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We watch from our car as two men exit a dark-coloured Ford Sierra parked across the street. They have to pass the bonnet of our car to reach the door of the pub, which I know should be locked still as it’s only just turned ten in the morning. The Hope doesn’t open until noon.
One of the men knocks twice. Hard.
“Police,” Tony mutters. “I’d know their type anywhere.”
I’m inclined to agree. And it looks like they’re here on business. Pity, I quite liked Jenna, but there you have it.
The man who knocked grabs the door handle and rattles it. “Open up,” he yells. “Police.”
Our suspicions confirmed, we wait until the door has been unlocked from within and the men have gone inside before we make our move.
We enter a few minutes later through the door which has been conveniently left unlocked.
Careless.
I gesture to Tony to remain silent. We’ll listen in for a while before announcing ourselves.
Voices are coming from the bar area, but they are speaking too low for us to hear what’s being said. A woman, though, and two men. We move in closer.
“…not the right answer, bitch.”
“I want you to go. I already said—” Whatever else Jenna Delaney might have had to say is drowned by the sharp crack as a man’s fist connects with her face. The sound is unmistakeable.
“Like I said, wrong answer,” her assailant growls.
I don’t care for the way this is going. Tony and I exchange a glance and edge nearer. I peer around the door from the outer hallway in time to see one of the men bend over and grasp the front of Jenna’s sweatshirt. She was on the floor or, but he hauls her roughly to her feet and raises his hand to hit her again.
“I’m done asking nicely,” he snarls. “That thieving thug of a father isn’t here to fight your battles for you now. That makes you mine, bitch.”
“I think you mean ours,” his comrade puts in. “I get my share, too.”
“There’s plenty to go round.” The man holding Jenna grabs her breast and squeezes. “Isn’t that right, darlin’?”
She’s fighting back sobs, struggling to get away. “Let go of me, you bastard.”
“Now, now. Let’s play nicely, shall we?” He lets out a cackle. “You could just be friendly an’ we’ll all get along fine.”
Jenna is fighting in earnest now, but it’s an unequal struggle. The front of her sweatshirt rips to expose one creamy breast, and I decide we’ve seen enough.
I do one final check to locate the CCTV. My Glock is in my hand when I step fully into the bar.
“I think that’s enough, gentlemen.”
Both men whirl to regard me.
“Get out of here,” one of them orders.
“No, I don’t think so.” I advance on them. “The lady told you to go. You do seem to have outstayed your welcome.”
One of the idiots actually produces his warrant card to wave at me. “Fuck off. We’re police, doing our duty. Get out or we’ll do you for obstruction.”
I scrutinise the ID. “Detective Constable Waddington, is it?”
“Yes, and you’re pissing me off.”
“The feeling is entirely mutual, I can assure you.” I turn my attention to his colleague. “You police, too?”
Another warrant card appears. “Detective Sergeant Steve Morris. Vice. And unless you want locking up, you need to do one. Forget you were ever here.”
