The Takeaway Man

1

It was two days after the attack, his sons were lying in hospital, one of them in a critical condition, and David Nelson, London gangster, was looking for revenge.

It was late when he stepped into the kebab shop. He was accompanied by two other men. Perry, a short, stocky man with a flat nose. And Frank, a ferrety man with a sadistic personality. Two of his best, and most loyal, David would say.

David's nose twitched. He wasn't a fan of takeaway. The smell of grease and fried food was enough to make him sick. The TV was on. Football highlights. The volume was up. David told Perry to stand by the door.

'No cunt gets in,' he growled.

David didn't announce his arrival. He didn't want the man responsible for the attack to know he was here. He stepped behind the counter and there was a girl on her knees cleaning out a filthy grease trap, her hands elbow deep in yellow slop.

'That's fucking horrible,' David said.

The girl jumped and looked up. She frowned. She didn't look afraid.

'Eddie,' she called.

'I know you,' David said to the girl. 'I've seen your face before.'

'I'm sorry,' the girl mumbled. 'We've never met.'

'Bollocks,' David said. 'I know you. I fucking know it.'

A man stepped out of the back room. He had thin arms and shoulders. He had a round potbelly and greasy skin peppered with faded freckles. His ginger hair was faint and thin. He had a dish towel in his hand. He looked afraid.

'You own this place?' David asked, stepping over the girl on the floor.

'I do,' said the man in the doorway, his voice trembling.

David nodded. He looked around the shop, taking in the laminated menus pinned to the walls and the stainless steel work surfaces.

'It's a shithole,' David said. 'A fucking, greasy shithole. Frank?'

Frank nodded in response. 'Shithole,' he said.

'What do you want?' The owner asked.

'Where's your takeaway man?' David asked.

'Who?'

'You're fucking delivery driver! Where is he?'

The owner jumped. David enjoyed watching the man squirm. He cracked his knuckles. The girl on the ground shifted back a little.

'Don't fucking move!' David shouted. 'Nobody leaves here until I find that cunt!'

He wiped his lips. He was sweating. He could feel it running down his back. It always happened when he was angry.

'He's not here,' the owner stuttered.

David, a deep believer in acting now and thinking later, stepped forward and grabbed the owner by his sticky shirt and pinned him against the wall. The girl screamed.

'Shut up,' Frank told her.

David's nose was almost touching the owner's. He could smell the owner's breath. Pickles.

'Where is he?' David growled.

'I don't know.'

'Don't fucking lie to me!' David screamed. 'Tell me where he is and everything will be alright.'

He could see the owner's eyes darting around their sockets, looking for a way out. Sweat dribbled down his forehead.

'Please, I don't know,' he said.

David was close to losing it. He could feel the anger pumping through his body like a vicious disease. He vibrated. He wanted to hurt the man he was holding. Badly. His boys were laid up in hospital. Brandon was out cold, and Tim had two broken arms. It was Tim who told him where to find their attackers. He said it was the delivery driver. The takeaway man, he said.

Now, here was David, ready to kill.

'Frank, is that fryer on?' David said, staring into the owners beady eyes.

'Dunno, boss,' said Frank.

'Ask her to check,' David snapped, nodding his head back towards the girl on the floor.

'It's off,' she said immediately.

'Prove it,' said David.

'What?'

'Fucking stick your hands in and prove it!'

Silence. David could hear her brain working. The gears and the cogs whirring wildly. Her heart beating. He could imagine her cunt sweating profusely.

'Frank?'

He heard his associate move. The girl moaning and being lifted from the ground.

'What are you doing?' She asked.

'Do what he asks, love,' said Frank.

Silence again. The owners pickled breath. Perry sneezing at the door.

'Stick your fucking hands in the fryer or my colleague will put a bullet in your fucking head!'

'Don't do this,' the owner pleaded.

'Shut up!' David roared. 'Stick your fucking hands in the fryer. Frank, put a gun to her head!'

She screamed.

'Please,' she cried.

David leant in and put his mouth to the owner's ear.

'Tell your takeaway driver,' he whispered, 'that David Nelson's looking for him. Tell him, that what happened here, is just a taster of what will happen to him.'

The girl screamed. Unholy. Chilling. The owner pissed himself.

Much later, after they'd left, and the police had come and the ambulance had taken the girl away, the owner sent Damien a text and passed on David Nelson's message. He had no idea it was about to start a war.