GANGSTER FRIGHT

GANGSTER FRIGHT

Late summer, 2058. Renford was known for its violence and underworld dealings, it was a town of street wars, gangs, gangsters, drugs and guns. A lawless town in the north of England, near the Scottish frontier, it was the gun that ruled absolutely; freshly dug graves testified to that. A freshly dug grave by the side of the road marked the site of a new victim in this game of death. On the small roughly made wooden cross by the head of the grave hung a sign, in quickly scrawled childish hand writing it said: “Justice For Daddy.”

What led to this still warm corpse, riddled with bullets, to lie here now? Who wrote the heart breaking words? Who killed him? And why? Of the dozens of acts of violence that went down, this is one such action left a man dead, his wife a widow and his children without a dad. This is the story.

It was June, a time of hot weather with temperatures touching forty degrees in the shade. People were short tempered and lost it for the most trivial reasons, gun shots and screams regularly echoed down the dilapidated streets. Two twin black brothers named Zeke and Val, inseparable and impossible to tell apart, were doing a drug deal with their Nepalese friend, Zinn.

 “Zinn my man! This is the best Rockford Rock there is, made in our secret lab. Test the product, you’ll like it; it’s pure, a hundred percent. We haven’t cut it. You can do that and triple your profits. All we want it twelve grand for the lot. What do you say?” explained Zeke, winking to his twin Val. Two pairs of deep brown eyes flashed with self gain and deviousness, a pair of blue eyes weighed up the offer.

“Yes. Yes, we have a deal. Myself, I think ten or eleven grand for your Rock but twelve is fine,” replied Zinn. His light brown features became tense, he frowned working out details in his quick mind. Did he smell a rat or even two? No, I think the twins can be trusted, this time. Maybe I can rip them off, not the other way round?

Val chipped in, “Good then, we can arrange a meet and exchange the drugs for credits.”

“Yes, let me think...” Zinn commented, looking into space.

“We can meet at...” Zeke was about to interrupt.

“Be quiet! I’m thinking!” shouted Zinn, annoyed. “The old gothic club in town, you know the one?”

“Yes we know it. What do you want to meet there for?” asked Val, confused. He wondered if the Asian man would try anything dodgy, his previous deals had been fine but one could never tell. Better make sure.

“Why? Why do you think?” challenged the Nepalese gangster, grinning. He gave little away.

“You tell us Einstein,” whispered Zeke enquired his voice full of menace. His Negro features were a mask, very scary and equally convincing.

“Coz no one goes there, it’s been empty for years and we won’t be bothered there. No one will bother us and we can be in and out in minutes. That’s why. Now do you understand why we’ll meet there?” explained Zinn, as if speaking to a child. He wasn’t intimidated by either of the six foot four twins; being five foot nine himself didn’t faze him. Fighting and weapons were a Nepalese way of life.

“Okay then. We know the club and will see you there, say 11PM on Sunday night? Don’t forget the credits, all twelve thousand of them,” Zeke replied, smiling dangerously. He looked over to his brother who backed him up; Val nodded.

“Right then, we’ve got a trade,” the smaller man confirmed. He fastened his black leather jacket, was he cold or was it something else?

“Here Zinn, take the sample. It’s on the house,” Val said, throwing a Rock to the other who caught it.

“Thanks. I’ll take it later. I know its top grade drugs.”

“Bet your arse it is. See you on Sunday,” both twins spoke as one.                                                                               -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Sunday night, the old gothic club. A slim man of medium height waited in the shadows. Under his jacket he had a weapon; would he use it? He was early, his mother taught him punctuality was a must and to make an impression always arrive early, no matter what the event or who he was meeting. So he was a quarter of an hour early from the arranged time, he’d walked around the outside of the club before and knew the layout by heart. There was only one way in or out, the rest were securely bricked up. Through his infra red glasses he saw movement and reached into his jacket, his weapon was pointed at whatever it was. Being some distance away, he couldn’t tell what it was – it came into view! Only a rat, a big fat feral rat. Like my ex girlfriend! Thought Zinn, his mind ultra alert, ready for anything.

Both twins crept up the dark street wary of being seen; their dark clothing helped hide them, as did their black skin. Only their eyes and teeth would have been visible but balaclavas and dark glasses hid them, it was like they weren’t there – they were black ghosts. A block of buildings appeared out of the gloom, huge and menacing; anything could be in there. That was their destination.                                                                                                                                            

Almost time, gotta be ready now. We meet, they show me the goods. I show them my currency and we swap. But before we swap I take their Renford Rocks and run like fuck after throwing a stun grenade. Their drugs will be mine and I’ll keep hold of my cash, Zinn plotted and planned. Zeke and Val would be on their way.

“There’s the door. Over on the left, it should be unlocked. Zinn stole a key,” quietly commented Val, never taking his eyes off the road or the doorway. His hand remained in his pocket fingering the 9mm pistol. It was ready to use and the safety was clicked, “ON”.

“I see it. Cover my back while I see if it’s open,” ordered Zeke. He put on a pair of black gloves to leave no prints. Walking confidently over, he kept his left hand in his pocket and his right reached up for the dirty brass handle on the door. Stopping, he looked left and right, happy no one was about he touched the handle. Slowly turning it he felt resistance, stopping he tried again with more resistance; this time the door creaked and swung open allowing the two gangsters to enter.

Zinn heard a faint click and saw the door open, after a few seconds two dark figures, both dressed in black. Aiming his gun at them he locked his eyes upon them, one closed the door while the other advanced into the dark cavern which was once a gothic night club. Gotta do this right, if they smell a rat I’m a dead man!

“Over here guys. Over here!” shouted Zinn in a commanding voice, his words cutting through the darkness. A beating of wings indicated startled pigeons. Rats with wings!

Both Negro men ducked and raised their pistols threateningly, it was obvious they hadn’t seen Zinn but if they opened fire, a stray bullet could hit him.

“Where are you?” shouted Zeke, his eyes struggling in the near total darkness. He took off his shades and placed them in his pocket.

“Speak up man!” added Val, “We’ve got your goods.”                                                                           Silence fell like a dark shroud, filling the club with shadows and spectres of what if? Suddenly a voice replied: “I’m here!”

It was Zinn! He stepped from out behind an ornately decorated gothic pillar, his night glasses gave him a near daylight view of the two blind men. Popping a small pencil flare, he threw it onto the dirty marble floor. It took a second to ignite in a hiss of smoke and pink flame; eerie shadows danced over the walls and ceiling. He put his night vision goggles in his pocket.

“Now you can see me. You got it?” enquired the small Nepal man, gun in hand.

“Here mate, in this bag,” replied Val, holding up a brown paper bag of something. Was it the drugs?

“You got the currency? All twelve grand of it?” added Zeke, always backing his twin brother up.

“Right here guys, right here,” answered Zinn, tapping his pocket that did held the gold leaf currency, all twelve thousand units of it in value. He slowly walked over to the twins and lowered his pistol, a sign of trust and compliance in their trade.

Both twins lowered their weapons but kept hold of them, just in case! The swap could now go ahead.

“Let’s trade Zinn and get it over with, then we can leave this ruin of a joint,” whispered Zeke.

Val nodded, “Coz I’ve got some Scottish pussy to fuck later.”

“Okay guys, okay. Let me see the Rocks first,” Zinn spoke, smiling.

“Sure thing man, we wanna see some currency. All of it,” Val said, opening up his bag and taking out a white parcel. It looked like the drug but was it?

“Toss it over and let me look,” Zinn asked. He caught the package when it was thrown by the black man. Opening it and smelling it, taking in the sweet almond smell confirmed it was Renford Rock, the most kick ass drug ever made. And the most valuable.

“Right, you can see your currency, all of it right now.” Reaching into his pocket Zinn took out the shiny gold leaf that was tightly wrapped and bound in string and clear plastic. In the light of the flare it sparkled like some alien exotic jewel, not belonging here for some unknown higher reason.

“Right you’ve got our currency, toss it over,” ordered Zeke. He looked over to Val for back up.

You can have the rest of the drugs then once we have our payment. Then our trade is done,” added the other twin, smiling a smile of hate and self greed.

“Okay man, coming right up,” hissed Zinn, playing his ace card. His other hand reached into his jacket pocket and found the small grenade, clicking the top off arming it he threw it in-between both black men and dropped to the floor. Nothing happened at first but when the bomb went off it created hell; then silence and darkness descended.

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Hours later when both men woke up from the concussion grenade, their former friend and business partner from Nepal had gone; so had their drugs and guns. They had been ripped off! Of all the things to happen, Zeke had carefully planned and gone through with an operation to rip his two friends and trading partners off – Zeke and Val.

“Yo! Bro, you okay? I can’t see anything, it’s too dark!” complained Val, trying to see in the darkness.

“Fuck that, that arsehole Zinn ripped us off! He took our drugs and never paid us. We gotta get out of here and get even with the tosser,” Zeke explained. “Damn! My head hurts from that concussion grenade the bastard threw.”

“Yes you’re right bro. We gotta get even with Zinn. He was a cunning cunt with the grenade and robbing us. I can’t see anything, it’s so bloody dark!” replied the other twin, standing up and fumbling around with his hands outstretched. “Where’s the damn door?”

“Where’s my stupid gun?” shouted Zeke angrily. Now it dawned on him their weapons had gone too.

“Is it on the floor? Check for it with your hands,” ordered Val, bending down and feeling the floor for his gun. He found nothing.

“Sod this! We gotta get out of this joint. The longer we leave it, the more chance Zinn has of getting away with his stunt. Come on, we gotta bust the door open!”

“I’m with you bro, I’m with you!”

Both black men left the futile search for their guns and began looking for the door; this was easier said than done in the dark club. After many minutes of stumbling, swearing and tripping over hell knew what, Val found the door. It was locked from the outside. He called his brother over and they decided what to do.

“Run at the door with your left shoulder, it should rip it off the hinges. When you’re through remember to roll onto the ground so if Zinn is waiting, he will shoot high and miss you. I’ll be right behind you,” Zeke briefed Val.

Val sized the door up in the dark; it opened outwards and would break with a good shove. Was Zinn outside, waiting? Time to find out. In true gangster style, Val took a deep breath and ran five metres through the dark until he collided with the black painted wooden door. His left shoulder slammed into the wood like an express train into a bull on the tracks, a huge splintering crack echoed through the empty building. The door simply popped off its hinges and fell into the street, the lock bust in two. Val flew into the road and remembered to roll awkwardly in mid-air; he landed on the road with a heavy thud. He kept low on the damp ground.

Zeke looked out into the daylight from the dark entrance; he saw the door on the street and his brother lying down. No gunfire came towards them, that sneaky Nepalese man must have done a runner hours ago. Yea man, it’s safe. That nob Zinn has fled the scene. Good job, he’s gone or I’d kill him with my own bare hands, slowly!

“Come on man! We gotta go and get some more guns and track down that thieving Zinn. We got a score to settle!” Val muttered to his brother, who had now left the dark club.

“Yes, you’re right; we’ll go to the Whitey and get some new shooters. We’ll need some wheels too,” Zeke confirmed.

Both black twins walked down the middle of the deserted street, away from the failed drug deal to get their revenge.

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Whitey got his name because he was an albino Negro. With white skin and white blond hair, his eyes lacked pigment so he looked like a robot with his crystal vision; it never failed to scare his opponents into submission. He always dressed in white – a stunning white leather trench coat, white jeans and white training shoes; no one matched his cool style or looks. Mesmerizing them to death! He had a joint in the south of Renford, guarded by his thugs who were paid in drug credits and armed to the teeth. He wasn’t too happy when the twins showed up, angry wanting revenge and new guns and a car.

“How come that midget Nepalese jerk got one up on you two? Look at the size of you both and there were two of you, armed and dangerous!” screamed the white black man in disgust.

“Yes we know this! We want revenge; it’s why we came here. We need more guns and a ringer that can’t be traced. You going to help us?” hissed Zeke in annoyance of being reminded of recent events.

“Yes or no?” said Val.

“Yes, I will help you. Only coz it’s my artillery that will bring the Nepalese man down. That’ll bring me more respect and more trade in guns. Come, join me in basement to pick your weapons,” Whitey explained, his wicked grin revealing a set of perfectly capped gold teeth. Business was good!

“Show us the guns then,” Val urged, following the boss man into the building and down some steep Iron stairs.

“No problem Val, you’ll like what you see.”

“How do we pay you?” Zeke asked, in a neutral voice.

“Let’s just say you owe me one. I’ll loan you the guns and when I need a favour, I’ll call it in, that okay?”

“Yes, that’s fine,” Val told the drugs/arms baron.

“Okay then, we have a deal. Pick your weapons and ammo then.”

In the small dimly lit room before the three men were a mad man’s treasure trove of weapons and death. Dozens of rifles, shot guns, machine pistols and ammo lined the walls. All shiny and clean, looking brand new.

“We want smaller stuff. Hand guns, where are they?” Val asked, excited at the prospect of violence.

“In the locker and crate by the wall over there,” Whitey pointed with an albino finger.

Zeke walked over and carefully moved a lid; inside were twenty pistols and revolvers. With boxes of new ammunition. Val joined him.

“This will do, a Luger nine millimetre pistol. We only need this one between us and some ammo,” Val commented.

“Yes one gun between us both. Coz we do everything together,” Zeke added.

“Okay then, just the Luger and ammo. I believe the customer is always right,” whispered Whitey.

Now both brothers had a new gun, soon they would use it.

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Zinn celebrated his robbery of his two mates, his twelve grand of gold currency was still in his possession and not exchanged for a large amount of Renford Rocks. He’d trade the drugs himself and pocket even more currency and become more powerful and a top drug dealer. If and when the twins came looking for him, he’d shoot them down dead thus solving that little problem. Zinn was at home with his family, he’d just put his kids to bed and popped open a bottle of Orange Champagne to treat his wife. Out side a noise came through the armoured glass of his small house. What the hell is that?

Zeke kept the engine running in the antique gun metal colour BMW 11 Series. He still couldn’t believe they were using this antique German car; it was over forty years old but still looked new. Their Luger pistol was closer to a hundred and fifty years and worked like a dream, now it was about to be used in anger! Looking over Zeke, saw Val lift a huge concrete paving slab up and hurl it at Zinn’s wife’s electric car outside their house. The slab landed with a bang. That better get their attention!

Val gave Zeke a thumb’s up sign and grinned immediately after chucking the slab onto the thin fibreglass bonnet of the small electric car. He looked at his handy work; the slab had totally smashed the bonnet and disappeared into the battery compartment. His hand moved to his pocket, caressing the small Luger pistol he watched Zinn’s family home for movement and withdrew the gun. There! A curtain quickly moved and a head appeared, too quick to tell who it was. Safety catch off, not long now. When the door opens and Zinn is there I’ll blow him away!

Zinn opened his front door to see what the commotion was about, totally forgetting his own safety or his family’s. He stood framed by the hallway light and struggled to see what was going on in the dark road way, he could see a car and a figure stood there. What the hell was this? Then it came to him, it was his former friend and now enemy, Zeke or Val! Turning to close the door and get a weapon Zinn wasn’t nearly quick enough.

Val aimed his antique pistol with ease, lining up on his target that was well framed by the light. He fired three shots in rapid succession, Bang! Bang! Bang! It was amazing how quickly the old gun fired and how loud the gun shots were, echoing over the roof tops of Renford and down the empty road. Looking to see if Zinn was hit, Val saw he was well and truly down on the floor and out of the fight. Val kept his gun on target, just in case. No more bullets were necessary; his enemy was down, most probably dead or fatally wounded. Payback for ripping the drug deal off.

Zeke revved the turbo charged engine aggressively, feeling the thrill of power; he saw his brother aim and fire the gun. Seconds later Val grinned madly and leapt into the car, slamming the door. Without hesitation Zeke engaged the gears and accelerated their BMW down the narrow one way street, leaving the murder scene and dying friend. He loved the feel of the car, feeling the back end bow down when the turbo kicked in when they sped past fifty miles per hour. What a fucking machine!

“Help! Help! My husband has been shot!” screamed a woman from open bullet proof window.

“Help! Somebody please help me!” her cries and screams brought help. Sadly it was far too late; she knew it and her life had changed forever. In her confused shattered mind, she thought she recognised the gun man. No it couldn’t have been one of the twins? Surely not? What have you done my dear Zinn to be shot? Why? My poor dear husband, WHY!

A white man in black gothic clothing rushed over to the screaming woman. He had to shout to be heard over her screams. “What has happened?”

“My husband, he’s been shot. Help me! Please!” the lady screamed, almost incoherently.

“The back door, use the back door. Quick. Call an ambulance!”

Entering the back door the gothic man saw a scene from hell; an Asian man lying on the floor in sports gear and another older man next to him trying to help. Children were crying and the woman who must have been the wife, who had pleaded for help, she was hysterical. Reaching for his small digital radio, he keyed in his security code and was put through to the Frontier Corps Head Quarters in the old town hall.

“We’ve got a shooting. A man down, send the van to give assistance. Put the Corps on alert, we may have another incident. Looks like the gun men have escaped in some type of old German estate car. Hurry, we need emergency assistance immediately. Put an armed guard on the ambulance and alert the Corps to set up road blocks and look for the car. I’ll call through more info if you need it. Goth Boy out,” the white man told the Frontier Corps control officer.

“Did you call an ambulance? Did you? How long will it be?” shouted the sobbing wife, losing control in this awfully desperate situation.

“Yes I called; they’ll be a few minutes. What happened?” he replied, feeling his own emotions lose control. This was a bad situation, what if the gun men came back to kill any witnesses? Luckily more people were coming out of their homes, onto the street and into the small house where Zinn and his small family lived. Why is Renford so violent? This is another pointless murder, how can we ever stop this lawlessness in Renford? I’ve only been working with the Frontier Corps for a month and I see this. Awful.

Goth Boy left the house for some fresh air and waited for the emergency team to arrive in their armoured van. He’d stay and make a statement, for what good it’d do. He’d be delayed going to his favourite pub but duty was duty. He heard faint sirens approach and sighed. So much for a peaceful night.

“Mind Fright”

I’d been out to the pub on my own I came back early, it was one of those nights. I walked up the main road a little drunk. It was then I heard a car, it sped away so very fast – getaway? Briefly I saw it, gone. Seconds later I heard two bangs, fireworks? No pretty sky light display screams! I heard screams of, “Help! Help! My husband’s been shot!”  My drunkenness shoved aside like an unwelcome friend I rushed to the house, got in the back door saw a scene from hell. Why did fate pick me? Why did fate pick me to see a man dying from a gunshot wound one metre from me? Why did fate allow this to happen? I don’t care what he had done no one deserves death by firearm. Blown away they call it. There was nothing I could do, I felt so helpless. I called the medics; silly woman on the phone did stress me out! That night everything changed forever, the last of my innocence died when I tried to help a shocked wife who’s now a widow with her two kids. I wish I could have done more but I feel I failed, being a witness to a dying man’s life, an end. I’ll place flowers at her gate to remember an awful night that washed away my petty problems. Why did a man die?