Fresh Start

Part Two – Shadows of Liverpool

Barry checked his watch. The call with Toby was set for later, but he could sense Lindsey hovering in the hall. He raised his voice deliberately:
“Yes, so that’s a table for two at 8:30pm. Thanks, that’ll be fine.” He hung up, grabbed his jacket, and headed to the front door.

In the garden, Jimmy Corkhill was still sprawled in the hot tub, beer in hand, looking as content as a man who’d fallen on his feet too many times. Barry wandered round to the back to have a word. “Eh, Jim,” Barry said, jabbing him in the shoulder. Jimmy groaned. “What now, soft lad? Can’t you see I’m busy living the dream?”

“If you could live in Brookside Close again, would you want to?”
Jimmy snorted. “Live there again? When I can live here with all these luxuries and spending quality time with me daughter and her man, and seeing my grand-daughter every day? Don’t be daft!”

“What if I told you Cinerco was a scam? All of it – smoke and mirrors for cash.” said Barry.
Jimmy laughed. “Go ‘way. You’ve been reading too many conspiracy sites.”

“I’m serious, Jim. They bought up Brookside Close, forced families out, then left the houses to rot. I found the proof on one of the campaign sites you’ve been looking at.” Jimmy sat up, dripping water. “Really?! You’ve been looking at those sites too?! So… what you saying? People could move back?”

Barry slid on his sunglasses. “The houses will obviously need a lot of repair work, having been left in a state for a number of years. Anyway, you always told me, that the other residents were unhappy and didn’t want to move, especially after all that business with Michaelson was sorted. It was only the fact that no one was able to retract their contact for selling their houses which meant everyone had to get out. Anyway, I need to go, I’ve got unfinished business in Liverpool.”

Barry headed off towards his car and climbed in. He slipped on his seatbelt, set the satnav and then drove out of the mansion’s driveway and onto the road.

Liverpool, later that night…

Barry parked up on a quiet side street. He reached into the back seat for a black kit bag: gloves, lock picks, burner phone. Then, from beneath the passenger seat, he ripped free a taped revolver, cold and heavy in his hand. He slipped it into his jacket, locked the car, and walked two streets to the Cinerco Enterprises Inc. building. Toby was already there, pacing by the entrance. “Thought you’d bottled it.”

Barry’s phone buzzed. A message from Jimmy:

“You don’t have to do this. It’s not worth risking your life for something like this. Just leave it and walk away. Jim.”

Barry smirked. “I’m not doing this for me. I’m doing it for Brookside.”

Toby raised an eyebrow. “Right then. I’ll cover the entrance in case Callum’s got backup. You go inside and sort him. Sound?” “Sound.” replied Barry.

Newcastle, same night

The clock ticked past nine. Lindsey paced the kitchen, the candles on the table burning low. She stormed into the study where Jimmy was now scrolling on Barry’s laptop. “Dad, where is he? He promised me a surprise tonight, we were supposed to be out at 8:30pm.”

Jimmy shrugged. “Didn’t he tell you? Plans have changed. He’s in Liverpool. Cinerco business.”  Lindsey’s face fell. “Not that again. I thought we’d left all that behind.” She snatched up her car keys. Jimmy bolted upright. “Linds! You don’t know who he’s dealing with. These are dangerous people.”

“Look Dad!” Lindsey replied. “I’m not a kid anymore. I can cope on my own. Sometimes I wonder why I suggested you come and live with us! If Barry won’t tell me the truth, I’ll find it myself.” Before Jimmy could stop her, the car screeched out of the drive.

Cinerco HQ, Liverpool…

The building was silent, save for the faint clatter of keys from a computer keyboard echoing from a room at the end of the dark corridor. A strip of light glowed beneath the door.

Barry texted Toby: Going in.

He pushed the door open, revolver raised.

Inside, a man sat at a desk, fingers flying across a laptop. The chair swivelled slowly. A familiar Scottish drawl cut through the air. “Well, well. Didn’t expect to see you again, Barry.”

Barry’s chest tightened. “Callum Finnegan. You should be dead.”

Callum smirked, scar tissue snaking up his arm. “Takes more than a bullet to stop me.”

Barry levelled the gun. “We’ll see about that.”