Day Zero

She was still angry. She was always angry, but this was different. Danny hadn’t changed. Three years without a word, and he thought he could come back to their ends, pick up where he’d left off, easy as that. Her fists clenched in the pockets of her hoodie.
She wanted to knock his block off. Take him down a peg or six. It wouldn’t do any good. He’d been trying to run her life since she was a kid. He thought a stint with the army made him the big man, but she knew he was just another tosser in a fancy uniform. Doubly so now that he was working for Albion.
She’d almost laughed when her mum had told her about his offer. Like she wanted to be manning a call centre or arranging files for a crap outfit like Albion. Because that was what he meant by job – something safe and boring.
She’d tried it, and didn’t like it. She needed something different. She’d always been a fighter, and she liked that. She’d tried wrestling, but playing at fighting wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted a real fight.
Mixed martial arts had seemed to promise that, but she’d made some bad decisions early on – trusted the wrong people – and her career had ended before it had even begun. She’d needed her brother then. But he hadn’t been there. Too busy playing soldier.
Thankfully, she’d had friends. And those friends had introduced her to other friends and acquaintances and she’d done some favours for some quick cash and then…
She stopped, waiting for a light. Just a few favours. And then, before she knew it, she was a proper villain. Nothing big. Mostly she hit people who needed hitting. Sometimes she just threatened to hit them. Either way, she got paid for it and that was the important part.
She didn’t think about being a criminal. She doubted Danny thought about being a soldier. It was what he was. And she was this. She pulled her hands out of her pockets and studied the faint scars that ran along her knuckles and fingers. She made fists and stuffed them back into her pockets.
The light changed, traffic slowed, and she crossed the road, heading for the pub on the other side of the roundabout. It was a small building, old fashioned, crouched securely in the shadows of more modern neighbours.
The pub – and its owners – were resisting gentrification with commendable fortitude. It had been a hole in the wall since before the Blitz, and would remain so even after it was surrounded by gourmet cake shops and boutique clothing retailers. The white exterior was smudged with decades of soot and grime, and the red trim was faded and peeling. The golden lettering on the red sign was tarnished, but still legible – The Wolfe Tone.
Light and music tumbled out of the open door and a pair of hard lads stood on the stoop, pints in hand, cigarettes dribbling ash into the street. Ro peered up at them. “Reggie. Saul.”
“Ro,” Saul said. Or maybe Reggie. It was hard to tell them apart. Reggie and Saul Godfrey were both heavyset builder-types, with blunt features and thick necks. Which was appropriate, given that they were builders, on occasion. When they weren’t collecting dosh on behalf of the Kelley bookmakers. Ro did some collecting herself, when needed.
“Didn’t think we’d see you tonight,” Saul – or Reggie – continued. “Weren’t you having dinner with your old mum?” His brother snickered, as if he’d said something dirty.
“Weren’t a euphemism, Saul,” Ro said.
“I’m Reggie.”
“Allow it.” Ro made to go inside, but Reggie flung out an arm. Ro looked at the arm, and then at him. “Got something to say, Saul?”
“Reggie. And I heard your bruvver got himself a cushy gig with them Albion tossers. That true? He working with the filth now?”
“And?” Ro tensed, looking back and forth between them. Ordinarily, she had no problem with the Godfreys. Not nowadays at least. Not after she’d nearly drowned Reggie in the gents that one time. “I’m not his keeper.”
“That’s not what we hear.”
“What do you hear, Reggie?” Ro asked, leaning into his space. He twitched back, probably remembering her hand on the back of his head, pushing him down into the toilet. “And who told you, anyway?”
“Word gets around, Ro,” Saul mumbled. She rounded on him, backing him up against the doorframe. Saul had been on the floor, puking up his guts, while she gave his brother a thorough flushing. “Looks bad, your brother…”
Ro frowned. “Albion are just another gang.”
“Yeah, but way we hear it, not for long.”
“Oh, well, that’s different.” Ro snorted. “But I’ll take your concerns under advisement. Now, I want a pint. You going to move, or I do need to move you?”
The Godfreys shuffled aside, and Ro squeezed past and headed for the bar. The public bar and the saloon were both crowded, but that was nothing new. There wasn’t much to do these days but drink.
The Wolfe Tone was owned lock, stock and barrel by the Kelleys. Nor was it the only one. They’d been buying up pubs, garages and the like for years. Diversifying, they called it. Owning a business made it easier to launder cash through it. It also made it easier to move product out the back. And if the plods started sniffing around, well – pubs burned down all the time. Shame, but the insurance money made up for it.
Of course, laundering money was getting harder and harder these days. Hardly anyone was using cash. The pound was in free fall. Cryptocurrency was filling the void. ETOs, mostly – E-tokens. ETO was anonymous and untraceable. It had become the new coin of the realm, at least when it came to the black market.
Ro bellied up to the bar and ordered a lager. As she waited, she surveyed the room, picking out familiar faces. She didn’t need an Optik for that, though she had one. She knew everyone and everyone knew her. Some