Gray Vengeance

by Alan McDermott

  ‘We need to be prepared,’ Gray said, ‘just in case you’re wrong.’

  ‘The first thing we need to do is barricade the door,’ Sonny said. ‘Then we need to arm ourselves.’

  ‘We’ve got three more NLRs,’ Smart told him, referring to the non-lethal rounds for his bean-bag gun.

  ‘I was thinking live rounds,’ Sonny said. ‘They’ve had their warning, and if they do come back, it won’t be to congratulate us on a fine defence.’

  Gray and Smart looked at each other. The thought of firing upon civilians didn’t immediately sit well with them, but they hadn’t started the fight. Sonny noticed their reticence, and he pointed out that the CCTV cameras in and around the building would show that they had acted in self-defence thus far. If they could maintain that stance, there should be no comeback.

  ‘We’ve got a woman and child in here, don’t forget. No court in the land is going to send us down for protecting them from an angry mob.’

  ‘Okay,’ Gray agreed. The mention of Melissa had brought things into focus, and there was no way he was going to let anyone get to her. ‘Sonny, nip upstairs to the armoury and grab three Glocks and two clips each.’

  The armoury was little more than a solid metal cabinet bolted against the wall, and it housed the weapons and ammunition they used at the training complex. Smart handed over the keys, and Sonny returned two minutes later with the weapons and spare magazines.

  ‘Remember,’ Gray said, ‘we only use these if we have to.’

  Shanka Townly was in the middle of rolling a joint when the banging on the front door startled him. His first thought was that the police were popping round for one of their regular visits, something that went hand in hand with being the leader of one of the myriad gangs plaguing London, but when the voice shouted his name, he knew it was one of his own. He looked through the spyhole and saw Connor, along with two others who were propping up a limp figure.

  ‘Ben’s been hurt,’ Connor said, after Townly undid the three locks and opened the door. Ben was dragged inside and placed on the couch, where he grimaced as a bolt of pain from his broken ribs stabbed at his chest.

  ‘What the fuck happened to him?’

  ‘Someone shot him,’ Connor told Shanka.

  ‘I don’t see no blood.’

  ‘It was like a shotgun, but they didn’t use real bullets,’ one of the others said.

  Connor explained what had happened when they’d tried to take the office. ‘We couldn’t kick the door in, so we built a fire to smoke them out, but this huge fucker started blasting away. He hit Ade, then shot Ben.’

  ‘Why the fuck were you robbing an office?’ Shanka asked, glaring at his men.

  ‘Someone on Facebook told us there was Muslims there,’ Connor told him, opening his phone to show Shanka the post by DJ Maxwell.

  Shanka read the timeline, then sat down next to his injured brother. ‘How many are there?’

  ‘We only saw three men and a woman,’ Connor said, ‘but there could be more.’

  ‘Did they look like Muslims to you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Connor shrugged. ‘What the fuck’s a Muslim look like anyway?’

  In truth, Shanka didn’t care. Someone had hurt his brother, and they were going to pay.

  ‘Right, well, we’re going back, then, and this time we’ll be tooled up,’ Shanka said. ‘Get everyone together. We’ll meet at the lock-up in one hour.’

  While Connor went to round up the other hundred or so members of the gang, Shanka tried to make his brother comfortable.

  ‘You know we ain’t going to the hospital,’ he told Ben, as he opened his phone and started up the Maps application. He looked for the Muslim-owned office building, and from the overhead view Shanka could see that it was a detached building, with easy access to the rear. He toggled to the street view, where he saw the bars on the windows. He asked if they were still in place, and Ben confirmed that they were.

  An idea crept into Townly’s mind, and he let it mature until, twenty minutes later, he had a solid plan.

  ‘I’ll be back soon, bruv.’

  On his way to the lock-up garage, he called in on a few of his men and instructed them to get some petrol and bring it along to the meeting point.

  Just after midnight, the majority of the gang was assembled at the garage. Shanka unlocked the swing-up door and entered, along with Connor. He closed the door and switched on the overhead light, and told Connor to help him move the oily motorcycle engine that was sitting on a piece of plywood in the far corner of the small space. Underneath the wood was a drain cover, and after removing it, Shanka put his arm deep into the hole and grabbed the string that was wrapped around a hook. He slowly lifted out the long plastic bag, then began removing the rubber bands that secured the contents against water damage. Once that was opened, he laid the weapons out on the floor.

  There were six Ingram Mac-10 submachine guns along with twice as many magazines, all full and ready to go. He also had four pistols with plenty of ammunition.

  ‘Hand these out,’ he told Connor, selecting one of the Mac-10s for himself. Connor swung the door open and began distributing the guns, while Shanka explained the mission ahead. It took ten minutes, but once everyone was sure of their role, they set off to show the world that no-one messed with the Selden Crew.

  They kept to the side streets to avoid any patrol cars that might be in the vicinity. A group of hooded youths out at midnight with riots in the area would only mean one thing, and Shanka didn’t want to be stopped and searched. Thankfully, they heard no sirens, though there were plenty of car and building alarms going off. Whoever DJ Maxwell was, his Facebook post about there being no police in this part of town seemed to be spot on. In the London riots the previous year, the authorities had been able to call in officers from other regions to break things up, but with every major city facing the same problem, the police had no choice but to prioritise resources. With this being one of the poorer areas affected, it was probably well down their list, the Oxford Street and Mayfair unrests taking precedence.

  When they reached a point three hundred yards from the office building, Shanka started positioning lookouts to warn of any trouble, and took sixty men with him to finish the job. He knew it was overkill, but if anyone did turn up to spoil the party, it would be easier to slip away. It was the same reason birds flocked together: safety in numbers meant each had a greater chance of survival.

  ‘Here’s how we play this. You three go in and blast the place. If we get a reaction, we know they’re still inside.’

  ‘Why don’t we just torch it?’ one of his men asked.

  ‘Because if there’s no-one in the building, I want to get in and find some names. This ain’t about burning down an office, it’s about my brother. And it doesn’t end here, see?’

  Shanka got a shrug in response, which was the best he could have hoped for. Few with any brains ever joined a gang, and most of his men were good for nothing more than peddling his drugs and settling scores. That suited him fine, as it meant plenty to take the fall when things went bad.

  He ordered three men to kick things off, then stood back to see what happened.

  Just after one in the morning, Gray woke from his nap to take over from Sonny, who had been on watch for the past two hours. Before relieving his friend, he checked on the girls. He found Gill fast asleep on her cot, with Melissa lying in the next bed, and he crept out before closing the boardroom door.

  ‘Anything?’ he asked Sonny, who was sitting behind the reception desk.

  ‘It seems to have quietened down,’ Sonny said. ‘A few buildings are on fire down the street, but I haven’t heard any sirens yet. The fire service must be at breaking point.’

  ‘Hopefully it will stay quiet,’ Gray told him, moving over to the shattered double doors. ‘I’d like to be out of here by seven at the latest. Hopefully th
ese thugs will have worn themselves out by then and the streets will be a lot less crowded.’

  There hadn’t been much they could do to repair the damage, but the desk from Smart’s office now lay on its side, and the edge was wedged underneath the door handles. It wasn’t foolproof, but if anyone was thinking of rushing the place, it would hold them back for a while.

  Certainly long enough for Gray and his team to get them in their sights.

  ‘Go get some sleep,’ Gray said, and settled into the warm chair behind the semicircle of polished oak that formed the reception desk.

  It puzzled him that the crowd had been shouting racial epithets when there was nothing to suggest a Muslim link to his business, but he eventually settled on the notion that they’d simply mistaken his office for another building.

  He began thinking about the safest route home, wondering just how long it would take with Gill and Melissa to worry about. On his own, he could jog it in no time, but the girls would make it rather slow going. Gill’s teenage years were a distant memory, so he guessed they would be on their feet for about six hours. It wouldn’t be easy going for his receptionist, but at least they would all be out of the city centre, where most of the attacks were taking place.

  When he got home, he might have to deal with the lack of power. It was possible that his area had been spared the blackout, but he didn’t want to bank on it. Fortunately, he had plenty of candles and a couple of torches, but it was heating for Melissa that he was worried about. His house wasn’t that cold, even with the central heating off, but he would make sure she stayed bundled up until power was restored to the area.

  With the office lights off, he had a clear view of the outside street, and from under a street lamp he saw someone striding confidently towards the office doors. The approaching figure was suddenly joined by two others, and a crowd began to gather behind the trio as they reached a point five yards from the entrance, where they raised their arms, aiming at the glass.

  Gray threw himself to the floor a split second before the bullets from the submachine guns began peppering the reception area. Splinters of wood and glass nipped at his skin as he crawled to the side of the reception desk, and when he glanced into the office he saw both Smart and Sonny taking cover, their weapons gripped tightly.

  Outside, the firing stopped. Gray stuck his head out, but his view was obstructed by the table that was wedged against the door, which had given up hope of retaining any glass. Shards littered the reception area, and a chill wind blew through the building as he eased himself up onto his haunches. He looked over at Sonny, hoping his friend could see what was happening, and in response he got a hand signal indicating that one of the shooters was approaching the door.

  Gray held his pistol in a two-handed grip and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, then sprang up from behind the counter. The man before him was barely three yards away, and didn’t even have time to register surprise before two rounds entered his skull, one an inch over the right eyebrow and the other through the bridge of the nose.

  Gray ducked as more incoming fire shredded the reception area. When it stopped for a second time, he asked Sonny for another update.

  It wasn’t good.

  Sonny indicated that several bodies had gone round the side of the building, obviously hoping to break in through the emergency exit at the rear. It also meant they would be able to shoot through the windows, which would put Gill and Melissa in the firing line.

  Gray wanted to get to them, but to do so would mean breaking cover. Sonny and Smart wouldn’t be able to offer covering fire as he would be running past them, so would be more likely to take a friendly round than anything else.

  He had no choice but to let his friend secure Gill and Melissa.

  ‘Sonny, when I say go, get to the boardroom and grab the girls. Take them upstairs and make sure they keep their heads down.’

  Sonny nodded, and on Gray’s command he sprang to his feet, covering the short distance to the boardroom and barging through the heavy doors in the time it took Gray to squeeze off three rounds. He found Gill in a foetal position, her body wrapped around the little girl and visibly shaking. Back in the hallway, the firing had stopped, but Sonny knew it was far from over.

  He grabbed Gill’s arm and dragged her to her feet, the time for niceties well behind them.

  ‘You have to get upstairs,’ he told her, pulling her towards the door. The stairs were ten feet away, and after checking to make sure the coast was clear, he put his arm around her and ran, keeping his body between the girls and the front door.

  They made it to the foot of the stairs just as shooting erupted once more.

  ‘Hurry, Gill!’

  Gill managed a few steps before she stumbled and slid down, rolling her body so as not to hurt Melissa. Sonny caught her at the bottom of the stairs, and was about to urge her upwards once more when the windows on the first floor landing exploded inwards, showering them in glass. Seconds later, a bottle smashed against the outer security bars and flaming petrol poured through the gap. Black smoke immediately started billowing towards the ceiling, and Sonny pulled Gill away from the staircase.

  ‘Stay here!’

  He pushed her into a corner and ran to the entrance, where Gray was picking off targets.

  ‘There’s a fire upstairs,’ he told Gray. ‘I’m going to try to put it out.’

  Sonny ducked into the tiny kitchen and emerged with the CO2 extinguisher, then sprinted up the stairs and began tackling the blaze. By this time, it had consumed one entire wall and a large part of the ceiling. Below, he could hear Smart taking pot-shots out of the office window, and he hoped his friends were gaining the upper hand. If any more petrol bombs hit their target, they would soon be overwhelmed. His small extinguisher made hard work of the fire, but eventually he managed to snuff out the last of the flames with the final blasts of CO2.

  Sonny tossed the empty device aside and went into one of the rear-facing upper rooms, pulling out his weapon as he moved. The window here was also destroyed, and through it he saw two more people preparing a Molotov. He waited until the rag was set alight, then shot the man holding it through the chest as his arm raised to throw it. The bottle fell and shattered, flames immolating both men. Sonny trained his weapon on the next target, a man changing the magazine on an automatic weapon. A shot to the throat took him out, and when he dropped his weapon, Sonny got a bead on the man who ran up to retrieve it.

  The sound of a siren battled through the shop and car alarms, and the attack stopped as quickly as it had started. Sonny watched the hooded men freeze at the approaching noise, and they quickly dispersed, running in all directions.

  All except the one retrieving the Mac-10.

  Sonny silently urged him to forget the weapon and leave, but once the man picked up the machine gun, his fate was sealed. His third shot of the skirmish found its mark, and a cry rang out from Sonny’s right, followed immediately by a burst of gunfire. Sonny instinctively ducked for cover as the rounds went high and wide of the window, then brought his pistol up and got the target’s head in his sights.

  Shanka stood with Connor near the side of the building as two of his men prepared their petrol bomb and wondered what the hell he’d walked into. The sign above the door said Minotaur Logistics, and though it claimed to be a security company, he hadn’t expected the occupants to be brandishing weapons.

  So why the hell were armed men gunning his people down? Was Minotaur some kind of Jihadist code word?

  After watching the first of his men go down to a couple of bullets in the head, he should have known something was wrong. Office workers didn’t carry guns, and certainly didn’t shoot with such accuracy. It had caused his unarmed gang members to scatter, leaving just a handful of them to finish the job.

  He watched the petrol bomb being thrown at an upstairs window and saw it smash against the bars, quickly followed by flames l
icking out of the broken window. With the front breached, he moved to the rear and saw two others stuffing a rag into their bottle while a third man raked the back wall with 9mm rounds. With the bomb finally prepared, the man holding it lit the rag and pulled his arm back to throw it.

  That was as far as he got in life.

  A bullet tore into his chest and the bottle dropped to the ground, smashing open and covering both of them with burning fuel. The third man tried to open up on the window but his firing pin came down on an empty chamber, and he was in the middle of swapping out his magazine when a bullet ripped through his throat.

  Connor started to run over to his dead friend, but Shanka grabbed his arm.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing?’

  ‘I’m out,’ Connor said, ejecting the empty magazine from his gun. ‘I need his ammo.’

  Connor shrugged Shanka off, and the gang leader could only watch as his lieutenant made for the weapon, just as the police sirens broke through the night. Connor froze, obviously undecided, and Shanka guessed he was weighing up the two options: flee, or continue the fight.

  He saw Connor choose the latter, a decision that ended his life with a metal slug buried in his forehead.

  ‘No!’

  Shanka fired an ill-aimed burst towards the broken window, then ran to Connor’s side. His best friend was gone, and the only consolation was that he’d probably been dead before he hit the ground.

  Shanka looked up at the window and saw the pistol aimed at his head, the blond man holding it almost expressionless. No anger, no fear, just a determined look that said the next bullet was imminent, and it suddenly struck him that he hadn’t seen one person inside who looked even remotely like his idea of a Muslim.

  But that wasn’t going to affect his decision to act.

  At just twenty-one years of age, Shanka Townly’s life had barely begun. He was the leader of one of the many London gangs, and one of the few all-white crews. His school education had been brief, the majority of his knowledge gained on the tough streets, so it was inevitable that his reaction to the threat was to swing his Mac-10 up to take out the opposition.