"This isn't going well, Isla. Not well at all." George Redwall shook his head, his thick mop of grey hair slapping against his forehead. He folded his arm, surveying the shelves. "I reckon there's just enough for a couple of days, maybe seven or eight average-sized families at the most."
"It's OK, George, we get most donations on a Monday anyway. Besides, we're still waiting for the Basedon family's transfer. Before long, we probably won't have enough shelves for the food." It was a Thursday evening and I was at the local food bank where I normally volunteered on the for three evenings a week.
The food bank wasn't doing as well for several months now as to be expected with any place that was entirely run on donations. The local people had been extremely generous for the last fifteen years that this shelter had been operating. Unfortunately, something had seemed to change in what was referred to as 'community spirit' and although now and again the charity was surprised by large donations from well-established businesses or families, it didn't extend much over the daily food shortages the hub faced.
Most of the food was now bought by George himself, and a couple of volunteers when there was a need for it. But this was not sustainable long-term. The charity did have some monthly direct debit donations but even these had slowly receded.
George scoffed, "Come on Isla, you know how that works. It's been a month since we last spoke to the Basedons and they claimed the money would reach us within two days! Besides, we shouldn't be wholly relying on one-off donations by people who decide to offload some of their cash once in a blue moon."
I sighed but still refused to think negatively. There would be others who, depending on their day, would feel charitable and be able to feed a handful of people from the homeless community.
Just then the door opened and a familiar red-haired woman appeared, wearing her signature feather-embellished fur coat. "Nice to see you, Vera," George called out.
Vera sniffed but gave a little wave and began to browse the shelves. George put down his pen and notepad and approached her.
"How are things going, Vera? I haven't seen you in a fortnight. Did everything work out with your accommodation?"
Vera was scrutinizing a bottle of shampoo and didn't look up. "No," She said gruffly, her voice hoarse as it usually was. She must be about George's age, maybe older; with her face permanently etched into a scowl and her eyes deep-set and small.
The door swung open again and a boy, similar in age to me, strode in, his green beanie hiding most of his long, brown hair. George called out again, "Hey, how ya doing, Andrew?"
Andrew looked up, saw us and grinned. I smiled back. Andrew was a nice boy, and talking to him sometimes, you couldn't tell that he had been in and out of care most of his life, before living on the streets just before he turned twelve.
"I just needed a couple of things." He explained with a shrug once he was in front of us.
"You don't need to explain, Andrew, you know that," George said.
"What do you need?" I asked him, "I can make a basket for you."
Andrew regarded me with his bright green eyes and appeared to think for a moment. "Some toiletries. I need shampoo, lotion, some tins of beans, some soup and maybe some chilli, if you have any."
"Didn't you take all that last week?" George frowned. I nudged him because he had just said that Andrew didn't have to explain.
Andrew didn't seem to mind the question. "There's been an issue." And then I noticed his temple.
"What happened to the side of your face?" There was a large bruise there accompanied by a small cut.
His fingers touched the bruise and he explained, "That's a just a little token. There's a fight on the streets. Drug related or something, I don't know. I try to keep away from all that. All my things got taken in the middle of it."
"What fight?" I was curious.
"Ah, always a street-gang, throwing little punches to massage their ego." Vera spoke up behind us. She had her arms full of shampoo- all the shampoo we had in the store. "It's always money. Never anything else."
"Ah Vera," George said slowly, as he eyed the load of shampoo, "I like your hair as it is. Don't you?"
Vera's eyes, small and beady as they were, narrowed into thin slits. "Don't you know better than to insult a woman like that? Old man like you, you should be ashamed of yourself." She sniffed loudly.
I cleared my throat. "Your hair is lovely Vera. I'm sure George is just a little concerned about all that shampoo washing away its vibrancy. He was only trying to compliment you. It's a shame it came across a little...insulting, right George?"
George mumbled something that sounded like a grudging agreement.
Andrew was staring at Vera, his eyes bright with curiosity, "How would you know about street-fights? I'd say it's about drugs."
Vera barged past us, dumping the shampoos with a loud thud onto the counter. "From my experience, boy. I know a lot more than you think. Drugs are money."
"OK." said Andrew, but it was clear from his face that he thought Vera didn't know much about that world.
"Ha, kids." Vera muttered under her breath, shaking her head. "They think they are the only ones that face problems. The only ones with their kind of problems."
George looked at her, "Vera, are you OK?"
"Why would I not be OK? Silly old man." She shuffled towards another aisle, leaving the pile of shampoo on the counter.
Andrew eyed the bottles with great interest and asked, "Do you have also have chilli?"
"I don't think so. From what I made out earlier, we only have soup and some beans. Clam chowder?" I offered, though the suggested made me feel queasy. He seemed to feel the same way.
"You OK, Andrew? How many of your things were taken?"
"I didn't have much anyway. I'll go back once I hear they're gone to check things over, in case anything is left behind." I noticed he was distracted by something behind me and glanced over to see Vera who'd returned.
"Gone?" She hissed, "They are never gone, boy, not really."
Andrew asked, "OK, so what would you know about it?"
Suddenly a fierce look captured her face, her eyes flashed full of fire making us all slightly jump at the abrupt change. "You all think that it's just poor old Vera, wandering around the streets, that no one wants to put up with me so I'm just discarded like trash. Well, no one knows me! The things I know, the things I've been through, everything I've been through..." she trailed away, as through her energy was all spent by her short speech, now looking forlorn and lost.
Feeling sorry for the fierce little woman, I almost gave her a hug. Almost. For a moment, I had forgotten that she would have clawed my eyes out if I had tried to touch her.
It was George who broke the silence. "What have you been through, Vera?" Thankfully, his voice was soft, the way it always was when someone came into the food bank for the first time.
Vera looked at him for a long moment and then she finally spoke, her voice steady, "I was in a group when I was younger, or a 'crew' as they call it now, street-gang or crew, call it what you will. About forty years ago, it must have been. I came from an affluent family, but I ended up with the wrong sort of friends. In those days, parents hardly cared about a ten-year-old going off by themselves with whoever they wanted. Before my teens, I took more drugs than I had even heard about.
"I've been through it all, the fights, the violence, and the money, it's all about the money. Everyone out for each other's blood..." Her nose twitched at the memories, her eyes almost black and hollow. She jabbed a finger at George and Andrew, "Don't ever think I haven't seen it all. I've been there and I've done it. It's always the same. You do your best to stay away, boy. It'll haunt you for the rest of your life."
She turned way then, rearranging the shampoo bottles, so that they all stood in neat, uniform rows, murmuring, "Your hands full of someone else's blood...always full of their blood."
We all stared at each other, not quite knowing what to say. And then Andrew asked hopefully, "So, the shampoo?"
I glanced at Vera's back, all hunched over the counter and shook my head. "We have hand soap?" I offered.
He had to agree to take the hand soap and I filled his basket with everything else he needed, bar canned chilli. When it was time to close, George and I looked around at the now mostly empty shelves.
"I really hope you're right, Isla- that the Basedons remember their fulfil their promised charity and that things pick up again on Monday. Because if they don't, we'll have hundreds of people like Vera, who won't have any means of living."
It was late when I arrived back at home, and as I tried to sleep, I kept thinking about Vera. Her experiences, though forty years old, were similar to what many teens were going through now. She was right, the issues were the same. I dreamt of a younger Vera embroiled in all the gritty violence of the streets. Her words strangely haunted me more than they should.
*****
The next day, I was trudging along to my next class in college, yawning loudly when suddenly, someone bumped into me.
"Hey, sleepy-head." Anna laughed. "What's up?"
I greeted her with a tired smile. "I didn't sleep much last night."
"At least today's Friday." Anna grinned, "You still up for staying over on Saturday night?"
"Absolutely. It'll be like a high school sleepover all over again." We both laughed at that as we headed off to the next class. Jenny had already bagged us middle row seats. "Hey strangers. Long time no see."
Anna rolled her eyes. Jenny took a seat and pretending to inspect her nails, she drawled in a high-pitched tone, "So, like you guys up for what was it...a girl's night in..?"
Anna rolled her eyes, "Yeah, we're all twenty, yes, we can still say the word 'sleepover'."
"A fricking sleepover." Jenny admitted, "I'm actually not ashamed to say I'm excited. Finally, some womanly time together. I was scared that once I'm past 18, it'll have to be all work and no play."
I laughed, "We only just went shopping the other day."
"After how long? We need to keep this up, girls. I'm aging too fast. At this rate, I'll be a grandma before I'm old enough to be a grandma."
Anna met my incredulous look. "I know, Isla. Don't say anything. She's crazy."
I had to tell her, "That doesn't even make sense, Jenny. Anyway, I'm up for 'keeping this up' only if my studies allow me the time off. Between these sessions, the assignments we have, and work, I barely have time for myself."
Just then, the professor arrived and the lecture began. Two hours later, my back was stiff and class was dismissed. "So, should I bring anything? I can do some last minute shopping in town." I asked as I packed my things away.
"I don't know if all the shops will be open," Anna told me, swinging her bag onto her back.
"Why won't they be?"
"The cops have closed off Selvern Street, all the way up to the Boulevard," Jenny informed me. "There's been some sort of street fight. Someone was stabbed."
Anna filled me in as we shuffled along the corridor towards the open space outdoors. "I heard it was something to do with a local gang. There's been drug problems for a long time now in the area. The streets have been tagged with the name of some crew. B.C or E.C. Something like that." She stopped to think for a moment, "No, I think it was an E. It was E.C."
"E.C?" I asked. It sounded like a bizarre crew name to me.
"Maybe it's some initials or something." Jenny shrugged. "Come on, my stomach hasn't stopped grumbling for the last two hours. I want a hotdog!" She grabbed us both by the arms and dragged us towards the food truck.
******
It was about half-five when I reached my house. I had just been on the phone to Mum, who told me that she was needed at a conference in Abu Dhabi.
"I'm sorry, Isla. I know I was meant to be home this evening, but Sara called in sick a couple of hours ago. I've had to rearrange the flights and I'll be flying to Abu Dhabi in an hour. You'll be OK, won't you?"
Sometimes she acted like it was the first time she'd done this. I refrained from rolling my eyes, "Of course Mum." But I couldn't resist from reminding her, "I have coped before."
"Yes, I know. But I don't stop worrying." There was a rustling noise in the background and then she said, "There's always food in the freezer if you don't feel like cooking. Or maybe Danny can surprise you and make something for a change."
I snorted at that. Danny was hardly there mentally. Physically, he found it difficult to overcome the distance of a maybe a hundred feet from his room down to the kitchen. So the image of Danny cooking was too far-fetched.
It wasn't that he didn't used to cook. We used to love cooking together, singing and dancing through the mess in the kitchen. We didn't always create something edible, sometimes it was burnt, sometimes it looked like even rats would be repulsed by it. It was times like that I missed. It may have been surprising to others, but Danny had been my best friend.
"Remember Dad won't be home until next week," Mum was saying now. "Did you speak to him today?"
I had. Dad always found the time to talk to me daily. He even texted me throughout the day sometimes. I sometimes found it hard not to throw my phone away when I received one of the many memes he sent me. He called them 'hilarious'. I was still cowering from the cringe a week later.
"I've got to go now, Isla. I think boarding may have started. Love you, darling."
"Love you Mum." I hung up just as I reached the front door of the house and then I stopped in shock.
Someone had sprayed graffiti on our front door, lopsided and glaring at me in red. It was a grotesque sight, the paint dripping across the panels, all the way down to the mat on the front step. The lock had been broken and the door hung slightly open. It was only then when I noticed that some of the windows in the front had also been broken, the glass shattered and crunching beneath my feet as I edged closer.
Sick dread filled my stomach. Too curious to see what, if anything, had happened inside, I pushed the door and stepped inside.
The place had been vandalised. Ransacked, damaged and ruined beyond what I once knew as home. Our decorative vases now glittering in tiny shards on the floor, paintings ripped to shreds, and the furniture in pieces along the hall and rooms. Along the walls, swearwords filled the once neutrally painted walls.
And then the same phrases over and over again.
YOUR BLOOD IS OURS.
WE'RE COMING FOR YOU.
NO MORE RUNNING, DANNY-BOY.
The words, sprayed everywhere, across the kitchen counters, across the hardwood flooring in the living room, across the carpet covering the stairs. My eyes became fuzzy from the letters until the words rang inside my head, circling and swirling into shock and confusion.
I stumbled into my bedroom, sobbing at the disarray. My slashed clothes now lay in fragments, barely just threads bound to each other by a fibre. My bed was broken in the middle, the mattress turned upside down and ripped open.
My phone rang and I jumped, almost tripping over a drawer flung onto the floor.
"Isla, I've been trying to get hold of you for ages! You weren't picking up, why weren't you picking up?" Danny's voice was frantic, loud and full of fear.
"Danny? What's going on?"
"Listen to me, you're not home are you? If you are, don't go in. Stay away. Just don't go home."
My head was too confused, I could barely make out what he was saying. "Are you listening, Isla?"
"I don't understand, Danny. I'm already home."
There was a pause and then, "Fuck!" Danny shouted now, "Isla, get out. Get out now!"
Almost tripping over my feet, I barely made it to the front door, my legs weak and shaking. The air was chilly now, prickling my skin, teasing the tiny hairs there so that they stood on edge as if ready for an attack.
There was a pinging sound and my phone's screen lit up. It was a text from Danny.
Half an hour later, after following Danny's bizarre instructions, I rang Jenny's doorbell. Her familiar face was a relief, easing my worry until my stomach didn't feel quite so tight anymore.
"Hey Jenny." I greeted her with a small smile.
"Hey. Come in." As I passed her into her warm hallway, she asked, "Is everything OK?"
"Everything's fine."
She didn't look convinced but let it past. "Danny's in the living room."
Danny was sitting on the couch when I entered, his face troubled as he slouched over the coffee table, his hand playing with the glass of orange juice. When he saw me, he looked up and straightened.
"Hey."
"Hey."
He looked wary now and I noticed a couple of familiar bags on the other end of the couch. "What's this?" I asked, referring to them.
He didn't follow my gaze and instead gestured for me to take a seat.
I refused. "Danny, what is going on?"
Jenny, standing behind me, suddenly offered an excuse, telling me she had some reading to do. She shut the door, leaving me alone with my brother.
"I come home to find the whole place turned upside down. And then you call telling me not to go inside, to stay away." I sat now, further enough from Danny, because I had a feeling he had answers I wasn't going to like.
He took a deep breath and then another. Then he turned to face me, "Look, what I say now, promise me you'll listen and won't interrupt. Don't speak until I've finished. Can you do that?"
I doubted it, but right now I just needed to know what was going on. So I nodded.
"It's going to be difficult to hear, I know. You'll probably not believe me, but after what's happened, I think I need to tell you. And I think you need to hear all of it. Every single bit. So just listen."
I didn't understand what explanation he could give for our house looking the way it did, but Danny seemed to be wrestling with something important. Important and incredibly serious. He took his time to think about his next words, his eyes tormented.
"When I left London to study in San Francisco, it was harder than I had expected. It was Sam who convinced to go, remember Sam? Sam Andrews?" I nodded again. He had been an acquaintance of Danny's, a friends cousin or something. A scrawny looking boy at the time, wiry black hair and a thin face.
"He had family there, from his dad's side, and suggested some places there for me to visit. It was all just banter really, but then it got me thinking. I didn't need to stay in London to study, I could go abroad and experience living in another country, while gaining a qualification. Maybe I'd even find work there. There'd be different opportunities."
"Is there a point to this Danny?" I was impatient now, "How does this relate to what our house looks like now?"
Danny shot me a look. "Didn't I tell you not to interrupt?"
"I didn't promise. At least not vocally. Just get to the point, will you?"
"It was harder than I expected in San Francisco, Isla. A lot harder. A whole different culture there, a different way of living. Nothing like the movies, but not completely far from it either. I had a roommate, Mexican guy, who was the nicest to me out of everyone. I mean, at least he spoke to me. And then one day, he needed me to do him a favour. Naively, I agreed." Danny paused here, meeting my gaze fully, his blue eyes, the same that I had inherited from our father, burning into mine.
"It was a drugs package, Isla."
At my sharp inhale, he quickly added, "I didn't know at the time, but to me it was just one little favour anyway. But that's all that was needed from me. One drugs package and I was tied to them. They had grounds for blackmailing me. So, the favours increased. I ended up delivering from anxiety-prone college dudes, to well-off people who would seem normal to you and me, and then to larger groups of people. It became dangerous after a while. I didn't realise, but before long I became embroiled into one of San Francisco's gangs."
I gasped at that and looked away from him, because I couldn't look at him anymore. It sounded all too absurd to me. It couldn't be true- no way.
Danny continued on, as if I hadn't reacted. "Maybe I had become involved right at the beginning, the second I had said yes to my roommate." He looked thoughtfully at the glass on the table. "You know, I never saw him again after that. The communication always continued with someone else. It was like a never-ending chain, meeting new people all the time, until I met people that we'd never imagine ourselves being associated with."
"What happened then? You became a 'gang-member', what then?" My voice was sharper than I had intended, but I didn't let it soften. "Are they after you now for some reason? I presume that's why our house is destroyed. What did you do, Danny?"
My accusatory tone made him wince. "I two-timed them. With another crew, and then turned them against each other. I think that's why they are after me."
"What are you talking about?"
Danny explained slowly, "I found another gang. Once you're in one, it's impossible that you wouldn't have come across another crew's name. I heard of many...La Cabrera, the Hawks, Da Rosa Brothers, the BlackSnipers- who by the way are a massive organisation- and others like Street Nation...and Bolton Crew."
He went on, "I was affiliated with Street Nation, handling their drugs and things and then I heard of the Bolton Crew. Apparently, a much bigger group, with bigger sense of purpose. I pretended I was some guy at the other end of the chain, the big time costumer. Took all the drugs and gave them to Bolton Crew."
My head was spinning at this point. "Why? Why would you even do that?" I gasped. I didn't understand it, how could this be real?
Danny shrugged. "I wanted out. I thought at the time it was the only way. I was wrong, of course. Things got out of hand after that and I needed protection. Bolton Crew was the best way to achieve that. They protected me, mainly because I was a valuable asset to them now. I had been in Street Nation, I knew how things worked. It was like a golden ticket to them."
His words were starting to register in my brain. "Only now you had ended up inside a much bigger and presumably more dangerous gang?" I guessed.
He nodded, "It was a lot harder to find a way out with the Bolton Crew. You have eyes on you everywhere. One false move and they would kill you. Shoot you between the eyes without thinking twice about it. So, I went back to Street Nation, told them their drugs were taken by the Bolton Crew and I was out. By the time the two crew were fighting, I had boarded my plane to Vancouver."
"Didn't Street Nation attack the Bolton Crew as soon as they found that their drugs had gone missing?"
Danny shook his head. "You have to realise the sizes of these crews. Bolton Crew is known for its size and reputation. It can easily dominate a small time street-gang like Street Nation. Besides, they were already vulnerable and exposed from all the information I gave to the Bolton Crew about its inner workings."
"So how did they manage to fight the Bolton Crew when you told them what had happened?"
"They were on good terms with another gang who were also after the Bolton Crew. Both of them had enough resources for a good chance of a fight. That's how it all works with gangs. You use your allies to bring your rivals down."
Now that Danny had told me everything, I breathed hard and sat back, trying to absorb all the information. My head throbbed into a burning headache and I took my time desperately trying to massage my temples.
"Isla? You OK?"
OK? How could I be OK after hearing all of that? I didn't respond, even as my eyes stung, as I tried so hard to reconcile my image of Danny, my stupid hot-headed yet infuriatingly optimistic brother with whatever he'd told me now.
"Isla?"
"Danny," I finally snapped, "I honestly don't know what to say to you."
"Did you hear everything I said? Please tell me you at least understand some of it?"
"Understand?" My eyes flew open to glare at him. "Understand what? That you became a drugs mule for a criminal gang? What even are they? The mafia?"
"No," he made a sound similar to a snort, "They're not the mafia."
"What do I even call them? Gangs in London were just a small group of boys trying to act tough and carrying knives in the place of learning actual self-defence."
"Gangs, crew." He shrugged, "Same thing."
Of course, he'd know. I stared at him, trying to pry away this outer nonchalant layer that smothered my real brother, but instead I was facing someone who looked worn-out, stressed and older than his years. His red rimmed eyes looked back at me in worry.
"Isla?"
"Danny, you're an absolute asshole."
At that, Danny collapsed back against the cushions of the sofa, clearly drained from offloading everything that had been torturing him inside for the past two years. "I know."
"I presume that one of these two gangs have realised what you did and are now after you?"
"Yes, the Bolton Crew."
There was a pause and then I reached out to punch his arm with as much force as I could muster, "Damn it, Danny! Why do you have to be so goddamn stupid? What is this going to do to Mum and Dad? Did you even think of that?"
He massaged his arm, slightly cowering away from me, "Of course I have. I've thought about it every single day. About how it would affect all of you. Can you imagine what they'd think of me? Their son, a fucking drugs mule?" He shook his head, "I was in a gang so does that make me a gangster. Damn, is that even the right word? That word is just thrown around nowadays, like a stupid joke. Like every tough guy out there is 'wannabe gangster'. It's not the right word is it?"
"I wouldn't know, would I?" My words shot out like fire, hot and stinging. "I mean, you're the one who was in a gang. Rest assured, not the Mafia, but from your experience, you should know all the correct terminology."
He stared at me, "Ouch."
I wasn't going to be diplomatic. "You've put us all in serious danger, Danny. Mum, Dad and me. You're so lucky they are away right now, because other than this stupid gang catching up to you or us, I have no idea what Mum and Dad would have done to you."
Danny covered his face with his hands, "I know, Isla, I'll fix it, I promise."
I was incredulous at his response. "How? How do you think you'll be able to do that? You're so far into this crap, how can you even see a way out?"
He bought his hands down and edged closer towards me. Putting his hands on my shoulders, he said earnestly, "I will fix this, Isla. It's my mess and it needs to be fixed. I'm promising you that I will sort this out, OK?"
Dropping his hands, he continued, "You need to find somewhere safe to stay, Isla. I advise you to stay inside, don't go to uni because now they've found out who I am, there's no doubt they'll be after you. Stay indoors, don't go anywhere."
He paused for a second, "And don't contact me. I won't be using my phone, I'll be using something that can't be traced."
"Traced?"
Danny shrugged, "I don't want to take any chances. I'll contact you, OK?"
When I nodded, he reached to the side and pulled the bags towards me. "I packed your things, Isla. Everything you need should be inside."
Shocked at that, I asked, "What? When did you have time to do that?"
"That phone-call yesterday, Isla, it was from someone I trusted. They told me that the Bolton Crew were on edge. I knew it was a matter of time before they knew everything. So when you were gone to Uni, I made sure to pack for you, just in case."
He carried on, ruefully, "Good thing, I did. I doubt you'd have anything left to pack afterwards. Anyway, you can't go back home. They'll have someone watching the place. You need to stay low while I sort things out."
"Stay low? How long will this be?"
His eyes were honest as he said, "I don't know."
I was still too angry, "I have a life, you know? I'm in the middle of my studies. I can't just decide to drop everything at the drop of a hat."
"I know," Danny's face hardened. "But there's no other option. It's either stay low or get killed. Which one do you prefer, Isla?"