Lord of London Town

by Tillie Cole

  “I like killing,” Vinnie said casually, his arm over the back of his seat. I knew Pearl was beside him in his head by the way he leaned his body inwards toward her. I often wondered what she looked like in his mind. How she would have looked older. Beautiful, no doubt. “Do we get to kill again soon? I get a fucking hard-on when I get blood on my hands.” He smiled at Pearl. “Pearl likes me fucking her after I take some cunt’s life. She screams more. Claws my back more. Says it’s better for her.”

  “Thanks, Vin. That’s a visual we all fucking needed in our heads,” Freddie said dryly and looked at me, shaking his head in disbelief. It used to piss me off that Vinnie spoke about my dead sister that way. But I was used to it now. Let him imagine her alive and well if he wanted. If it kept him from topping himself, what the fuck did I care? I wasn’t losing anyone else in my life. I was one death away from insanity at this point. I knew it—they all did.

  The door opened and Vera, Ronnie and Betsy strutted into the room. “Look at you miserable fuckers.” Vera stopped in front of us, looking at our bored faces. “Who pissed on your bonfires?”

  “Hello, sis,” Eric said, kissing Vera on the cheek. “Been called to arms by our old men. Waiting for them to get their wrinkly arses in here so we can get going and I can get back to fucking my latest conquest.”

  “Prostitutes again?” Betsy said, brushing past Eric and sitting next to her brother, Charlie, on the arm of his side of the sofa. “They’re the only ones desperate enough to shag you, aren’t they? No one would actually fuck you of their own volition.”

  Eric smiled at Betsy, but there was fuck-all humour there. “That make you a hooker then?” he said, and Betsy’s smile slipped into a familiar snarl. “You’ve ridden this dick plenty to qualify.” Eric lounged in his chair like he was the king of the fucking world. “Of your own volition.”

  “You make me sick,” she snapped, eyes narrowing.

  “Keep telling yourself that, treasure.”

  “Now now, children,” Charlie said to Eric and Betsy. “We don’t need to hear any fucking more about your sordid history. Spare us, please. It was hard enough to deal with when it was happening. This constant tug of war you both now engage in is fucking tiring.”

  “And that’s what it is. History.” Betsy went to the bar and poured herself a large glass of wine. Eric’s eyes tracked her the entire way, that same possessive look on his face that he always got around her. Fucking psychos, the two of them. Like Fred and Nancy or some other toxic bollocks. Couldn’t be together, couldn’t be apart.

  Betsy ignored Eric and dropped a kiss on Vinnie’s head as she passed, then dropped one on “Pearl’s”. “Vinnie, Pearl, you both okay?” she asked, like it wasn’t fucked up we all just pretended my sister was still here with us.

  Vinnie smiled as wide as a fucking clown. “We’re good, Bets. Pearl says hello.”

  “I miss you, Pearlie-girl.” The truth of Betsy’s statement shone through her face, before she schooled her expression and sat directly opposite Eric, glaring at him as she sipped her wine. Betsy and Pearl had been inseparable as kids. As close to each other and Vera as the fellas were to me. I thought the reason she played along with Vinnie’s hallucinations so well was because she couldn’t bear to accept that Pearl was truly gone either.

  Ronnie grabbed her drink and lit her cigar. She sat down on a chair beside the fire. Vera sat on her lap, wrapping her arms tightly around her girlfriend. “And what’s it tonight?” Vera asked. Both she and Ronnie always dressed in suits—waistcoats and pocket watches included. They were fucking good fighters, good shots too, but our old men would never let women into our firm. They were old school and believed women needed to stay at home. It came from the fact that the only woman left out of all our mothers was my grandma. The rest had been killed, killed themselves or fucked off years ago, unable to cope with this life.

  It took a certain kind of person to thrive in this fucked-up underworld. Dad didn’t believe women were made for the gangster life. One look at these three and anyone could see that was bullshit. But there was no convincing him otherwise. If I was in charge, I’d have them fighting by my side in a second.

  “Russians.” I downed my gin. “Negotiating the routes for the new shipment of meth we just secured.”

  “East dock would be best to use for the Reds,” Ronnie said, her hand slipping through Vera’s long blond hair. She said it helped her think. Ronnie’s dark hair was cut short and fell in waves like something from the 1940’s. Her dark eyes were lost in thought. She was Jamaican in heritage, but born in London, and a cockney girl through and through. Her and Vera had been together for a few years now. Ronnie had a fucking genius mind for this business shit. But the fact she had a twat made her a no-go to our fathers.

  “Artie?” Dad said, coming through the door, Saville Row suit and hat in place. “You lot ready?”

  I got to my feet, as did Eric, Charlie, Freddie and Vinnie. The girls raised their glasses at us in goodbye, and we fell into step behind our old men. We got into the van. I sat next to my dad, as always.

  “We’ll go in. You guys watch the front for the Old Bill,” my dad said as we pulled out of the church grounds.

  “I should be in the meeting with you,” I said. Charlie nodded from the opposite seat.

  “These arseholes are old school. Wouldn’t take well to you being there just yet. It’ll be a quick meeting, then we’ll go for food.” My dad smirked at my scowling face. “You already gunning for my crown, Artie?”

  I shook my head. “No, but these wankers are fucking dodgy. Have been for a while. You should have more back-up in the room than just you lot. I’ve been hearing about splits in their families, factions breaking apart and wanting other things than the usual shit of drugs and guns.” All the old men were looking at me, amused. It just pissed me the fuck off. “We should be sure we’re prepared for whatever they might pull. Kill them if we need to.”

  “Alf, his bloodlust is on another level from even yours,” my Uncle Trevor said. He was Dad’s brother, Charlie and Betsy’s dad.

  “Don’t I know it,” Dad joked, but his smile at me was proud as fuck. I turned and kept my gaze locked on our route to the old warehouse at the east docks. They might think me young, but I studied our “associates”. I knew more about the changing underworld than even Dad gave me credit for.

  We came to a stop. The Reds were already inside the old warehouse. We all piled out. “Stay out front, fellas. Keep watch,” my dad said.

  I grabbed his arm. “We should have had soldiers here. We haven’t got enough men if something happens. We’re too unprotected. We should never be unprotected.”

  Dad put his hand on my shoulder. “Artie, I’ve known Alexei and Sergei for years. This is a gentlemen’s meeting. That’s all. No need for fucking soldiers.” He put his hand on my face. “Son, you need to stop being so fucking dire about everything. We might live a fucked-up life, but there’s a code to it all. Morals in our own messed-up ways.”

  “Things change,” I warned.

  “Artie. Enough.”

  With that they walked into the warehouse. Me and my boys moved in front of the warehouse doors to stand watch. It was raining; the sky was drizzly and fucking grey, a smoky mist hovering over the ground. The few lampposts scattered around the dock gave off hardly any light in the fog.

  I pulled out a cig and sparked it up. I took a long drag, trying to listen to whatever was happening inside. “We’re going to get fucking drenched out here,” Eric complained, cupping his hands and blowing hot breath into them. “I’m freezing my massive bollocks off.”

  “The only gangster in London who can be defeated by the cold,” Charlie said, smirking at Eric. Eric held up his middle finger.

  The sound of raised voices inside suddenly made me tense. I locked eyes with Freddie beside me. His face told me he didn’t like the sound of this either. Each of my brothers closed in around me, listening out. Just as my hand moved to the doorknob to get us inside, so
unds of gunfire split through the night like fucking blitzkrieg bombs.

  I threw the door open and rushed inside, to see our old men taking fire from semi-automatics, blood and flesh ripping from their torsos as the cunts before them pumped lead into their bodies.

  Red mist descended over my eyes. I pulled out my gun and started firing. I ran forward, not giving two shits about the Russians firing right at us. Bullet after bullet left my barrel and sliced through Red flesh, ripping into hearts and livers and lungs, dropping the fuckers to the ground. I kept firing. I walked forward, not caring about the bullet that grazed my right bicep. I got as close to these pricks as I could, pressing my barrel to their heads and splattering their brains up the old warehouse walls.

  I heard my brothers’ guns firing too. Saw Vinnie slicing through the Reds’ throats and hearts with his knives, saw Freddie and Eric firing their revolvers at a fast pace. My cousin slit the throat of the final standing man, blood dripping down Charlie’s face and neck, crimson coating his hands.

  I could hear my breath pumping in my ears. Feel my fucking heart pounding in my chest. I scanned the room, seeing every one of the Russians drowning in their own blood. Like it was in fucking slow motion, I saw my brothers run to their old men, dropping to their knees.

  Eric pulled his father into his arms. I watched as he threw his head back and screamed. Uncle Bill’s eyes were wide open and his chest housed a fuck-off hole, blood pouring to the ground.

  Gone.

  Charlie was bent over Uncle Trevor, his forehead pressed against his father’s. Charlie’s arms shook as Uncle Trevor stared unseeing at the ceiling. Charlie shook him, but there was no life left in his body.

  Gone.

  Vinnie stood over his dad. His shoulder-length blond hair was slicked with red. His hands and white shirt were coated with his father’s blood. “Dad,” he said, his voice barely loud enough to break through the ringing in my ears. “Dad! Get up!” he shouted. But when I looked down, Uncle Winston was in the fucking worst state of them all. Half his head was missing; another bullet had shattered his cheek, collapsing his face. “Dad, fucking get up!” Vinnie shouted, his cheeks reddening and his neck bulging with veins.

  Vinnie crouched down and lifted Uncle Winston in his arms. “Save him,” he said to me. It was the thing to make me fucking slam back into the here and now. “Artie. Save him for me. Please.”

  “I … I …” I couldn’t fucking finish off my words. Charlie was suddenly beside me. I looked at my cousin, then followed his blank eyes. My shocked stare locked on Freddie, who was carrying my dad.

  “He’s still got a pulse!” Freddie said urgently, streams of tears cutting track marks through the blood on his cheeks. “Arthur, he’s still fucking alive! Quick!”

  Like my heart had been stabbed with a shot of adrenaline, I grabbed my dad and ran for the van. “Get them and let’s go!” I shouted. I laid Dad down on the bench seat and didn’t even look up as my brothers put their dads’ bodies in the back too.

  “Fucking drive!” I shouted to the driver and pressed my hand over my dad’s chest to try and stop the blood. “Freddie, ring the doc. Tell him he needs to be at the church in the next five minutes or I’ll fucking slit his throat.” My dad’s face was white, the blood draining from his body. I wanted him to open his eyes. I wanted him to speak and say that this shitshow was going to be okay. But he stayed silent. He fucking stayed silent.

  I looked up and saw my brothers holding their dads.

  “They’re gone,” Charlie said, his voice sounding like a fucking scream in the van. “They’ve all fucking gone.”

  “Artie,” Vinnie said, holding his dad to his chest. Half of Uncle Winston’s skull was missing. Those Red bastards had taken half his fucking head. “He’s going cold. Dad’s going cold.”

  Eric was staring at nothing, lost to his shock and grief. He held his dad in his arms, but didn’t have no fucking words.

  I didn’t know what the fuck to do. They were all waiting for me, looking at me, and I didn’t know what the fuck to do!

  The van stopped, and the driver opened the door. Another car pulled up. I grabbed my gun, ready to fucking fire, but the doctor stepped out. His eyes went huge when we left the van, our old men in our arms.

  “He’s still alive,” I said to the doc and ran for the front door. I slammed through and rushed my old man to his bedroom, and the doc and the nurse he brought immediately started working on him.

  They stripped him of his clothes and washed him down to see the damage. Freddie stood beside me as all my old man’s bullet wounds were bared. Hole after hole littered his body from where those cunts had shot through our entire firm. My dad … our uncles …

  A loud, shrill scream ripped through the church. It was one of the girls. Uncontrollable screams and cries and sobs drifted down the hallway. “I need to operate,” the doctor we paid a fuck-ton of money to said to me.

  “Then fucking operate!” I shouted, and Freddie backed me away.

  “He needs a hospital. I can’t do it here.”

  I pointed in the doc’s face, close to strangling the fucker. “Here. No fucking hospitals. No fucking police. You’ll do it here. And you’ll fucking save him, or I’ll kill you myself.”

  The nurse ran to the car, pushing the scared-as-shit doctor into motion. The doctor turned and started readying my dad for surgery. The nurse came running back through, and they got to work on my old man.

  “It’s not sanitary,” the nurse whispered to the doctor. “This bed isn’t sterile.”

  The doctor cut me a quick glance. “It doesn’t matter. We just have to bloody save him.”

  “Artie.” Freddie put a hand on my chest. “We need to leave them to it. They’ll work better if we aren’t in the room.”

  My feet ground to a halt as I watched them cut my old man open, wires and tubes being stuck into him. As much as I wanted to stay, I let Freddie pull me into the hallway. He guided me toward the living room and opened the door. It was empty.

  He thrust a whisky into my hand. “Drink it. Bloody drink it, Artie!” I did as Freddie said, but I felt something shifting inside me. Something locking up and turning to fucking steel. Like whatever oxygen I had in my body was being smothered, leaving only death in its wake.

  Death. Everything was fucking death.

  I didn’t know how much whisky I drank. I didn’t know how much time passed, but my brothers finally entered the room. I looked at Charlie and Vinnie and Eric. Their faces were fucking devastated. Charlie shook his head at me, and it hit me all over again.

  They were dead. All my uncles. They were fucking dead. The leaders of the Adley firm, gunned down in cold blood by the Russians.

  “Uncle Alfie?” Eric asked.

  “Getting operated on,” Freddie answered for me. Dad was practically Freddie’s dad too. Had been for the longest fucking time. I lifted my head and looked at Freddie. His hand shook as he lifted his whisky to his mouth.

  I heard footsteps behind us, and the girls walked slowly inside. Vera and Ronnie were managing to hold their shit together. Betsy’s face was wet with tears, her skin pale. Her arms were wrapped round herself. Charlie pulled his sister into his arms, keeping her close.

  “What now?” Vera asked, and I felt a strange kind of fire igniting inside me. A fucking wildfire that had managed to spread out to the rest of my body before Vera had even stopped speaking.

  “Artie?” I whipped my head around to see my grandma in the doorway. She kept her head high, her expression like fucking stone. Grandma was the hardest fucker I’d ever met. Seventy years old but only looked fifty. Grey hair, but styled well. She was dressed in smart black trousers and a white blouse. I shook my head. Her body flinched like she’d just taken a bullet herself. My dad and Uncle Trevor were her sons, but our other uncles were practically her kids too.

  Grandma kept her shit together. Then, “I need to see them.” She turned and walked down the hallway. As she retreated, my hands started shaking. Not from
fear or shock. But from the motherfucking venom that had filled my bones down to the fucking marrow. At the memory of our family dead on the ground, their blood seeping onto the filthy warehouse floor.

  Kings taken out like animals.

  I felt like I was being remade and reformed, with the fire from hell itself replacing my blood. I felt numb. Felt any fucking humanity I had left burn away to ashes, and I knew the moment I gave my soul to the fucking devil.

  Blood.

  Betrayal.

  Loss.

  Death.

  Death.

  Motherfucking death!

  Roaring my rage out loud, I launched my glass across the room. It shattered as it ploughed into the two-hundred-year-old walls. I had to kill them. I had to kill the Russians responsible. All of them. All of the betraying fucks and their families and anyone else who had any fucking part in this massacre.

  Lifting my head, I faced my brothers and sisters. “Gather the fucking soldiers,” I said to Charlie. “Every single one of them.”

  “Artie?” Charlie said.

  “We kill them.” Adrenaline rushed through my veins at the thought of ending our enemies. “We kill them all. Now. Tonight. Not one fucker will survive.”

  Eric pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against. He nodded, life sparking in his dead eyes. His hands rolled into fists, and a sadistic grin spread on his face. He was in.

  “Yeah, we’ll kill them,” Vinnie said, rubbing his hands together. “We’ll fucking kill them all, Artie. All of them. We’ll avenge our dads. They’ll be happy about this. I know they’ll tell me so when we’re done.”

  I looked at Vera, Ronnie and Betsy. “You lot too.” The girls looked at each other, questions and shock on their faces. “You wanted in to the fucking firm?” I held out my arms. “Then welcome to the motherfucking firm.” Vera and Ronnie smiled cold and bloodthirsty grins. Betsy moved beside them, her chin in the air, and intent in her eyes. “Get all the fucking guns. We’re paying the Russians a fucking visit.”