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Retribution

Forgive me if my grammar is not too proper. I am working on it. I hope you enjoy the story. If you have any comments, do not hesitate to let me know. Enjoy.

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Prologue

There I was, face down on the pebbles. The bitter December cold was not helping much. I felt the chill run down my spine, giving me goose bumps all over. I attempted to overpower the giant, but Goliath wouldn't have it. He pushed his huge boot down onto my back vigorously, making it difficult for me to move or breath.

"What do you want me to do boss?" Goliath yelled, in a deep muscular voice.

"Release him," Bobby answered.

As the force of his boot decreased, I heaved for air, taking a deep breath, inflating my lungs with fresh oxygen. Once I gained my respiration, I raised my head. My sight fixed to what was ahead. Bobby advanced closer to me, all I recognised was his silhouette, but I knew it was him from his posture.

He stopped a few feet away from me, stood there staring at me for a moment before he attacked me with questions. "Who are you? Why were you following me? For whom are you working for?" The emphasis of his voice demanded an answer.

He retrieved a cigarette lighter from his pocket and inflamed his cigarette. The small flame from the zippo had shed enough light to reveal his face. I gritted my teeth on seeing the man that caused my family and me so much sorrow. He stepped closer, manoeuvred the flame around, analysing my face. For a split second, he seemed confused. He then took a step back, with an expression of shock on his face. Was it the deformity on my cheek or recognition that disturbed him? I wasn't sure.

"Can I finish him off now boss?" my assaulter asked. He reminded me of a child who asks for approval, before doing something.

"Kill him!" Bobby ordered the giant. He then turned around and walked away, vanishing into the night.

Chapter 1

For five months, that is how long I have been waiting for my retribution. A single word has been poisoning my mind. A voice in my head keeps saying, "retribution, retribution, retribution."

Is this the end, does my retribution end here? Underneath the Brighton Pier on a chilly night, by the hands of a thug. I closed my eyes as memories swamped my mind.

Five months back

It was July 10. The weather was perfect, not a single cloud in the sky. As my wife and I rushed through the square of Covent Garden, my goal was to get to Theatre Royal Drury Lane. I say my goal because it was a birthday surprise for my wife, Julie. We bustled passed the market stools. I held her hand tight, as we dodged the tourists and entertainers.

"What race are we in?" Julie shouted as she attempted to keep up with me.

"We are nearly there my love," I replied.

As I approached the corner of Catherine Street, I had to force myself to stop. I was trying to avoid from slamming into the group of people ahead of me. "What is going on here?" I said. Pretending to be oblivious of what was happening around us.

With a smile on her face, Julie said, "Oh, everyone must be waiting to get into the theatre to watch 42nd Street. I was reading the reviews about this show, which is playing at Theatre Royal Drury Lane. You have to reserve tickets months in advance." She sighed as she observed all the happy faces amongst the huge crowd. "They must be waiting for the doors to open." She raised herself onto her toes, hoping to see a celebrity amongst the crowd.

"You mean these tickets?" I commenced waving two tickets in front of her.

With a sharp twist of her body, she turned around, her eyes centred on the two theatre tickets.

"Not the best seats in the house, but they will give us admission to watch 42nd Street," I announced.

"Oh my God, oh my God!" she repeatedly screamed, as she leapt towards me, embracing me in a firm hug. Kissing me, imprinting lips all over my face with her bright red lipstick. Her performance was getting a few chuckles from the masses around us.

Between the smouldering of her lips, I managed to speak, "Happy Birthday my love." I received another round of attacks by her lips.

Patiently we waited in the queue to enter the theatre. Julie was trying to remove the lipstick streaks from my face by using a wet tissue. She kept on repeatedly thanking me for the beautiful birthday surprise. That is when I felt someone patting me on the shoulder. I turned to see a tall, slim man. He seemed not more than thirty years old. He was well dressed, in a three-piece suit. His hair all greased back, like someone out of a gangster movie. I discovered a few months later that this mobsters name was Bobby. Next to Bobby stood a giant, A Goliath of a man, which I found out in time he was Bobby's henchman.

"I'll give you £200?" Bobby said.

"Not for sale," I responded. Turning back to face the front, holding Julie by her hand, my fingers locked into hers.

"I'll give you £500?" he insisted.

Turning, with force in my voice I replied, "Look the tickets are not for sale!" I stared into his eyes, attempting to make my point.

He curled his lips into a grin. "I'm not talking about your tickets, buddy. I want to buy your bitch for £500." His expression, turned to rage, as he looked down at the ground, my eyes trailed his sight. He had a switchblade in his hand, pointed directly at my body, only a few inches away from me. I instantly reacted, moving Julie behind me to guard her.

"We have to go, boss," said the henchman, his eyes focused along Catherine Street.

Two police officers were patrolling the street. They were walking towards us.

"Until we meet again," Bobby said with a smirk on his face. He gazed into my eyes, at that instant I knew this was not over. With a swift turn, they both disappeared into the heaps of people.

Julie was shaken up. I was too, but my concern was for Julie's well-being. I had dealt with thugs like this in the past. I could deal with them, but I was worried about Julie. My wife wanted to stop the police officers to notify them about the incident.

"They have gone. Let's put it behind us and enjoy our evening," I said.

Not being able to appreciate the show, I sat there and gazed at the stage for three hours. I was thinking of what occurred outside with the two thugs. Maybe Julie was right. We should have informed the officers.

Once the show ended, we made our way out by the exit doors on the side of the theatre. As soon as we were on the street, that is when I tried to be more alert to what was occurring around us. Julie grabbed my arm, tugging herself toward me, as we strolled through Covent Garden. All the shop owners had closed for the night. The only movement in the square was pedestrians hurrying to their destinations. I could feel Julie tighten her grip on my arm, as we walked faster within Covent Garden Square. I attempted to appear normal, not to alarm her. Once we reached the Underground Station, Julie's grip loosened slightly.

We raced through the ticket barriers, with our pre-paid tickets, as quickly as we could. Both of us relieved on seeing the lift doors open that would take us down to the train tunnel. "Hey, don't worry, they are long gone," I said. We smiled at each other, as we got into the lift.

There was some movement on the platform. People were anticipating for the train to arrive. I believe we were not the only commuters in a rush to get back home, after an evening in Central London. The electronic timetable showed 'Cockfosters two minutes'. Cockfosters was our stop. Once the train's lights appeared within the tunnel, everyone stepped closer to the edge of the platform. I inhaled a deep breath and held it as the train came to a halt. Once the doors opened, we both leapt into the carriage, claiming two seats next to each other.

The train's doors hesitated on closing. A minute later the carriage intercom crackled to life. The male voice said, "There will be a twenty-minute delay due to faulty light signals ahead. We are sorry for the inconvenience."

Passengers around us protested about the delay. After some minutes, everyone accepted the suspension and settled down. More passengers piled into the carriage, causing it to overflow. The doors eventually started to close. They stopped midway. Opening and closing, smashing together repeatedly.

Turning to Julie, I said, "Now what's happened?"

A pregnant woman seated opposite us stated, "Probably, some fool tried to board the carriage while the doors were closing." Her remark got everyone's attention as they began to protest again. Some swayed their heads, while others rolled their eyes.

"I tried that once. The door hit me in the ribs. I'm never doing that again," the man sitting next to me confessed. He began to rub the side of his ribcage. Suddenly the doors slammed together, closing.

Once the train began to move, the journey to Cockfosters would only take a half-hour. As the train stopped at each station, passengers would get off. A handful of commuters remained on each carriage when we reached our destination.

"When we exit the station, another ten-minute walk and we are home," I said.

Going up the escalator towards the exit, that is when I saw him. He was standing at the top, looking down at each person as they stepped off the moving stairway. I knew it was him from his abnormal size. It was Goliath. Julie saw him as well, fear was written all over her face. When we reached the top, we both scanned the area, turning our heads in all directions. We couldn't see him anywhere.

"They must have followed us, in another carriage," I said. I began walking around in circles, worried more for Julie, then myself. "I'll call your father, to come and pick us up." I pulled my smartphone out of my pocket, pressed the speed dial to call my father-in-law. It went straight to voicemail. I tried to talk to the underground attendants. Communication with them was minimal. They were too preoccupied, preparing to close the station, as it was after midnight.

When all the passengers were out of the station including us, the underground attendant pushed the gate shut behind us. Everyone scattered in different directions. Within second the road was empty. There wasn't a soul in sight except for Julie and me. We crossed the street towards Chalk Lane. We stopped by the lamp post, on the corner of the road. The buzzing from the bulb above made us both look up, then at each other. That is when we heard footsteps behind us. Turning around we saw Goliath coming towards us, arms swinging back and forth.

"Tony I am terrified!" Julie cried. Those were the last words my wife said to me.

"Julie, take your stilettoes off and run, run fast. Whatever happens, do not turn back. Just run home," I commanded her. Kissing her on the lips, I then pushed her to go. "I love you," I yelled, as she sprinted down the street.

Goliath rushed towards me, at an aggressive pace. I tensed my body, adopting a defensive position. I was ready for him. When he was near enough, I dodged the clumsy giant as he tried to strike me. I succeeded in making him lose his balance. I nudged him with my shoulder, causing him to go tumbling into a nearby skip. The impact created a clunking sound. With a vigorous shake of his head, Goliath was up on his feet in no time. He balled his fists. He rushed towards me again. It was the sudden screech of brakes, and then the female scream that got my attention. I glanced away from my aggressor. That gave him the leverage he needed. Like a tiger attacking its prey, Goliath leapt onto me. He slammed into me with force. I went crashing into the ground. I was dazed. He managed to bury his boot into my ribcage. I wasn't able to get back up. He jumped on top of me, beating the living daylights out of me. I fought to defend myself, but he was too powerful. Everything went dark.

How long I was unconscious, I do not know. When I came round, two figures were standing over me. I could scarcely see them in the dark. They were in deep conversation as they gestured with their hands towards me. I was too dazed to comprehend what they were saying. I closed my eyes, as I drifted back into darkness.

When I came around, still disoriented, I was in much pain, my head, my ribs, my whole body was throbbing. I realised I was in a moving vehicle, lying on the back seat. The sudden judder caused by the bumps on the road induced the pain. I tried to lift myself upwards, but the pain was unbearable. "The women ...," I mumbled. I got the driver's attention. He pulled over, bringing the car to a stop.

He turned to look at me. When he saw my eyes were open, he said, "I'm going to take you to the hospital."

"No, no hospital. We need to go back for my wife," I muttered. He stared at me for a moment then put the car in gear. As the vehicle began to move, my eyes slowly shut again.

It was the sunlight which was shining into my eyes that woke me up. I closed my eyelids at once, as it was too bright. I reopened them slowly, as I scanned my surroundings. Opposite from the bed I was lying on. A large wooden crucifix was hanging on the wall. I forced myself to raise my body off the mattress. The agony was still intolerable. I collapsed back, causing me more anguish. When I tried to check my wounds, bandages covered my chest down to my waist.

I was in the progress of examining my body to see the extent of my injuries. All of a Sudden the door swung open. A priest entered the room. I figured he was a priest from the beard and the cassock around his neck.

"Good morning," the priest said.

I didn't respond with words. I nodded my head slowly, trying to avoid any more pain.

He looked at me for a moment, before he spoke, "You have been sleeping for a couple of days. Let me get you some soup. You must be starving." He left, returning a few minutes later with a bowl.

"Where am I? How long have I been here? Who took care of my wounds? I stopped for a moment to get my breath back. When I spoke, I felt a sharp pain around my ribcage. "I was with a lady, what happened to her?" I needed answers. I demanded a response. "What happened to the woman I was with?"

Putting the bowl of soup on the bed cabinet next to me, he left the room. He returned a while later with a newspaper in his hand and gave it to me. I started reading the column he showed me.

'Woman in coma after hit & run.' The heading said in large bold letters. I began reading the article. Halfway through the paragraph, I launched the paper across the room. I tried to climb out of bed, with no success. I was too weak to get up. Dizziness caused me to collapse back onto the mattress.

The priest left the room, to give me some privacy.

All night I sobbed for my wife.

Chapter 2

I have been here for almost a week, recovering from my injuries. I owe my life to my saver, the priest that brought me here. The man of God, he has been taking care of my injuries. It's hard to guess how old he is, from the thick beard that covers most of his facial features. He is a tall and slim man, always standing straight, full of confidence.

It was late in the afternoon. For one hour I was struggling in bed to bring myself in an upright position. When the priest sees how much I have progressed, he will be delighted. Also, I must break my silence today. From the day he showed me the newspaper article, I have not spoken a single word to him. Staring at the clock, I counted the second as I watched the second-hand move, listening to the ticking sound it made. I waited patiently. He should be here soon.

The door creaked open. It was the priest. Like the previous days, he was carrying a large tray with both hands. It was my dinner. He carefully pushed the door open with his back, and once he was inside the room, he placed the items he was holding on top of the dressing table. His front still turned away from me. Turning around, he had a shocked look on his face for a moment. He had never seen me sitting up. The startled look, turned into a smile, as he approached me.

He nodded his head. "I see you are up, that is excellent," he said.

I nodded back and whispered, "Yes, thank you."

Like clockwork, he retrieved a First Aid bag from under the bed. He unzipped it and removed from inside the items he would be using. He prepared the objects in order on the bedside cabinet. In silence, he commenced removing my bandages. Followed by cleaning the wounds, and then replaced the dressings with fresh once. He finished by tightening the bandage around my waist, which caused me discomfort. I gritted my teeth from the sharp pain.

"You are still sore I see. However you are healing," he said. "Now, let's see your face," the priest said.

He removed the dressing from my left cheek, leaving it uncovered for a few minutes, as he examined the cut. He prepared a soaked gauze pad by dipping it in saline solution. He then dabbed the dressing onto the wound, cleaning the area from any infection. Unrolling a fresh bandage, he reached out to cover the cut. With my hand raised, I stopped him halfway from finishing his task.

"I would like to see it, please?" I asked.

"Are you sure? It's not a pretty sight," he warned me.

I nodded my head. "I have to see it sooner or later," I replied

The priest revealed a hand mirror from inside the First Aid bag. He was sceptical on handing it over to me, a few seconds later he placed the object into the palm of my hand. I gradually raised the mirror to look at my reflection. Once I had a full view of my face, my vision went to the cut on my cheek. Bringing the mirror closer, I analysed the deep slash which began below my eye, going down to my cheek. Dropping the mirror onto my lap, I turned my head away and began to weep.

It was the sound of the creaking door that got my attention. The priest was leaving the room. I had to stop him. "Wait! Please, don't leave!" I yelled.

He came to the side of the bed, putting his hand on my shoulder. "I know how you feel. It's not a very nice sight to look at, but once it heals, it will not look so bad. The cut was not too deep. You will hardly notice it in a year." He tried to convince me.

"I want to apologise, father. For my ill-mannered actions, all these days, you have been taking care of me." I paused for a moment. "I have not said one word to you. I don't even know your name?"

"Father Petrou, a pleasure to meet you," he said, taking my hand in a firm grip for a handshake. "I was wondering when you were going to speak. I thought you took a vow of silence." He smiled.

"Tony Demetriou, it's a pleasure to meet you, Father Petrou." I pulled his hand towards me, tilted my head forward to kiss it. It is an ancient custom we do, signifying respect to our spiritual family.

He drew his hand back quickly. "You don't have to do that my son." There was a moment of silence, where we gazed at each other. "Her condition is the same. She is still in a coma, but she is stable," he said.

He got my attention. "Have you seen Julie? When did you see her?" I pulled the bed sheet back, ready to climb out of bed. The sudden movement made me unstable. I was still weak. "That wasn't a good idea," I said.

"Hold on, let's get you well first. Then we can visit your wife." While speaking, he brought the tray over to the bed. He placed it on my laps, as close as possible for me to eat, on my own. "Now eat up, once you can walk we'll go to the hospital to see her. Eat up. I'm not going to feed you forever." He smiled.

It took another week until I was up on my feet and able to go outside. My place of sanctuary is the annexe part of the Church of St. Barnabas. A small room in the backyard of the church is where I sleep. It has a toilet and shower, but no kitchen. The kitchenette is an extension of the church. It was perfect for me until I heal.

Gradually I started to walk. I used the church courtyard to exercise my legs. I limped slowly along the path, doing laps around the church. I would only come out during the night, Away from the eyes of the world. I was not ready for people to see me like this yet. Father Petrou would help me in the evenings, as he had his clergyman duties in the morning.
During the August nights, the high temperatures of the summer made it unbearable to be inside. Father Petrou and I would sit outside, hoping for a breeze to blow.

We would sit there in the quietness of the night. Like I had my nightmares haunting me, I believe the priest had his. With my head leaned back, I was resting it on the wall. I looked up at the sky and stared out to space, beyond the stars. The sudden breeze of wind cooled my face. Closing my eyes, memories of my wife flooded my mind. Reopening them, I felt a tear run down my cheek.

"We'll go to the hospital tomorrow." The priest announced, without warning, he just spat it out. He looked at me to see my response.

"I can't go like this. I'm not ready to see anyone." I panicked.

"Leave that to me," he said with a smirk on his face.

I stood up suddenly feeling pins and needles on my legs. I tried to balance myself not to fall. I wobbled from left to right. Father Petrou came to my aid. His hands open ready to catch me. I grabbed the handrail next to me and began to laugh loudly.

"What? What's so funny?" he said.

"I feel like a baby taking his first steps," I said. We both burst out in laughter.

Next day Father Petrou came to my room, he dropped a pile of clothes on my bed. "I brought you some clothes. Get dressed. The taxi will be here in an hour," he said

"I have clothes."

"You don't want anyone to recognise you, right. It's your disguise." He chuckled as he walked out of the room.

I had nerves of steel, all the way to Chase Farm Hospital. Even the taxi driver noticed. My leg was trembling continuously. "Everything ok Father? The driver said, his eyes glued on me through the rear-view mirror.

"Everything is ok my son," Father Petrou replied. Forcing his hand on my leg, he was trying to stop it from quivering.

"I look ridiculous, dressed up in a Clerical Cassock," I whispered. I tugged at the cassock around my neck with my finger. "This is too tight," I moaned.

"You're going to be ok, Tony. Relax, worst scenario, someone will want to confess to you," Father Petrou chuckled.

"Great, that's all I need," I worriedly said.

It was midday when we got to the hospital. The long walk along the corridor to Julie's ward was exhausting for me. When we got there, I collapsed on one of the chairs in the hallway. I was drained. Father Petrou spoke to the head nurse at the entrance of the ward. He was making religious hand gestures as he chatted with her. A few moments later he came over and dropped on the chair next to me.

I pointed at the sign showing the visiting times. "Look at the sign? We have to wait for an hour until visiting time," I said.

"Don't worry. I spoke to the nurse. Whenever we are ready we can go and see Julie," he replied. Getting up, he calmly strolled into the ward. I tottered behind him, smiling at the nurse as I passed her desk.

Once I was by his side. I said, "For sure you are going to...," I didn't finish my sentence. I froze on the spot.

Julie was at the far end of the ward. An oxygen mask covered her mouth and nose. She had on a green hospital garment, laying there on the bed, she was motionless. I slowly walked closer to her. The beeping sound from the heart rate monitor was getting louder. I stared at the device. It showed her heart rate in beats per minute. That was the only device that indicated she was still alive. Looking behind me, Father Petrou stood a couple of metres behind me. His eyes fixed on the electrical monitors connected to Julie. Returning my attention to Julie, I watched her, hoping to see some movement. She was in a deep sleep. Kissing her on her forehead, I felt a teardrop run down my cheek. It splashed on her shoulder. The tear made the green garment darker where the liquid dropped.

"I love you, Angel. I will not rest until I find those animals that did this to you," I whispered. I stood there holding her hand, just watching her. For how long, I do not know.

Father Petrou brought me out of my trance. "Tony we must go?" he said.

As we both came out of the ward, we walked down the corridor in silence, heading toward the exit. Coming towards us was someone I wasn't ready to see. It was Maria, my mother-in-law.

"The lady that is coming towards us, it's my mother-in-law," I whispered to Father Petrou. I struggled to open my stride, to move faster. I was hoping she would not see me When we rushed passed her.

Outside the hospital, I grasped the wall with both hands. With great difficulty, I kept my balance from falling. Once I reassured Father Petrou I was ok he went to call a taxi.

"Tony? Tony is that you?" I recognised her voice. It was my mother-in-law. "Tony why are you dressed up like a priest?" she asked.

Ten minutes later all three of us were seated outside the hospital cafe. Father Petrou sat on my left and Maria on my right. I introduced Father Petrou to Maria. I explained to her that he was the head priest of St. Barnabas Church. A moment later, I regretted saying the church name. I didn't want her to know where I was staying yet.

For one hour I explained to my mother-in-law in detail what happened the night Julie and I went to Central London. It was something which I hadn't told Father Petrou about. When I stopped talking, Maria gazed at me. I wasn't ready for what she said to me next.

"Why didn't you run with her? You could have protected her!" her voice was bitter. "Why didn't you go to the police to report them? There are CCTV cameras all over London! The police could have caught them!" she screamed.

"I'm sorry Maria, I'm sorry I fucked up. I'm sorry I didn't do more to protect Julie!" My raised voice got the attention of the people seated at the other tables around us. "What I promise, I will find these people, and they will pay for what they've done." I took a deep breath. "I will find them! I banged my hand on the table.

I got up and staggered to the taxi station. I couldn't sit there and look at my mother-in-law. I was ashamed, that I couldn't protect Julie.

"That won't bring my baby out of her coma! Do you hear me, Tony? My baby is in a coma!" she yelled.

The words she said were disturbing. I tried to block the sound by putting my hands over my ears, but I could still hear her.

Father Petrou and I sat in silence in the taxi on the return journey to Wood Green. When the car stopped outside the church, a couple was waiting for him outside the church. He gestured them towards the church, and they went inside. I went to my room.

I was sitting at the end of the bed, my mind miles away when Father Petrou came to see me. "I'm sorry Father for not telling you about that night, for not speaking to you."

"She is worried about her daughter. That is why she was angry with you." He paused for a moment. "She is right, you should..." He paused again. "If you spoke to me about the incident earlier, we could have gone to the police together."

"I can't go to the police. With the history, I have," I said

He came and sat next to me on the bed, putting his hand on my shoulder. He said, "It's time you confess your sins, my Son. Whatever you say, my lips are sealed." He made a zipping gesture across his lips, with his hand.

I nodded my head.

Chapter 3

The smell of incense filled the air. I inhaled the scent, as I stopped at each Icon, made a cross gesture on my body before kissing the painting of each saint. Once finished, I made the same gesture on the large brass cross with the figurine of Jesus. I stood there, staring at Christ.

"Jesus chose to die because he loved humanity and wanted to save us. To give us the chance to go to Heaven," Father Petrou said. He appeared next to me. "You weren't in your room or the garden. I figured you'd be here."

"I'm sorry Father, I couldn't sleep. I guess you don't get many Christians coming to church at this time of the morning."

"Let's sit down," he said. He gestured towards the bench, behind us.

We sat there for a while, savouring the calmness. Father Petrou leaned forward. He rested his elbows on his knees. With his hands together, he folded his fingers into each other, gazing ahead, at the altar in front of us.

After a few moments of silence, Father Petrou spoke, "It was thirty-three years ago. I was seventeen years old at the time. I had just finished secondary school. That is abroad, in Limassol, Cyprus. I wasn't a very bright student, I just about graduated. I got myself a job in a hotel. I was lucky. It was a five-star hotel, one of the big once on the outskirts of the city. I worked there for a year. I loved every minute. On my days off, I would work overtime. Not for the money in particular. It was because someone special to me was always at the hotel.

He paused for a moment. He had a broad smile on his face. I could see he was miles away.

"I got close to a young lady. In time we fell in love, we made plans for our future. There was one catch though. She was the hotel owner's daughter. Her family wouldn't have it, their daughter marrying a waiter. When they found out, I got dismissed on the spot. On top of that, if I tried to contact Gina, there would be more significant consequences. My parents could lose their jobs as well. Gina's father had much influence with other employers. I couldn't get employment anywhere. Her father had put out the word that I was no good. I had a relative, who was a priest, my father spoke to him. Before I knew what was happening, I was on my way to a monastery in Paphos."

I was speechless, lost for words. I didn't know what to say to Father Petrou. I wanted him to carry on, but I could see, he was in pain, talking of his past.

A few moments later he continued. "Five years went by. I remember the day like it was yesterday. I would have refused to perform the ceremony, but the surname caught me off guard. She went by her marital status. I had a Christening to perform. Gina was baptising her second child. She hadn't changed much. She was as beautiful as before, even more attractive. My heartache was back. Behind the church gown and long beard, she recognised me. The moment she saw me her eyes became moist. Next day I made an appointment to see the Archbishop of Paphos. I requested a transfer as far away from Cyprus as possible. Wood Green has been my home for the last twenty-seven years." He wiped his cheek with the sleeve of his garment.

"You didn't marry when you came to the UK? In our religion, Orthodox priests can get married," I said.

"In my case, it was difficult, even though I had had the opportunity many times to get married."

"What was holding you back?" I asked.

"I still love her, as I loved her back then," he smiled. "Probably till the day I die." We both sat there in silence, Father Petrou in deep thought.

I wanted to speak to confess, tell him my story, but I didn't. We had enough drama for one day. I will confess to him on another day.

It took days, weeks to get my strength back, by the Mid-September, I began to jog. I started with two kilometres and gradually increased my distance. By the end of October, I was running ten kilometres every night. The streets surrounding Wood Green shopping centre were dead at two in the morning. The only sound you could hear was my trainers hitting the pavement. I felt the autumn breeze on my face, as I glided along the streets.

When I finished my jog and got back to my sanctuary, I would work on my strength by doing pull-ups, push-ups and free weights, for at least an hour. The cycle I implemented a few years back came back to me instantly. Steadily I was building up my strength.

With Father Petrou, I became very close. Every evening we would cook something to eat together. When we finish our meal, we would enjoy a game of chess. A strategy board game he is trying to teach me. I think he enjoys calling out his favourite word in the game. "Checkmate."

We rolled into November. The weather was changing. Most of the leaves from the trees had fallen by then. In the summer I worked on my stamina. With winter coming I focused on my strength.

It was a Friday evening, Father Petrou and I finished our meal. I was cleaning up the table when he said, "When you finish, set up the chess board, I'll be back in five minutes." He was gone before I could protest.

"That's right, always run away from washing the dishes!" I called out, hoping he would hear me, I said it in a friendly tone. Like I said we had become terrific friends.

I was sitting at the table, with the chess board in front of me. The horse figurine in my hand, I stared at the chess-board, trying to figure out on which square to place it. All this was still all new to me.

The door slammed open. Father Petrou said, "The first row, second square from the outside on your left and right. That is where you put the horse."

"I will never get used to putting the pieces on the board," I said. When I looked away from the chessboard, towards Father Petrou, he stood there with two shopping bags. A Sports Direct bag and a T.K. Maxx bag. Both full to the top, you could see some of the price tags sticking out. "Oh no, you did not do that. You have already done enough for me!" I shouted.

"It's nothing. Let's say I am helping a friend. Also, we can't have you running around Wood Green in shorts, like it's the middle of summer." He emptied both bags on the table. "Whatever you don't like or doesn't fit, we'll take it back and change it." I looked at each peace, getting emotional until my eyes watered up. "Don't you get sentimental with me," he said. He picked up a tracksuit bottom, stretching the elastic around the waist. "I think you might need a bigger size here?" he said. We both started laughing.

There were three continuous loud bangs on the door. We both stopped laughing and looked at each other. Father Petrou walked over to the door, opening it slowly. "Mrs...," he stuttered not being able to finish saying the name. I couldn't see who it was. He was blocking the entrance.

He stepped aside.

She stood there looking at me, then at the clothes, scattered on the table. "Hi, Tony," she said.

I was speechless for a moment. "Maria?" I said. She could barely hear my voice.

She stepped into the room, looked around, at the walls, fixing her vision on the wooden crucifix, then at my face, on the cut on my cheek. I could see the sadness in her eyes.

Father Petrou stepped outside. "I'll leave you two alone to talk," he said, closing the door behind him.

"I'm sorry," I said. Turning around, I began to put all the clothes into the bags.

She came closer and took my arm. I released the items. She pulled me around to face her. She ran her index and middle finger along my cut. Tears were running down her cheeks. "I'm sorry Tony. I shouldn't have been so harsh towards you. I know you did whatever you could to help Julie."

We sat and talked. Maria told me, how Julie was doing. She explained to me in detail, regarding Julie's situation. That her condition was stable and only time will show an improvement. My father-in-law was still furious with me. He never did like me from the first day he met me.

It was late when my mother-in-law left. I walked her to her car, opening the door for her. She looked up at me, and then put her palm on my cheek. "Julie and I talked a lot about the two of you. She told me everything about you. Your life, before you met her." I opened my mouth to speak. Maria stopped me by putting her index finger on my lips. "I don't care about your past. I know who you were when you were with my daughter. You love Julie, and she loves you. That is what counts."

I looked at her. I didn't know what to say.

"I want you to become the person you were before you met Julie. With what you know I want you to find them and make them pay," she said, her voice not asking me, but commanding me. She slipped an envelope in my hand then kissed me on my cheek. A moment later I watched the tail-lights of her Mercedes as she drove away.

I went and found Father Petrou inside the church. He was kneeling in front of the altar, in prayer. Calmly, not to disturb him, I sat on the bench. Putting my hands together I said a prayer for Julie. When we both finished, he came and sat next to me.

"Everything ok, Tony?" he asked, with concern in his voice.

"I grew up in Cyprus as well Father, in Paphos, not too far from Ayios Neophytos Monastery. I wasn't exactly the sharpest knife in the draw in school. When I finished, I didn't even graduate. I didn't get a job. I was a delinquent, got myself in all kinds of trouble. Even my parents had enough. There was so much they could do for me."

"I was eighteen years old. I took on three guys on my own, in some sleazy bar. The reason, I am too embarrassed to say. I put all three of them in hospital. 'You're a danger to society Tony,' the judge said. It was three years in prison or two years in the army. The good thing I got to pick." I twisted my arm, looked at the tattoo on the inside of my forearm. It was a sparrow, hovering in mid-air.

"I saw the tattoo when I used to clean your wounds, does it have any meaning?" Father Petrou said, curiosity written all over his face.

"I thought the army was the easy way out. I thought wrong. I was forced to join the O.Y.K. It was the Greek version of the Navy Seals. We didn't have the missions the seals had, but we went through the same training, with minor missions. The first two months was basic army training. After that, it was twenty-two months of hell. There were forty of us when we started, after twelve months; there were only six of us left. The rest couldn't handle it. I tried to quit, but I would go to prison if I did. Our team of six, we had a bond. That is when we called ourselves, 'The Hovering Sparrows'. All six of us have the same tattoo on our forearm." I sat there flexing my muscle on my forearm. I watched the symbol of the hovering sparrow move.

"What did you all do after you finished the army?" Father Petrou's question brought me back to earth.

I thought for a moment before answering his question. "Three of the guys went abroad to study at university. Jimmy opened a diving school, and Terry went into business with his father."

"What about you Tony? Surely doors opened up for you as well."

I looked at him. "Once a bum, always a bum," I said. I looked at the altar, then at Christ on the bronze cross. "I went back to my old ways. This time I got mixed up with worst people. I did things that I am not proud of myself. My family, my friends, disowned me. Anyone in their right mind didn't want to have anything to do with me."

I turned to look at Father Petrou; he just sat there and gazed ahead.

I continued, "Then Julie came into my life. She moved to Cyprus from the UK for a year. She wanted to work and live abroad. Her parents owned a flat, on the same apartment block that I was renting. We bumped into each other a few times in our local supermarket. Cut a long story short. We started dating. Within six months, we started making plans, for a future together. That's all we wanted, to be together." I leaned forward, covering my face with my hands.

"Did you tell her, what you did for a living?"

I lifted my head, leaned back and took a deep breath. "I wanted out from the underworld. I wanted to change. To put the past behind me, but I was too involved. The gangland bosses wouldn't have it." I rubbed the back of my neck. Father Petrou was sitting in anticipation to hear what happened.

"I was with Julie, having a drink with some members of her family. Her cousins came down to Paphos from Troodos. They liked me. They were firing questions at me. What do I do? What plans I had for the future? I was ready to answer. Then I got interrupted. 'He works for me', he said." There was a pause.

"Who said that Tony?" Father Petrou said.

"It was my boss Manolis, a notorious crime syndicate. 'This is the pretty thing you want to give up everything for', Manolis said. Standing over me, he gestured toward Julie. Everyone tried to protest sitting at our table. I stopped them before Manolis turned his attention to them. I got up looked at Julie, then at Manolis. I told him again, what I had told him before, 'I want out'. Two of his henchmen appeared by his side. His prize-fighter stood behind him.
"Prize-fighter?" Father Petrou had confused written all over his face.

"Illegal prize fighting. Bare-Knuckle style," I said.

Father Petrou, gave me another puzzled looked. He then nodded his head. He figured out what I meant by Bare-Knuckle fighting.

I continued, "Manolis looked at me and squinted his eyes, I knew that look, he was planning something. Manolis looked at his fighter than at me. 'With Argus outside now. You beat him. You can walk away from this life', Manolis said. Argus was the name of his prize-fighter. He insisted it was a one-time deal. If I win, I am out. I can walk away from the underworld. I looked at Julie. Her eyes were moist.

"Argus was he good?"

"The best. Manolis knew I didn't have a chance with his champion."

"What did you do?"

"I went outside. There we were in the parking lot, opposite each other. Argus and I, our fists raised. Argus was slowly approaching me. Behind him were Manolis and the henchmen, cheering him on. Behind me were Julie and her cousins. They were all silent. Argus knew that he had me."

"Why didn't you just walk away?"

I smiled. "I had the advantage," I said.

"What advantage?" Father Petrou gave me that, I don't understand look again.

"He underestimated me. He came at me with a fast and hard swing, which I ducked. I knew he had an injury from his previous fight on his side. With the move he made, he exposed that injury. I buried my fist into his ribcage. I quickly sank my other fist into the side of his head. I had him dazed. Before he could counter-attack, I brought my elbow upwards into his nose. He went flying back, smashing into the tarmac. I got into a defensive position, ready for him. He stayed down. He was out for the count."

"What did this Manolis guy do?"

"He was pissed off. When these people say something, it stands. He told me earlier if I beat his champion I'm out. There was nothing he could do about it. I achieved my challenge."

"What about Julie?"

"I told her everything about myself. I promised her. I was through with that life. I swore to her that I wouldn't fight again. All that was behind me, my dark days were over. I wanted to build a future with Julie, have a family with her. That was until recently." I leaned forward. I could feel my tears running down my cheeks. I watched the laminated floor, as my tears splashed onto it.

Chapter 4

The streets of Central London were flooded with shoppers. With the festive season getting nearer, the shops were packed. Wherever you looked, there were pedestrians with more bags then they can carry. Their arms were swinging backwards and forwards, as they leapt in and out of shops. Everyone was getting ready for Christmas. I don't come to the West End to buy gifts or browse the shops. I walk the streets of London hoping to see two familiar faces. I am searching for Goliath and his boss.

Since the day my mother-in-law visited me. Every night, once darkness falls, I am like a vampire, who comes out only at night. The only place you will find me is in the West End. From Wood Green Station the train takes me to Covent Garden. From there I have a pattern I follow. I start Walking to Charing Cross then to Leicester Square. I take a break at Piccadilly Circus. There I sit at one of the restaurants or cafes, preferably by the window. I have a snack while I study each pedestrian that goes by. Then it's off to Oxford Circus, ending my cycle at Tottenham Court Road. I go round in circles every night, without any success. It's like looking for a pin in the haystack. The nearer it gets to Christmas. The streets get busier, making it more difficult to find them.

I change my routine once a week. Tonight I got off at Oxford Circus Station. I proceeded up the steps leading to the exit. Converging onto the crossroad of Oxford Street, Regent Street and Bond Street. All directions appeared to be more active tonight, due to the weekend. Standing at the edge of the pavement, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Slanted my head upwards, I take in the cold air through my nose. Opening my eyes, that is when I saw her. It was Julie in the form of an Angel, with her wings open, floating in the air. I stared at her, while my eyes became misty from the tears. A sudden nudge on my back knocked me off the pavement, into the road, in front of the incoming traffic. It was a pedestrian rushing past me. He accidentally collided into me. He continues walking, mumbling, "sorry," not even turning back to see if everything was ok. An approaching black cab sounds its horn. I immediately jumped back onto the sidewalk. The vehicle drove past me, an angry cab driver inside the car was waving his hand, gestured me to get off the road. Once I knew I was safe on the pavement, I looked up to see the Christmas decorations, along Regents Street. It was an angel with her wings open. That is what I saw a minute ago, not Julie.

I hurried back descending the stairs, two at a time to the underground station. I got directions from one of the attendants, on which line would take me to Enfield Town. The journey took longer than I anticipated. I needed to change trains and get the overground line. With fewer services during the weekend, the trip took over one hour. From Enfield Station, I jumped into a taxi that took me straight to Chase Farm Hospital. It was eight in the evening when I got there. The ward was full, with visitors who had come to see loved once in the hospital.

There wasn't anyone besides Julie's bed, which surprised me. I was expecting to see my mother-in-law, especially during the weekend. I pulled one of the chairs and sat by her bed. I held her hand, whispered to her about the Festive days ahead of us. "What gift do you want for Christmas, my love," I whispered in her ear. I put my ear close to her mouth, hoping to hear her voice.

There was nothing.

At that moment, a nurse came to check on her. I asked the nurse, "Her mother wasn't here when I arrived. Did she come today?"

"Oh, bless her, Maria is here every day. She was here most of the day. She left ten minutes before you arrived." The nurse replied.

"Was she with Julie's father?"

"Thinking back, I've never seen Julie's dad." She paused for a moment, before she continued, "Maybe he's visited her on my day off." She did her duty as we spoke. Changing the drip, and then adjusting the flow of the liquid. Once she had finished, she said, "It was nice to meet you." Then turned with two long strides she was by the next patient's bed. She took the woman's arm to check her blood pressure.

I found it odd that Julie's father did not come to visit his daughter. Maybe he visited her on the day the nurse was off. It was eating at my brain, thinking about it. Today is Sunday, why didn't he come to see Julie with Maria? He doesn't work at the weekend? The same question was going around and around in my head. I tried to put the thought in the back of my mind. I wanted to spend some time with my wife. I sat there and watched her, talking to her, telling her about the happy memories we had together. I wished to see a reaction from her, but it didn't happen. I stayed until ten when the nurse I spoke to earlier came to tell me that visiting hours were over.

From the hospital, I took a taxi back to the church. From the moment I got into the cab, the driver couldn't keep his eyes off me. He was focused on the rear-view mirror most of the time instead of the road ahead. The taxi stopped outside the church.

With a smile, he said, "I remember you, Father. A few weeks back you got a taxi from Chase Farm to here. You were with another priest. I didn't recognise you there for a moment, without your white collar."

I was worried for a moment. The driver might want to confess. Luckily he didn't.

I paid him and got out of the taxi. The driver did a quick U-turn, facing the direction he came. He put his foot down, turning the car sharply ahead, he disappeared. The church was in darkness. Built on the right of the church was an extension. Father Petrou used it as his office. I was hoping to see some lights through the window. It was dark.

I wasn't in the mood for a run. I didn't have the desire to do anything. Maybe it was because I saw Julie, motionless and helpless. It could be because I hadn't spoken to someone for days. Father Petrou and I haven't talked for a while since I confessed. I was ashamed to encounter him face to face, after telling him about my past.

Chapter 5

By ten-thirty I was in bed, compared to other night which was after midnight. I was up from the crack of dawn the next day. It was before Father Petrou arrived, with breakfast prepared for two. It was a full English breakfast, consisting of sausages, eggs, beans and toast. I was preoccupied over the cooker when Father Petrou startled me.

"I hope you haven't prepared anything for me, Tony? I am fasting," he said.

With two plates in my hand, I turned around. "Nativity Fast, right?" I said.

He nodded his head.

"Forgive me. I forgot," I said. I made him a cup of tea and poured myself some coffee. We both sat at the table, while I nibbled at the beans and egg. "Sorry, Father I'm going to half fast today." I pushed the sausages to one side of the plate. He smiled, as he watched me bury my face in the food.

"Tony I wanted to ask you something."

"What's up, Father." I was gathering the last of my beans with a piece of toast.

"I found an envelope, in my office a few weeks back. Under the Bible, I keep on my desk."

I nodded my head. I knew where he was going with this.

"It had a stack of twenty-pound notes inside. If my memory is correct, it was the day after your mother-in-law came to see you. You wouldn't know anything about that would you?"

My hand froze in mid-air, with the toast between my thumb and index finger. "How much money are you talking about, Father?" I asked.

"£2,OOO."

"Wow that is a lot of cash, Father." I quickly got up. I started gathering the plates and cups to wash them up.

He squinted his eyes while he looked at me. He was about to say something.

"Hello is anyone here?" The female voice said from outside.

I sighed, "Saved by the bell," I said to myself.

We both stepped outside. A woman stood there. She was in her late fifties, dressed in black. The only contrast was her grey hair. Father Petrou recognised her, straight away.

"Sophia, what brings you to church, this early?"

"I need your help, Father. It's Chris. I don't know what to do, Father. Ever since his release from prison, he's depressed. He won't go out and doesn't want to speak to anyone." She put her head down and began to cry, covering her face with her hands.

I rushed inside and got a glass of water. I took it over to the woman, putting the glass into her hand. I recognised her at once. She was a distant relative of mine. I only met her a handful of times when I was a teenager. I knew her son more. We use to go out when they visited Cyprus for their holidays.

She lost her husband ten years ago. He had a heart attack. Without a father figure in the house, her son Chris lost his way. He went to rob a snooker club with some friends. They hit the manager of the club on the head with a bottle. The man died in the hospital a few hours later. He gave the police a description of Chris before he faded away. It was a quick trial. He got ten years, that was seven or eight years ago. He must have got out earlier by showing good behaviour.

I promised my mother I would go and see him when I came to Britain. Visited him once, when I mentioned it to my in-laws, my father-in-law went ballistic.

"You go and visit your friends in prison? You know what that will do to my business if people find out!" he screamed. I didn't go again. Kind of regret it now.

"Aunt Sophia," I said. I put my arm over her shoulder to comfort her.

She looked at me, the cut on my cheek made her pull away. I released her at once, not to frighten the woman. "Who are you?" she asked.

"It's Tony, Helen's son. I use to live in Cyprus."

She looked at me again. It took her a moment or two to recognise me. "What has happened to you, Tony?" Raising her hand, she put it near my injury. Not touching the cut, like she was afraid she might hurt me.

I made us some hot beverages. The three of us sat in the kitchen. Sophia explained to me what had happened to Chris. Father Petrou listened to every detail. He had probably heard it all before like I had heard it from my parents when it occurred. When the person that lived it tells you, it is different. You feel their pain.

Sophia invited me to her house for lunch, also to see Chris. "Seeing someone he knows his age might be good for him," Sophia said.

When we walked inside the house, Sophia gestured me into the living room. Chris was sitting on a leather sofa, opposite him an old analogue TV. Wheeler Dealers was on. His mother motioned me to sit down. "I've brought a cousin to see you, Chris," she said.

Chris turned to look at me for a second, then turned back to watch his TV show.

Sophia looked at me and shrugged her shoulders. "I'll make us some lunch. Why don't you two catch up?" she said.

It was a one-way channel. The only voice you heard was mine. After some attempts to get Chris to acknowledge me, he turned to look at me. He opened his mouth to say something but stopped half-way.

He watched a few minutes of the show then turned back to me. "What happened to your face?"

I gave him the shortcut version of my story. I got his attention. He lost the interest of Edd China in the show. He was focused on me. When I'd finished, he just stared at me for some time.

"What did the fucking police do?"

I just shook my head slowly.

"That sucks, fucking pigs!" He blurted out, a little too loud.

Sophia rushed into the living room. "Is everything ok, boys?" she worriedly asked.

"Mom we're talking," Chris assured her. She retreated to her kitchen.

When I knew his mother was gone, I said, "I didn't go to the police."

"OH. What did these fucking pricks look like?" Chris asked.

"Who?" I said.

Shaking his head, he screamed, "The fucking pricks that did you and the wife in, whom do you think I was talking about!" He looked towards the doorway to see if his mother heard him swear.

"Sorry. One of them looked like Al Pacino, in The Godfather. The other one was a giant, nearing seven foot tall."

"That is one big mother fucker," was his response.

"I've been looking for them for over a month. I go to Central London, every evening. Hoping to see them, but I don't have any luck. I don't know what else to do," I said with desperation in my voice.

He sat there, his head down with his elbow resting on the sofa handle. He rubbed his forehead with his thumb and index finger. "Maybe you're looking in the fucking wrong places," he said.

That is when I realised that every sentence, Chris said he used the F... word. It could be a habit he picked up in prison.

Lunch was ready. All three of us sat at the kitchen table. In the half-hour, I was there. Sophia had managed to fill the table with simple dishes, fried eggs, gammon steak, halloumi, chips, meals you could fry instantly.

In the presence of his mother, Chris didn't use the F... word in his vocabulary. He was a different person.

He explained to me, how difficult it was for him to find a job since getting out of prison. "All the studying to become a plumber was a waste of time, who wants to hire an ex-criminal?" he said.

His mother leaned across the table and patted his hand.

After lunch, we sat in the garden. Chris enjoyed his cigarette with a cup of coffee. I just had coffee. I was glad that I never picked up the addiction of smoking. We sat together and watched another episode of Wheeler Dealers. Chris would explain to me what Edd China was doing on the car he was repairing. I just nodded my head, as I did not have a clue about cars.

When I was going to leave, he walked me to the front gate of the house. He looked behind him to make sure his mother was not there. He said, "Thanks for coming to see me in prison. You're the only person, other than my mother that visited me." He embraced me in a hug and whispered in my ear, "Don't worry, and keep on searching you will find those fuckers." He released me and walked back towards the house, waving his hand over his head.

"You take care of yourself, Tony. I'll see you soon," he called out.

Chapter 6

Days turned into weeks, but time stood still for me. I expanded my horizons with Chris's advice. With only ten days until Christmas, I hadn't made any progress. My frustration began to show. To subside it, I trained longer and harder. I released my anger by jogging. Father Petrou noticed it as well, from my change of mood.

He attempted to talk to me. It was Saturday morning. We were cleaning the garden, collecting the last of the leaves which had fallen of the trees. "Try and put it all behind you, Tony," he said. He hit a nerve, how can he say that, after what these people did to my family. I gave him a look of daggers.

I ran into my room, changing into my jogging gear. I steamed out, nearly knocked over Father Petrou. Dodging him, I sprinted out of the churchyard onto the street. I could hear him call my name, as his voice faded away.

I sprinted towards Alexandra Palace. The distance was two kilometres, a warm-up for me, even with its steep ascent. That is when you are jogging. If you are sprinting up there, it is a different challenge. I opened my stride, racing up the hill towards my destination. With most of the distance covered, I was on the last long stretch, which was the steepest part. I was forced to run on the side of the road, due to pedestrians taking up most of the pavement. I was almost there. I forced myself to go faster. Once I reached the stairs ascending to the palace, I leapt, taking two steps at a time, until I was at the top.

I leaned on the pillar, next to the stairs. I buried my forehead onto my arm, exhaling deep, striving to catch my breath. A pat on my shoulder than an unfamiliar male voice said, "Getting ready for the London Marathon, mate." The group of people he was with, chuckled at his comment. They continued, towards the direction the crowds were going.

When my breathing was stable, I looked around me. You usually don't get so many, visitors at Alexandra Palace, even on a Saturday. There must be a function in The Great Hall, I said to myself. Making my way to the entrance of The Great Hall, I entered the foyer. A long queue formed on one side of the lobby, everyone waiting to pay to go inside. The large banner above their heads said. 'Christmas Second Hand Fair,' in smaller print the admission price, '£5 adults & £3 children'. Digging my hand into my pocket, I pulled out a ten-pound note. Cash I keep in my tracksuit for an emergency when I go for a jog. I guess this was a good enough emergency to clear my mind.

I was in the queue for fifteen minutes, before I could get inside The Great Hall. It was worth the wait. Once inside, the stalls were cramped next to each other, forming many rows, starting from one end of the hall to the other side. At each booth, there was something different for sale. Clothes, Kitchen equipment, toys, household appliances, there was something for everyone.

That is what I needed, something to take my mind away from my problems. I walked along the aisles, studying the items that were on display. Smiling at children who were getting excited over a toy, which was a couple of pounds. Their parents would attempt to get a better deal on the toy. The seller would respond by furiously swinging his head from left to right, saying, "no."

One stall caught my eye. The trader was selling items from the forties. Scattered on a table were World War II pieces, each article showing its age and history. I looked at some medals carefully, being careful not to drop them.
"Only twenty pounds each, son," the trader said. He was in his seventies, if not more. "My father fought in World War II," he said

Gently putting the medal back on the display unit, I saw a police baton further down the table. The price tag showed ten pounds. Picking it up, I put my hand through the leather thong. Gripping the handle, I began to move the baton around, making defensive and attacking moves in the air.

"I see you know how to use a truncheon," the trader said.

"Truncheon?" I said. I looked at him perplexed.

"That's what you called it back in the 60s and 70s," he said.

I studied the item gingerly, small dents and scratches covered most of the baton. Near the handle a crown emblem and the letters CP printed. "What's the CP mean? I asked.

"City Police, I was a plainclothes officer for the CID back in 1965," he said it with pride.

I gave the baton another twirl around my hand, showing off some other moves I knew, before putting it down.

"Fits like a glove," the trader said.

"What do you know granddad," a young man said. Grabbing the baton from the table, he quickly threaded his hand through the thong. Swinging the weapon in his hand, he attempted to show off in front of his friends. All he achieved was the baton bouncing back and hitting him on the forehead. His companions began to laugh, which comprised of four ladies and two guys.

He quickly turned to the ladies and said, "Have you finished, bitches." All four stopped laughing instantly. "We'll see who's going to be laughing tonight," he threatened the ladies.

Turning to me, he came closer, his face inches from my face. Both his arms stretched outwards, the baton still in his hand, in a tight grip. "Do you think that was funny Mr Marathon Man?" he angrily said.

It was the guy from outside.

He stared into my eyes. I stared back. "What are we playing here? Who blinks first? I said.

"The item is not for sale, son." the trader said.

Turning away from me, he threw the baton on the table, knocking over some items on display. "Who needs your baton you old fart," he rudely said to the trader. Turning around he said to his friends, "Are we going or what?"

I watched them as they walked away, going towards the exit doors. Turning my attention to the trader, he was straightening the items on the table.

"I am sorry about that," I said.

"It's not your fault, son. I am ashamed to say I am British when there is scum like that walking the streets. They use women for prostitution and sell drugs to youngsters. Did you see the fear on those poor girls faces? God knows what he'll do to them."

I just stood there staring. That young man was me, not more than three years ago.

He retrieved a box from under the table, removing the bubble wrap from inside. He took one item at a time. He put some wrapping material around it, before putting it in the box. When he got to the baton, he stopped and looked at it.

"Do you want it?" he said.

"I'll leave it for another time," I replied. I wasn't about to insult the trader, by making an offer of five pounds.

With his hand stretched, he held the weapon from its extended end. He said, "Whoever buys it, he will probably put it in a glass display box. An item like this needs action." He probed the handle towards me.

I enclosed my fist around it, forming a tight fist.

"As I said earlier, it fits like a glove. When that punk tried to scare you, you didn't twitch a muscle. You're a fighter, son."

Retrieving the fiver out of my pocket, I said. "This is all I have on me. I don't want to insult you by offering five pounds for it."

"It's a gift from me. I have a feeling it will come in good use."

I helped him put his items in boxes. He would tell me a short background on each piece. Once we finished, we piled everything on a trolley. Pushing it to the parking lot where his car was parked. With the car loaded, we said our farewells before going our separate ways.

Chapter 7

I had confessed to Father Petrou that it was me who put the envelope under the bible. I kept a small amount for myself, not to spend on me, but for travelling expenses. I was planning on using some of the cash to buy a firearm, but without having the right contacts, it was not possible. Maybe it was better that way. The last thing I needed was the police on my tail. The only weapon I had was the old police baton. If appropriately used, it would be as lethal as any weapon.

With my injury healing on my face, I was more comfortable going out during the day. A light curved line ran down my cheek. The cut will always show unless I have plastic surgery.

Father Petrou and I had many errands to run before Christmas. After my confession, about the money, I had left under the bible. We sat in his office and talked.

He sat there, stroking his beard, thinking. "We are going to use that money to help the community," he said. He got up, marched up and down the small office. He continued, "We can start with The Salvation Army."

Father Petrou had many contacts. We would get cooked food at cost price. It could be from restaurants or grocery stores. He made the call, and I collected and delivered. Charity shops, shelters, homeless people, wherever help was needed, I was there. People would come up to me, thanking me, giving me their blessing.

It was Friday afternoon. I had finished for the day from delivering some meals at The Salvation Army shelter in Turnpike Lane. I drove back to the church, and Parked, Father Petrou's car on the church driveway. I locked it up and looked for him. Then I remembered that he had a meeting with the head priest at St. Mary's church.

I had a quick shower before my daily trip to London. Tonight I was planning to go into the City. It was the last weekday until Christmas. Many of the office employees have a few drinks in the fancy wine bars around the city. Maybe my luck will change tonight, and I spot Goliath and his boss preying on another helpless victim.

When I got to Wood Green Station, before buying my return ticket, I looked up at the large clock on the station wall. It was still early, only four in the afternoon. It was too early to go into Central London. It would be after six when the wine bars start getting busy. I decided to walk down the high street to the next station at Turnpike Lane. The streets were crowded with shoppers, getting into the Christmas spirit. Going past McDonald's, I decided to have my meal, before I took the train.

At the entrance of the fast-food restaurant, sitting on the cold pavement was a homeless man. He was wrapped up with an old quilt. The blanket's original colour must have been white. From the dirt, it had become grey. I dug my hand in my jeans pocket. I retrieved some loose change which I gave to the homeless man.

Now that is something I wouldn't have done a few months ago. Not that I didn't want to help. I was blind. You can't ignore the problem. You have to contribute to solving the problem. Father Petrou taught me to think this way.

I walked into the fast-food place, straight to the counter to order my food. With my Big Mac meal, I sat at one of the high stools by the window. I tried to eat my burger slowly, to enjoy it, but like always I ended up finishing it in less than five minutes. I was left with my milkshake. Which we all know, you can't drink it too fast as it is too thick. I tried to suck on the straw hard, which was a bad idea. A few seconds later, I sat there holding my forehead from the pain.

"Freeze brain," a female voice said in a Russian accent.

I swivelled my seat around. Standing there was an attractive young lady. Her blonde hair flowed down to her back. I recognised her at once. It was one of the girls at Alexandra Palace. She was with the punk who was looking for trouble a few nights ago. Next to her another young lady, her eyes glued outside like she was trying to spot someone.

"You mean brain freeze," I said.

With a smile, she replied, "Sorry I am still learning, language."

I chuckled, "You said it wrong, still learning the language. Get your boyfriend to teach ..." she stopped me before I could finish my sentence.

With a look of daggers, she spat, "Not my boyfriend." Turning around, she rushed out of McDonald's. She leaned down to the homeless man sitting outside, and then disappeared toward the shopping centre. I sat there with my mouth open.

Attempting to drink my beverage, it was still too thick. I dumped it with my other garbage in the trash and walked out of the restaurant. The homeless man had his face buried in a burger he had in his hand.

"You got yourself something to eat?" I said.

He finished chewing before he answered my question, "Oh, I didn't buy this. Tatiana got me this. When she goes to McDonald's, she always gets me something to eat." The man had the widest smile on his face. He may have been homeless, but at that moment he was the happiest person.

"Does Tatiana have long blonde hair by any chance?" I asked him.

With his mouth full, he just nodded his head.

It was crazy in the City. With Christmas Day on Tuesday, most of the city workers celebrated. Having Pre-Christmas drinks. I walked the length of Fleet Street, to St. Paul's Cathedral. Towards The Barbican, then back to Covent Garden. Another night has gone to waste, with no success.

Next day, Father Petrou was busy with the Christmas service. I had the day to myself. I decided to take a run up, Alexander Park. I pushed myself further. The road was steep towards Muswell Hill. I could tolerate the pain on my legs, but my chest was burning. I forced myself until I reached the top of the hill. The return run, I took it easy, going through the park, instead of running along the road. Once I was back home, I jumped into the shower. I got ready before I went to see my good friend Father Petrou.

In his office, he sat behind his desk. I sat opposite him. "Father, I want to thank you for everything," I said.

"No, Tony I want to thank you. You will not believe how much you have helped these last few days." He got up and came next to me, opening his arms out to me. I got up embracing him in a hug. He whispered in my ear, "You still go every night, hunting for them."

We released each other. "I'm sorry, Father. It is something I have to do," I replied.

He grabbed my shoulders with his hands and squeezed them. "Your demons will get you killed. You have to destroy them before they destroy you."

"I know, Father. I know," I whispered.

"I will pray for you, my Son," he said.

I just looked at him, without saying anything.

There is a midnight service tonight. Please come?"

"Save me a seat," I said.

I spent most of the afternoon at The Salvation Army shelter, helping with the serving of the meals. Every person that I served thanked me. In their eyes and voice, you could see it came from their heart. For the first time in my life, I was helping people, and it felt good.

It was late when we finished. Some of the other volunteers insisted on giving me a lift home. I thanked them for the offer, but I wanted to walk, to get some fresh air. With a takeaway meal in my hand, I started to make my way home. There were fewer pedestrians on the High Street. Most of the shops had closed the odd one still open. Getting closer to McDonald's, I got a glimpse of the homeless man sitting outside. He was sitting in the same place, wrapped up with his old quilt.

I approached him, going down on one knee. "Hey buddy, how are you?" I said.

He turned to look at me. His body was trembling. He didn't say anything he pulled the quilt tighter around his body, trying to get warmer.

"I brought you something." I opened the plastic bag to reveal a takeaway meal. Consisting of a cup of soup and some roast beef with potatoes wrapped in foil. Handing him the soup, he released the quilt, taking the cup in his hand.

He wrapped his hands around the small container. He blew at the hot liquid a few times before taking a sip. Turning to look at me, he said, "Thank you." He took another drink of the soup, licking his upper lip before he spoke. "She is inside, Tatiana is inside. She doesn't look too good tonight."

I sprung up onto my feet. My head spun around to look into McDonald's. A few scattered customers sat at the tables, Tatiana wasn't among them. I pulled the door open, to go inside. A group of people were leaving, chatting, as they slowly walked out of the fast-food place. I held the door open patiently. The last one smiled and thanked me before turning to her friends. Once inside I scanned each person's face. She wasn't downstairs. I went upstairs, where I found only two tables occupied. A group of teenagers sat at one and a family on another.

I spotted the bathroom door. I took a seat and waited, maybe Tatiana was in the toilet. A few moments later the door opened. There she was, with her friend from yesterday. They both walked to one of the tables, Tatiana's head was leaning down, as her friend had a hand over her shoulder. They sat down with their back to me. I didn't approach them right away. I waited for a while. I walked up to the table, thinking of what to say. Hoping, she forgot, what I said yesterday.

"Hi," I said.

They both turned suddenly, fear written all over their faces. Tatiana's face bruised on one side, her eye almost closed. "Leave us alone," her friend said.

"What? What happened?" the words slowly, came out of my mouth.

"My boyfriend, teach me a lesson!" Tatiana yelled. Both of them jumped out of the seat, they tore past me, running down the stairs.

I rushed after them. When I was outside, I couldn't see the girls anywhere. They must have gone down one of the side roads. I took my chance and walked towards the same route Tatiana took yesterday. I opened my pace, looking around, hoping to see them. I was ready to give up when my luck changed. In the distance, I saw two figures. It was them. I decided to follow them, hoping they don't turn around and see me. They took Gladstone Avenue. I knew this road; many times I jogged these streets in the summer. I carried on following them, keeping my distance. At the small roundabout, I nearly lost them. They carried on, strolling along Gladstone Avenue. They turned into one of the houses. It stood out from the other buildings on the street. The ground floor windows had bars, so did the front door. Standing at the entrance were two guys: both of them in jeans and green bomber jackets. The streetlight was shining on their shaven heads.

They saw me. The bold goons approached me. One said, "You looking for something mate? Would you like some company? A young lady perhaps?"

I just looked at them for a moment, before turning and walking away.

"That's it walk away pussy," one shouted.

St. Barnabas Church was full. I watched Father Petrou perform the service. How all the Greek Orthodox Christians looked up to him. I saw him differently at that moment. I watched a man that gave his life to serve God. I stayed until after one in the morning when Father Petrou, finished his service. Before leaving, I said a prayer. With my right hand, I crossed my body three times, and then I said,

"God forgive me for what I am about to do."

I went to my room and got changed. I slipped into my black tracksuit, grabbed my baton, threw the hood over my head and went for my night jog. This run was not going to be like the other runs I've had before.

Chapter 8

Gladstone Avenue was dead quiet at two in the morning. There weren't many houses with their lights on. The only movement on the street was coming from the property Tatiana entered earlier. I still wasn't one-hundred per cent she lived there. I walked past the house, taking a quick glimpse into the front garden. The two bold goons I saw earlier were still standing by the front door. They were guarding the entrance like a couple of bouncers outside a nightclub. I carried on walking down the street. When I was sure I was far enough from being noticed, I went to the opposite side of the road. I walked back, my vision glued on the two goons.

I did a quick scan of the two properties opposite the house. One of them had a thick hedge. It would have made it difficult for me to look through the big bushes. The other had a couple of recycling bins in the front garden. I could use them to hide behind. When I was certain no one was looking, I went into the garden, crouching behind the large bins. I checked the house behind me, which I was intruding, making sure the owners didn't see me. The last thing I needed was someone calling the police. How do you explain yourself? When you get caught trespassing in someone's garden at two in the morning. There were no lights on, upstairs or downstairs. It was safe. When I was sure I wasn't disturbing anyone, I concentrated on what was happening across the street.

It didn't take long to figure out what was going on with the two goons. Cars would drive past, stopping outside the house. One of the goons would walk up to the vehicle. He would exchange words with the driver or passenger. They would finish the encounter with a handshake before the car drove off. The handshake wasn't a standard hand gesture. It was an exchange of money for drugs.

The two thugs were selling drugs to the public. For an hour I watched them and studied every move they made. They would take turns approaching the cars. Every time one of them would stay at the front door, guarding the entrance. The short time I was there, I counted twenty-two cars, almost two dozen. Cannabis, Cocaine, Meth or Ecstasy, I wasn't sure yet what they were selling. For them, it was easy money. What were the neighbours doing, why didn't they call the police? I guess it was fear that is why.

It was time to make my move. In my right hand, I held the baton tight. My other hand I turned it into a fist. My adrenaline was rising. I could feel my heart- rate pumping faster. One of the goons had finished with a deal. The car started moving, a few seconds later it disappeared down the street. The thug began to walk back to his comrade. I revealed myself from behind the recycle bins. Crossing the road, I walked towards the house. The goon guarding the front door saw me. He nodded to his friend who had his back to me.

"Behind you Charlie," the thug said, standing by the door.

Charlie turned and smiled. He thought it was another customer. He started to make his way back to the gate. We both met at the entrance. He stood on the inside holding the gate, and I stood on the outside, my right-hand holding the baton behind my back.

"What's up bro," Charlie said.

"I've come back," I said.

"Well if it isn't the pussy," he said. Turning to his comrade, he shouted, "Hey Jack, the pussy is back!" Turning back to face me, I didn't give him the chance to say anything else.

I wanted to do this quickly. Do what I needed to do and be out of there in less than five minutes.

I swung the baton across his face. There was a loud crunch. It was the sound of his jaw breaking. Bringing the weapon back, I forced it across his face a second time. With the second strike, he collapsed over the gate. Jack charged at me, gritting his teeth. I leapt over the gate. Once my feet were back on the ground, I went into a roll, whirling the baton towards the charging goon, smashing it into his kneecap. He went face first onto the pavement.

He started screaming, "You broke my fucking knee, you bastard." It was what I wanted, whoever was in the house to hear him?

Just as I predicted the front door than the gate flew open, two more goons appeared. One of them had a baseball bat and the other a knife. The one with the bat charged first. What does one do with a bat? He swings it. What do you do when someone swings something at you? You duck as fast as you can. I dodged the bat by moving back. The second swing I ducked, forcing the baton on his leg. His leg folded, his body collapsed a heap onto the pavement. He was in agony, screaming from the pain. The one with the knife ran back into the house. The mistake he made, he forgot to close the front door behind him.
Grabbing the baseball bat, I rushed into the house to encounter another member of the gang. He was steaming down the stairs. This one had a chain in his hand. I threw the bat low, towards his legs, at the same time I manoeuvred to the right. The bat caught his shin. He tumbled down the stairs, going head first into the front door frame, knocking himself out.

On my right was the living room when I stepped through the door. The thug with the knife confronted me. He charged me, armed stretched out, the blade pointing towards me. I spun to the side. The dagger missed me by inches. I had my hand around his fist in a split second, with a twist, I snapped his wrist. He was on the floor, curled up into a ball. Holding his hand and screaming. I made a quick sweep of the ground floor, to make sure there wasn't anyone else before going upstairs. In the kitchen, on the counter, I found a rucksack. Inside the bag were stacks of money and a clear nylon bag. The nylon bag was full of small clear sachets, inside them a white substance. It was cocaine. Taking the bag I put my hand through the strap, and then threw it over my shoulder like a teenager off to school.

I could hear commotion upstairs. The sound of the floorboards crackled. I approached the stairs, dropping the rucksack at the start of the staircase. Taking it easy, I started ascending the stairs. My eyes were fixed ahead for more gang members. When I reached the top, I tightened my grip on the baton. In front of me, there were four doors. There were two doors on the left and two on the right. I figured, three were bedrooms, and one was a bathroom. I gently turned the handle on the first door to my left, focused on what was waiting for me inside. What happened next surprised me. Someone came charging at me. He came from one of the rooms on the right. His left hand rose, gripping a machete. He ran at me, bringing the knife down when he was close enough. I moved out of the way. He missed me, causing the blade to embed into the door. I pushed him back, forcing him to release the machete. I punched him across the cheek, dazed he went down on one knee. I felt someone touch me on the shoulder. Quickly turning around I threw a punch. I stopped inches from striking the person. It was Tatiana.

"Is there any more up here? Are the other girls here?" I asked her.

She stood there frozen.

Shaking her arm, I repeated myself in a more colourful language. "Are there any more of these fuckers up here? I screamed.

"The girls are with customers. It's only him and me up here. This coward was hiding up here," she said. She looked at the goon I just brought down.

"Who's the boss?" I asked

She didn't answer. She just looked down at the thug.

I grabbed him from the back of the neck and lifted him to his feet. When I saw his face, I recognised him at once. It was the blabbermouth from Alexandra Palace. "Move it asshole," I said. I started pushing him to walk ahead of me.

"What should I do?" Tatiana asked. Fear was written all over her face. "What are you going to do with Jimmy? Are you going to take him to the police?"

"Don't worry about Jimmy." I pushed him harder to go down the stairs. "You're free to go. Get out of here. You have a clean slate now," I said to Tatiana.

"What about me?" Jimmy asked.

Without answering, I grabbed him and dragged him down the stairs. I snatched the rucksack on our way out of the house. We walked through the front garden, avoiding bodies on the ground. He watched his gang members, all of them helpless on the pavement, holding their limbs. Once we were out on the street, I noticed a majority of the houses around us had their lights on. I forced my knee into his groin, making him drop onto his knees. Taking the nylon bag out of the rucksack, I emptied the contents over him. Sachets with cocaine covered him from head to toe.

"This is what you're going to do Jimmy. You and your friends are going to disappear from this area. I do not care where to, and I do not want to know. If our paths cross and I learn you are up to your old tricks. There will be consequences," I said each word slowly and clearly.

He just looked up at me.

Grabbing him from the throat, I lifted him onto his feet. I forced my fist into his ribs. The force of the punch lifted him off the ground. "Are we clear?" I screamed.

He nodded his head.

When I looked around me, many of the neighbours had come out of their houses. They stood in silence, waiting to see what I would do next. I made eye contact with a man not more than ten metres away. He smiled, nodding his head slowly.

I nodded back, grabbed the rucksack and ran. The sound of police sirens in the distance made me sprint faster back to the church.

Chapter 9

As soon as I got back to St Barnabas, I locked myself in my room. I ripped off the clothes I was wearing and jumped into the shower. I scrubbed my body clean from any evidence I had on me. The clothing I had on I dumped in a black garbage bag, to get rid of later. All these items needed to be destroyed. My adrenaline was still high. I emptied the contents of the rucksack onto the bed, covering the bedspread with money. It took me a while to separate the notes into their category and count it. There was over £10,000 in cash. I didn't get any shut-eye until the early hours of Sunday morning.

The loud knock on the door woke me up. Grabbing my watch, it showed a few minutes after eleven. I could hear in the background the sound of the clergymen, they were reading from the bible. It can't be Father Petrou at the door. He will be in church.

There was more knocking on the door. "Give me a minute!" I shouted. I quickly slipped into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. I splashed some water on my face then brushed my hair back. Turning to look at the bed, I gazed at the black garbage bag and the rucksack. I pushed both items under the bed.

A female voice in broken English shouted, "Open door. I know you there."

"Ok, I'm coming!" I yelled.

When I opened the door, Tatiana stood there in front of me. She was the last person I expected to see this morning. She rubbed her hands together, trying to warm them up. I looked thoroughly to see if she was with anyone. She was alone.

"You invite in or I stand in cold," she said.

I stared at her for a moment before I stepped aside, making way for her to come inside. She slowly walked into the room. She gave the place a quick scan, before she walked up to the bed, sitting down on the edge of the mattress.

"How do you know where I live?" I asked her.

"After you leave, police come, many police," she said.

"That wasn't my question. I want to know how you found out where I live!" I demanded, raising my voice.

"Don't worry, only me." She smiled.

I smiled back. Shaking my head

Tatiana tried to explain to me, what happened after I'd left. The neighbours delayed in calling the police so that I could get away. As soon as Jimmy heard the sirens, he got into his car and drove out of Gladstone Avenue. Some gang members did the same. Whoever was left behind was arrested when the police arrived.

She laughed. She said, "Many police come. Neighbours say." She was thinking to find the right word before she continued. "Many man come and they fight."

"The neighbours said to the police that it was a gang-related incident?" I said.

"Yes, yes," she replied.

We occultly sat and looked at each other for a moment.

"Where are you staying?" I said.

"Staying?" She gazed at me with a confused look on her face.

I tried again. "Where are you going to live?" I said slowly. With a hand gesture, I drew a house on the bed mattress with my finger.

"With friend, Kilburn. You know Kilburn," she said.

I nodded my head.

I pulled the rucksack from under the bed, opened it and pulled out a bundle of money. I counted £2000 and gave it to Tatiana. She watched me put the rest of the money in the bag. "Is everything ok? Do you need more money?" I said.

"No." Her vision went from the bag to my face. Her eyes were moist. She said, "You good man. Money goes to Salvation Army. You help many times." Leaning forward, she kissed me on the cheek.

She got up and walked over to the door.

"Tatiana, we have to work on your English, if we're going to keep on meeting like this," I smiled.

She smiled back, opened the door and left.

The church was full. It was over spilling with Christians wanting to get inside. They had to pay the price for coming to church late as I did. Everyone went quiet as the Orthodox Archbishop said a speech after the service. I watched the masses around me, consisting mostly of families. In the crowd, two individuals stuck out like flies in milk. They were CID. I turned to look onto the street. Parked on a double yellow line was a black BMW 5 series. I smiled to myself. These guys make their presence visible wherever they go.

The Archbishop's speech dragged on for a while. It was the same speech you hear every time you go to church. 'The church needs money for its up keeping'. After his talk, the small silver trays appeared for people to put donations. When his lecture had finished, he began making his way to the exit. It took him a while to go through the crowd, to get to the vehicle waiting for him outside. Every woman who was over sixty-years-old blocked his path, asking him for his blessing. When he got to his Mercedes limo, his driver held the back seat door open, as Father Petrou helped him to get inside. A few minutes later, the limo disappeared around the corner. The crowd also scattered like ants under attack, going in different directions. A few stayed inside the church to pray. There were also two clergymen from St. Mary's Church who had come to help. They were inside the church, finishing off their duties. Father Petrou was outside his office. He was speaking with the two detectives.

Father Petrou looked over at me. "Tony can you come to my office please!" he called.

Without saying anything, I walked over. Father Petrou introduced me to Detective Smith and Detective Brown. They took over the conversation. They explained to both of us about the events of the previous night, not getting into too many details.

"You go jogging late at night Tony? Did you go last night?" Father Petrou said.

The two detectives turned their attention to me.

"Yes. I went between one and two," I said.

"Did you see anything suspicious while you were running? Maybe you saw some cars going over the speed limit or a group of men that were acting suspiciously?" Detective Smith said.

I shook my head. "I did hear police sirens, but I didn't think much of it. Saturday night, you guys are always busy," I said. Trying to look as calm as possible.

Detective Brown said, "Tell me about it. Saturday nights are a handful, especially with Christmas coming up."

Father Petrou and I nodded our heads in agreement with him.

We all exchanged hand gestures. Detective Brown said, "If you remember anything from Saturday, don't hesitate to call us." Both of them handed me their cards, with their details.

"Sure, detectives." Taking the cards, I put them in my jeans back pocket.

I watched them both get into the beamer and drive off. I took a deep breath and sighed. "Thank God they are gone," I said to myself. Father Petrou came next to me. He stroked his beard.

"Is everything ok, Tony?" he said.

"Do you accept confessions over a cup of coffee, Father?" I said.

"Put on the kettle. I need to check on the clergymen, to make sure they are ok. I'll see you in the kitchen in a few minutes."

We sat opposite each other at the kitchen table. My eyes were glued on my cup, watching the steam rise from the hot beverage. I could sense Father Petrou watching me. "You win at chess with checkmate. That means your opponent's king is helpless," I quietly said. I wrapped my hands around my cup, warming up my palms. "That is what happened to their leader last night. He was helpless."

"You saw what happened last night?" he asked.

"I confessed to my friend exactly what happened during the night. Telling him in detail what I did. I made myself clear that I was not there to kill anyone, but to scare them. When I finished, he was speechless. We finished our beverages in silence before we went to my room. He stood there rubbing his neck, watching me retrieve the rucksack and the garbage bag from under the bed. I showed him the money that was in the bag.

"This is drug money Father, I stole it from them," I said.

"You took it from them, you didn't steal it," he insisted. He looked at the garbage bag. "What's in the black bag?"

"The clothes I was wearing last night. I need to destroy them."

"How much money is there?" he asked.

"£8000."

He blew out a light whistle. He just stood there, staring at the two bags. He said, "This is what we're going to do." He walked up to the bags, grabbing both of them. "I'll get rid of the clothes. The money we'll use it for the community." He walked out of the room, left me standing there, speechless.

I decided for the rest of the day I would spend some time with my wife. It gave me great joy when I saw my mother-in-law beside my wife's bed when I got to the hospital. She held Julie's hand as she gently wiped her arm, with a wet tissue. She whispered something in Julie's ear, which I didn't hear. I stood back, letting Maria have the moment with her daughter.

When my mother-in-law noticed me, she smiled. She walked over to me, kissing me on the cheek. She whispered, "Hello, Tony." She looked and sounded exhausted.

I took her hand, squeezed it lightly, rubbing my thumb on the back of her hand. "You look very tired," I said.

"Watching Julie like this, every day, it's just killing me, Tony," she said. Her eyes moist, she was ready to cry.

At that moment, the doctor on duty interrupted us. She said, "I will need you to wait outside for a few minutes. I need to check the patient."

"Would you like a coffee," I said to Maria.

With our beverages, we sat outside the ward. We sipped on our hot drinks, from a distance we watched the doctor perform her duty.

"I've never seen my father-in-law at the hospital," I said. "You must come at different times, that way; someone is here with Julie at all times." I found it odd that I had never seen him at the hospital.

"He's busy, that's why he couldn't come today." She quickly got up. "The doctor has finished with Julie," she said. She started making her way back to my wife's bed.

We both took turns with Julie, reading to her and speaking to her. My mother-in-law asked me at least half-dozen times when I'll be going back home. I would give her the same answer every time.

"When Julie goes home, I will too."

We both stayed until visiting time was over. Maria gave me a lift back home. We chatted all the way to Wood Green. Spending the day together, seemed to bring our morale up. It was good to see my mother-in-law smile again.

She stopped the car outside the church. She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. "Thank you for spending the day with Julie," she said. She embraced me, holding me there.

"Don't worry Julie is strong, she will get over this," I whispered, trying to comfort her. "I will see you in two days, on Christmas Day at the hospital. I want to spend the day with Julie." I kissed her on the cheek before I got out of the car.

I stood there for a moment, just gazing at the dark silhouette of the church. That is when I saw the shadowy figure of someone sitting on the steps. I began to walk towards the person, still not sure who it was. When he spoke, I knew who it was.

"Where the fuck was you, bro? It's fucking freezing," he said.

I looked behind him at the church entrance. "Chris?" I said.

"I'm sorry for swearing bro. Bad habit I picked up when I was inside."

"It's late. What are you doing here?" I said with concern in my voice.

"We need to talk, also I want to show you something," he said.

I gestured him to the small kitchen next to the church. Once inside, I turned the gas to warm up the small space. I filled up the electric kettle and waited for the water to boil.

"Tea or coffee?" I said.

"Black coffee, no sugar."

I prepared two cups with a teaspoon of coffee in each. The water started to make the growling sound before it starts to boil. At that moment, Chris said something. I heard the last two words. "Found them." The switch on the kettle clicked. The water had boiled.

"Found who?" I asked.

"I asked around for you, did a bit of poking around, if you know what I mean. I visited some friends in the joint." He retrieved an envelope from inside his jacket. He threw it on the table top, only a couple of feet away from my reach. I just stared at the envelope. "Are you going to open it or fucking what," he said.

I picked up the envelope, turned it over and opened it. There were two photos inside with a folded piece of paper. I gripped the edge of the pictures. I slowly pulled them out of the envelope revealing the top image on the glossy paper. It was a picture of Goliath inside a car, both his hands wrapped around the steering wheel. The other photo was taken at night, making the image grainy. The picture was clear enough to see who was on it. It was Bobby. Unfolding the piece of paper, written inside was an address in Brighton. I looked at Chris. He was smiling. I looked at the photos again, making sure my eyes were not deceiving me. It was them.

"How the fuck did you find them," I said.

An hour later I was on the eleven-thirty train from Victoria Station to Brighton.

Chapter 10

It was two in the morning when the train rolled into Brighton Railway Station. If it hadn't been for one of the passengers waking me up, I would have still been sleeping on the trains return journey. All groggy I staggered off the train. Once I went through the ticket barrier, I searched for the nearest bathroom to freshen up. After letting the water run for a while, I realised the water wasn't warming up. As soon as the cold liquid touched my face, it fully woke me up. I was ready to begin my two-mile walk to Sussex Square where Bobby lived.

Coming out of Brighton Station, I felt the icy weather bite into me. Pulling my smartphone out of my pocket, I pressed the power button. The screen came to life, showing me the temperature and time. It was two-thirty in the morning, and the temperature was minus two degrees Celsius. I zipped up my jacket, turned on my Google Map app and punched in the postal code. It showed the street name and forty-five minutes. Pressing the blue start icon on the screen the arrow appeared. I began to walk towards the direction the pointer showed. From the station to the beach, it was a maze of side roads. There wasn't a single person on the streets at this time. The seafront, on the other hand, was livelier, especially around The Brighton Pier. I was tempted to jump into one of the taxi's to take me to Sussex Square, but I thought, best not too. The fewer people I have contact with in Brighton the better. My journey down here wasn't exactly a social visit. The last thing I needed was a taxi driver giving the whole nation a description of me on the evening news. I continued to walk along Marine Parade, keeping an eye on my smartphone for directions. I was almost there.

"Five minutes to your destination," the mousy female voice said from my smartphone.

I was cold, hungry and I needed sleep. Luckily, there was a takeaway shop which was open. It wasn't far from Sussex Square. Again, I was sceptical if I should go inside. I looked through the shop window. Behind the counter, two men, both of them in black polo shirts were preparing the food. One was slicing kebab off the turning burner, while the other was on the salad prep. A third person was behind the cash register taking the orders. Behind the counter, five hungry mouths were waiting in queue to put their order. "Fuck this I'm starving," I said quietly. Ten minutes later. I was sitting at a bus shelter, my face buried into a chicken kebab.
Bobby lived in a luxury block of flats. The building was painted white, consisting of two floors. I found the door number. It was in the middle of the street, overlooking the sea. I checked the intercom. A list of names was illuminated, showing the names of the residence. Bobby's was the first, definitely the penthouse. How much I wanted to kick the door down, but I needed to be patient.

The roar of a car's engine filled the quietness of the night. A taxi stopped in the middle of the street. A few moments later a couple tumbled out of the vehicle, both of them intoxicated. As soon as the car door closed, the taxi speeded off down the street. The couple began to walk towards me. They were holding onto each other, not to fall over. I pretended to push one of the buttons on the intercom. Once they were next to me, I spoke.

"Come on Bobby, open the door, man," I said into the intercom.

"I'm sorry sir, I don't think there is anyone with that name in our building," the drunken man said. Both of them looked at me, their eyes slowly closing. Suddenly the woman's eyes shot open.

"Honey isn't that the scary guy on the top floor," she said.

The man's lips curled downwards like a sad clown. He said, "The one with the giant friend."

"You mean bigfoot, honey." She began to giggle, without stopping.

The man put his hand into his pocket, retrieving a key. It took him a while to open the front door. As they entered the building, the women started making retching sounds. "You're going to be sick again!" the man yelled. He grabbed her from the waist, helping her up the stairs. I stood there, holding the front door open.

"That wasn't too hard to get inside," I said. I grinned.

Now that I was inside, I needed to find somewhere to hide. It didn't take me long to find the perfect place. On the ground floor, was a gas/electricity utility cupboard. Inside were all the metres for each flat. The tiny room was big enough for me to sit on the floor with my legs crossed. I had the door slightly open, watching the front door. It was after four in the morning. My eyes began to feel heavy.

The sound of a bouncing ball, coming down the stair woke me up. I looked at my watch. It was nearly nine. I took a glimpse outside, along the corridor. It was a young boy. He had his arm curled around a football. With the other hand, he held his mother's hand. They left the building, the boy first, screaming, "come on mom."

I waited patiently. I watched the residents come and go. The young boy with his mother returned. The couple I saw in the early hours of the morning, they were sober this time. An older couple appeared, they were wearing identical sheepskins. The old woman was holding a Chihuahua in her arm. The dog looked towards my direction. It began to bark.

"Stop it, Lilly," the old woman said. The dog stopped instantly. It made a growling sound then looked away.

I released a sigh of relief.

It was nearly midday. I was still in the utility room in a seated position, legs crossed. I had my eyes closed, not sleeping just resting. The sound of crackling leather on the steps made me open my eyes wide. I had a feeling it was Bobby. I looked through the gap on the door. I saw Goliath. He opened the front door for Bobby.

"What's on the schedule today boss?" Goliath asked.

"We have to collect some money," Bobby answered.

They both jumped into a Porsche Cayenne, with Goliath behind the steering wheel. The luxury Cayenne's double exhaust spat out a stream of clear smoke as they drove off.

I flew up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. Like the ground floor, the first and second floor consisted of three flats on each level. On the third, there was only one flat. It was Bobby's penthouse. I had to get inside. I was lucky. The lock on the front door was a Pin tumbler lock. Another skill I needed to know in my previous profession was to be able to pick locks. All it took was ten minutes, and I was inside.

I planned to wait for him until he returned, but I skipped the idea. The penthouse was a three bedroom. The bed in the master bedroom was unmade. Also in one of the other bedrooms, the bed was the same, messy. Goliath lives here as well, protecting Bobby 24/7. If I wait, I will need to deal with both of them at the same time. I had to think of something else. I searched each room, looking for anything I could use against Bobby. Without success, I decided to get out of there before the two goons returned. On my way out, my vision caught a card sitting on top of some letters. It was an invitation to a Christmas party, which was at a cocktail bar in Brighton. It was for tonight. I pulled my smartphone out of my pocket and took a photo of the address on the card.

Once again the google map directed me to the address on the invitation card. It was a fancy cocktail bar near The Brighton Pier. I had a few hours to kill until the bar opened. My stomach began to make rumbling sounds. I needed to get something to eat. A large fish & chips meal is what I needed.

I was at the cocktail bar one hour before the Christmas party. I walked towards the entrance, trying to blend in with the crowd around me. One of the bouncers held his arm out in front of me, stopping me from entering. With a series expression, he looked at me, studying the cut on my cheek.

"We're not going to have any trouble from you right?" the bouncer said.

"No sir everything is good," I replied.

He carried on looking at the cut on my face. "How did that happen?" he asked. He nodded towards my face.

"Silly accident I had at work, sir." I smiled at him.

"The public is allowed around the bar area, behind the rope barrier it's a private party," he explained. Lowering his hand, he let me enter.

With a pint of beer in my hand, I found a dark corner and sat down. I waited in anticipation for Bobby to arrive.

Chapter 11

Everyone around me was getting into the Christmas spirit, enjoying themselves. I stayed glued on that seat. With eyes like a hawk, I observed each person that walked through the entrance. As the evening progressed more customers rolled into the cocktail bar. It made it difficult for me to see everyone while being seated. I need to walk around.

Sipping on my beverage, I casually walked towards the rope barrier. A small section of the rope was unhooked. A couple in their late fifties stood by the barrier post; they were the guests of honour. The couple looked towards me and smiled.

"Did we have to send you an invitation to come? Come here and hug your old man? The man screamed.

The hard shove on my shoulder spilt most of my drink. The man who bumped into me carried on walking without apologising. He embraced the couple. It was Bobby. I panicked. I looked around for Goliath. He wasn't here.

It was a family party. I watched every move Bobby made. He would go from one table to the other, greeting his family members, joking and smiling with everyone. I watched and waited for my chance. Without Goliath protecting him, Bobby was easy prey.

It was late, almost midnight. Bobby embraced and kissed his mother on the cheek. With his father, it was only a hand gesture. He started to walk towards the exit, I followed him. When he was outside, he pulled his smartphone out of his pocket and made a call. I watched him from a distance, regretting I didn't get closer to hear what he was saying. He lit up a cigarette, taking a deep puff every few seconds. A taxi pulled up. Bobby exchanged words with the driver. In the back seat of the cab sat an attractive blonde. She opened the window; Bobby kissed her passionately before the taxi drove off. He was on his smartphone again. He lit up another cigarette, this time smoking it slowly as he waited.

He flicked the cigarette to the ground, and then casually began walking toward The Brighton Pier. I was behind him, not too close and not too far. I should have known when he went down the step towards the beach that it was a trap. I walked straight into the ambush.

There wasn't much light below The Brighton Pier. Suddenly, I felt someone grab my arm. Within seconds I was overpowered, thrown across the beach.

There I was, face down on the pebbles. The bitter December cold was not helping much. I felt the chill run down my spine, giving me goose bumps all over. I attempted to overpower the giant, but Goliath wouldn't have it. He pushed his huge boot down onto my back vigorously, making it difficult for me to move or breath.

"What do you want me to do boss?" Goliath yelled, in a deep muscular voice.

"Release him," Bobby answered.

As the force of his boot decreased, I heaved for air, taking a deep breath, inflating my lungs with fresh oxygen. Once I gained my respiration, I raised my head. My sight fixed to what was ahead. Bobby advanced closer to me, all I recognised was his silhouette, but I knew it was him from his posture.

He stopped a few feet away from me, stood there staring at me for a moment before he attacked me with questions. "Who are you? Why were you following me? For whom are you working for?" The emphasis of his voice demanded an answer.

He retrieved a cigarette lighter from his pocket and inflamed his cigarette. The small flame from the zippo had shed enough light to reveal his face. I gritted my teeth on seeing the man that caused my family and me so much sorrow. He stepped closer, manoeuvred the flame around, analysing my face. For a split second, he seemed confused. He then took a step back, with an expression of shock on his face. Was it the deformity on my cheek or recognition that disturbed him? I wasn't sure.

"Can I finish him off now boss?" my assaulter asked. He reminded me of a child who asks for approval, before doing something.

"Kill him!" Bobby ordered the giant. He then turned around and walked away, vanishing into the night.

Goliath grabbed the back of my jacket, lifted me off the ground like a rag doll. He threw me across the beach. With both, his fists clenched he closed in for the attack. This time I was ready, I rolled to the left. He went crashing onto the pebbles. I had to get the baton which was strapped to my ankle. I went for the weapon, quickly wrapping my hand around the handle, ripping it off the tape. He was back on his feet. He rushed towards me, this time more aggressively. His right fist came crashing onto my cheek, knocking me down onto one knee. Before he could strike me with his left fist, I buried the baton end into his ribs. He went flying back, hold his side.

"That's what pain feels like you fuck, and there is a lot more to come," I yelled.

He gritted his teeth in a rage, let out an angry growl before he attacked again. He swung his right fist; I dodged it this time by leaning back. He swung his left fist. I ducked this time. I slammed the baton again into his ribs. I heard something crunch this time. He was down. He brought his hand up to protect his rib cage. It was my turn to go for the kill. I brought my weapon down with force across his eyebrow. The blow split the skin open, blinding him with his blood. He was down on his knees, giving me the advantage I needed. I jumped onto his back, wrapping my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. He tried to get up, but I tightened my grip, digging my heels into his side. This time he went crashing down, but I held onto him. He was getting weaker. His breathing was getting shallower. His last manoeuvre, with his hand he tapped me on the arm.

"No tap outs this time," I said. I tightened my arms, with all my strength, Goliath stopped breathing. "Sweet dreams Goliath," I whispered.

I kicked his limp body away from me. I took a moment to get my respiration back before I searched Goliath's lifeless body. A set of keys, a smartphone and a wallet is all I found on him. In his line of work, you would think he would have some kind of weapon on him. I guess his fists were his weapon. I took the cash out of the wallet before throwing it next to his body. I wanted it to look like a robbery.

My next destination was Bobby's flat. When I got to Sussex Square, it was after two in the morning. I used Goliath's keys to get into the building. Within a minute, I was outside Bobby's flat. I slowly unlocked the front door, entered the premises quietly not to be heard. All the lights inside the flat were switched off. The only illumination was coming from the street lights. It created a large shadow on the opposite wall. I went to the living room area which was on my left. I froze on the spot when I saw Bobby sitting on the couch. He had his back to me, preoccupied with his phone.

"Come on Max answer your fucking mobile," he said into the mouthpiece.

With the baton I struck him over the head, knocking him out instantly.

I sat opposite him and waited patiently. Bobby began to move, rubbing the back of his head, mumbling words I didn't understand, he was still dazed.

"Merry Christmas Bobby," I said.

He shot up in a sitting position, looked to his left and right before staring straight at me. "You are fucking dead when Max returns!" Bobby screamed.

"You mean your seven-foot henchman." He was talking about Goliath. "He's dead," I coldly said.

He was speechless.

"Do you recognise me," I said.

He just nodded his head.

"Why? Why my wife and me? What did we ever do to you? I screamed.

"I've got money. I've got £100,000 in the safe in the bedroom."

I got up. "Let's go," I said. Bobby led the way to the master bedroom, stopping next to the bed, facing the wardrobe. He pointed his index finger at the door. I slid the door open, revealing a safe box. It was a digital safe. All I needed was the number.

"What's the number?" I said.

He didn't say anything.

"I'm not going to ask you again. I'm going to force it out of you next time."

He just stared at me. "You haven't got it in you," that was his response.

Ten minutes later the safe was open. Bobby was sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed. A rolled up pair of socks stuffed in his mouth, blocking out his screams. His legs stretched out with both his kneecaps smashed. I took the cash from the safe, which I stuffed into a small bag I found in the wardrobe. I was ready to go.

I pulled the socks out of Bobby's mouth. "You know I have to kill you now," I said.

He looked at me and began to laugh. He wouldn't stop laughing. When he finally finished, he said.

"I was paid £10,000 to kill you. That's how much your father-in-law paid me. While his daughter was running away from me, the dumb bitch ran into an oncoming car. We had instructions not to touch a hair on her. You were the target." He continued to laugh.

The hard blow to his larynx stopped the laughing. His hands went to his neck, pulling at his throat, but there was nothing he could do. His airflow was blocked. I watched his lips go purple, and his eyes were wide open as he struggled to breathe. A minute later he stopped moving. I checked his pause. He was dead.

It was seven in the morning when I got onto the National Express to go back to London. By ten in the morning, the taxi pulled up outside St. Barnabas Church.

Chapter 12

Father Petrou's voice woke me up. I checked the time. It was gone two in the afternoon. I lay there on the bed for a moment, just staring at the ceiling.

"Tony, have you woken up yet?" Father Petrou called.

"Give me a minute, Father."

"I'll be in my office," he replied.

Fifteen minutes later I walked into Father Petrou's office, under my arm the bag containing the money. My good friend, the priest, was reading from the bible which was spread open on his desk. If I hadn't coughed, he wouldn't have noticed me standing there.

"Merry Christmas, Father Petrou," I said.

"A Merry Christmas to you Tony." He smiled. "I didn't see you all day yesterday. Did you spend the day with Julie?" he asked.

"I was in Brighton. I had some unfinished business down there."

I put the bag on the desk, in front of Father Petrou. He looked at it, then at me, finally gazed back at the bag. He closed the bible he was reading, putting it to the side. He pulled the bag nearer. He slowly unzipped it, spreading the opening wider to look inside. He took a deep breath then exhaled. He retrieved the bloody baton from inside the bag, putting it on his desk. His eyes fixed on the contents inside the bag.

"I found them, Father Petrou; I made them pay for what they did to Julie and me." I pulled the two photographers out of my pocket, putting them beside the baton. "It's all over now, no more," I said.

Father Petrou put his hands together, locking his fingers together. He looked down and closed his eyes. I watched his lips move. He was praying. When he finished, he lifted his head and opened his eyes. He took another deep breath before he said.

"Is that where they are from?"

"Yes."

He glanced at the baton. "Is that their blood?" He gestured his hand towards the weapon.

I nodded my head. "I did what I had to do Father," I said without the sound of regret in my voice.

His stare moved to the bag. "How much is in the bag?" Father Petrou asked.

"Give or take £70,000."

"Jesus Christ!" he screamed. He looked behind me, worried someone heard him. He waited a moment before he continued, "You have to go away for a while. I will get rid of all this." He looked at the weapon and photos. Then turned to the bag, he put his hand over it. He smiled. "The blood money, it will feed a lot of hungry people. I will call Father Demetriou to expect you." He wrote the address on a piece of paper, putting it in my hand.

"You have been like an older brother to me," I said. I embraced him, not wanting to let go.

"We will see each other again my friend. Get out of here. I need to clean up around here before I go." He gathered the items from his desk, dumping them in a cupboard on the bookcase. "I'll deal with that tomorrow. I have to be somewhere today, and I'm already late because of you." We embraced each other again before I left his office.

I packed everything I owned which wasn't much, in a Lifeventure Expedition Duffel bag.

I was ready to go.

The last coach to Liverpool was at eight in the evening. I still had four hours until then. I had plenty of time to go and see Julie, and I did promise my mother-in-law to meet her at the hospital today. The taxi driver put his foot down on the accelerator, getting us to Chase Farm Hospital in record time.

I was all smiles, walking towards Julie's bed. The curl on my lips dropped from what I saw. Sitting beside Julie's bed was my father-in-law. My mother-in-law on the other side of the bed, she was stroking Julie's hair. She had her back to me.

"Merry Christmas," I said.

Mary quickly turned smiling at me. "Merry Christmas," she replied. She rushed over, embraced me and kissing me on both cheeks.

I stood there frozen.

My father-in-law wasn't too happy to see me.

"Is everything ok, Tony?" Mary said.

I grabbed the curtain end, sliding it along the rail, giving us privacy from the people around us. My eyes were like daggers on my father-in-law. He wouldn't even look at me.

"Could someone tell what is going on?" Mary said a little too loud.

"Why don't you ask Harry?" I yelled. My eyes glued on my father-in-law.

He sat there, still looking at the ground.

I retrieved an envelope of cash from the inside of my jacket, threw it across the bed. The envelope landed on my father-in-law's chest, some of the notes spilling out, dropping onto the ground.

"Harry paid £10,000 to make me disappear," I turned to my mother-in-law, tears in my eyes. "Who paid the price? Julie did!" I yelled

My mother-in-law stood there with her hand over her mouth.

I kissed my wife on the lips. I whispered in her ear, "Merry Christmas my angel."

I rushed out of the ward. I needed to get out of there before I did something to my father-in-law. My mother-in-law came after me, stopping me at the entrance of the hospital.
She looked into my eyes. "What happened? How did you find them? She paused for a second. "What did you do to them?" She wanted to know everything.

I put my hand on her cheek. "It will probably be on the evening news," I said. I didn't want to give her the gory detail of what happened. I kissed her on the cheek before I got into my awaiting taxi.

"Where to sir," the driver said.

"London, Victoria," I said.

There wasn't much movement in Central London. Streets which were full of life on an average day, on Christmas Day they were deserted. The taxi pulled up next to the National Express Station with plenty of time to spare till the coach left.

"What do I owe you?" I asked the driver.

"One-hundred, sir," he delayed saying the amount. He knew that his boss was overcharging customers because it was Christmas Day.

I opened the duffel bag, feeling inside the bag for my wallet. I pulled it out, with a small parcel I prepared earlier. I was supposed to drop it off, before coming to Victoria. I'll send it from Liverpool when the Post Office opens, But I wanted the person to get the gift today.

"What time do you finish tonight?" I asked the driver.

"Eleven," he said.

"I'll give you two-hundred. All you have to do is deliver a parcel when you finish work." I waved the small gift in front of him. "It's in Palmers Green. The address is written on the card," I said.

He was sceptical for a moment. "It might be eleven-thirty when I deliver it."

"Perfect." I handed the parcel over to him with two-hundred quid.

The alarm on my smartphone woke me up. It was eleven. I connected my smartphone to the National Express Wi-Fi. Then I quickly scrolled through the icons in search for the live TV app. ITV news was on.

*****

In North London, Palmers Green to be exact. Chris was at home alone, watching the late news. His mother went to her brothers for a couple of hours for Christmas Dinner. She begged Chris to go with her, but he wasn't feeling too good again.

The images of Bobby and Max appeared on the television screen. It made Chris sit up. It was like a slap across his face. Grabbing the remote control, he turned the volume up.

"Two of Brighton's underworld criminals were found dead today. One was found strangled, beneath The Brighton Pier. The other he was brutally beaten in his penthouse apartment." The reporter gave more details about the crime. Chris sat there with his mouth open.

"Fuckin' hell he fuckin killed them!" Chris shouted. The doorbell started ringing. "Come on mom, you forgot your fucking key again!" he screamed.

When he answered the door, it wasn't his mother. It was a man with a parcel in his hand. The man confirmed the name on the box with Chris before handing it over to him.

He sat on the sofa with the parcel in his lap. He started reading the card, before opening the gift.

'Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year,' was printed on the top of the card.

The rest was handwritten.

'To Fuckin Chris.' Chris smiled at the comment.

'I want to thank you. I would have never found them without you. For my appreciation a small gift for you. I hope it is enough to start your new business. Tony.'

Chris ripped the wrapping paper of the parcel like a child opening a present on Christmas day. Eager to see what was inside. It was a Bose wireless speaker. He was confused.

"What the fuck!" he shouted.

The fancy box contained a black pouch inside. The word Bose was written on the front. With all his strength he threw the item across the room.

"Fuckin asshole!" he yelled.

He didn't hear a crashing sound when it hit the wall. That surprised him. Picking up the pouch, he opened the flap. There was no speaker inside, but there were four large stacks of fifty-pound notes.

"Fuckin hell Tony!" he screamed.

At that moment the front door opened. It was Chris's mother.

"How many times have I told you not to use that word, Chris!" his mother screamed.

The End.
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