Crouching in the shadows of the large racks in the warehouse, I peered through dusty and dented boxes at the gathering in front of me.

  There were eight men. Four of them were seated around the table, and another four stood over their shoulders. The men standing were clearly security. They stood with their arms folded in front of them, perfectly still, but with the menacing aura of men who could commit casual and brutal violence at a nod. At the head of the table was Brick. His long coat was draped over the back of his chair, a cigarette in one of his thick hands, and a golden lighter in the other, which he spun round and round with agitated energy. Behind him stood the tall black man I had seen before. Somehow, he looked more imposing from behind. If I wanted to get to Brick, I would have to get through him first, and I didn’t rate my chances.

  The other three men were seated before Brick. One was dressed similarly to Brick, with wiry black hair smoothed into a ponytail. He wore a black pinstripe suit and crisp white shirt open at the neck. He, too, was smoking. The third man was dressed far more casually in a faded green bomber jacket He was completely bald, with a nasty scar running down his cheek. The fourth man was the most out of place. He looked like an accountant. He was dressed in a drab, almost colorless grey suit, with little round spectacles, and was barely tall enough for his feet to reach the floor while he sat in his chair.

  The table was silent, other than the metallic click of Brick’s golden lighter. Tension was thick in the air, as if they were all waiting to see where the axe would fall.

  "I'm telling you," the man with the black ponytail finally said, addressing the table. "Everything needs to slow down. I've not seen pigs on the manor like this since that double murder a couple of years back. We have to shut down shop for a little bit and let the piggies get bored.”

  "This would be unacceptable," the accountant-looking one said. "The Mulberry Estate is only as good as its weekly earnings. We cannot simply stop operations, even for a day. That would be unacceptable to the Syndicate.”

  "And it’d be unacceptable if we all end up getting nicked as well, wouldn’t it?" the ponytail shot back.

  The accountant looked at him dryly and didn’t respond. Instead, he turned to the bald-headed man with the scar.

  "What management would really prefer to find out is why some no-named low-level thug is running around with a gun. You know our policies on such things, it draws far too much attention. The territory is secure. There’s no reason for your people to be so heavily armed and drawing attention to us in this manner.”

  The man with the scar scratched it and eyed the accountant coldly.

  "Stabber is a fucking moron," he replied. "But the lads are out there day in and day out. If they feel the need to protect themselves, I can't exactly tell them they’re not allowed. This isn't school, mate.”

  "I don’t know, Dennis," the man with the black ponytail, interjected. "I'm with Mr. Smith on this one. Your lad put two bullets through a baby's nursery window, and even worse, I don't think the cunt even shot the cunt he was aiming at.”

  Dennis, the bald-headed man with the scar, turned his cold eyes upon the man with the ponytail.

  "That's real fucking rich coming from you, Jimmy," he spat. "When’s the last time you saw any action on the streets? The fuck do you even know about it?”

  "Listen here," Jimmy said, slamming his hand on the table and pointing at Dennis. "I was putting in work while you were still sitting in fucking Strangeways smelling your cellies shit.”

  Dennis looked at the finger, then at Jimmy, seemingly seconds away from breaking that finger off and shoving it down Jimmy's throat.

  "Gentlemen," Mr. Smith, the accountant-looking man, said. "The Syndicate has rules about these sorts of things. Civilians are not supposed to be involved, and if they are, and I didn't know I had to tell you this, children and babies are most certainly to be avoided." He spoke with a clipped, stern manner, like an irritated schoolmaster. "The level of attention this has brought on us will have far-reaching implications. That, Mr. Dennis," he turned to the bald-headed man. "Is why we don't let common street thugs walk around with guns. If someone gets stabbed, that's acceptable to both the media and the police, but when bullets start flying, that is sensational, and that gets attention. Do you understand?”

  Dennis growled but stayed quiet. Perhaps because of the nearly seven-foot bodyguard in black that stood behind Mr Smith, hands crossed in front of him, likely not far from a concealed weapon.

  "Recruitment is tough right now, and the boys are all jumpy," Dennis said, trying to keep his voice even. "I've got to work with who I've got.”

  "Why would recruitment be tough?" Mr. Smith snapped. "Have the common thugs on the Mulberry Estate suddenly won the lottery, or is money just not in fashion anymore?"

  Dennis opened his mouth to respond and then closed it, his eyes flicking to Brick. Mr. Smith noticed this too, and he turned to look at the gorilla at the head of the table.

  "You know why," Brick growled, his voice sounding like a car tire crunching over gravel. "We all know why. Why the boys are jumpy, why the kids aren't coming out of their house to sling our drugs. Why the takings are down. You all fucking know.”

  Jimmy and Dennis both exchanged looks, and it seemed there was some unspoken understanding between everyone at the table except for Mr. Smith.

  “Pray do tell,” Mr. Smith said, sounding bored.

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  Brick ran his tongue around his mouth and then scratched the stubble on his cheek.

  “Fucking mage,” he growled finally, and I felt a chill run through my stomach.

  “The mage?” Mr. Smith said, arching an elegant eyebrow. “This vigilante that's been terrorizing the Mulberry Estate? You seriously want me to go back to the Board and say that takings are down because of some local hero with a cricket bat?”

  “It ain't just a cricket bat,” Dennis spat at him. “The guy has got…” he hesitated and ran his tongue across his dry lips. “Powers, alright? He can do things. It's not natural.”

  Jimmy snorted and rolled his eyes, but it was a rather unconvincing gesture. Mr. Smith looked from Dennis to Brick.

  “You want me to report to the Board that a wizard is terrorizing our operations on the Mulberry Estate? Is that really what you want me to do, Brick?”

  Brick leaned over the table, his massive form taking up the entire space, his voice a guttural growl.

  “No,” he said. “You just tell them that there's an issue, and I'm taking care of it.”

  “I hope you are,” Mr. Smith said, “because if your operations can really be brought to its knees by some have-a-go hero, then it may be time that we start looking elsewhere for our management of this area.”

  Brick glared at Mr. Smith, who returned the look with a cool one of his own. No one spoke. Brick's knuckles whitened as his fists clenched hard enough to make bones crack. Mr. Smith let him stew for a moment or two longer while Dennis and Jimmy looked awkwardly at anything but at Brick and Mr. Smith. Then finally, Mr. Smith spoke again.

  “Operations will not cease nor slow down,” he said firmly, looking at Dennis and Jimmy. “You will switch up our normal patterns. The police aren't aware of anything. Our sources on the inside tell us that if it wasn't for this fool shooting off his gun in the middle of a residential area, we'd have no heat on us whatsoever. I want all the stash houses changed. I want the transport vehicles changed, and I want the personnel switched around. The Board has been very clear. They expect operations to continue,” Mr. Smith aimed that final word at Dennis. “Do whatever you have to about these other nuisances, but make sure you do it quietly. We do not want any more attention on the Mulberry Estate. Oh, and see to this Stabber fool and make sure an example is set. Is that understood?”

  Mr. Smith continued without waiting for confirmation from the men around the table. He didn't have to.

  “We have a new shipment coming in from our suppliers in China. This time, it is double the usual amount.”

  “Double?” Brick said.

  “Yes, Brick, two times as much,” Mr. Smith clarified. “We have had other setbacks in the city, and we are going to use your routes to store and distribute. You'll take your usual share, and the rest will be collected by other parties. The details will be given to you soon enough.”

  “When’s it landing?” Brick asked.

  “48 hours. With the current level of attention on the Mulberry Estate, we won't be using our usual routes,” Mr. Smith explained. “Switch up, use our secondary routes and stash houses. And Brick, I want you personally in receipt of this one. Do you understand me?”

  “Yeah,” Brick grunted.

  “Good. And what are we doing about recovering our lost earnings?” Mr. Smith questioned.

  “We're working on it,” Brick replied simply.

  “Well make sure you do, otherwise that's coming out of your pockets. Now, if there's nothing more to discuss, I have business elsewhere.” Mr. Smith stood up, collected his briefcase, straightened his tie, and then turned and walked out, his giant bodyguard casually strolling behind him.

  Dennis, Jimmy, and Brick said nothing until they heard the door clang shut to the warehouse and the engine of Mr. Smith's car begin.

  “Fuck,” Brick growled, slamming his fist onto the table, cracking the tabletop and almost buckling one of the legs. “I fucking hate that little worm.”

  “Yeah, where does that little prick get off talking to us like that?” Jimmy agreed, stubbing out his cigarette and lighting another one. “I swear, if he carried on, I would have…”

  “You wouldn't have done shit,” Dennis interrupted him, waving a dismissive hand. “Brick, what do we do about this fucking mage?”

  “Fucking mage,” Brick growled. “Smith’s a cunt, but he’s not wrong. How the hell have we been brought down by some guy with a cricket bat and some cheap tricks? I want him to be priority number one. We've got 48 hours to flush this fucker out and kill him.” Dennis and Jimmy nodded, and I felt my mouth go dry. “I don't want him captured, I don't want him tortured, I just want him dead. Tell all of our men on the street it's ￡10,000 for anybody that lights this prick up.”

  Jimmy nodded, but Dennis hesitated.

  “I don't know, boss,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” Brick snarled.

  “I don't think our boys are up for this. Whoever this fucking Gutter Mage is, he's been running us in circles. I've even heard he took down 20 guys by himself.”

  “Bullshit,” Jimmy said.

  “You don't know,” Dennis shot back. “You're not on the streets, Jimmy. I'm telling you, the boys have got it in their heads that he's some supernatural superhero or something. He’s been stabbed, he’s been shot, he’s been beaten half to death, and yet he keeps coming back.”

  “So what are you telling me?” Brick replied, his voice deathly cold.

  “Nothing, Brick,” Dennis said quickly. “I'll put a word out, of course I will. I'm just saying, I don't know if our boys are up for this. We need something heavier than the toe-rags on the Estate.”

  Brick sat back and thought.

  “Heavier,” he said. Brick then looked over his shoulder. “You’re up John.”

  I saw the tall man grin and nod.

  Brick stood up and pulled his coat on, glowering at Jimmy and Dennis.

  “Remember, if I go down, you two are fucking coming with me. Get this shit sorted. Get our house in order because if the Board’s unhappy, all three of us will find ourselves in the Thames without teeth and fingers. You understand me?”

  Jimmy and Dennis nodded, looking away from Brick. He glared at them for a few seconds longer and then departed, with Jimmy and Dennis following soon after.

  I barely dared to breathe until the warehouse went completely dark and I could no longer hear the sounds of engines or the crunching of gravel under shoes. I sat there in the oppressive darkness, sweat trickling down my cheeks. They were coming after me now. Not only that, they had put a bounty on my head. I should have been afraid, I should have been terrified, but my mind was racing. Brick wasn’t the head of the Syndicate. By the sound of it, he was just local management. That little guy in the suit seemed to be in charge and even then he kept referring to the Board, whoever they were. They had networks across the city too? And drugs were coming in from China. How big was the Syndicate exactly?

  But all that was just background noise, all I could think about was that they had an important shipment coming in. Twice the usual amount of drugs and that was going all over the city, not just in the Mulberry Estate.

  This was my chance. This was how I really hurt the Syndicate! If I could get to that shipment and destroy it before it ever got to the streets, I would have done some real damage. I grinned wolfishly under my balaclava.

  They thought they were coming after me, but I was coming after them!