I sprinted towards the shop. The blaze was in full effect now, and was beginning to engulf the shops around it. I came to a skidding halt as the sheer heat and power of the flames hit me. What could I do? I shielded my face with my forearm and looked around but there was nothing, no way of saving the shop. I stood there hopelessly, watching the flames engulf Mark's shop, wishing I knew some spell or had some gadget that could help. Tears of frustration stung my eyes.

  There was a creak and then a loud crack as the shop's wood began to give in and the bricks began to collapse on themselves. The windows had been smashed, and flames belched out from the building. I heard footsteps to my right and saw an ashen-faced Mark in his night clothes, his hair askew and without his glasses. He was red-faced and panting.

  "Alex, what's going on?" he yelled at me.

  "I don't know," I said. "I was just on my way home and I saw the smoke." I turned helplessly to the building.

  Mark just stared slack-jawed as his life's work went up in smoke. The old man collapsed on the street, tears rolling down his face.

  "Who did this? What happened?”

  "I don't know," I repeated, staring into the flames.

  I remembered the three hooded figures who ran past me, knowing it was them. But why? Sirens reached a crescendo as emergency vehicles screeched around the corner. I was pushed out of the way by firemen as they sprayed foam into the building, trying to tame the raging flames and stop the other buildings from catching fire. Police and medics arrived, and I don't know what happened to Mark. He was bundled away, and when I saw the police questioning people, I thought it would be wise for me to make good my escape, conscious of the fact that I had a backpack full of possibly stolen jewellery.

  I limped back home, not even remembering the journey. I stank of smoke, and my skin was covered in ash. I practically fell through my front door, threw the backpack to the floor, stripped off my jacket, and just sat on the edge of the bed, my head in my hands, unable to comprehend everything that had happened in the last 24 hours. I was exhausted and bone-tired, but all I could picture was Mark's heartbroken face, and the anger and rage welled up inside me again. How could this keep happening? How could these bastards just ruin people's lives and make everything a misery for everyone else? How could they just do it and not care?

  Now the tears did come. Whether it was from being stabbed to death, my wild battle with the beetle, the grisly sacrifice in the church, taking the Pigeon King’s blood payment, or failing Mark, it was all just too much, and I curled up on the floor of my room and wept. I hadn't cried like that since Grandad died. I don't know how long I lay on the floor, crying and staring at the walls, but the sun had started to come up by the time I dragged myself to my feet and went to the bathroom. Slowly, I stripped off my soiled clothes and stood under the shower numbly, not sure if I was still crying or not. I let the water wash over me as I scrubbed my skin until it was pink and raw.

  Still dripping wet and in my bathrobe, I stumbled to the kitchen and made two packs of instant noodles, wolfing them down while they were still steaming hot. I didn't taste a thing; all I could smell was smoke. As I was eating, I looked under my fingernails and saw they were caked with blood. I didn't know whose blood it was. It could be mine or one of those goons, or the beetle’s. I picked at my fingernails, scraping the blood from underneath them and grimacing.

  I had to do something. I couldn't let this keep going on. I couldn't let innocent people, people I cared about, keep getting hurt by these bastards. It wasn't good enough to just chase off a couple of thugs. I had to break this Syndicate. I had to take them out, or die trying.

  Just then, there was a loud knock on my door. My head snapped up from the daze I'd been in. I was still sitting there in my towel, and the almost finished bowl of noodles in front of me had congealed and gone cold. There was another knock at the door, and I sat there frozen in silence.

  "Hello," a loud voice called from the other side of my front door. "Police, open up!”

  Police? My heart started racing in my chest. What were the police doing here? I chewed on my lip, wondering if I should just ignore them, but I knew the police; they would come back, or they'd come and find me somewhere else, and I couldn't afford to have police looking for me, not right now. I hastily jumped up as they banged on the door again, pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of shorts, and ran to the door, opening it a fraction.

  "Alex Black?" a policewoman asked me.

  "Yeah, that's me," I said.

  "Can we come in, Alex? We've just got some questions for you about an incident that occurred during the night.”

  I thought for a second and then nodded, opening the door and letting them in. There were two police officers. They weren't normal plods on the beat; these were real police detectives. One was a young black woman, her hair done up in a very professional bun. She wore a grey business suit and had a fairly warm smile about her. The other was a gruff old man with a jowly face like one of those bulldogs. He was squat, had very little neck, and looked like he'd spent the better part of thirty years chasing criminals and low lives. His hair was a very pale yellow and thinning, and he had stubble on his cheeks already. He eyed me with not quite suspicion but definite curiosity. I noticed they both smelled of smoke.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  I led them into the living room. There were only three chairs, and one of them was Grandad's, so I offered the two at the dining table to the police.

  "Thank you, Alex. My name's Olivia Cooper. I'm a detective inspector with the Met Police," the female inspector said to me. "And this is my partner, DI Woodley.”

  Detective Inspector Woodley gave me a gruff nod and sat down, looking around the apartment.

  "Alex, records say that you live with your grandad?” DI Cooper said.

  “Yes,” I said quickly. “But he's not here.”

  “It's 7 o'clock in the morning, lad. Where is he?” DI Woodley asked, eyeing me curiously.

  "Oh, he likes to go fishing," I explained. "He likes to get out really early before the traffic starts, you know.”

  "I see," DI Cooper said. "Says here that you're 18, Alex. Is that right?”

  "Yes, that's right," I replied.

  DI Cooper looked at her partner, who just gave an unbothered shrug.

  "He's legal," DI Woodley replied gruffly.

  "Well, since you're 18, we can speak to you alone," DI Cooper said.

  "Sure. What about?" I asked.

  "There was a fire in the early hours of this morning," DI Cooper explained. "Mark's Florist. We believe you are an employee there.”

  My mouth went dry and I nodded, realizing too late that I should be surprised.

  "A fire?" I said.

  I'd never been a very convincing liar. My Grandad always said that Pinocchio was more subtle than me, but fortunately, I was genuinely flustered and worried, and that seemed to appease DI Cooper. She nodded sympathetically.

  "Yes, we believe it's arson.”

  "Arson?" I repeated. "Does that mean someone set fire to it?”

  "That's correct," she replied.

  "Why would someone want to do that?" I said.

  "We were hoping you'd tell us," DI Woodley said.

  He looked around the flat again. I didn't like the way he kept looking around. It felt like he saw details, like nothing went by him unnoticed.

  "We have reports saying that the owner, your employer Mark, was threatened by some local gang members, and you were there," DI Cooper said.

  "Yeah, that's right. It was a few days ago now," I said.

  "And they threatened to burn down the shop?" DI Cooper asked.

  I shrugged.

  "They threatened Mark, yeah, but I don't remember what they said.”

  "Do you remember what they looked like?" DI Cooper asked.

  "One of them was tall and had, like, really long hair, and another one was bald. I don't really remember the other two," I mumbled, picturing Goldilocks’ toothless face after the Bang Rocks had exploded in his mouth.

  "Descriptions match," DI Woodley said, and I looked at him curiously. "We've already spoken to the girl," he told me.

  "Marilyn?" I asked.

  "Yes, that's right," DI Cooper said. "She gave a similar description. Did the men ever come back?"

  I shook my head and then shrugged.

  "Mark sort of told us to stay away for a little bit, just in case something happened. I haven't been there since," I replied.

  DI Cooper sighed, scribbled down a few notes, and nodded her head. "Well, that's all we needed to find out from you today, Alex. Sorry for coming in so early, but we need to move quickly on things like this." DI Cooper said, giving me another friendly smile. "If we need anything further, we'll be in touch.”

  I nodded and stood up as they did. I showed them back to the front door, and then DI Woodley stopped in front of me in the cramped hallway and sniffed. He didn't say anything, but I definitely knew he smelled smoke. He eyed me for a further moment.

  "Are you not gonna ask?" he said.

  "Ask what?" I said.

  "About Mark," DI Woodley replied.

  "Oh, yeah, of course. Is he alright?" I asked.

  "His shop got burned down, lad. What do you think?" DI Woodley said.

  "He's okay," DI Cooper said, shooting her partner a disapproving look. "He wasn't there at the time. He was at home. He's quite distraught, and he inhaled a bit of smoke. He's down at the local hospital at the minute, but he'll be fine."

  I nodded and looked away from DI Woodley. I felt like making eye contact with that man was as good as making a confession.

  “If you do hear any more, or have any other information you can reach us here.” DI Woodley produced a white business card with a phone number on it and his name.

  I took the card and gave him a weak nod, before opening the front door and letting the detectives out. I closed it behind them and locked it. Gritting my teeth, I leaned my head against the door. My head was aching, but it was more the anger that was making my pulse race. It was the Syndicate; it had to be them. They burnt down Mark's shop because I put those goons down. They probably thought Mark had something to do with it.

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I grunted, banging my head against the door in frustration.

  Every time I tried to do something, it just backfired, and people got hurt. No more half measures. I was gonna wipe out this Syndicate. And if I had to do it one goon at a time, then that's exactly what I was going to do starting tonight.

  It wasn't safe on the Mulberry Estate for the Syndicate, and I was going to make sure of that!