JUNIPER'S DAUGHTER - THE FINAL WAR BY NICK ARMBRISTER EXTRACT

JUNIPER'S DAUGHTER - THE FINAL WAR BY NICK ARMBRISTER EXTRACT

Tonight on the freezing evening in the third week of January John gathered Lee and Sarah together, “Hey, lets call up to Gun Barrel and Red to have a piss up. You two aint got nowt planned have you? I aint seen them for a couple of weeks. We’ll take some good old ‘shine up.”
   “Good idea, I’m fine about it,” from Sarah.
   “Hell yes! I want to drink Gun Barrel under the table. The bet is still on with him and me from last Xmas. I’ll have it,” Lee added.
   With that they got ready, put guns and ammo on, warm jumpers and coats and headed out to Gun Barrel’s and Red’s flat. Most importantly half a dozen bottles of moonshine accompanied them to the other side of the estate.
   Gun Barrel came by his name during a recent dispute with a so-called neighbour over a homemade generator, the said item disappeared while Gun Barrel was in a pissed up stupor, well out of it. From running and supplying electric it went to silence and darkness, twelve hours later when a hung over Gun Barrel awoke he first noticed it was daylight and how silent it was. The generator was gone; he had a good idea what had happened. Days before Ivan enquired about trading the geny for vodka, lots of it but it simply wasn’t available. That should have been that but obviously with its theft guess who was number one suspect? Ivan. So away old Gun Barrel went, business in mind but not trading business.
   Kicking in the old council PVC door in, he totally surprised the middle aged Russian refugee; things came to a head quickly. Gunny asked for it back in a pleasant voice.
   “May I have my generator back please, Ivan?”
   Regaining his composure Ivan snarled, “Fuck you, you fat lazy dog. Get out or I’ll do you, you prick!”
   Gun Barrel replied, “That’s a no then? Okay have it you way, you Russian fuckin’ failure!”
   As quickly as can be described he pulled a sawn off from inside his tatty coat and shot the old Russian in the throat – with both barrels. The birdshot really screwed up his neck, blood jetting everywhere, bits of flesh likewise, Gun Barrel was covered in the dead man’s blood. Ivan was dead before he hit the floor, a sad piece of human garbage that messed with the wrong man. So that’s how one Tim Brooks became as Gun Barrel, in the hot lawless summer of 2014, he lived in a flat of decent enough standards not far from John, Lee and Sarah. Most of the windows were boarded up; power came from the moonshine driven generator. Gun barrel had an old cabinet of several handguns and shotguns, Red owned the semi automatic stuff and both regularly traded with Lee for ammo and gear.
   Red came by his name because of his hair that was always long and blowing about in the wind. He couldn’t be bothered tying it back he just didn’t care. Tattoos covered his arms from the early years of the new millennium when he was a biker/rocker, then the music wasn’t so good and bands came and went in the rock revival of 03-05. Bikes were mostly stolen Japanese ones driven illegally in mad chases with the police, often such chases ended with a young life being taken in a crash. Red’s tattoos are a little faded but he’s still proud of his misplaced youth, he has tribal designs on both shoulders and upper arms. On his left lower arm is a naked girl; he won’t say who it is. An English bulldog and a pair of electric guitars with the name “Red” underneath grace his lower right arm. Today he is in the business of rebuilding and modifying ancient wrecks of motorbikes to run on a moonshine derivative called “White Fire”, this is due to its explosive properties. He brews this in the old power station where the normal ‘shine is made. He’s in his element amongst the shiny pipes, one-litre bottles, five litre containers and his “baby”, a small still connected by pipes to the main system. This refined the moonshine brewed in the main system, a further second stage of distillation to produce almost pure alcohol. He regularly took samples in glass tubes, testing the purity on a litmus paper stolen from the trashed science lab at Counthill School. The paper showed the correct value for a second then dissolved in the pure alcohol. This would produce a smile on the Gun Barrel’s face, the master doing his art. Now his trike was nearly complete, a test drive would be needed. Who would do this? Himself as he had built it? Considering the volatile fuel with danger of explosion and death, he’d ask them to draw lots or who could drink a bottle of ‘shine first? No there was a better way, after completion they’d test right away, no sobering up. Everyone would have a drive, after himself of course, to get used to the wicked machine. Sarah, John and Lee had waited patiently for Red to build them a three-seat trike so that they can travel away from the area; they hadn’t travelled for ages it seemed.
   The trio arrive and macho greetings are exchanged all round, Gun Barrel says in a rough voice: “I see that you still have the bird with balls with you!”
   With that Sarah pulls her mini Colt out and fires two 6mm rounds into the ceiling over Gunny’s head, he ducks at plaster dust falls around him while a madly laughing Sarah puts her toy away.
   “Nice to see you dickhead! Don’t lose your head, it’s bad for you,” Sarah laughs, still seeing the fun of it all.
   Bottles of moonshine are opened, pint pots provided and the drinking starts in earnest, a bottle of ‘shine is next to everyone and more are on the small worn table, there for later for those not unconscious. Nothing can touch it. Sarah sits between John and Lee, facing Red and Gun Barrel. Heavy clothes and coats are thrown on the floor as the temperature soars and the liquor takes effect. The small generator provides light as it noisily runs on moonshine based fuel; the noise was tolerable and not too deafening. This was just like the old days, a group of close mates and a lot of booze. John is the first to finish his bottle; he sways back and forth well out of it, no doubt seeing six of everything through his blurred vision.