---
David
Tyler slapped my cheek a few times to bring me to.
"Kid. Kid."
I shoved his hand away and buried my face into his shoulder. I was awake, damn it.
"You gonna walk? I might have a bit of trouble carrying you."
Still drowsy and lethargic, I managed to get out of the car. I wasn't in such excruciating pain, I felt a little more like myself. I wanted to figure out what was going on. I tried to pay attention to everything.
It was early morning. Summertime brightness could be misleading. The surroundings were... a carpark, of sorts. Trees. Birds. Was it an office building?
Our 'escort' led us inside. So long as we weren't giving them trouble, they weren't giving us trouble, but a hand on my back still gave an irritating shove.
My head hurt, but it was bearable. As soon as we were indoors it became clear that the building was abandoned. It wasn't in a terrible state, there wasn't shit everywhere or tons of broken windows. It was simply very empty, and smelt stale.
We scaled a stairwell up numerous levels. There were more people there, reacting when we arrived as though they'd been expecting us. So many faces of strangers merged together in one big blur in my mind. It was almost possible to forget what was going on, except that the guy behind me casually had a Glock in his hand.
"A Sörensen?" one asked.
"Yeah, sorta," another replied.
"Ch'ya mean
sorta
?"
"It's the spouse."
"Oh, right, he's a fag, ain't he?" His eyes moved to Tyler. "So you's like the wife?"
Tyler's eyebrow rose. "Yeah, I do the cooking and cleaning and stuff."
One burst with laughter.
"Jeez, don't encourage him," another snapped. "He doesn't shut up."
"And what's the kid?"
"Sörensen's nephew."
I was stared at, but he didn't speak to me. "So boss is happy?"
"Yeah."
"Well, put 'em away."
They needed to talk and do their 'work', or whatever. We were ushered away behind a door, into a very empty looking office. "No funny business," a voice reminded us.
Someone leant against the shut door, his back visible through the narrow rectangular window. There were faint murmurs and tones of voices through the building's soundproofing.
Tyler went straight over to the window while I sagged against a wall.
"Where are we?" I asked.
"Somewhere around London."
I slid down to the floor. "How high is it?"
Tyler grunted and his forehead thudded the glass. "Fifty feet? We're not getting out through the window, kid."
I felt like saying, that from what Violet had taught me, I actually thought I'd be able to make my way to the ground unharmed. But my mind was more focused on other things - what had happened to Violet?
We'd never turned up. Had she realised something was wrong? Done something about it? We'd been very close to the station when we'd been jumped. Maybe she'd heard something, maybe she'd seen it?
"Tyler," I said, but he didn't turn from the window straight away. "What's going on?"
There was a silence with no response.
"Tyler," I growled.
"Fuck."
"What?"
"Why do I have to be the fucking one to tell you this?"
"I'm fucking sorry?"
He finally turned from the window, rubbed his eyes, and gave me an empty stare.
"Tyler."
"This wasn't something that was supposed to affect your life. Ever."
There was another pause, then I snapped, "It kinda has, hasn't it?"
"Jesus Christ."
"Tell me what the fuck is going on."
He came and sat next to me, tossing a glance at the door. To my further annoyance, he didn't start explaining, but instead grabbed my jaw to check me over again.
"I'm fine," I said.
The pain in my head was mostly localised to one point, rather than the all over throbbing that felt like my brain grated against sandpaper. His fingers touched that point and I winced. My hair was matted with blood, but it was dry.
"Is my skull split open?"
"Nah, you're okay." He sighed, and his expression was ridden with guilt. "I'm sorry, kid."
"Please tell me what's going on."
"Okay, but look, just listen. Listen and don't say shit, okay?"
"Okay."
"All this shit, everything, is because of Darren's father. He got himself involved with some criminals, the black market, and did some stupid things. We've never known exactly what. Whatever he did, he took it with him to his grave. He did die in a car crash, kid, but it was because he was attacked and shot while driving."
"... Okay."
"Darren's eldest cousin was killed by these pricks for being involved, or whatever."
"He was
murdered
?"
"Yes. That was it for a long time, kid, but they came back eventually. Do you remember when your dad had that broken rib? That was because of this. These people were trying to get to Darren, but your dad was there. I mean, it's your dad, he figured out they were shady, he pissed them off, and they attacked him."
I scowled.
"And you remember when I totaled my car, kid? That was because of this. They attacked me and Darren on the street. We, well... We got away, but they chased and fucking smashed into me. That's why I crashed."
It was giving me a headache to scowl any further. It was absolute absurdity. Tyler was rushing through a lot of information, and it wasn't really sinking in.
"Police were all up in the air after that," he continued. "We thought it was over. It was, for a while. But, when you were like, ten, or something? Do you remember when me and Darren went on that sudden holiday? We didn't go on holiday, the fucking police took us in for protection. These pricks killed Marcus."
"You told me he moved to Sweden."
"No, he's fucking dead, kid."
Holy shit. "... And after that?"
"The police took in Vincent, too. But he got out somehow, because the police are fucking stupid. Next thing we know, he's died in a car crash. And in that crash with him, was a body that the police eventually identified as 'Brendan Driscoll'. Some big shot in the black market. So, apparently, that was who had been giving Darren shit all that fucking time."
I stared at the floor. "So Vincent didn't die from a heart attack, huh?"
"No. I dunno, it just seemed pretty ridiculous to say someone
else
died in a car crash. You'd get a damn phobia of cars."
"What about the cousin who died in Darren's Lambo crash? Was that because of this?"
"Oh... No." Tyler smirked. "That was all Darren, kid. But, other than that, yeah, these fucking cunts slowly killed Darren's whole family."
There was a pause of silence. I listened to the muffled tones of the conversation going on outside the door. It was a lot to take in, and not exactly explaining why we were there right now, either.
My voice was quiet. "Why did you never tell me this?"
"Why would we tell you?"
"Why wouldn't you?"
"Kid. Give me one good fucking reason why we would ever tell you this shit?"
"Because I'm a part of this family and I deserve to know?"
"Hey, maybe when you were old enough. Guess you're old enough, now. Congratulations."
I clasped my forehead. "You killed someone?"
Tyler didn't instantly reply, choosing to stare at the opposite wall instead. "... Yeah. In self defence, when they attacked me and Darren on the street."
I sat in silence to try and process that. It was too much to take in. Trying to think about these things happening, not only before my existence, but going on after I was born. They'd certainly sheltered me from it. Sometimes I found it hard to think about normal stories involving my parents or uncles, to imagine they'd ever once been something else other than happily married adults, and this was something else.
It just wasn't working in my head.
He was Tyler, my uncle. My dad's best friend, my mum's biggest friendly rival, with the funny and loud mouth, where nobody actually meant it when we told him to shut up. We couldn't live without him, his cheeky grins and boyish excitement, his energy and love for life. He never offered to help because he expected you to handle yourself, and yet if you ever asked, he'd go to the ends of the earth for you.
He filled hundreds, if not thousands, of my happy childhood memories. He'd always been there. And he was a murderer. Maybe I was really emotionally soft, but I just wasn't finding that an easy piece of news.
Everybody else must have known - Darren, Mum and Dad. And apparently, they weren't bothered.
Tyler was giving me a look, as if everything I thought was all far too obvious on my face. "You want gory details, kid?"
"No," I snapped. "Fuck you."
"It was one of these dickheads, kid. I didn't go murdering some fucking innocent on the street. If someone pulled a knife on you, stabbed you, wouldn't you do it?"
I didn't know. I'd never had to think something like that before. I'd been threatened by enough kids during school years, with their shitty attitudes and gobby mouths - '
Mate, I'll fuckin' cut you!
' - and yet never thought about what I'd do if it actually happened.
Probably because I knew the answer on a gut level.
Tyler pulled up his shirt. "This one," he said, tapping his fingers on the scar one side of his stomach, "is where the cunt stabbed me. And this," he gestured to the scarred line the other side, "yes, they did cut me open to get at my kidney, and you know why it actually was? To get a bullet out of it. Where I was fucking shot."
"Okay, and what about that one?" He had a scar on his forehead that went through his left eyebrow.
"That was from a time with your dad." He frowned at me. "Jesus, kid. Did you get like this with your dad?"
It might have been the most genuinely innocent, clueless "What?" I ever asked. There was a brief flash to Tyler's expression, and the room went so silent you could probably hear a pin drop.
I wasn't an idiot, and my mind raced to try piece it together. "... You mean Dad killed someone?"
"He didn't tell you? He told you everything, but left that out? Zack, you prick. You fucking
prick
."
"Holy shit."
"Yes, kid, he fucking shot someone dead while we were out on a run."
"A run?"
He studied me for a few seconds. "He really hasn't told you shit, has he?"
