The Family Firm

Chapter 18

Junior looked at the large home and was impressed. It was a two-storey detached place with a decently-sized garden, well-maintained of course both front and back. A curved path led up to the front door, which was framed tastefully with ivy, and there was even a fountain in the front with a cherub holding a long trumpet which spouted water from the bell.

The rushing water was the only sound on the street that night. And it was a good street, too, much nicer than the one he lived on. He was certain that everyone on the block in their little semis with their perfect hair and straight, white teeth was in for a shock tonight, and he was the one that was going to deliver it.

He strode up the path, whistling. If there was anything his uncle Fred had taught him, it was that when people cunted you off, you made it known they could never do something like that again. You had to send them a message. With that poor old fucker in the warehouse, the message was petrol-stained clothes and pissed-in trousers. With Archy Jackson, it was getting his face bashed into his fucking skull. And he himself had something in store for the headmaster that dared expel Freddie Evans Jr from school over something as simple as defending his family's honour.

He tapped his knuckles rhythmically against the door, hiding the wooden bat behind his back casually, and waited for someone to answer the door.

Aryan Chatterji had worked hard to get into the position of power he was in. He was a firm believer in diligence and knew that if you studied and practised enough, you could achieve anything. He had proven this by becoming headmaster at one of the best schools in London. And it was a prestigious school, only the most intelligent and hard-working students attended, and it pleased him to be surrounded by intelligence on a daily basis. He hadn't been born any smarter than anyone else, he'd only worked his arse off and it had paid off well. He appreciated those who took pride in the craft of learning like he did and he was enjoying his career.

There were always brutes in the world, people who thought they could force themselves through everything in life but the truth was, it was always the intelligent who reigned supreme, who made a difference in the world. Those who burnt bright and hard burned out quicker and he reasoned that this was why the Nazis, the Huns, and the Vikings had all died out and those who saw logic and reason in society had continued ruling for thousands of years.

He was proud of his work, and proud of his home, and honestly, proud of himself. It hadn't left much room for a personal life, however; he was unmarried and without children, but that suited him perfectly fine. His house was quiet, and he could spend his wealth on himself, which he enjoyed.

But it was because he lived alone that he was concerned when there was a knock on the door in the middle of the night. He was already in his dressing gown and had just been fixing up a cuppa for his nightly ritual of tea and black-and-white films, and so he wondered, quite earnestly, who could have been looking for him well past sunset.

As he opened the door, nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

'Evans...?' he asked, struggling to remember the boy's first name. '...Freddie Evans? What on Earth are you...'

'Well,' said Junior as he strode inside the drum, looking around impressed. 'You've done well for yourself, Headmaster.'

Aryan felt the shock of fear run down his spine and shoot straight into his feet. He knew there was something very, very wrong with this. There was no reason for Freddie Evans—that was, the crowning child of that dreaded gangster's sister—to be in his home in the middle of the night. Everyone knew the Evanses and they were, in not just Aryan's opinion, brutes. And while he thought himself far superior to them all, he was still terrified, and his fear only grew as Junior produced a wooden bat from behind his back and hoisted it over his shoulder.

'Now, Freddie...' he began, being familiar in an attempt to soften Junior's edges a bit. 'Please, think about what you're doing...'

'Oh, I have,' said Junior simply, looking at the immigrant with disgust. And then, he readied the bat, and swung it as hard as he could at the large, expensive-looking TV nearby. It crackled loudly as it fell off its stand and fell onto the glass table beneath it, which shattered exponentially more so, sending shards of transparent glass flying all over the front room. Aryan jumped back against the wall in shock, but Junior wasn't done yet. He spent the next few minutes smashing whatever he could with the bat—photos on the wall, antiques on the shelf, everything in fucking sight. He wreaked havoc through the front room, dining room, kitchen and all, and all Aryan could do was watch in terror as the beautiful home he'd made for himself was destroyed before his very eyes.

There would always be brutes in society, he thought in that moment, and right then he wasn't certain the intellectuals were the ones who ran things. They only thought they did until barbarians like Freddie Evans Jr came and ripped their naïve little world right out from beneath them.

After he was done, Junior looked at his work and admired it. More than that, he was pleased by the fear he saw in the headmaster's eyes, and filed it away to memory. This was a defining moment for him, and he knew it more than he knew his own soul. Right in that moment, Junior, too, was adapting to a new lease on life; that no matter what people said, no what they did, and no matter who the fuck they were or thought they were, he could have anything he wanted as long as he took it by force. And if he could take it, then he deserved to have it.

He was an Evans, after all.