Chapter 7
FRANKIE
My heavy feet sink into the slurry that’s gathered on the pavement.
Cora’s big blue eyes and sunny side up convictions follow me all the way to the boxing club in my mind's eye. I hate leaving her there more than having her here. I thought I was going to have a fucking heart attack when I heard that weak little knock of hers. Then she took my breath away and melted my icy demeanour within seconds. I’d wanted to crumble there and then, to get on my knees and hug her tightly as I begged for her to save me.
But pulling her in would be cruel. She deserves better than me, that’s the god's honest truth. Not that I’m even sure she feels the same way as me.
Her body language tells me yes, but her carefully spoken, golden words are less than direct.
She’s my sister's best friend and therefore off limits.
My lips curl up into a ghost of a smile at the thought of Lou scolding me for shagging her best mate.
I wish she were here, she always knows what to do.
Guilt clangs through my body and threatens to spill out of me in a harsh scream.
I squeeze my hands harder into the fists that ball in my jacket pockets.
The open wounds on my knuckles burn from the tight squeeze, but it’s not enough. I haven't been punished enough.
I let out a cold icy breath, the air from my lungs twisting into thin wisps of smoke in front of my face.
Blowing off some steam tonight would do me good, and I’m going to the best place for it.
The boxing club was the only place I’d ever class as a home, and although I haven't visited in almost a year, I can’t help the burst of excitement I feel at the thought of pummeling some random cunt.
But I can’t let it distract me, which is a shame because my head is always clearer after a fight.
No, I have to go in there with all the swagger and confidence that befits my ancestral name and find out where Lou is.
As well as try to squash whatever rebellion the Russians are no doubt plotting behind my back.
Flashes of my sister's bruised and bloody face play on repeat in my head. I haven't told Zach about that just yet. I’m eager to prove myself to him despite my earlier reservations. I need to try one more time to get these old cunts on my side and spill all of Oscar’s secrets. One of them has to know who A is.
None of my dad’s old comrades have tried to hide their disappointment in me. Whenever I call to check in or visit their territories to get a closer look at the complex operation we run, they start playing cloak and daggers.
They don’t trust me and I don’t blame them; I’ve done nothing to earn it except be born with the right name and a similar face to their old friend.
We all look alike. The generations of Garrick men before all had the same features I hold, right down to our brown eyes and matching broken noses.
I wonder what would have become of me without this face, this name.
“Woah, look at you. You could almost pass for a gentleman.” I almost shit myself as Zach appears from a darkened alleyway to my left.
I really need to be more alert nowadays.
He looks at the black suit Cora picked out for me. I feel the weight of his scrutiny on my tense shoulders.
“Have you finally decided to start taking your job seriously?” He snarks.
Yes, everything’s changed. The world crumbled around me the moment I watched my sister get raped on the Malachi’s cracked phone screen.
Zach’s jaw ticks and his eerie eyes seem to darken from their usual bright silver to the colour of cold hard iron.
“Something like that.” I say, as my pulse thumps against my neck.
He can’t find out what I know, not yet. I need to earn his trust and get a fucking grip on things.
It’s time for me to take what I was handed years ago, even though I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.
Cora was a welcome breath of fresh air, snapping me from my drink-filled haze and back down to earth again with a simple murmur of her pillow pink lips.
Zach nods once in approval and gestures for us to continue the walk to the boxing club together.
“What’s the meaning of this meeting exactly? You were very cryptic on the phone.” There’s an edge to Zach’s tone that makes my palms sweat as our footsteps echo along the quiet dark road.
The only other establishment in the area is a chip shop that my dad was fond of going to after spending his nights ruling his kingdom.
He bought the rest of them and closed them down.
Everyone here knows this area is Garrick territory, the hub of the underbelly of Birmingham, in the center of all the territories.
And you don’t come here unless you’ve been invited.
“I need to try and calm the Russians down and stop them from finding out what I—we—did earlier.”
Zach scoffs. “You dealt the blow, my little youngling.”
My brows furrow together as I pull myself to a stop.
“Did you seriously just quote Star Wars to me?” I don’t know why it catches me off guard, but Zach does not seem like the type to sit down in the evening and watch a sci-fi film.
His grin sets a chill over my bones that I know has nothing to do with the cold weather.
“What of it?”
“Do you seriously consider yourself to be my very own fucked up version of Obi-Wan Kenobi?”
“No, I’m definitely more of an Emperor Palpatine since I’m trying to teach you how to kill without remorse. But don’t worry, I won’t convince you to kill the love of your life yet.” Zach slaps my back and continues his journey down the road towards the bright neon sign at the end of the street.
I stand in shock for a moment.
“Was that your way of telling a joke? I’m surprised you know what that even means, you miserable bastard!
” I shout after him. He raises his middle finger up into the air and keeps walking.
And for the first time in a long time, I laugh.
It comes out hoarse, as if the muscles in my stomach don’t remember how to do it.
***
The boxing club is the same as I remember. The nostalgia hits me like a brick as the smell of sweat and copper drift to my nose. Being here, listening to the thumping garage music and screams of a bloodthirsty crowd makes my chest feel warm.
But not quite as warm as Cora had makes me feel. That girl is like the fucking sun. A tiny beam of light that threatens to crack my stony heart. Her brightness is an infection, a weakness, one that my dad wouldn’t have tolerated and one that I can’t afford to indulge in.
I give my head a wobble, remembering why I'm here and the job I have to do. I can’t let blue eyes, blonde hair, and big boobs distract me now. The picture of Cora’s face turns to ash in my mind, the dying embers twist into Lou’s and my guilt soon morphs into anger.
It has been a month since her disappearance and I haven't done enough, but tonight, that will change.
The blood on my hands is already thick. What’s a little more?
“Let’s get this shit over with and try to prevent a turf war, shall we?
” I say eagerly to Zach over the loud music.
I expect him to be ready to jump into action, but he’s stood still, eyes drifting over the place.
I could do without him burning the place down tonight, but I can’t deny the mystery of him continues to baffle me.
I’ve gone over the situation with Malachi over and over again trying to make sense of it in my head; his strength was unlike anything I’d seen before, and I’d been around alot of fighters in my lifetime. If I stare at him hard enough, maybe I’ll crack his code.
Zach’s eerie eyes rove around the place, lingering on the iron cage which stands as the brutal center piece of the room.
He looks curious, though I suppose a bloke like him has probably never stepped inside a place like this before.
Then I see it, the glint in his eyes. I’d seen it with every fucker that comes in here for the first time.
The primal urge to give himself over to the violence that seeps from the walls.
The cage rattles as the shouts of the crowd grow louder and clang against it.
My own eyes travel up, fixing on the balcony above where my dad’s old comrades sit.
I glance at where my dad used to sit, the sticky leather throne that sits further away from the other sofas.
My eyes narrow at the cunt sitting in his chair.
MY chair. Guilt, shame, doubt. They all twist around me like a constricting snake.
I should go up there and batter the cunt. Dad would've.
But my feet aren't able to move.
I’m tired. So tired of the blood shed. It’s kill or be killed, that’s the fucking game and you’re not allowed to quit. Not until you take your last breath. I’m in this for life and there’s not a single thing I can do about it.
“Fuckin ‘ell bruv, you look fresh as fuck!” The voice of my friend Four Bang drags my attention away.
He walks with the same swagger I used to; Four Bang is young and hungry, easy to please.
He got his nickname on his initiation night a few years ago, when he knocked out a Hungarian bloke in four bangs.
He was good, but not as good as me, which I know pisses him off.
Just like it did with Oscar.
I fall back into the persona I spent my childhood practicing, holding out my arms to show off my fit and acting like the cocky prick I was born to be.
I have to admit, Cora dressed me up good; she’d pulled out one of the first suits Ben gave me when I first started working for him and batted her eyelashes before leaving me alone to shave.
I begrudgingly got rid of the beard. It pained me to shave it off because I’ve never been able to grow one before, and I was proud of the only in thing I’d managed not to fuck up in the last six months.
What was it she’d said? That I was in my “lazy boy era”.
I didn’t pretend to understand. She isn’t much younger than me, there are only three years between us, but she makes me feel so old.
Maybe it’s because she’s so full of life whereas I am an empty cup in the middle of the desert.
“Good to see you, bro.” Four Bang clasps my hand with his and slaps my back, his grill bouncing light from the strobes and blinding me. My eyes fall to his feet.
“Fucking hell, you cunt. Those are some shiny fuckers, where dya get the cash for them?” Four Bang is technically on my payroll, but I’ve got no idea how he gets paid or how much.
I launder the money that gets dropped off at my flat once a week and don’t take a single penny for myself.
I used to earn my way by dealing directly, but I haven't run a single baggy since I started working for Ben.
Zach edges closer to us, watching the exchange with the intensity of a blood thirsty hound.
“Yeah mate, ‘bout that. Hope you don’t mind, but I’ve been doing a bit extra on the side with some of the others.” He shifts on his feet, his locs swaying with the movement. Is he scared of my reaction? Who the fuck am I to stop a mate getting paid?
“Don’t worry mate, times are hard. You gotta do what you gotta do.” I offer him a smile but it doesn’t feel like my own.
“Legend mate. What brings you here? Haven't seen you here for ages.” Four Bang shoves his hands in his pockets as he notices Zach for the first time. “Who’s this?” He asks his eyes, taking in the unmistakable designer cut of his suit.
“This is my new lackey. His name is Zach.” Four Bang holds out his hand for him to shake but all Zach gives him is a sneer. This cunt is gunna fuck it all up if he starts a fight with the first person who’s actually nice to him.
“Don’t mind him, he’s a germaphobe.” I say quickly as Four Bang visibly rolls his shoulders back, as if he’s preparing for a fight. “Is everyone here?” I ask him, nodding up to the balcony.
“Yeah, some serious shits gone down bro. Apparently Malachi’s gone missing, so the Russians are wanting answers.” Just as I thought.
“Cheers bruv, catch up later yeah?” Four Bang nods, gives Zach one last nervous glance, then turns back to the bar.
I lock eyes with Zach and gesture for him to head over to the bar as well. He raises an eyebrow as if to say “do you really fucking think so?” but I keep my face stern. “No outsiders allowed. I'll be fine.”
He throws his head back in laughter. “I couldn’t give a fuck Frankie.
Don’t forget why I’m here. My brother broke my favourite casket of wine today in a fit of frustration.
It was vintage and worth more than ten of this place.
I want information when you come back down those stairs.
If not, it’ll be your legs my brother goes for next.
” These posh twats are really starting to boil my piss.
“I’m on your side, I’m doing everything I?—”
“You’re not doing enough. Now go, before I catch some kind of deadly disease from this place.” Zach walks to the other side of the bar and leans over, casting an effortless charm over the girl behind the bar. She brings a bottle of top shelf liquor down for him and a semi-clean whiskey glass.
My throat burns. As much as I want to get so pissed that I don’t remember how my legs work, Zach is right. I haven’t been doing enough.
The brick shithouse of a security guard I don’t recognise lifts the rope blocking the stairs up to the balcony without me having to ask.
My dad’s thick gold chain bounces against my chest as I take two steps at a time, reminding me with each thump against my shirt that I’m a fucking Garrick.
I make it halfway up the stairs when I catch a glimpse of a shadow edging through the crowd, getting closer to the bars of the cage. No, not a shadow.
Shit.
How the fuck did Charlie get here? I can only pray that Cora didn’t see him leave. Fuck, what if he brought her with him? I clench my fist in frustration, too many fucking threads.
“Frankie-fucking-Garrick! Is that you, son?” A voice I’d recognise anywhere calls from above. I’d have to deal with Charlie later. It was showtime.