Brian was a
Si-Hing
, apparently. He didn't really know what it meant, but had a feeling that he'd not really earned it. Not yet, anyway. But sure, maybe it was only a matter of time before his skills caught up with his claims.

Tony checked the time on his 'work' phone, frowned and shook his head.

"All well?" Brian asked.

Out of the side of his mouth, Tony said, "Tell you about it later, man." Then he addressed the rest of the class, "Okay, lads. We'll wrap her up there."

A couple of them actually looked disappointed. The guy in the Bruce Lee T-shirt was straight out the door along with his training partner. Brian assumed those two were friends. The heavy guy, red-faced but looking proud of himself, left with three more lads. The others lingered. The guy with the steel wool afro took the initiative.

"All right, Tony?"

"This the hard core?" Tony asked.

The four of them moved a little closer as one. Steel 'fro spoke again. "Hard done by, maybe."

"Oh?" Tony rubbed the back of his neck. "What's wrong?"

Brian studied Steel 'fro, hoping to get a read on him. He'd stand by Tony for as long as he could, but in fairness, he hardly knew the guy. A free bag of weed and a couple of self-defence lessons did not an arse-kicking buy. Brian didn't know enough about these guys to properly calculate the odds. He would assume the worst and imagine all four had knives. And that
was
the worst case scenario in his mind. He'd rather be shot than stabbed any day of the week.

"Call off your bodyguard and I'll get a little more chatty."

"Bodyguard...?" Tony looked from Steel 'fro to Brian and back. "He's an assistant instructor. Ah, mate. You know me better than that. Sure I'm a pacifist. He's not going to attack you."

"I'll buy
you
as a pacifist. This guy? I'm not so sure."

It almost hurt him to do it, but Brian forced himself to speak up. "You know these lads, Tony?" It came out gruffer and far more Belfast-y than he intended.

Did these eejits really think Brian was a tough guy?

"Smile, boy. It won't hurt." And then Steel 'fro laughed. A short sharp bray. "We just want what you promised us, Tony. Free drugs with every class, so long as we made you look good."

"I know what I promised. This was a free introductory class. I'll be out of pocket if I give you free weed tonight."

"We don't mind, do we, lads?"

They nodded, hee-hawed, nudged each other.

"Right so," Tony said. "Open the window please, Brian."

"You going to jump?" Brian asked.

Steel 'fro and his three musketeers grinned at him. Brian guessed he'd made a joke. It wasn't his intention, but he'd roll with it. He attempted a wry grin; felt a little shitty.

"Funny fucker," Tony said. "No, I'm going to skin up."

––––––––

R
achel watched another minute pass by on her mobile. The bastard was going to be late. It hadn't turned nine just yet, but she knew he wasn't on his way home. He'd have texted to ask if she wanted anything in the shop.

There were three or four petrol stations nearby that stayed open until eleven – they both worked in one of them – but Brian liked one spot in particular. It wasn't attached to a petrol station. This one was a wee shop-shop that closed at nine. Never a minute later, often ten minutes earlier. Brian claimed it was the cheapest, though it wasn't. Rachel knew the teen till-jockeys were too complacent to be bothered with friendly conversation. They wouldn't raise an eyebrow when he ordered cigarette papers to go with his basket-load of munchie-fodder. And it was walking distance from the house so he could have a sneaky smoke while he dandered home. It had all got too easy for him. And she'd not pulled him up on it.

"It'll be okay, Bump. I promise. He'll climb out of this rut. Just wait and see. As soon as finds out about you. I might even let him name you."

She wouldn't let Brian name the child. Couldn't. He wouldn't take it seriously enough.

"What the fuck is wrong with me?" Rachel asked.

Bump wasn't going to offer an opinion.

"You're as bad as your da."

Fuck Brian. The burden. She'd look after herself, like she always did.

––––––––

I
t had to be a bad idea, but Brian couldn't turn down the first spliff. He felt okay about the second. The third... something whispered in his ear. Maybe. Or maybe somebody was fucking with him. He didn't know Steel 'fro or his trio of jackass cronies. Didn't even really know Tony. They'd spent a night and a day together. Why did he get so close to people so quickly?