Chapters Hunted: The Life and Times of Rowan Wilton, Griffon
It started out like any other chapter in my life, under the heavy rain of a winter evening; I huddled under my raincoat as I dashed towards my favorite place of refuge, the titular Red Gryphon which shone brightly over the wet streets.
The shindig smelt of beer, fags and dried blood as always. The rumbling ambiance of the jaunty patrons conversing about violent confrontations, close calls and one night stands were met with thunderous laughter as I approached the bar. My favorite seat, to the far left of course; beckoned me, bringing up memories of many wondrous, hazy nights spent drinking and fighting on the dubiously sticky flooring.
I happened a glance up to meet the eyes of an impatient looking waitress, her white and purple feathered hair nearly blasted me back to the 80’s; along with matching purple eyeshadow. By far the strangest part were her eyes, they were a striking gold that contrasted the purple motif she was rolling with. If looks could kill, I’d have died right there.
Not because she was pretty (which in all honesty she was) but due to the piercing gaze she wore on her tanned visage. Of course, most patrons to the Gryphon were naturally grumpy; as such is nature it was rare to find a woman here. Considering the nature of the patrons it wasn’t surprising.
“I’ll have a lager love.” I grunted, which seemingly cured her impatience as she quickly strided over to the taps to get my order. I happened a glance behind me before groaning in frustration, the hicks were there again.
I’m not certain if they were actually called the hicks, but I considered it a fair assessment from the embarrassment that naturally plagued them; making them the butt of several maliciously aimed comments from bigger, and tougher drinkers. So as usual, they sat there and took it.
The problem was, those idiots had no problems with harassing me, despite the fact they look like a bunch of retards crashed into a BDSM shop. The larger was unceremoniously placed in front of me, I shuffled in my pocket before placing a five pound note on the bar.
“Keep the change.” I didn’t look up, but I felt the eyes of the waitress boring into the top of my skull. I took a drink before slowly lifting my gaze to meet hers once again, she grumbled before stuffing the note into the till and leaving to tend the other patrons.
It continued like that for a while, sitting there idly drinking the night away as the atmosphere of the lively bar faded into the background. That is, until a very stubby finger tapped my shoulder. I blinked out of my little daze and turned to see one of the BDSM wannabes looking at me with what I assumed was meant to be a threatening glare. His friends were all watching with baited breath as the slobbering eldritch horror attempted to tower over me.
“Heh heh! Look who’s here again boys! Seems he didn’t learn after his last beat down.” His proclamation was met with whooping and hollering from the rest of his wanker friends, while the rest of the bar quickly descended into hushed silence. I look from left to right, all eyes were on us; as they knew what was about to happen. I allowed a smirk to grace my rugged features and I rose from my stool, turned around and faced him.
He was a head taller than me and a few cows wider too. Several effective and equally humiliating ways of dispatching him entered my mind as I cycled through them, before deciding that today I felt particularly cruel.
“What's the matter? Shocked into silence?” More hooting followed.
“Nah, I’m jus’ not into beating people with special needs.” I responded coldly.
Fatty threw the first punch, a pathetically weak affair that was easily blocked by holding up my arm. I knew punching that oversized fat arse wouldn’t do much, so I braced myself against the bar behind me before giving him a double booted kick to the stomach; causing him to ungracefully stumble backwards before crashing through his table.
I didn’t exactly know whether I had knocked him out, or that he was just stuck on his back like some kind of tragic turtle. It wasn’t really the focus as his friends stood up abruptly and advanced towards me.
I don’t consider myself a violent man, it’s too bad I’m a compulsive fucking liar.
A quick bash from a bottle dropped the first, a punch to the jugular stopped the second and a good old punch to the forehead topped the third. Much to my amusement, they all flopped over at the same time like some kind of corny samurai movie. The other patrons cheered as usual, and the unconscious losers were thrown out of the door.
I returned to my drink as the rabble calmed down, the table was cleared and it was almost like it had never happened, I failed to notice the awed look on the waitresses face; I assumed it was awe, it was her first night working there after all.
A lot of people might think I’m weird for having such intimate knowledge on how to drop a person in one punch; I like to think I’m just prepared. Hell, one of my old friends used to say I was like a lion, or maybe an eagle; I used to just laugh him off though.
If only he could see me now. I stumbled home, and fell asleep.
The cold winter sun creeped around the edge of my curtains, rousing me from another night of restful sleep. I stretched and yawned as I scratched one of the many scarred patches dotting my body, before hastily donning my clothing and preforming my morning routine.
For once I had some work to do; my good friend Dick had asked me to help him fix his car. Maybe not “asked” per say, but I wasn’t going to discuss my potential involvement in the initial breakdown.
His house wasn’t far from mine, calling it a house was a bit of a stretch; the peeling and stained walls of the former council home he inhabited left a lot to be desired.
I approached the dilapidated garage to find a lovely view of his arsehole, as he was bent over in the hood of his (suitably damaged) ford escort. I couldn’t help but snicker at the plumbers’ crack he was running with.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up chuckles.” He warned in his oddly nasal voice. “’bout time you showed up anyway.”
“Sorry for being late Dick, had to deal with some interesting patrons last night.”
“You KNOW how much I hate being called Dick, its RICHARD!”
This argument continued for several minutes, eventually coming to the conclusion that Dick was a big whiny cunt… Well that was my conclusion anyway; not sure if he’d agree.
We eventually set about the task of fixing his shit heap of a car, the work was pretty elementary; even for me, a man who has never owned a car himself. What? That shits expensive! Have you seen the price of petrol these days?
Dick was talking, I wasn’t listening. This tirade was eventually broken by the sputtering of the engine starting again. “Wipe that smug grin of your face you bloody arse.” He said, clearly not happy that I could fix it with such ease, then again Dick wasn’t renowned for his intelligence.
I held out my arm and he slapped a twenty pound note into my palm. “Thank you very much.” I stated before quickly walking away, leaving him dumbfounded.
I knew exactly where I was going, the Red Gryphon.
The bar was as lively as ever, thankfully the idiots from yesterday were absent. I quickly took up my seat and waited for the waitress. She took my order and quickly returned with my drink, strange considering the dirty look she gave me yesterday.
Her eyes darted around, before she quickly slid me a note, hastily written. “Meet me out front in 2 hours.” It said, I tried to raise an eyebrow to her but she was already gone. Whatever, the beer was calling for me. Though it did taste a little strange, I know my beer very well.
An hour and a half later and I was sure I had made a terrible mistake; it felt like my stomach was trying to propel itself out of my mouth using a stream of shit. I was reconnecting with my old friend, Mr. Sick filled toilet when I heard a commotion outside the door.
It was suddenly kicked inwards by a group of men in suits, not conspicuous at all mind you. Who proceeded to sweep every stall for somebody who wasn’t there? You can probably see where this was going can’t you? Anyway, my lovely view of the toilet was interrupted by some arsehole pulling my head back suddenly. I had luckily emptied my rebellious organs, so it did little but intensify the pounding headache I had developed.
Which was odd, I’ve never had a drink induced headache in my life.
I had little time to ponder this important conundrum, as the man had quickly resorted to pointing a gun in face. I was dragged to my feet and pulled out of the stall, and presented to a rather short old man, and another very fat motherfucker. Now there were one of two possibilities, either I was going to have a very sore bum by the end of this, or my inclination for violence had finally caught up with me.
Thankfully it was the latter; the scowl the old man wore could melt steel. It made me feel slightly uneasy… okay I was close to bricking myself; it’s not everyday somebody has a gun indented into their jaw. These guys clearly meant business. I hoped they weren’t after me.
“Hello Mr. Wilton.”
Fuck.
To be honest, I really wasn’t surprised they were here for me. The real issue was I couldn’t remember why, I beat up a hell of a lot of people on a weekly basis. Well it had come to bite me in the ass, as I was currently at the barrel end of several angry mobsters.
Despite this, I was more concerned with the odd effect my sudden illness, the walls began to melt around me. The lines of the grubby tiles becoming blurred, my heartbeat swelled up into my ears causing everything else to becoming meaningless. There was only me and the rhythmic beating of my heart.
The old man who was mouthing off at me slowed down, I blinked.
Everything returned to focus; it was almost like being thrown forward at a hundred mile per hour. The walls rebuilt themselves, my heartbeat faded into the background and I was hit with a sudden rush of clarity towards my surroundings. In fact everything seemed clearer! I could see the individual hair on the old man’s chin; I could identify that mysterious stain that coated the sink to the left.
I could hear their heartbeats. Almost like my hearing had gotten better in the several seconds I was stood there gormlessly.
It was clear that they noticed my stupefied expression, and one of the thugs quickly smacked me around the head.
“Pay attention you piece of shit! I won’t ‘ave you nodding off when you did that to my son!”
“Was he the fat bastard in the BDSM gear?”
Another blow to the head, I’m sure that isn’t healthy. My brains cells are crying, well that is if they weren’t drowning in alcohol.
“Kill him.”
That caught my attention. The goon to my left pointed his gun at me, but before he knew it I had grabbed him arm and dragged him to the floor; giving him a nice punch to the forehead, out cold.
I slipped the gun under one of the stall with my foot, before intercepting a punch from my right, I slipped my arm under his and smashed his head against the sink, smashing the porcelain and releasing a cloud of white dust into the air.
Finally I reached forwards and grabbed the old bastard by his tie, before swinging him and throwing him to the other end of the room. He stumbled and shielded himself with his hand, turning around to meet my boot.
Ding ding ding.
The adrenalin eventually wore off, at which point I voiced my opinion.
“HOLY FUCK!”
With that said and done, I went to the surviving sink and washed the blood splatter of my hands. I splashed some cold water on my face and looked up, only to meet two very piercing green eagle eyes. Okay, I thought; I must be really fucking smashed!
I heard somebody clapping from the entrance; I turned to meet the golden eyes of the waitress from before, clearly having forgone our meeting.
“That was pretty impressive Dweeb.”
Great I moaned internally, a bloody yank.
“My names Gilda, what’s yours?”
This was going to be a long night.
Hunted: The Life and Times of Rowan Wilton, Griffon
I groaned, internally and externally. The last thing I wanted right then was some random bird discussing bar fights.
“I guess.” I replied, attempting to push past her. She wasn’t budging.
“What do you want?”
“I need help.”
“Fantastic, can we talk about this somewhere else.” I said, sparing a glance at the unconscious goons scattered around the room. “c’mon, we’re going to my place.”
“Aren’t you going to buy me a few drinks first?” She replied coyly.
“In your bloody dreams maybe.”
Gilda didn’t look impressed, not that I cared anyway. This apartment didn’t normally see many visitors, outside of police officers of course. She quickly leapt onto my sofa and kicked her feet up as I leaned on the door frame.
“So… nice weather we’re having.” She began hesitantly.
“Skip the bullshit; you said you wanted my help.”
“To be honest it looks like you need my help instead.”
“Is this some kind of elaborate intervention?”
“Maybe, all you do is beat up people and drink, it’s kinda’ pathetic.”
“This violent drunkard is the man you’re asking for help.”
“Well technically you already volunteered. Remember the drink I served you?”
“The one that made me sick?”
“Close. You feel different don’t you?”
“Everything looks sharper, I vomited a lot, and my hearing is more sensitive. So what? You’re telling me that was your fault?”
“Well…” She said sheepishly “I guess yeah.”
“Thanks for drugging me I guess!” I yelled, it didn’t faze her though; she seemed to be staring at my eyes. A clicked my fingers a couple of times and she shook herself out of the trance she was in.
“Well?” I inquired.
“Dude, go look at your eyes.” I snorted in frustration before stomping off to my shitty bathroom. The cracked mirror distorted my visage, but the change of my eyes was clear as day.
The center of them was jet black, with a green ring surrounding it; the rest of my eyes became an off-yellow. They genuinely looked like they were taken from an eagle. I looked to my left to see the smug cunt smirking at my reaction, which is to say I was horrified.
“Okay, your drink gave me some freaky arse eyes?”
“Not just any eyes, eagle eyes!” She claimed, oddly proud of herself. I personally wouldn’t boast about drugging somebody but at that point I was just going along with it. “Not only do they look awesome, but it lets you see better and sharper.”
“So what, you’re turning me into a fucking eagle?”
“Kind of, you’ll see.”
“Stop fucking saying you’ll see and tell me what you’re doing!” I yelled threateningly.
“Dude calm down! It’s only temporary.”
“Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” She shifted her eyes like she’d been caught shoplifting.
“Well uh. “
I groaned and wiped the sweat that had gathered on my forehead. I turned on the tap and splashed my face a couple more times for good measure.
“What the hell do you want help with anyway? And what does it have to do with these freaky eyes?”
“Me and my friend are new in town. She kinda’ got kidnapped.”
At first I was unsure if I had heard her correctly, but after a couple of awkward minutes and no sign of her cracking up I had to ask.
“How the fuck can you be so nonchalant about something like that? Your friend is in serious trouble but instead of calling the police you pick up some random prick from a bar?” I exclaimed, not grasping her logic.
“We don’t have any ID; we uh… don’t officially exist?” She claimed, seemingly hesitantly.
“So you want me, some guy you randomly selected from a bar, to help you find your illegal immigrant friend who’s been kidnapped by god knows who?”
“Well when you say it like that…”
“Do you have any idea how fucking bonkers you sound! This is the most inane thing I’ve ever heard! What makes you think because you spiked my drink that I’ll just roll over and go along with this?”
Gilda continued to shrink into herself at my verbal assault, before finally finding her (metaphorical) balls and starting her counter-argument.
“Shove a sock in it dweeb! I wanted your help because you can handle yourself, you look like you know your way around, and I can guess you think a thing for me.” She claimed, before slapping her own ass. Only to be met from a loud scoff from me.
“Listen, I don’t normally beg. But I seriously need your help! If I don’t find her soon, she could get killed, or sold into sex slavery or something!” She was beginning to become more desperate in her pleas, and despite being a hardened arsehole I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for her; I know all too well what it’s like to lose a good friend.
“Alright calm down!” I shouted exasperated. “I’ll help you, but if shit hits the fan you listen to me down to the letter, alright?”
She nodded, tearing up slightly.
“T-thanks dweeb.” She sniffled, eloquently as ever.
She took a moment to calm herself, before rubbing her arm anxiously. She looked up at me, running up and down my body with her eyes. Wiping her eyes she stood back to her normal posture and donning a determined look.
“Alright, my friends name is Rainbow.” She said, dead serious.
I chuckled lightly. “Rainbow? Is she a carpet muncher or something?”
She glared at me before huffing and crossing her arms. “No, we call her that because of her hair. As you can guess it’s pretty bright. The last time I saw her was before I set off for my first day at work. We were staying at the motel down the road.”
You grimaced, many a bad memory led to the suspicious stains and shifty customers of that place.
“I came back after the first day… the door was kicked in and everything was smashed.” She whispered, a look of worry washing over her harsh features.
“Well, looks like that’s our first stop then.” I chirped, I grabbed what little money I had left from one of my drawers and slipped on my coat; before descending the musty stairs outside my apartment.
We came to a stop on damp streets. Gilda looked from left to right.
“Where’s your car dweeb?” She asked, to which I could only cackle madly in response. I smacked my chest in an attempt to calm down. “Good one G, let’s go.” I said, walking down the dark streets with her in tow.
Hunted: The Life and Times of Rowan Wilton, Griffon
The motel was anything but family friendly, I’m pretty sure I saw a couple of prostitutes stood outside the lobby; preying on unsuspecting visitors. The decoration was universally old and run down, not a single unblemished bit of paint to be seen across the face of the building, a characteristic faithfully continued on the inside.
“You stayed here for two fucking nights? I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.” Gilda only sneered at my observation before pushing open the rank doors that guarded the lobby.
The old wooden desk was barley illuminated by the room’s fluorescent lighting, which created an uncomfortable buzz in the background; my enhanced hearing already deciding to give me a headache. At it stood a young man with greasy long hair, a pair of yellow tinted aviators covered his appraising eyes. His eyes locked onto Gilda, nodding to himself before licking his cracked lips.
“Let me handle this one.” I whispered to her before sauntering up to the counter. A wave of recognition passed over him, before he clicked his fingers and reached under the desk. I grabbed his hand and shook my head, motioning to Gilda; he reluctantly returned his hand.
“Long time no see Rowan.” He grunted, evidently nervous.
“Hello Coop. No need to be nervous, I don’t tango anymore remember?” I asked, he quickly caught on and visibly relaxed.
“If that’s the case, why are you here?”
“I need information; you remember checking in my lovely friend here?
“Maybe, depends on what you want to know.”
“Don’t play that game with me Coop; you know full well what happens when you play ignorant with me.” I growled, causing his nervous demeanor to come crashing back with a vengeance. He always cracked under pressure.
“Alright, alright!” He exclaimed, guarding his face with his hands. “Some of Webly’s guys came last night and grabbed her! Something about expanding his business!” I gave a frustrated grunt in response.
I grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him closer over the counter. “Alright you little shit, where does Webley work out of now?”
“I don’t know! Honest! He changed his shit after you know what happened!” I pushed him backwards, causing him to hit the back wall and slide down it slowly.
“Where can I find somebody who does know?”
He whimpered slightly before responding. “He still runs the bar down Jeremy Road; you can probably find his goons there, if you're lucky he might be there later.”
“One last thing, where do you keep your dancing shoes?” I asked, confusion evident on Gilda’s face.
“Same place as always you bloody cock!” I smiled and nodded before grabbing a key from the back shelf. “Don’t bother calling Web, I’ll know.” I warned, before storming out of the door.
Gilda quickly walked up to me as we ascended the stairs. “What in tartarus was all that about?”
“Remember when I said I wasn’t that interested?” She nodded in confirmation. “Well I am now.”
“I was actually wondering about the whole tango thing but whatever.” She replied, causing me to snort in amusement. We approached the third floor and walked down towards room 196.
The room itself was like the others; however it held a very sinister purpose. I walked to the edge by the balcony and rolled up one end of the carpet, exposing the floor boards. I strained with effort before removing it from its wedged position.
Underneath contained a dark green box; I pulled it out, unlocked the latches and uncovered the treasure. I made sure it faced away from Gilda’s line of sight, as it contained a colt pistol; one of the few I could obtain with the strict gun laws in place.
A gun was very much a game maker among the criminal community, their rarity only enhancing the fearful effect the boomstick had. I was much more used to fighting with conventional weaponry, getting your hands on a gun was very difficult and keeping it even more so.
I stuffed a couple of magazines and the gun itself into my pocket before Gilda could see, didn’t want her getting any ideas of course.
“Why are we in here dweeb?” She asked, suddenly very interested in the box.
“Just collecting a personal possession of mine, nothing more.” I replied simply.
“What kind of personal possession?”
“Think of it as insurance, come on; the more time we waste the higher chance we never see your friend again.” I concluded, returning the box to its rightful resting place.
“Is it really that bad? How fast do we have to work?”
“I’m hoping we’ll find her as soon as possible. Webly works fast.”
“Who the hell is Webly?”
I look back at her, a hint of regret in my eyes. “An old friend.” I stated, not wishing to expand any further, thankfully Gilda got the message and kept quiet.
Webley’s bar was a lot “higher class” than what I was used to, not that I visited for the alcohol, loud “music” and drunken teenagers anyway. My trips to this hellhole were almost exclusively on business. The hectic atmosphere provided a good cover for us to move across the club subtly.
Me and Gilda slipped between the dance floor towards the stairs that led to the VIP level, only to be stopped by the hefty bouncer.
“Wait up, are you on the list?” He asked, the very model of the stereotypical bouncer. I groaned and motioned for him to get closer to me.
“Tell Webly that Rowan is here to see him.” I asked, struggling to combat the volume of the music that covered the club.
“If I did that for every little fuck that came here I wouldn’t be a very good bouncer would I?” He replied smugly.
“If you’re such a good bouncer why are you unconscious?” I asked.
“Wha-?” I belted him with all my might, knocking him straight on his ass; before I straightened my collar and waltzed up the stairs.
Gilda strode next to me. “Can you ever solve a problem without harming someone?”
“No.” I replied coldly, before nodding towards Webly’s table.
Webley was sat at his usual table, next to the balcony so he could “look down upon the lesser men.” Surrounded by women much too young.
I never liked Webly, the pretentious fuck.
Upon seeing me his attitude did a one eighty. He quickly smoothed over his ruffled black hair, and fixed his tie; though he seemed to forget the lipstick that adorned his chin line.
He whispered something to the women holding his arms and they quickly vacated the table, allowing us to take a seat opposite him.
“Rowan! Dearest of all my friends, it’s been a long time hasn’t it?” He said jubilantly. I gave him some courtesy and shook his hand; but I made sure to give him the “You’re in some deep shit.” Look that he was familiar with.
“Webly.” I replied, before motioning to the scowling girl on my right. “This is Gilda; I’m helping her with a personal problem.”
“Very nice to meet you Madame.” He replied, making sure to kiss her hand in the process. It did little to faze her cold exterior though, causing him to chuckle nervously.
“So, I assume you just aren’t here to visit your best friend eh?” He asked.
“No, apparently some of your boys grabbed her buddy.”
The colour rapidly drained from his face, he took the napkin from the table and wiped the sweat that had begun to build on his forehead.
“Well I know this sounds bad; but I do acknowledge my role in this incident!” He added on quickly. “Your friend is that Rainbow haired girl yes?” Gilda nodded. “Well I can’t just give her up per say, she’s worth quite a lot to a very specific client. Apparently they are so smitten with her that they hired me to obtain her.”
“You’re into human trafficking now? Is this how bad things have gotten since…” I quickly stopped myself, mentally slapping myself for nearly letting my past slip. “Listen, you sell her on and I will break your fucking legs.” I warned gravely. Webly knew that it was no idle threat.
He coughed into his hand before leaning and whispering harshly “Do you know how much money this is worth? I could be set for a long time here!”
“All you have to do is sell and innocent girl to some creepy bastard right?” I finished for him, clearly disgusted with his new practice. “You tell your employer the fuck right off, hell I’ll even work for you again if that stops you from doing this.”
Web spent several minutes debating over the moral implications in his head, before reluctantly reaching a conclusion.
“Okay, I’ll call off the whole human trafficking thing, if you do me one last favor.”
“Done.” I responded instantly.
“You don’t even know what the favor is yet!”
“Does it matter? It’s gonna’ be a pain in the ass anyway.” I reasoned.
“Come with me.” He beckoned for us to come into his thankfully soundproof office; it was decorated with elaborate wooden furnishing. He rapped his fingers against his desk for several seconds before looking up at us.
“I need someone killed.”
Hunted: The Life and Times of Rowan Wilton, Griffon
“W-what!” Gilda squawked, clearly taken off balance by his Webly’s request. He could only give a forlorn smile before nodding slowly.
“Yeah… I need somebody dead.” He said, before rummaging in one of the desk drawers behind him, before pulling out a tan folder and splashing a collection of images of the desk.
I walked up to get a good look, and was surprised at who the picture contained. It was our old boss, Hector. The old bastard had given up the goat a while ago, or so I thought. The bad quality pictures showed him inspecting several large crates.
“Why exactly do you want me to kill Hector? I thought he retired after I left?” I asked.
“You know this guy?” Gilda asked, clearly mythed about being left out.
“He used to be one rung up the ladder from us, we reported to him.” I continued.
“Ah yes! But the bastard has been cutting into my business. Selling my product to my customers!” Webly exclaimed, rage cutting through his sorrow. “I don’t care if he is an old friend, nobody fucks with Webly!” He yelled, slamming his fist onto his desk; startling a bewildered Gilda.
I leant over and quickly whispered “Drug dealer.” She exhaled in confirmation before interrupting.
“So, if we shut down the old man’s business. I get my friend back?”
“Yes, without Hectors influence, I would have no need to sell your friend.” He bit his bottom lip for a moment before handing me the rest of the folder. “Here, this has all the information I have on him and his current operation. I’ll hold of the buyer until either you die, or Hector dies.”
I absentmindedly scratched a strange itch that had formed at the base of my spine; it almost felt like it was starting to protrude slightly; but I chose to ignore it and get back to the matter at hand.
“It’ll be done; remember Webley, do not abuse my trust.” I warned gravely, causing him to nod rapidly. I walked out back into the club with Gilda behind me, the bouncer sneering at us with his bloody nose as we left.
We both stood quietly outside the club as I shoved the folder into my other pocket, Gilda found the ground to be very interesting.
“Something up G?” I asked casually. She looked at me for several seconds before sighing.
“Are we really gonna’ kill somebody? I mean, if it’s to rescue Rainbow sure… but I don’t like killing.”
“If it makes you feel any better, everybody involved is a massive scumbag. Including me.” I added placing a hopefully comforting hand on her shoulder. “I’ve worked with these guys before; they’ll be no hard feelings here. We all know what we were getting into when we joined together.”
“You used to work with them?” She asked.
“Yeah, a couple of years ago. I left after it stopped being about survival and started being about greed. We all came from poor backgrounds, so we thought “Why shouldn’t we break the rules? We deserve better!” So we did.”
“And then?”
“Then we grew, we get more and more members. Hell we even had some rich guys working for us. We did nearly everything, flogging drugs, prostitution all that stuff.” I chuckled at the memories for a moment, before being overcome with a sense of melancholy. “Some things aren’t meant to be, I wasn’t meant to spend my entire life as a criminal. So I left. Especially after Webly opened that fucking club, and Hector got cut loose. They were just taking the piss by then.”
Gilda seemed to be enthralled by my tales of the past, despite the questionable content.
“Do you miss it?” She asked.
“Fuck no.” I sneered, before setting off down the street, Gilda seemingly unsatisfied with my answer decided to continue.
“But what about all that time with your friends?” She ignorantly asked.
“They were more liable to shoot me than befriend me.” I snorted before turning around causing her to come to a sudden halt. “You might think working for a gang is all fighting, and fucking and fun time with your best gangster buddies. But it isn’t! You spend the entire fuckin’ time paranoid that some cunt was going to shoot you in the back! You spend years of your life dodging police, arguing with dangerous people, and what do you get for it? Fuck all!” I yelled, anger and malice seeping into my words, Gilda was taken aback by my sudden anger.
“I worked with Webly for 5 cunting years! So what’s the first thing he does? He blackmails me! He asks me to kill the only man I trusted, before threatening to sell somebody into fucking sex slavery; and you know what. I’m pissed!” I screamed, breathing heavily from my little rant.
I was surprised when Gilda hugged me, even more so when she started asking for forgiveness.
“G, it’s not your fault.” I said, calmly pushing her away; finding small solace in the relief that burned in her eyes. I was silent for several minutes, gradually calming down. Our little moment was interrupted when Gilda’s stomach rumbled like a car engine; causing me to roll my eyes.
“You just love to ruin the moment don’t you G?” I asked teasingly, causing her to huff and cross her arms.
“Hey, we haven’t eaten anything in like 15 hours, can ya’ blame me?”
“Ever had fish and chips before?” I asked, smiling widely when Gilda gave me a negative. “You are missing out.” I cooed, before practically dragging her to my favourite shop in the city.
We both stood under the awning of the chip shop as the heavy rain pounded the empty streets. I stood idly, munching on some of the chips from the grease stained newspaper in my hand.
Gilda had taken an extreme liking to the fish, practically swallowing the thing in one go; before devastating the chips. Can’t blame her, to be honest.
It was nice to have some thinking time though; I was worried about the repercussions of my outburst earlier. It was strange, Gilda didn’t care about my dodgy past, or my criminal record; it was… nice. Even so, she could have been hiding her feelings; until I rescued her friend and ran off again.
What was truly strange was the last part, where would they run to? They have no I.D., they practically don’t exist.
But most of all, why did I care?
It rained heavily that night.