the skull, only the whites showing. Ash lowered the bat as he stared at the dead boy. He was a boy, a teenager, certainly no older. The mouth was fixed wide open in a silent scream. It was a surreal sight to behold. There was a dead teenager wrapped in plastic, dumped on his driveway in front of his garage. Ash looked closer. His eyes widened as realisation struck home. It was Abdul Salim, one of his junior dealers. There was now no doubt in his mind, someone was sending him a message, a bad one for sure. How had they connected a street dealer to him? It had to be a rival gang; no one else would pull a stunt like this. Abdul Salim worked the tower blocks in Netherley, and they were lucrative market places, constantly under threat from neighbouring crime families. It looked like one of them was making a serious bid to take over the area.
Ashwan`s brain raced at warp speed. One of his dealers had been wasted, and then dumped on his front lawn. Someone was sending him a message but who? Perhaps it was another dealer? Ashwan was furious. It was one thing killing one of his most promising dealers, another to dump the body in front of his home. His wife would be mortified and there would be more questions and accusations than the Spanish Inquisition. There would have to be savage repercussions to avenge this strike, but right now, he had to clear up this mess, before Lana did something stupid, like calling the police.
Was it a coincidence that a dead body had been dumped, and his son hadn’t come home? Ash turned and looked toward the front door. Lana was stood on the porch with her hands covering her eyes and face. She was visibly shaking.
“Lana.” Ashwan said calmly to get her attention. She looked at him but he wasn’t sure she`d registered what she was seeing. “Go and see if Mamood is home.”
Lana shook her head from side to side. “I`ve just checked. He hasn’t come home.” Lana put her head onto her shoulder and dropped to her knees slowly, as if a heavy weight was pressing her down. “What`s going on, Ashwan?” Her body quivered and tears ran freely down her cheeks. She began to wail like a scalded cat.
“Get a grip, Lana,” he hissed. “I`m not sure what is happening, Lana.” Ashwan said, opening the garage door. “Go inside, this is not Mamood.” He looked at her with a face like thunder. Lana could tell by the look on his face that he was serious. “Turn off the security lights and get inside, do it now!”
“What is going on, Ash?” Lana wiped her running nose with her dressing gown sleeve. “What have you done?”
“Get inside, and turn off the lights.” Ash hissed and his face turned to a snarl. He grabbed the plastic and dragged the body toward the garage. The security lights went out as he closed the metal door. He needed to call Malik. Someone had declared war.
CHAPTER Fourteen
The Bernstein Brothers/present day
Richard Bernstein sat at his desk in the basement of a Victorian farmhouse. It was set in the centre of twenty-five acres of grazing land, surrounded at the perimeter by deciduous woodland. Richard fell in love with the farm the first time he had seen it, as a teenager. As a young man he used to fish in the stream, which ran through it. Carp and chub swam in the gentle waters, and he came to escape the traumas of his family disintegrating. He sat on the bank in the sunshine alone, dreaming of owning the farm one day when he grew up. He rarely caught any fish, but he loved the peace and quiet. The setting was idyllic, and it offered the owner privacy, while not being completely isolated from the main arterial routes.
Many years later when Richard had grown up, the farmer could no longer make a living from the land, subsidies from the European Union were slashed dramatically, and he decided to sell up and retire. Richard paid the full asking price for it, before the `for sale` sign had gone up. It was ideal for a loner like Richard. The farm had a
Ashwan`s brain raced at warp speed. One of his dealers had been wasted, and then dumped on his front lawn. Someone was sending him a message but who? Perhaps it was another dealer? Ashwan was furious. It was one thing killing one of his most promising dealers, another to dump the body in front of his home. His wife would be mortified and there would be more questions and accusations than the Spanish Inquisition. There would have to be savage repercussions to avenge this strike, but right now, he had to clear up this mess, before Lana did something stupid, like calling the police.
Was it a coincidence that a dead body had been dumped, and his son hadn’t come home? Ash turned and looked toward the front door. Lana was stood on the porch with her hands covering her eyes and face. She was visibly shaking.
“Lana.” Ashwan said calmly to get her attention. She looked at him but he wasn’t sure she`d registered what she was seeing. “Go and see if Mamood is home.”
Lana shook her head from side to side. “I`ve just checked. He hasn’t come home.” Lana put her head onto her shoulder and dropped to her knees slowly, as if a heavy weight was pressing her down. “What`s going on, Ashwan?” Her body quivered and tears ran freely down her cheeks. She began to wail like a scalded cat.
“Get a grip, Lana,” he hissed. “I`m not sure what is happening, Lana.” Ashwan said, opening the garage door. “Go inside, this is not Mamood.” He looked at her with a face like thunder. Lana could tell by the look on his face that he was serious. “Turn off the security lights and get inside, do it now!”
“What is going on, Ash?” Lana wiped her running nose with her dressing gown sleeve. “What have you done?”
“Get inside, and turn off the lights.” Ash hissed and his face turned to a snarl. He grabbed the plastic and dragged the body toward the garage. The security lights went out as he closed the metal door. He needed to call Malik. Someone had declared war.
CHAPTER Fourteen
The Bernstein Brothers/present day
Richard Bernstein sat at his desk in the basement of a Victorian farmhouse. It was set in the centre of twenty-five acres of grazing land, surrounded at the perimeter by deciduous woodland. Richard fell in love with the farm the first time he had seen it, as a teenager. As a young man he used to fish in the stream, which ran through it. Carp and chub swam in the gentle waters, and he came to escape the traumas of his family disintegrating. He sat on the bank in the sunshine alone, dreaming of owning the farm one day when he grew up. He rarely caught any fish, but he loved the peace and quiet. The setting was idyllic, and it offered the owner privacy, while not being completely isolated from the main arterial routes.
Many years later when Richard had grown up, the farmer could no longer make a living from the land, subsidies from the European Union were slashed dramatically, and he decided to sell up and retire. Richard paid the full asking price for it, before the `for sale` sign had gone up. It was ideal for a loner like Richard. The farm had a
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