Second-In-Command Read online

  ‘But, with my help, you could climb much, much higher. I think you’d excel in a managerial position, if what I’ve seen and heard is true. There’s just one test I’ll need you to pass and then I’ll take you to number one.’

  Guy’s head was swimming.

  The Ravens had been his life the past two years and he’d made a real name for himself on the street, especially after doing a few months inside and not talking. Not ratting was a huge deal on the streets of New Hampton – part of the code. Guy was no snitch. Plus, some of the things he’d seen in those two years the police wouldn’t believe anyway. New Hampton is one fucked up place.

  Leaving had crossed his mind, but once he had a criminal record going elsewhere wasn’t an option. Nowhere else would have him. The country was a desolate wasteland and the borders meant arrest.

  ‘You work for the Watchroom?’ Moot as it was, it was all Guy could think to say.

  ‘Well, yes, we’ve established that already haven’t we. C’mon, keep up. Opportunity lies before you, you merely need to reach out and take it. And that’s how it is in New Hampton, you must take want you want for yourself. Only the strong survive in this city.’ The old man had such a rhythm to his voice, it drew Guy in and left him nodding along to his words.

  Guy’s mind cleared. ‘What do I need to do?’

  The man grinned, so fiercely that his gleaming white teeth appeared to take on a jagged quality and the corners of his mouth almost touched his ears. Fuck, his face is weird.

  As a ferociously handsome man Guy always judged others’ appearances. It was a trait he abhorred in himself but it happened every time he met someone for the first time.

  ‘Excellent. Guy. That brain of yours really is remarkable. Drink it all in. Focus and be ready. You’ll get a sign from me. You’ll know what needs to be done. You’ll know how far you need to go. Complete the task and then I’ll take you down the most fantastic rabbit hole.’

  The old man strolled off, without a care in the world, basking in the rare bout of sunshine that the city was enjoying.

  ‘Wait,’ Guy called after him. ‘How will I know? I don’t even know your name.’

  The man stopped on the corner of the street. The road behind him was thick with traffic. The noise of the city was deafening and yet his voice reached Guy’s ear clear as a bell.

  ‘My dear boy, you’re asking the wrong questions. I’m Doctor Zhirkov, but right now that’s not important.’ It was as if he’d just uttered the words stood right next to Guy.

  Guy couldn’t process his words for the next thirty seconds, then a chill gust of wind made him shiver and brought him back to reality.

  ‘Well that was weird.’

  Guy noticed a few men stood outside a Greek restaurant staring at him.

  ‘What the fuck are you looking at? You all paid up?’ His rage was boiling over. He yanked out the sawn-off shotgun and marched over to the three middle-aged, overweight men. They promptly scarpered back inside the sanctuary of the restaurant. As if that’d protect them.

  With his fearsome reputation restored he skulked off, wondering what this mysterious sign would be and whether he was actually ready to rise the ranks.

  3.

  1997

  A good two weeks had passed since Guy had met that creepy old man that had called himself Doctor Zhirkov.

  ‘Why the fuck is an Englishman, with a Russian last name, who claims to be a doctor so interested in me?’

  ‘That sounds like the start of a bad joke,’ quipped the barman.

  ‘Shut the fuck up and pour me another drink.’ Guy wasn’t in the mood for wisecracks.

  He was going to get steaming drunk tonight and sleep for a day. He was getting pretty sick and tired of the long hours and shit pay. Granted, illegal work for a sub-gang of the largest gang in New Hampton wasn’t exactly going to come with a pension and benefits.

  ‘Fat chance,’ Guy moaned to no one.

  The barman ignored the opportunity for another joke. He was one of the smarter small business owners in New Hampton. He knew when to keep his mouth shut and didn’t need telling twice. If only they were all like that.

  The Coach & Horses was a pretty abysmal place, even by standards of the docks, but Guy didn’t mind that. People in this area knew to respect him. The more affluent areas of the city were currently beyond his reach. He’d once aspired to buy a fancy flat in the Emerald Mile but soon realised that was but a pipe dream. But if I climb the ranks...

  He was beginning to suspect the strange doctor and his promise had been a fantasy, which was a shame as he was just starting to truly desire elevated status and power.

  The door to the pub whooshed open.

  It had been pushed far too hard from the outside by a thickset man. His hands looked like bricks: hard, orange-red and rough. A gust caught the doors, which swung inward with a crunch that startled everybody in the bar. Another five men followed the newcomer in. They were stern-looking men, all equally gruesome.

  Guy paid them no mind, but he did note a few people in the pub seemed intimidated by the group. People were his job and reading them was his one true skill.

  The pub was packed. A group of late-teens, who were pushing their luck by coming to such a rough pub, looked suitably frightened in the back corner by a fruit machine. Towards the front of the pub were a handful of dockworkers split over four tables, two either side of the door. As per usual Guy was in the middle of bar, on a bar stool, with space all around him.

  This new group of men clearly fancied themselves. They ordered their pints boisterously and sat on the table a few yards behind Guy, not observing the unwritten rule of providing a notorious gang member the space and respect he supposedly deserved. New Hampton’s an odd place.

  Guy didn’t really care about that – it wasn’t a blatant breach of respect – but he was now paying attention to the group. Not that he turned around: the mirror on the back bar provide him with the perfect, discreet vantage point. There was something familiar about the group.

  ‘Good evening,’ a white-haired man said.

  Guy actually jumped. The man had sat down in the bar stool right next to Guy.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’ The old man had a kind face and a gentle smile. Guy warmed to him immediately.

  ‘No problem, I was miles away.’ Guy guessed this was just some friendly old worker who’d lived round here all his life. He wore simple yet robust clothing. His thick woolly jumper was almost comical, wrapped around his throat and skinny shoulders.

  ‘I can see that. Thinking of the past, I bet.’

  ‘No. Not at all.’ What an odd thing to say.

  ‘Perhaps you should.’

  The old man’s tone had switched from friendly to serious, though not aggressive. It was the tone a parent takes when they’re cautioning a child against making a perilous mistake. The man’s eyes darted to the group sitting behind Guy and then back to Guy. His thick, bushy white eyebrows raised.

  Guy instinctively turned to the group. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  The truth hit him immediately. How did I not notice?

  He hadn’t really been paying attention earlier and was more focused on drinking; the group contained three very familiar faces.

  ‘Ed. Jimmy... and Tim.’

  Guy’s fury rose. He could feel every muscle in his body tense.

  He’d buried this mountain of rage long ago and hadn’t thought on it any further. He had told himself that they’d probably left New Hampton, and yet after all this time, here they were sat right beside him.

  ‘I’m gonna kill them.’

  The rage was overwhelming but it was counterbalanced with the fear of dealing in death. Guy had never killed anyone before; it wasn’t his way.

  ‘I think that’d be for the best,’ the old man said sweetly.

  ‘This is the task?’ It all fit into place now.

  To climb the ranks he had to become a killer.

  ‘I can’t
k—’ His self-doubt was cut short by a thunderous laugh.

  ‘Oh my God! Look who it is! Jimmy, look.’ Tim, who had put on some serious poundage in the last ten years, had spotted Guy and was unable to contain his amusement.

  ‘Holy shit! Is that you, Guy?’ Jimmy, too, had gained some weight, and seemed equally amused. The two men were tall and the weight fitted their frames well.

  The rest of the group, including Ed, looked up sheepishly at Guy and then averted their gazes. Their ignorance was nowhere near the level of Jimmy and Tim’s.

  ‘Where’ve you been all this time? Man, we thought you’d left town or died or something! After Jed’s accident and him leaving we never heard about you!’ Tim’s arrogance also knew no bounds.

  Guy stared, stone faced. Kill him.

  ‘What are you doing in here? All alone?’ Jimmy mocked. He sneered, revealing a set of disgusting yellow teeth. Kill him.

  ‘S-s-shut up Jimmy.’ Apparently Ed had developed a nervous stutter since Guy witnessed him nearly murder Jed. Kill him.

  ‘Why? It’s only little old Guy. He’s harmless. Ain’t that right, Guy?’ Tim really was stupid. He probably thought being in a group of six made him safe and superior. Numbers aren’t important in these situations; the key factor is desire. That and a jacket full of knives.

  The three strangers they were drinking with made to get up and leave.

  ‘Sit down,’ Guy ordered.

  They obeyed and the entire pub went silent, all eyes on this ticking time bomb.

  ‘W-w-we should go.’ Ed directed his statement at Guy, practically pleading with him. His eyes made him look like a little lost puppy dog. Kill him.

  A few of the more senior dockworkers were already exiting, as quietly as possible.

  ‘I think that’s a good idea.’ The white-haired man sitting beside Guy was enjoying this.

  Everyone, including the former cocksure group before Guy, rose from their chairs, except Tim.

  ‘Not you three,’ Guy said.

  Ed sat back down. He was wide-eyed and breathing hard.

  Jimmy looked amused, although he was faking amusement; he was perspiring.

  Tim grinned, ear-to-ear, and showed no sign of fear.

  ‘What’s all this, Guy – you grown a pair all of a sudden?’ He really is fucking stupid. Kill him.

  Ed was incredulous. ‘Shut up Tim, don’t you know who he works for?’

  Even the barman had exited now.

  Five men remained, though not for long.

  The rage that had been building up within Guy burst out in the form of a six-inch knife that he launched through the air and flush into Jimmy’s chest. Jimmy slumped down on the table without a sound, dead before he even knew what hit him.

  Tim instinctively got up. It turned out he had a knife of his own, which he lunged towards Guy, who was far too quick. He evaded the weapon and drove a second knife of his own through Tim’s hand, pinning it onto the table. Tim’s screams alerted no one. The old man watched on with morbid fascination.

  Ed had attempted to run but had tripped on a bar stool. The old man winked at Ed as he gawped upwards, a rabbit in headlights.

  Guy almost felt guilty about killing Ed. Almost.

  ‘You’re still a little boy! Lost and scared! Like Jed!’ Tim taunted whilst trying to pry the knife out of his hand.

  That little reminder was all Guy needed.

  With one sharp thrust he reached into his jacket and drove a third knife under Ed’s chin, then yanked it straight back out with an accompaniment of gushing crimson. Ed slumped back down and choked on his own blood for the next thirty seconds. Guy sat back on his stool, placed the knife carefully on the bar and finished his drink. All the while Tim was frantically pulling at the knife that was firmly wedged into the wooden table.

  ‘You fucking bastard!’

  He’d meant it to sound intimidating, but now Tim was struggling and the fear was starting to set in. Guy clenched his jaw and rubbed his right thumb firmly into his left palm.

  ‘Do you remember what you said to me all those years ago?’ Guy asked.

  ‘What? What are you talking about?’ Tim was beginning to admit defeat regarding the removal of the knife. His weaselly eyes scanned the room for another plan.

  There was no other plan.

  ‘We’ll be keeping an eye on you.’ Guy laughed and pointed the blade of the knife, which he’d picked back up from the bar, at Jimmy and Ed’s lifeless bodies. ‘They ain’t watching no one no more.’

  He stood up and chopped his knife down on the table. It neatly clipped off the four fingers from Tim’s left hand.

  Tim’s cries were pitiful.

  ‘You, however, Timmy boy, you’re gonna watch and you’re gonna learn who I am. Do you want a drink while you watch?’

  The old man, still sitting, watched on. His morbid fascination had waned a fraction. Good, he needs to see how far I’ll go.

  Guy was starting to enjoy this.

  ‘Please, please. Stop.’ Tim was in full grovelling mode now. His desperate pleas to make up for his former transgressions were, quite frankly, sad. He’s a weak coward.

  ‘Stop? Oh Timmy, you stupid weasel. We’re just getting started. Still, you’ve had a good run. Twenty years and change of life is good going. Count yourself lucky. I wondered if all those people you beat, abused and bullied over the years felt lucky?’

  Tim was wailing uncontrollably.

  ‘We were just kids!’ Tim pleaded. ‘We didn’t know what we were doing.’

  ‘Look at me! You knew perfectly well what you were doing! Look at my face – that was no accident! What happened to Jed was no accident. Hell, I heard the rumours about what you did to boys in the neighbourhood. I’m surprised no one has got to you sooner. I’m doing this city a favour by ridding it of your kind.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you be wrapping this up? Someone might have called the filth?’

  The old man’s interruption seemed to spark a glint of hope in Tim’s pathetic eyes; Guy soon quashed it.

  ‘They won’t come here. They’re paid too well.’ Guy knew the organised powers of crime had ensured the docks wouldn’t be subjected to outside interference.

  ‘Okay, well get on with it.’ The old man’s voice was part defiant, part annoyed but it hinted at a new emotion. Fear.

  ‘Leave if you want.’ Guy didn’t care if the stranger stayed or not, he’d already proved his point. This was personal now.

  ‘I have to see you do it. I need to see all three dead.’

  ‘Well shut the fuck up and watch.’

  Guy returned to Tim.

  ‘Please. Please, man. C’mon!’ Tim had saturated his jeans.

  Guy picked up the four dismembered fingers from the blood-soaked table; the red was seeping out across the wooden surface tainting everything in its path. He smirked and tossed them into Tim’s lap. He knew what his final move was going to be, and he was going to enjoy it. This was the final step: letting go of the young heroic boy. He knew this day would come; he’d spent ten years preparing for it.

  To survive in New Hampton you needed the appearance of a monster, but to be truly powerful within the city you needed to be a monster. The lure of power was intoxicating, even more so than the potent whisky Guy now poured into a glass.

  The old man was no longer able to hide his fear. He gawped, frozen to his chair. He wouldn’t leave for fear of his employer and he wouldn’t leave for fear of Guy. Clearly, he knew a force to be reckoned with when he saw it. He’s a sheep. He won’t last much longer.

  ‘You need to see yourself for who you really are.’ Guy’s voice was void of any emotion, almost robotic in its precise delivery of each syllable, deadly and monotone.

  ‘Yeah, man. Yeah. I’m a wanker, I know. I’m sorry. Message received.’ Somehow the fat mess covered in piss and blood still harboured thoughts of surviving this. He really is a dumb fuck.

  ‘Shall we begin?’ Guy turned to the old man. ‘Last chance for you to leave.’r />
  ‘I will stay.’ His voice had an element of calm; his face, however, was as white as a sheet.

  ‘Very well.’ Guy was glad the man stayed. He might have bottled his final act without the knowledge that someone would be around to witness and share the gruesome tale with the underworld.

  Guy yanked the knife from Jimmy’s lifeless corpse. The stench of his evacuated bowels lingered in the air. Guy hadn’t realised the smell would be so intense. He stood tall and let his senses take in the scene. He didn’t want to forget this night. This would be the foundation for a legacy he would create for himself. I’ll run this city one day.

  The sights, the smells, the sounds all represented fear and Guy knew, wholeheartedly, that he enjoyed being the root cause of that. He enjoyed having total, absolute power over other human beings, especially scumbags.

  With a knife in each hand, he moved with measured steps around the table towards Tim’s right-hand side. The man was crying loudly. Guy thought he heard Tim ask for his mum at one point. He raised the knife in his right hand high above his head and began to swish it back down, which caused Tim to instinctively put out his right hand to protect his left arm. But that was not Guy’s intended target.

  With lightning speed he brought the knife in his left hand down and removed the four fingers from Tim’s right hand. Things didn’t improve for the half-conscious Tim. Guy put one knife on the table and yanked Tim’s right forearm to an outstretched position. That allowed him to plunge a knife through skin, muscle, and bone, all the way into the blood-drenched table. Tim’s fingerless hands were pinned to the wood.

  ‘Kill me, please.’ Tim was coated in sweat and his head kept lurching forward, snapping back when his chin bumped his chest. The end was near for him. His body knew it better than his mind. His hollow plea still contained a note of hope.

  ‘One more thing, Tim. You need to watch yourself, remember.’ Guy had cleaned his third knife on a white bar rag. It was the only knife currently not embedded within the fat man sat before him.

  ‘Oh God.’

  Guy grabbed Tim by his hair and snapped his neck to one side, giving him a clear sight of his chubby jawline. He began slicing with a precision that surprised even Guy himself. The knife was thin and razor sharp, perfect for removing someone’s face.