Second-In-Command Read online

  A few seconds of agonised screams and struggling made the work tricky, but Tim was quick to pass out. That suited Guy; it gave him the time to do a proper job. It gave him the time to leave a calling card for New Hampton to remember him by; no one in the criminal world would mess with him after this.

  ‘I don’t think he’s dead yet. How long are you going to wait?’ There was no annoyance; it was a genuine question. The old man didn’t seem interested in pissing off Guy, an attitude that probably explained how he’d reached such an age. The old man seemed reliable and obedient. Guy guessed he’d never pushed the buttons of those higher up the ranks or anyone more dangerous than him. It was clear the old man knew Guy was both of those things now.

  ‘He’s coming around.’

  Guy had watched Tim in silent contemplation for a good twenty minutes, the whole time wondering if he actually wanted Tim to wake up and react to Guy’s handiwork. That might have been a step too far for him to stomach. Too late.

  It was a slow and pitiful awakening. Tim was groggy and rolling his neck around, oblivious to his surroundings. Guy was bored. He chucked a pint glass of water over Tim, who roared in agony. Then Guy knew, deep down in his heart, that he was a killer. He’d been mulling over the idea that he’d gone too far and had made a terrible mistake, until he saw Tim’s reaction. He couldn’t remember being as happy in his entire life.

  Tim looked up at his own face, pinned to the wall ten feet away.

  The bone and bloody mess that was Tim’s new face roared in terror. Guy had placed a mirror beside the face pinned to the wall. Tim was looking at his former face and current face in the same moment.

  ‘Remember, I’ll be watching you,’ Guy whispered into the hole where Tim’s ear used to be. And then he slit Tim’s throat, slowly.

  4.

  1997

  Guy was beginning to wonder if it had all been some elaborate hoax – or even worse, an NHPD undercover operation. However, the latter seemed unlikely given that he was still out on the streets and more feared than ever.

  That part felt great.

  For the past three weeks he hadn’t been able to enter a shop without being presented with gifts or payments. Payments were in full and in one particularly frightened owners case, an early payment. The story of the night at the Coach & Horses had spread like wildfire throughout the criminal community. In spite of that, Guy hadn’t seen the mysterious doctor or the kindly old man again. It was all for nothing.

  That wasn’t necessarily true.

  He had vanquished a few demons that night and come out the other side stronger, a winner. A killer. At least he was picking up more money and would be able to climb the social ladder a little if he was careful and saved.

  ‘I think it’s about time you met the boss.’

  ‘Jesus Christ! Don’t do that!’ The old man had snuck up on Guy again.

  He had been daydreaming – or sulking, more like – on a park bench in Aston Park.

  ‘Impressive,’ said the old man.

  ‘Thank you.’ Guy assumed he was referring to the Coach & Horses.

  ‘Not you! Them.’

  The old man pointed a crooked, boney index finger at a pair of teenagers spraying a skull on a wall by the side of the new skate park.

  ‘Control is an illusion,’ Guy muttered.

  ‘You’re damn right it is!’

  ‘No, you fool, that’s what they’re writing.’ It was Guy’s turn to point at the youths, who were spraying the words in bright red paint under the skull they’d just finished. The youths seemed to sense they were being watched and shot annoyed glares at the pair sat on the bench. Their facial expressions changed, they’d recognised Guy; he’d had money from both their employers just that weekend. They were smart enough to turn away and leave the park. In fact, everyone was smarter around Guy these days; violence wasn’t necessary.

  ‘Ah, I see. Well, like I said, you’ve been summoned to the Watchroom.’

  ‘What, the club?’ Guy had been there several times before but didn’t realise it was an actual Watchroom stronghold. He’d guessed they owned it but for nothing more than to raise cash and launder it.

  ‘Where else? That’s base camp.’ The old man seemed amused to have more knowledge than Guy.

  ‘But that place gets raided all the time!’ He’d been in there one time it happened. It was bloody inconvenient, as he was grafting hard on an attractive blonde and had thought he was well in.

  ‘C’mon boy, use your head. They have informants and more moles than my back!’

  ‘Do not call me boy.’

  The old man blushed and slid a few inches down the bench. ‘Quite. Sorry.’

  ‘Okay, when?’ Excitement coursed through Guy. This is it!

  ‘Tonight. 10pm. Now if you’ll excuse me.’ The old man shuffled to his feet, using a walking stick to yank himself upright. His back cracked in protest.

  As the old man wandered away he was forced to sidestep a gigantic man bounding along the path. The brute, dressed all in black, marched past Guy. He glanced sideways and snorted contemptuously through a mask that covered his face, which was buried within a pulled-up hoodie. Guy hadn’t felt intimidated in a long time; it was a foreign emotion these days. He maintained a steely gaze at the seven-foot-plus man stomping past the bench. Yeah, you keep walking.

  Despite his bravado, he didn’t utter the words.

  ‘There really are some creeps in this city.’ The words left his lips when the monstrous man was well out of earshot.

  10pm at the Watchroom was exactly as Guy remembered it. Boisterous, the air scented with the masculinity threatening to burst out of every man in the room. It was a room of murderous peacocks, surrounded by a garden of roses. Beautiful women were the stereotypical norm for a major gang stronghold.

  ‘Freshen your drink, Sir?’ asked a stunning Asian woman. She leaned in close to reveal her cleavage, pressed provocatively into a scarlet corset. Guy felt himself stir.

  ‘Sure, sweetheart.’ He winked and her coy laugh seemed genuine. Guy knew it must be practiced but he didn’t care.

  ‘Make that your last one,’ he muttered to himself. He’d been in the club since 9pm and didn’t think meeting the boss while inebriated was a good idea.

  ‘Here you go.’ The waitress returned with his drink, along with a napkin with her phone number and name on it.

  ‘Thank you, Ava.’ Well, what about that!

  ‘Anytime.’ She walked away. Guy couldn’t decide if he preferred her walking towards him or away.

  He looked around the grandiose room, his eyes moving from circular booth to circular booth. They were all the same: gangsters and girls, drunk on liquor and power, or at least the illusion of it. He recognised most of the faces, most were sub-gangs of the Watchroom. Some of his Ravens were there, although they were currently ignoring him. It’d been tough on them seeing his meteoric rise.

  The Deadeyes were a particularly gruesome and cocky young group that were fast gaining a reputation in the criminal world. That was a group of half a dozen men that had no limits. They’d go far, but even they knew and respected Guy.

  The Black Widows were out in force and were infamous for making widows of poor innocent women. The Vipers, well, they had a proclivity for biting people with silver fangs. One happened to look at Guy at that moment and smirk to reveal a pair of silver canine teeth. The Rats. The Bats. All the gangs were represented there that evening, like most evenings, Guy guessed. But they were all pretenders, drinking at the discretion of those people really in power.

  The Watchroom were present, they were just subtler about their activities and didn’t sit around in huge, ostentatious groups. Simplicity was their marked trait, their sophisticated way. Power didn’t need to be flashy, power just needed to be able to sneak up to you in the middle of the night and end you if it so desired.

  ‘This way, Guy.’

  ‘Godammit!’

  The old man had done it for a third time. Is he some kind of fucki
ng ninja?

  ‘A lot on your mind?’ He scrubbed up well in a vintage three-piece suit of checked brown and grey. It wasn’t a cheap suit like those that the vast majority of sub-gangs wore and yet it paled into insignificance with regard to colour. Guy glanced back around the room and chuckled at the bright blues, reds and greens; one man actually wore a pink suit.

  ‘A lot of pretenders here tonight,’ Guy observed.

  ‘Indeed, and you’re not one of them. C’mon, the boss is waiting.’

  Suddenly Guy felt very nervous.

  ‘Okay.’

  He walked in silence out of a back door to the left of the imposing black-marble bar that took up the majority of the right hand side of the room. It was a door he hadn’t noticed, even though he prided himself on knowing the location of exits in any building; it was just good sense.

  He found himself in a cold, drab corridor. Both left and right snaked off and away to make it impossible to discern how far each route would go. The old man led them to the left; they walked for a good minute past door after door. Are we walking downhill?

  A glance back showed that where they’d come from was in fact higher and that they were descending down the corridor.

  ‘Here we are.’ The old man knocked three times on a door, the first two in quick succession and then the third a slow, drawn out knock.

  ‘Come in.’ The voice from within sounded frail, or at least distant.

  ‘Good luck.’ The old man shuffled back along the corridor. Twenty paces on, he turned and glanced back at Guy. It was a sympathetic look.

  ‘Here goes nothing,’ Guy said to himself.

  The room he walked into was much smaller than he’d anticipated. He had assumed, wrongly, that the boss of the biggest and most feared criminal organisation in the city’s illustrious history would have a grand room, full of riches and displays of power. The only thing powerful about this room, however, was the scent of candles. There were hundreds of them either side of the simple wooden desk. But the candles weren’t the strangest thing about the tiny room.

  A few feet behind the desk was a large screen, like something you’d expect to see in a Chinese restaurant. It blocked off the entire back wall and behind it Guy could make out the shadows of two people, one sitting and the other standing.

  ‘Welcome, Guy.’ The voice from behind the screen had a whistling quality to it, like a lisp crossed with a smoker’s wheeze. Whoever it was, they didn’t sound too healthy.

  ‘Hello.’ Guy was scanning, trying to place the oddities. The candles, he realised, were masking another smell. The room reeked with sweat, blood and death; Guy knew that smell all too well.

  A coughing fit ensued from behind the screen. Guy waited in silence.

  An arm clothed in white shot out from the left-hand side of the screen, reaching for a large decanter at the side. Guy hadn’t noticed the tray of drinks in the corner. It looked like a collection of red and white wines.

  Guy now realised that the person standing behind the screen was a woman. Her broad shoulders had a mannish appearance but the delicate movements of the hands were definitely female. She appeared to be wearing some kind of hat. Guy was trying hard to process it all and was contemplating ducking around the screen for a better look.

  The woman’s head snapped up and appeared to look at Guy.

  Don’t move.

  Guy’s skin was tingling.

  The woman went back to her task of pouring a drink and serving it to the man slumped in a chair. Through coughing splutters and the odd gargle the man managed to consume the drink. Silence followed.

  ‘Please excuse me, I’m a little out of sorts today.’ The drink seemed to have restored some strength in the man’s voice. ‘It’s been a long day. Now, let’s get down to business, shall we?’

  ‘Okay.’ Guy sensed he needed to acknowledge the commencement of business discussions and no more. He was here to be instructed.

  ‘I understand from my associates that you’ve been doing great work for us. We’ve had our eye on you for quite some time. Zhirkov is always pushing me, driving me to do things, and I must admit in your case I agree. You’re to work directly for me now, do you understand?’

  ‘Yes... Sir.’ Guy assumed that was what he wanted to hear.

  ‘Very good.’ The man stood up from his chair. He was much taller than Guy imagined. He had a slender frame that looked strong in the candlelight.

  ‘Understand this. You’ll never see me; it’s safer for you that way. All you need to know is that you work for me and that includes dealing with Doctor Zhirkov. I want you to maximise profits in all aspects of my business. I know you’re accustomed to the streets and collecting, but I need you to think bigger. I need you to think out of the box, unite the gangs and rule them with an iron fist. Galvanise them in any way you can, give them purpose. And swell our ranks further. As such, I need you to go and see Doctor Zhirkov. He can assist with this and in turn you’ll provide men for him. Meet him at the Cauldron.’

  Guy’s head was swimming: all that responsibility. All that power. Ideas were rushing through his head already. The gangs needed a sense of identity, something more than just a name. They need symbols that would strike fear into the city. And I know where to find the artists.

  He’d let his mind wander for a few seconds too long.

  ‘Sorry. Where is the Cauldron?’ Guy had never heard of the place.

  ‘Have my associate outside take you.’

  ‘You mean the old man?’ Guy hated asking obvious questions.

  The man behind the screen sighed long and hard. As he pushed a breath out it made that odd whistling sound again, like someone blowing on the top of a beer bottle.

  ‘I hate the obvious, Guy; you are not an obvious man. Do not plague me with the obvious, instead reach for the extraordinary. If my instructions are ever unclear, review them; the fault will be in your comprehension. Not my delivery.’

  ‘Understood.’ Despite the warmth in the room Guy felt goosebumps all over his flesh. The man appeared to be staring at him, although it was impossible to be certain.

  ‘Very good, Guy. That’ll be all for now. See Zhirkov tonight. He’ll open your eyes to the truth depths of my work in this city.’

  Guy wasn’t sure why, but as he left he felt his stomach lurch. The door slammed behind him. He hadn’t even noticed someone follow him to shut the door. Do I really want this?

  ‘There’s no turning back now.’

  ‘You coming in?’ Guy asked the friendly old man. He realised he’d never actually asked his name. ‘Wait, what’s your name?’

  The old man smiled.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, it’s not important. After tonight you’ll probably never see me again.’

  They were stood outside the Cauldron, a place that the old man had described as a warehouse of nightmares. That seemed overly dramatic to Guy, but what did he know? It looked like hundreds of other abandoned warehouses and factories that littered the northern part of the city. The inconspicuous normality of the place within a proverbial haystack of concrete monstrosities made it the perfect hiding place for activities that the Watchroom didn’t want broadcasting.

  The cool night air mixed with wispy-white steam that poured from a handful of vents. It was the only indication that the building was in use; even then you’d need to be standing right outside to even notice the subtle sign.

  The dingy courtyard was suddenly illuminated by bright-white light as the door to the Cauldron opened. The light was accompanied by anguished screams. What the hell?

  ‘Ah, good evening, Guy. How wonderful of you to join me and how kind of you to bring our mutual associate. It’s such a shame he knows everything about our agreement.’

  Doctor Zhirkov bound out into the courtyard. The blinding light behind him shrouded him, but Guy recognised the strange accent and instinctively took a few steps back; the old man did not.

  A shot boomed out, closely followed by a second.

  The old man slump
ed over his walking stick and fell to his knees. His eyes bulged from their sockets, while his hands desperately fumbled with his chest as if they could somehow stem the flow of blood. He didn’t struggle for long. Instead he completed his slump and slammed into the floor. Guy couldn’t decide if he felt sympathy or pity.

  ‘No need to pity him dear boy, he knew the risks when he took this job on. Besides, he knows his family will be well provided for. We’re not monsters, after all. He just knew too much about our fabulous operation and, more importantly, the unique agreement that you and I have.’

  ‘Don’t you mean you, me and the boss?’ Guy knew he was treading a dangerous line.

  ‘Quite.’ The doctor seemed more amused than annoyed.

  Doctor Zhirkov shut the door behind him, cutting off the sound of screaming. While it had served as apt background music to the callous murder he’d just witnessed, now Guy was left in silence, staring dead in the eye a dangerous man whom he was to report to whenever required.

  ‘I don’t pity him, he was weak.’ Guy didn’t have time for weak anymore, these were dangerous men; he was a dangerous man.

  ‘Aha, very good, Guy. Well, let me give you the tour. Prepare to be shocked – but understand this: the work I’m doing here is going to change the face of New Hampton forever. Your role in all of this is simple, unite the gangs, keep the money flowing and remember to listen to the esteemed leader at all times.’

  ‘Understood.’

  With that, Doctor Zhirkov opened the door to the screaming horror house once more. Guy strode into the Cauldron without hesitation. This was his world now.

  He was Second-In-Command.

  5.

  2017

  It was another rowdy night in the city of New Hampton, the streets abuzz with debauchery. As was his routine, Guy would personally send off a handful of runs for the evening.

  Even now, after twenty years of running things, he liked to keep his finger on the pulse and the pulse of the business was drugs. It was by far the most profitable industry they’d ever got into. Coupled with this, it also supplied an endless stream of junkies to the Cauldron for Doctor Zhirkov and his team.