Serious People by James A. Shea Page B

to about 1990 or something. O’Neil and Payne were just starting to grow their little empire. There was this boss in East London somewhere, name of Peszki. I think he was a yid or Polish or something.”
    “I think that’s Polish,” John said.
    “Sorry, fucking Gandhi. You want me to tell this story or what?”
    “Sorry Billy, I didn’t…”
    “Well, whatever, it’s not important. This guy was a real pain in the arse to them, and they decided one day to put him out of business for good. So they sent Mickey around there with some boys, and they closed him down. Killed everyone, dumped them all in the Thames,” Billy said, looking at John for a reaction.
    “Sounds brutal,” John replied.
    “Don’t be a fag all your life, John,” Billy said, stopping for a moment to stare at his elder brother. “Anyways, as it turned out, they didn’t get everyone. Peszki’s two sons weren’t there. Afterwards they went back to their dad’s factory and found no one but some blood and shit. The sons didn’t have to do too much digging though to find out about Mickey Dunne—’course he weren’t called Mickey the Bag back then understand? And they weren’t very happy about it… didn’t see the funny side… some little crew come down and mug them off like that. Blob their old man and all.” 
    “So what did they do?” John asked quickly.
    “Well, Mickey and his wife had just had a little baby, and he really doted on it. You know, spent every evening in. He’d gone soft. Though, this one night, with it being such a successful day with bringing Peszki down and all, he was down at the Irish club, you know with Payne and O’Neil celebrating. But meantimes the Peszkis… they got some big guns, went round Mickey’s, kicked the door in and shot the place up proper.” Billy said, mimicking firing an automatic rifle.
    “What happened to Mickey’s family?” John asked.
    “Mickey got back—pretty late I guess—and the place was all shot up. He found his wife first. She was still alive, just, and then he saw their baby. Apparently, it had been shot up so much that there was barely anything left,” Billy said with a dark smile.
    John look sickened. Nick smiled and nodded his head as if keen for the story to continue.
    “OK, so Mickey was pissed. He’d already done his homework on the Peszkis and he knew where the brothers lived. So, after his wife left in an ambulance, he headed straight there.”
    “He had a gun?” John asked.
    “No, no, Mickey don’t do guns. He’s got the stupid old school shit going on. He’s a name, he don’t need no shooter, he thinks people who carry shooters are no better than fags. Anyways, let me finish the fucking story, will ya?” Billy said, glaring at John, who nodded back by way of an apology. “So, he got to their place and just by chance they had left their garage door wide open. So Mickey, who probably right now is thinking, shit maybe I should have brought something, strolls right in there and eyed a toolbox just sat there in the middle of the garage and he had an idea. He decided to take a few choice things out… hammer, screwdriver, gardening sheers you name it. Then, while he’s probably mulling over in his mind which one is best to take to fuck them all right up, he notices the bag in the corner and thinks. Fuck that, why don’t I stick them all in the bag, then I got a choice of what to use. The story goes that, when he burst in, the brothers were watching TV, having a few beers. But lying on the floor next to them were those AK-47s, just lying there you know. It didn’t take too much grey matter to work out that those were obviously what they’d used to do his family. So, on seeing this, Mickey goes mad and wades into them both with their own garden tools!” Billy laughed, and Nick started to laugh. “It must have been fucking hysterical!”
    “What happened to his wife?” John asked.
    “I don’t fucking know. And who fucking cares about that?” Billy