Thorns And Roses

Chapter Six

A/N: Just a heads up for some pretty nasty violence in this chapter, you've been warned.

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Wandsworth
West London

Later that night, on the other side of London, a man walked through the slums of Battersea with his cap down and his collar up in an effort to conceal his identity.

As he passed one of the pubs he was aware of a small group of officers coming out drunkenly. He froze mid walk and quickly threw himself into one of the alleys in an effort to hide. The officers conversed loudly and it was clear they were off their face drunk.

From inside the darkness if the alley he clenched his jaw and fought the urge to charge at them group. If only he had his pistol with him. He'd slay each and every one without feeling a drop of remorse. The joy he'd get from watching those men bleed out over the cobblestones...

The officers passed and he stayed in the alley until he couldn't hear their voices anymore. Peeking his head out he noted the street was empty and he set off once again. Every so often he stole a glance over his shoulder to ensure he wasn't being followed. The right arm of his coat flapped in the chilly London breeze as he made a sharp turn onto Bridgend road were ahead of him was the London Thames. He walked quickly, spotting his destination ahead of him despite the little street lamps near the docks.

He glided down a pair of stone steps towards Wandsworth pier, the moon as his only source of light. On the lonely pier were two shadowy figures, one seated and one standing. At the sound of footsteps on the wood, the two figures raised their heads as he made his way over.

"Ye late, Doug." The figure who stood said, a man dressed in the same dark and concealing attire as himself.

"Tried ta get 'ere as quick as I could. Kept runnin' inta the old bill." He said by explanation as he slowed to a halt in front of him. "Needed ta buy me time. Passed a couple o'coppers on me way in."

The figure sitting on the pier was also male and of strong build. At the brief light of a cigar, his face was revealed and Doug recognised him immediately as Henry Wilkins. Older brother to Thomas Wilkins, the same brother whom he had abandoned during the failed murder of Arthur Sykes.

Henry's face was a harsh sculpture of lines like he had tightened his face so many times from snarling it had damaged the skin. He was built like a grizzly bear with arms the size of tree trunks and hands that could rip a man apart. Upon his face was an unkempt stubble and two piercing grey eyes that narrowed at him.

"Boss ain't 'appy with ya Dougie." He said roughly, puffing smoke into the air. "Says ya oughtta be glad 'e ain't put a bullet in yer 'ead."

Doug visibly swallowed. He knew this was coming, and truthfully, he had avoided this meeting deliberately in fear that his utter disaster of a murder attempt would not be without consequence. He knew a broken arm would be the least of his worries when his boss got ahold of him. He was a merciless killer after all. But right now, in the darkness of the river Thames, Doug was far more afraid of Henry. He'd abandoned his brother, ultimately leading to him being caught by the law and no way was Henry going to let him get away with that. Henry Wilkins was not a man to trifle with in their circle, renowned for his fighting skills he had beaten many a man to death for simply looking at him the wrong way. While most men needed a weapon to be dangerous, Henry only needed his fists. As a result, he was the most feared man in the group. Second only to their leader who had more of a conscience despite his ruthlessness. Henry and his brother Thomas were a great asset to their gang. While Thomas played the smooth-talking, cunning serpent, Henry was the deranged wolf with a thirst for blood.