Dad put his hand on my shoulder. “Artie, I’ve known Alexei and Sergei for years. This is a gentlemen’s meeting. That’s all. No need for fucking soldiers.” He put his hand on my face. “Son, you need to stop being so fucking dire about everything. We might live a fucked-up life, but there’s a code to it all. Morals in our own messed-up ways.”
“Things change,” I warned.
“Artie. Enough.”
With that they walked into the warehouse. Me and my boys moved in front of the warehouse doors to stand watch. It was raining; the sky was drizzly and fucking grey, a smoky mist hovering over the ground. The few lampposts scattered around the dock gave off hardly any light in the fog.
I pulled out a cig and sparked it up. I took a long drag, trying to listen to whatever was happening inside. “We’re going to get fucking drenched out here,” Eric complained, cupping his hands and blowing hot breath into them. “I’m freezing my massive bollocks off.”
“The only gangster in London who can be defeated by the cold,” Charlie said, smirking at Eric. Eric held up his middle finger.
The sound of raised voices inside suddenly made me tense. I locked eyes with Freddie beside me. His face told me he didn’t like the sound of this either. Each of my brothers closed in around me, listening out. Just as my hand moved to the doorknob to get us inside, sounds of gunfire split through the night like fucking blitzkrieg bombs.
I threw the door open and rushed inside, to see our old men taking fire from semi-automatics, blood and flesh ripping from their torsos as the cunts before them pumped lead into their bodies.
Red mist descended over my eyes. I pulled out my gun and started firing. I ran forward, not giving two shits about the Russians firing right at us. Bullet after bullet left my barrel and sliced through Red flesh, ripping into hearts and livers and lungs, dropping the fuckers to the ground. I kept firing. I walked forward, not caring about the bullet that grazed my right bicep. I got as close to these pricks as I could, pressing my barrel to their heads and splattering their brains up the old warehouse walls.
I heard my brothers’ guns firing too. Saw Vinnie slicing through the Reds’ throats and hearts with his knives, saw Freddie and Eric firing their revolvers at a fast pace. My cousin slit the throat of the final standing man, blood dripping down Charlie’s face and neck, crimson coating his hands.
I could hear my breath pumping in my ears. Feel my fucking heart pounding in my chest. I scanned the room, seeing every one of the Russians drowning in their own blood. Like it was in fucking slow motion, I saw my brothers run to their old men, dropping to their knees.
Eric pulled his father into his arms. I watched as he threw his head back and screamed. Uncle Bill’s eyes were wide open and his chest housed a fuck-off hole, blood pouring to the ground.
Gone.
Charlie was bent over Uncle Trevor, his forehead pressed against his father’s. Charlie’s arms shook as Uncle Trevor stared unseeing at the ceiling. Charlie shook him, but there was no life left in his body.
Gone.
Vinnie stood over his dad. His shoulder-length blond hair was slicked with red. His hands and white shirt were coated with his father’s blood. “Dad,” he said, his voice barely loud enough to break through the ringing in my ears. “Dad! Get up!” he shouted. But when I looked down, Uncle Winston was in the fucking worst state of them all. Half his head was missing; another bullet had shattered his cheek, collapsing his face. “Dad, fucking get up!” Vinnie shouted, his cheeks reddening and his neck bulging with veins.
Vinnie crouched down and lifted Uncle Winston in his arms. “Save him,” he said to me. It was the thing to make me fucking slam back into the here and now. “Artie. Save him for me. Please.”
“I … I …” I couldn’t fucking finish off my words. Charlie was suddenly beside me. I looked at my cousin, then followed his blank eyes. My shocked stare locked on Freddie, who was carrying my dad.
“He’s still got a pulse!” Freddie said urgently, streams of tears cutting track marks through the blood on his cheeks. “Arthur, he’s still fucking alive! Quick!”
Like my heart had been stabbed with a shot of adrenaline, I grabbed my dad and ran for the van. “Get them and let’s go!” I shouted. I laid Dad down on the bench seat and didn’t even look up as my brothers put their dads’ bodies in the back too.
“Fucking drive!” I shouted to the driver and pressed my hand over my dad’s chest to try and stop the blood. “Freddie, ring the doc. Tell him he needs to be at the church in the next five minutes or I’ll fucking slit his throat.” My dad’s face was white, the blood draining from his body. I wanted him to open his eyes. I wanted him to speak and say that this shitshow was going to be okay. But he stayed silent. He fucking stayed silent.