He heard a noise behind him and turned round, away from his bike rack. The Cotton brothers stood inside his garage, flanked by several followers. Jackson knew them all. They were a mixture of races, sexes, violent proclivities, and status. Mostly addicts and dealers. He looked at the younger ones and felt helpless to steer them away from what was inevitable. They took seats dotted around the garage and Jackson waited to see what they wanted. It wasn’t a social call, and he reckoned they didn’t want a bike fixing.

Maybe they wanted their gear back. The package that Tyrone had given him had come from Jason Cotton. That much he knew. Over the years, he’d been given all sorts of items to dispose of, but in reality, he kept everything. More than that, he’d kept a record of every one of them: where it was exchanged, the time, date and description of the package. The bag given to him by Tyrone contained bloody clothes and a knife. It was small enough to peel vegetables, but big enough to kill. It was clean, but Jackson knew that evidence stuck to blades like rabbit shit to fur. He also knew that it was, in all probability, the weapon that had killed Keira.

‘What happened to your face, Adam?’ he asked. He assumed he’d been in a dispute, and lost.

‘He needed teaching a lesson, fam.’ Jason clarified the situation and Jackson pieced together what had happened. Adam had gone out on a limb, taking a new member’s initiation into his own hands, and his brother was pissed. But it was curious. Why would Jason give two fucks about his brother killing someone?

Jackson looked at Adam, who had his hands in his pockets and wore a hood that masked most of his wounds. It was standard attire. Two females fawned over him. The Cotton brothers were of different ethnic descent from one another, but no one ever mentioned the fact that their mother was a junkie who shagged around. Adam was black, Jason was white. What mattered was power, not creed.

Jason folded his arms. He was taller than his brother and had the brains. Adam was slimmer, but a mean motherfucker. He stood just behind Jason. Jackson was impressed by the damage Jason had caused: he was a mean bastard too. He guessed Adam must be in a lot of pain. What a refreshing change.

‘’Sup, bruv?’ he asked Jason directly. He played the game, and adjusted his tone and word choice for his audience.