GANGSTA BOYZ
These lads
were something special in their own right, a group of real hard crims who didn’t
give a fuck on who they fucked over, stole from, set up, beat up, put contracts
on, sold bad drugs to, put a gun to or shot dead for the pure fun of it. They
had done most things and if they hadn’t done it you could bet your left
testicle they’d be doing it soon. They lived in the town of Renford near the
border with Scotland; they wanted to get contacts from over the border to
import weapons in exchange for exporting drugs. This was a new sideline from
the regular protection rackets, dealing low-level drugs like weed, ketamine and
Charlie to those left alive who would be classed as druggies. That never
stopped because of the many wars and disturbances that had happened over the
last few decades, no way. Every man and his sister took something or other to
take the edge of the bitter reality that was now real life; criminals took
every chance to take advantage of that. They were the best there was, an
unhealthy compliment to the real deal, fuck with these and the old cliché would
tear you to bits after they had.
They were:
Gant, Andrew, Gerald and Joyce, four boys in their early to mid 20s each with a
speciality and all multi skilled so they could change roles when they had to,
helping the others out. Gant and Andrew had done bird in the hellhole that was
the English army prison garrison at Kendal over the years. Gant was inside when
Andrew escaped by silently climbing the fifty-foot wall of white greased
concrete, even today he kept it secret how he had done it. No ladder, rope or
other climbing apparatus was used; this guy was like bloody Spiderman and
climbed like a monkey. After escaping he went to his contacts and returned with
a hundred year old Conqueror tank and blew the front gate in with three 125mm
high explosive shells, then slowly advanced through the wreckage at 5mph.
Return fire from the English army’s small arms and light grenade launchers
bounced off the tank like ping pong balls. Onwards they went, criminal gangster
boys busting ass getting their lad outa the slammer! Andrew drove the tank
while his other crim buddies Gerald manned the main gun with Josh on the hull
machine gun, a team that needed a 4th man to load the big heavy
shells into the massive main gun in the turret. Soon he would be here, when
they busted Gant from the inside of this overfilled jail run by the English
army who still maintained a small grip on isolated parts of England. Bitter fighting
had killed most of the soldiers, destroyed their bases and wrecked their
equipment. They were a mere shadow of their former selves but still dangerous
in their local areas.
Into the main
yard the tank drove slowly squashing the bodies of English army soldiers who
were thick enough to get in the behemoth’s way; pulped flesh greased the tracks
briefly aiding fuel economy to the heavy-duty diesel engine. Blood ran into the
gutters making the Devil smile from upon high, more souls for his purgatory
spreading his dark influence onto the land. From the barred glassless windows a
cheer went up as the jailbirds inside heard the explosions and gunfire and
revving tank engine, their boring existence had been broken by an event. Prison
guards ran onto the yard firing machine carbines and machine pistols from the
hip on full fucking auto, empty shell cases rattled onto the concrete and slugs
whined from the ten-inch armour of the heavy Conqueror tank.
Andrew
stopped the tank facing one group allowing Joyce to cut them down with 7.62mm
gunfire in short well aimed bursts that bowled them over like nine pins. The
other group of guards fired directly from behind the tank when their colleagues
were cut down, Gerald slowly turned the heavy turret 180 degrees. He aimed at the
group of ten men with the co-axial machine gun and fired one long burst of a
hundred rounds, cutting them down and silencing their puny fire, permanently.
Andrew slowly drove to the doorway leading into the prison as the turret
rotated to face forward – one single high explosive shell made short work of
the two inch toughened steel door. The smoke and debris cleared, Joyce and
Andrew dismounted their positions and left the tank taking large .45 calibre
pistols with them and plenty of ammo clips. Gerald stayed in the turret on the
guns, controlling the area so the army wouldn’t interfere with the operation.
Together with
pistols in hand, eyes darting through the thinning smoke and broken door, they
entered running like deranged madmen. Three English army guards tried to stop
them, one tried to physically bar their way and the other two attempted to
raise machine pistols – Andrew and Joyce shot all of them in the face using
full clips of ammo, reloading and advancing. A long corridor lead ahead into
the maze of passageways and cells, they knew the way where Gant was from a geo
locator he had implanted in his left molar tooth. It was decided to cause major
chaos and release the rest of the inmates, if possible. For this both carried
small magnetic detonators to blow the locks of the cells. Coming up to the
first cells they put the plan into practise – Andrew placed a single mag det on
each door lock with a 30 second delay to allow time to get clear. Cells were on
either side of the corridor so Andrew zigzagged up the corridor with Joyce
covering him. When the end of the corridor came up and branched off to the
right and left, they too branched left, swapping roles as the dets went off in
short sharp cracks smashing the locks. Slowly each door was pushed open and
cautious heads peered out. All they saw were smoke and the flash of popping
dets blowing the doors, the assailants were out of sight.
A single
guard came out of an unmarked wooden door with a revolver, he shot the full
seven bullets at the duo but upper body armour saved their lives, only Andrew
was hit in the upper right arm. He immediately returned fire, killing the
officer with two shots to the head. His brains and shattered skull fragments
sprayed over the wall and the floor before he collapsed, dead. Small explosions
from the detonators added to the confusion. Andrew retorted, “Fuck, that guy
winged me! My arm is numb, I can’t feel it.”
“You’ll be
okay. Let’s finish this job. We’ll patch you up at the tank,” Joyce commented.
“Yea, we
gotta get the man out, it’s why we are here,” Andrew groaned.
“Let’s go,
cover me as I finish putting dets onto the cells,” his fellow crim said.
Now prisoners
congregated in the corridor, Joyce saw this and ordered: “Get outside now!
While you have chance. Go, now!” Firing a single round into the ceiling
galvanised them into action and twenty jailbirds ran away down the corridor and
to freedom.
Going to the
next passageway and up to the next level, deeper into the complex increased the
risk. Surprise would be wearing off and the guards would counter attack, they
had to be fast. Andrew covered Joyce and they went on as before, Joyce placing
the detonators. When this lot of cells was done, they went up a stairway
guarded by two guards. Andrew shot them both using a full magazine, he had
trouble reloading due to his wound, Joyce offered him his gun and he took it,
passing the empty weapon to his friend who speedily reloaded it. Small cracks
echoed up the stairs while they slowly climbed up, pointing their weapons in
their line of sight; a single guard could cut them down here. Coming to the top
they came under fire from two guards thirty yards down the corridor. Joyce
reached into his pocket and withdrew a single egg sized hand grenade. He pulled
the pin with his teeth and threw it down the corridor where it bounced and
clattered, landing near the guards, who emptied their entire magazines on full
auto before their fate was sealed. Bullets ricocheted from the walls and floor
harmlessly before the grenade went off in a huge bang! Screams were cut short
and acrid smoke wafted along the ceiling. Both gunmen ran down the corridor,
ignoring the cells – speed was off the essence and they were out of dets,
except one. This was for Gant’s cell. Pleading eyes looked out from behind locked
doors, through small grilled vents and both avoided eye contact. Coming up to
the cell where their mate was, Andrew got their remaining det ready and placed
it on the lock, then both ran down the corridor and crouched, waiting for the
thing to go off. Crack! The lock was blown; running to the cell with guns at
the ready, Joyce and Andrew swung the damaged door open and entered.
“Hey guys,
what took you?” Gant casually asked, grinning like a cat.
“Good to see
you too mate!” Andrew shouted, not in malice.
“How has the
hotel treated you then Gant?” Joyce asked, passing Gant a pistol and two mags
of bullets.
“I’ve been
running the place.” Gant sat up off the bed and made for the door, glancing at
Andrew to say, “I see you’ve been hit. Does it hurt?”
“Yea, I
stopped a slug. What the fuck do you think? No actually it doesn’t…” he
retorted.
“C’mon you
pair of fairies get a move on; we gotta get back to the tank!” Joyce
complained.
“Fuckin’
hell! You busted me out in a tank? Well I’ll buy you a beer when we get back to
town, fuck yea!” Gant laughed.
Into the
corridor they ran guns at the ready and back to the tank. Groups of prisoners
not yet outside joined them as if safety in numbers was the way to do it. The
trio shouted for everyone to get the fuck out, guards chased them down the
passageways. Pistol fire and grenades soon stopped them, buying the group time
to get outside. There they joined the battle they could hear, for full scale
chaos ensured. Released prisoners had broken into one of the small arms stores
and were attacking the remaining guards in revenge for beatings, harsh
treatment and for being fed crap food. The Conqueror tank fired short bursts
from the co-axial machine gun in the turret at guards hiding behind a small
prison van; this slowly burned forcing the sheltering guards into the open.
Here the prisoners with guns had their vengeance, cutting the men down where
they stood, who even in imminent death fought back. Several crims fell down
dead or injured. Climbing under the huge tank the small group opened the under
hull entry hatch after some struggle. Andrew complained in the cramped space under
the tank, due to his injured arm. This caused him a lot of pain and discomfort.
Joyce entered first so he could hall Andrew up into the vehicle, so Gant could
push their wounded pal up and then enter himself. Then the hatch was shut and
locked so no one could follow them.
“Hey, Gant
how the hell are you?” Gerald shouted, machine-gunning two soldiers who fired
back with machine pistols.
“Yea man, I’m
good. The hotel was cool. I ended up running the place. I’ll tell you about it
sometime,” Gant chortled.
“I can’t
drive due to my arm. Joyce you’ll have to do it, I’ll take over your gun,”
Andrew painfully said, as they got ready to leave. Joyce got behind the driving
position. He said, “Andrew let Gant man the hull machine gun, he never shot a
guard with his pistol, he can loose a few rounds off now. You need to rest,
when we get clear we’ll patch you up. Think you can wait?”
“Yea do that,
Gant can use the gun, I’ll be okay. I’ve been hurt worse than this before,”
Andrew replied as he settled down behind the driver’s seat.
“I don’t mind
manning the pop gun guys!” Gant agreed, fingering the weapon and firing random
shots at fleeing soldiers. He smiled grimly, how he’d missed live weapons.
In a roar
Joyce started up the monstrous 850 horsepower diesel engine and engaged gear
with the stiff clutch, he pulled both driving handles towards him and slowly
reversed the tank. Stopping parallel to the main gate, he turned on one track
and slowly drove down the main entry road, soldiers ran for their lives as the
heavy dark green tank increased speed. Bullets whizzed and whined from the
outer hull in a futile gesture to stop their escape, of course, it failed. In
the tank Gerald put some heavy metal music onto the tank’s tape player, a
70-year-old thing that still worked. The music was closer to 50 year old but
still sounded cool, he maxed the volume as they left the prison complex.
Screams and shouts of joy filled the tank, they had done it!
Stopping some
miles from the prison Gant patched up Andrew’s arm with a field dressing then
gave him some morphine for the pain and discomfort. Settling back, Andrew
relaxed best he could. Starting back on their journey, they headed back to
Renford at thirty mph, the tanks full speed and to a party that would last for
a week…
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In the bar
called The Slug the party began in earnest. Recently made beer stocked the bar,
lined up in rows of 20 with strengths ranging from 5 to 15 percent, there was
nothing on the draft pumps but barrels provided wicked non-gassy brews of equal
potency. Draft beer hadn’t been in use for over 30 years. All this beer and ale
was brewed locally in the centre/outskirts of Renford in breweries that were
guarded by freedom fighters, war vets and criminals. The group who just bust
Gant out of jail owned a medium size brewery and controlled who worked there,
where the ale was sent and several other shady semi legal ventures in the beer
trade.
Due to the
amount of firepower in and around Renford, the English army stayed away, so did
the Scottish paramilitaries, Scottish army and other rogues. Those who were
brave enough to cross the border at night or in bad weather were in for a shock,
due to prepared defences and staunch fighters who took no shit. Some low level
trade occurred now and again with the Scots when something was urgently needed,
that wasn’t available locally but things would never be on the scale of before
the wars. Too much death and paranoia blanketed the land, people had long
memories, a father’s death became his son’s revenge when he was able to plan an
op and carry a gun.
Four beers
were already on the bar when the group got there, they parked the tank on rough
ground in the centre of town at the demolished site of the old council offices.
Gant, Andrew, Gerald and Joyce all sauntered into the bar; people respected
them because they were someone, could produce the goods and handle themselves.
They took the beers and headed for a table with no words being said, they
supplied the ale and ran the pub; or rather people did it for them so they
could plan other projects to bring in currency. Currency wasn’t money or cash
in the real sense but a substitute that was often called cash, for example a
crate of beer traded for a pair of good condition antique combat boots. This
was a regular thing, a prosperous trading economy continued to grow in the
Renford area, a slave couldn’t be bought but people’s services could be
exchanged for goods, for a set amount of time.
The table where
they sat occupied the middle of the pub, everyone who came into the bar saw the
boys, knew who they were and what they stood for. Gant was the leader of the
group. He was 20 years old and built like a tank, with huge upper body area
that included the physique of a boxer, a skill he practised on old copper water
tanks or on people who he didn’t like. He was infamous for giving his opponents
the first punch and taking it like a man, not one man had knocked him down yet
though many had tried. With a buzz cut of dark brown hair that he clipped with
snippers every 3rd day to keep his thuggish look, evil brown eyes
that focused on his target like laser beams and the reflexes of a hawk, Gant
was no1 kick ass guy in Renford. Andrew was skinny by comparison to his friend;
he had the quick devious criminal mind to think up schemes and plans to carry
out. Gant was the brawn to back him up in a tight situation. Mousy brown hair,
grey eyes that showed no emotion and a funny walk made Andrew someone to be
noticed. Gerald was from Wales, unlike the other two. He had been taken
prisoner after ambushing an English army truck convoy several years ago and
while in the clink, he met Gant. Realising they could trust one another inside,
both became good friends. Gerald had good weapons training and was key to many
of the group’s plans. His brown eyes and red hair were noticeable and he had
many contracts on him, especially by the army. Gant backed him up and Joyce
gave intelligence on known plots, like who wanted any of them dead, whom had
taken contracts on them and more, before these could be carried out. How he did
this he kept secret but he was good at it and right time and again. If he was
cornered he relied on a wicked 12inch blade with a serrated edge. Almost as big
as Gant but not as quick with his hands and less skilled in fighting, his mind
was his best asset, for he was the oldest of the group at 25 with grey hair and
green eyes making him stand out. Like the other three, had had done bird, been
inside at the army jail and in two other less secure jails run by traitorous
war vets who had turned and cast their lot in with the army. Andrew had been in
a jail run by the West Indian Brigade when he had gone down to Norwich to
assassinate one of them who sold him bad drugs. He drove a hot stolen English
army vehicle down from Renford on his own, blagged it through road blocks and
hell knew what. He confronted the Brig member, saying the Purple Green
amphetamine was cut with glucose, the Brig denied this. A bullet in the left
knee brought him round. Andrew would have left it at that but the Brig started
a fight! After being tapped in the knee, he had to be silenced in true gangster
style, three shots in the face. Andrew robbed the corpse and was driving back north
when 20 Brigs captured him. He killed fifteen of them, two with his bare hands,
before they overwhelmed him and took him to the Brigade jail where people who
were a threat to the Brig cause were locked up indefinitely. Andrew was inside
for two months, where he played the humble white honkey observing the Brigs
methods of operations, listening to their plans and a dozen other interesting
things that could be used against them when his mates got him out. Gant sprung
him after getting captured himself after a dodgy operation went wrong; he
killed nine Brig members with his bare hands and fifty-two with their own guns.
He freed his friend and every single other inmate, many of these came back
north to settle in Renford and to participate in criminal activities. In the
time since, fifty percent had been killed but it was better than being eight to
a cell under the guard of black men high on drugs, armed with big knives and
guns. That group now ceased to exist.
Gerald had
been in the main English army jail for stealing jewels used in laser weapons
from an English army lab, he wanted to sell the high value gems for high-class
weapons, drugs, vehicles and clothing that would be used in future criminal
activities. His plan went ahead successfully, infiltrating the English army to
get his hands on the jewels. It went wrong after someone recognised him, though
he had dyed black hair and green contact lenses, spending his 2nd
time inside. Andrew stole an old Conqueror tank and busted Gerald out of jail,
much like the recent operation freeing Gant. Joyce enjoyed these types of operations
due to the payback on the military. He had enjoyed 6 months of their
hospitality when he was a teenager for various low level crimes but not on the
murderous level that Gant was known for. His last spell inside was for killing
a soldier with just one hand, he was due for execution the very next day of his
escape.
Beers were
now empty, four more miraculously appeared from out of nowhere, in unison the
group lifted them and drained half of the contents in one go of the 15% strong
brew. More were ready for when these were gone.
“You did well
springing me outa jail today lads. I was due for termination tomorrow. Thanks
guys!” Gant said with conviction in his voice.
“It was the
least we could do. You did the same for me when the Brigs got me. Anytime man,”
Gerald commented.
“To us and
continued criminality!” Joyce shouted, raising his bottle. The rest followed.
“To the death
of the English army and our rival gangs!” Andrew announced. On and on the
drinking went, empty bottles filled the table and more full ones were brought.
Later pair of snipping clippers was used to clip Gant’s crew cut back to its
normal length of almost bald, he couldn’t be allowed to look like a hippy from
his time inside! Andrew, Joyce and Gerald each drunkenly cut a bit of his hair,
doing a good job considering the amount of ale that was being consumed. Further
bottles came to grace the crims bellies like the ones before.
More rogues
and toughs filled the bar when word spread that Gant was sprung from the
English army jail, in ones and twos they came over and shook first his hand and
then those of his colleagues. The command structure of the underworld was back
in place, whispered words confirmed the other men’s allegiance and loyalty to
Gant and his boys.
Only one word
of disrespect was spoken – this ended the joyous celebration of the release. A
man called Vargg from Finland walked into the bar, to head straight for the table
in the middle of the room. He opened his jacket and withdrew a large Magnum 44
pistol with a nine inch barrel. He screamed in rage aiming the gun at Gant,
simultaneously a dozen pistols and a four or more rifles and machine guns were
aimed at the ragged looking man. Safety catches clicked off and time moved in
slow motion. Gant threw his half empty beer bottle at the tall Finn and sprung
from his chair, upending it. With a speed of a leopard and the tact of a fox,
Gant saw his bottle glance from the other man’s arm momentarily startling him.
Vargg fired a single shot that sped over Gant and hit a mirror above the bar,
shattering it. The old speckled mirror advertising John Smith’s beer was no
more. Gant was on Vargg, immediately slamming a straight left, followed up by a
double right, into the gunman’s head sending him staggering back four paces,
more punches followed reducing his face to a bloody mess, a snap filled the bar
when his nose broke. A snap kick into Vargg’s stomach doubled the attacker up;
raising his left knee Gant held onto Vargg’s dirty hair and slammed his head
down fracturing his cheek bone. Six more punches followed as the Finn stood
holding his gun, he tried to swing it round onto Gant but Gant was right on top
of him, in front of him almost in an embrace. He looked into slightly lesser
evil eyes and smiled; speaking in Finnish he whispered words of death to the
other man, an understanding passed between the two and Gant thrust a small
three inch blade knife into Vargg’s stomach and whipped it across, up and down.
Vargg staggered back, dropping the Magnum and bringing up his hands to cover
the fatal wound. Gant stepped back waiting for Vargg’s counterattack. A Finnish
right hook missed, a side kick caught Gant on the right thigh sending him back
a step but spilling half of Vargg’s
intestines onto the floor from his sliced open stomach, blood, guts,
food and shit splashed onto the floor. Several tough men were physically sick
as this horrendous sight. Vargg slowly collapsed to the floor. Gant circled him
never taking his eyes off the dying man, picked up the Magnum and aimed it at
Vargg. Gant kicked the Finn in the head and shouted: “Don’t ever do this again
you fucking idiot, I’m the fuckin’ daddy round here! You got that?”
“Fuck you,
you stinking dog!” Vargg said in broken English.
“Say sorry
you son of a bitch! Or I’ll kill you right now, you got it? Have you?”
“Okay, okay!
I’m sorry, I’m ever so sorry…” Vargg stammered in hideous pain.
“Hey lads do
you hear that? He apologised, I kicked his arse, I won!” the victor shouted,
eyes wide with joy and bloodlust. Gant always won.
“Kill him!
End his bloody life!” a fellow thug from near the bar shouted.
“Do it now,
go on Gant. Blow him away!”
“I wanna see
you wipe him out!”
“Use his own
gun on him, fuck him up!” the shouts went on and on, ending with: Bang! Bang!
Bang! Three shots to the head blew it from the Finn’s shoulders, leaving a
bloody stump jetting blood onto the sawdust filled floor. Gant bellowed in
happiness turning red, jumping up and down on the spot, “Yea! Yeah! I’m the
daddy, I’m the daddy! I killed the tosser, I won! Fuckin’ A man!”
Gant returned
to the table, picking up a new bottle of beer and drinking the contents in one,
he threw the empty bottle at the steaming corpse and picked up a new bottle,
taking half of it back. He shouted to the scantily clad barmaid behind the bar,
“Hey Tracy catch! Put Vargg’s gun on the wall in place of the broken mirror, it
deserves pride of place in our pub.”
She caught
the weapon and replied, “Will do boss! Good kill! I’ll bring some more beer
over for you and the boys.”
“Good lass
Trace!” Gant thanked her.
“No problem.
You want the mess cleaning up?”
“Yea please
lass.”
“Right then.
Hey, I want two volunteers to clean this crap up. And I mean now!” Tracy
bellowed. Ten men leapt to the chore, falling over one another to gain favour
with the bargirl. She picked two men at random to move the body and clean up
the detritus of battle.
The bar
calmed down after the assassin was thwarted. Gant told his mates why the Finn
had tried to kill him. It was a row over his sister, who Gant relieved of her
virginity and impregnated with his sperm, soiling the girl with foreign blood
bringing disgrace to her family and kin. This was when Gant was abroad on an
intelligence mission, stealing plans on new powderless machine pistols that
fired ten thousand rounds a minute. This part of the mission was successful.
The Finn tracked him back but failed in his plot to kill Gant, giving Gant more
power, respect and credibility amongst the thugs in his bar, a good thing in
anyone’s eyes. Had Gant expected trouble or did he think his actions would go
unpunished, due to who he was and what he stood for? One further enemy was
eliminated; more plans could be made on illegal schemes, protection rackets,
drug sales and a dozen other shady acts.
Blood started
oozing out of Andrew’s wound dripping onto the floor; he looked down and swore,
slowly moving his damaged arm. The morphine had worn off causing some
discomfort, not even twelve bottles of 15% beer dulled the pain and it was time
for the operation. Gant spoke, “Andrew it’s time for the op, we need to get that
idiot’s bullet out of your arm. Hey, Tracy come and help us, get Tanya to take
over serving the beer!”
“Okay boss,
I’ll go and get Tanya from the back. I’ll bring up what we need for Andrew,”
Tracy said, serving a drunken skinhead a bottle of beer. She disappeared into
the back room, returning five minutes with Tanya who took over the bar. Walking
over to the table, Tracy placed a large tray gently down with sealed packages
on it containing knives, scalpels, wipes, swabs, antiseptic, anaesthetic and
other things. She took two rubber gloves from the tray and opened the packet
putting them on. “Okay lads bend over! Cavity search time!” she joked. Drunken
laughter echoed across the bar.
“I need
Andrew sat by the large table over there,” she indicated to her left to a
massive oak table, “so I can have a look and take the bullet out and repair the
wound.”
“Okay Tracy,
no problem,” Gant replied. To Andrew he said, “Okay mate doctors and nurses
time. I need you over by the table over there to get that shot out of your
arm.”
“I’ll go
there now. I want it fixing, it hurts like fuck now!” Andrew painfully replied,
slowly getting up to move. Tracy held his good arm, guiding him to a nice comfy
leather armchair by the large table. She sat her patient down and returned for
the tray. Tracy slowly cut away the bloody bandage to look at the wound,
removing the bandage to see more clearly – a single bullet wound at the front
of his upper right arm, nice and round but heavily clotted with dried blood.
New blood ran past this. There was no entry wound so the bullet was still in
there; she had to remove it and check the bone. Gently she injected two
morphine syringes to kill the pain and lessen the discomfort to Andrew, waiting
five minutes for it to take hold, during this time talking to him to reassure
him that everything was okay. He had to be calm for this, the alcohol in his
system actually helped calm him and relax his body but she had to be quick.
Removing a scalpel from a sealed packet, she cut away the skin around the hole
to look into Andrew’s arm peering into the bullet path, at torn muscle and
burnt flesh from the heat of the round. She looked for a few minutes, gauging
the wound and then she located the 9mm bullet lodged by the bone, luckily it
hadn’t broken or shattered the bone making her job easier. First she sterilised
the wound with strong antiseptic solution. Then got a pair of sterilised small
forceps and reached into the wound, holding them with one hand while holding
gauze with the other to stop the slow but steady blood loss. Gently she grasped
the bullet and removed it from the injury, ever so slowly until it was free.
With a plonk she dropped it into a kidney shaped metal tray, holding gauze over
the wound she announced: “Hey lads! I got the bullet, I got it! Andrew will be
okay, the bone isn’t damaged. I have to stitch up the wound now.”
“Well done
girl, you did well,” Gerald drunkenly rejoiced. The other lads smiled and
murmured amongst themselves, this was still a dodgy time, anything could go
wrong still.
Tracy worked
methodically stitching up torn muscle, tissue, skin and a delicate vein that
took twenty minutes and wouldn’t stop bleeding, causing her some private
concern. Finally she did it, placing the last bloody bit of gauze into a
disposable bag. She wiped the wound clean with antiseptic sterilising it to
lessen the chances of infection, followed by dressing the wound in a light bandage
and a sling to keep it immobile. She finished just in time because Andrew
needed to take a piss. In this she assisted as he was still drunk and only had
one working hand, she took pride in her own work and at the size of his penis,
remembering how many times she had enjoyed it. There were no secrets here in
The Slug bar; everyone was family helping and supporting one another. Returning
to the bar from the urinals, Tracy slowly led Andrew over to his three friends.
“He needs to rest now; I’d advise not travelling back to his place in his
state. He can use the spare room out back. The wound will be sore and he needs
to rest till his strength returns and his wound heals, plus you all need to
look after him. No more mad exploits for a bit,” Tracy said.
“Okay we
agree with that,” Gant replied. With that the night wound down, the gangster
boys went their own ways and the bar closed. Another good day of business at
The Slug, Renford’s premier hoodlums bar.
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Other gangs
of boys formed groups in Renford: for safety in numbers, for support in the
many crises that dogged the town from one day to the next, to working with
rival gangs, fighting them and running a hundred and one illegal rackets.
Protection was one of the biggest earners with individuals, businesses and
other organisations paying to be “looked after”, what this resulted in was
peace of mind. Those who didn’t pay were warned by smart well groomed men in
suits, if that didn’t work, a brick through the window led to the premises
being fire bombed, machine gunned or blown up. Individual’s received a similar
visit, if this failed then they were knee capped or had their legs broken by
masked men who couldn’t be traced, like they never existed and the injured
party just slipped on the soap in the shower. Gant ran the largest racket. He
didn’t collect the payment; this was delegated to lesser characters than
himself working their way up the gangster chain of command. The attacks on
premises were carried out by keen young angry thugs, as were assaults on
individuals. When it went wrong Gant or one of his boys had to discreetly sort
it out. This often involved the actual attacker being taught a lesson to give
him one more chance or simply him/her disappearing (it was an equal
opportunities job).
Most of the
people who lived in Renford were local or displaced citizens, like Gerald who
after getting out of jail stayed with Gant and co. If he went back to
independent Wales he would be put to death brutally, for aiding the English
gangs as an example to anyone else who wanted to live the gangster life style
hand in hand with the enemy. A feudal society spread all over the mainland of
England, Scotland and Wales, a land like the Middle Ages with death, disease
and lots of deadly radiation poison blanketing the land. Guns and ammunition
were in plentiful supply, as were vicious wicked people with a death wish and
the will to use weapons. Several generations had fighting experience, whole
families that survived thrived on decades of fighting, killing, violence and
gangster style behaviour. Of this, Gant’s family was an example, his mother was
a weapons dealer with contacts ranging into the Irish Republic to Libya to the
Continent (excluding France which was destroyed). She armed her son with the
latest and deadliest weapons, explosives, knives and other evil tools, in turn
Gant passed some to his group, sold to others and kept some as a healthy
reserve just in case big trouble kicked off. She was born into a working class
family in the decades following the civil war, nuclear war with France and the
fall back to a medieval society, this toughened up Gant’s mother. Her husband
was an idle drunkard who didn’t want to know about Gant, his mother Sheila told
her son when he was five that daddy was dead, it was better than explain the
awful truth that surrounded the man she once thought she had loved. He had gone
to fight a group of people in the Cornwall area of the country, which was the
last his ex-wife had heard of him for twelve years until one day he returned.
He tried to make it up to his forsaken family but it was all in vain, Gant had
a nervous breakdown after seeing his father who was alive and hideously wounded
from his Cornish battles. A psychotic episode followed in which Gant shot dead
his own father in cold blood after years of lies came out, at how upset and
inconsolable his once strong willed mother once was. He grabbed a gun and
emptied the entire magazine of sixteen rounds into his absent father’s face
then dragged the body into the front garden, poured cooking oil on it and set
it alight. For nine hours he stayed there watching the body burn, his mother
wept indoors on the edge of an even bigger mental breakdown. Burying the
blackened shrunken skeleton under a dead rose bush Gant returned inside with a
face like thunder, he was a man now who vowed never to end up like his father –
he would look after his mother no matter what. He didn’t even know the name of
the man he had just murdered, he never wanted to know and he blocked this evil
act out of his mind. Illegal actions would be the forte of his life. Gant set
up a network of boys early on in his late teens to do dug dealing, street
robberies, selling knives (Gant had sold knives to forty year old men when he
was eight years old), attacks for money, sabotaging the English army’s
communications and many other shady jobs.
Gant had a
sister called Clair who was a prostitute for her main income. He found out
about this when he walked in on her with a client in her small box room in the
house, of all the places Gant angrily thought, loading his pistol and aiming it
at the man who cowered in terror trying to hide behind Clair. Gant let the man
run into the street with his jeans around his ankles, before shooting him in
each buttock cheek. Falling to the floor, the man crawled into the gutter expecting
execution that never came. Without medical treatment the man would die from
infection and gangrene before the week was out. Gant returned to his sister’s
room to have a talk with her, either stop this wicked profession because you’re
family or get out and never come back. Mum and I don’t want you doing this, you
can leave home or work for me, what is it to be?
He gave her
five minutes to clean herself up and give an answer. Yes she would work for her
brother doing illegal work, especially when the skills of a woman were needed.
Yes she would be part of her brother’s illegal business in ways that were yet
to be determined; Clair could make new contacts with any woman led groups.
These were few in number but key leaders in their field, one such group being
The Sisters of Renford who controlled prostitution in the east of the city,
backed up by all female pimps – Gant warned his sister not to join them as a
pro or even a gun armed pimp, only establishing contact with them in case any
trading deals came up.
Gant was
working on putting a whole new set of schemes together including: ringers -
stolen English army four wheel drive vehicles with a new identity so they would
pass off as original to everybody, even on the English army computers; making a
new range of chemical made holistic drugs that mirrored the effects of the natural
Devil Snail plant, ten times stronger and easily addictable; in a lock up unit
the illegal manufacturing of English army coins to use in the stores on various
English army bases (these coins were only ever issued to English army soldiers
for sole use in the base stores). Other lesser cash earners included Gant
becoming a personal trainer for specific things like information concerning his
rivals or for a weapon that he could trade, like a single pistol and ammo to a
guided missile system. A dozen other illegal ideas formulated in the depths of
Gant’s brain, how many would see the light of day? He mused over the taking
over of a complete English army base, a fortified one would be fun, if it had a
prison that would provide him with willing manpower to give support against the
army. Crims would love to get payback, when Gant took the base using English
army vehicles that were ringers after infiltrating it and becoming a presence there
for a couple of days. This would include buying crappy porno mags in the base
shop with the fake coins, springing the prisoners and defeating the base from
within. That was pure genius; one of Gant’s bigger idea if he chose to do it.
Nothing definite, it was back up in case his other schemes failed. It was his
decision.
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