Free Brothers in Blood by David Stuart Davies

picked out and we can complete the deed there. OK?’
    Russell and Alex nodded greedily.
    It went like clockwork – to begin with. When Laurence drove up the narrow cobbled street, there were just two girls on show. He pulled up by the kerb and wound the window down.
    This was the signal for the girls to saunter over.
    They were both past their prime but, given their profession, Laurence was unsure when that would have been. They certainly looked over forty but may well have been much younger.
    ‘You after business?’ said one, a peroxide blonde in a shiny plastic mac.
    Laurence adopted a Brummy accent to respond. ‘How much?’ he said a brusque, charmless way. He knew these women would be used to this kind of treatment. There was no room for niceties in such a transaction.
    ‘Forty quid.’
    ‘What about you?’ Laurence said, glancing at the other woman. She seemed a little older and less confident. Behind that awfully heavily made up visage was a tired, timid woman.
    ‘I’ll do it for thirty-five,’ she said, softly, moving forward.
    Laurence nodded. ‘Get in,’ he snapped, pushing open the passenger door. He grinned to himself. Little did the poor cow know, in cutting her price she was effectively cutting her own throat. He couldn’t help but give a little chuckle.
    They laid her out on the river bank. She was concussed but breathing heavily. Alex was the first to strike a blow. He stabbed the knife deep into her abdomen. The woman gasped and gurgled. For a few fleeting seconds her eyes opened wide in shock and then clamped shut. Russell stabbed her in the chest, but she was already dying now and the body gave no reaction. Finally, with a flourish, Laurence slit her throat, taking great delight in seeing the blood spurt like a series of mini-fountains and trickle down towards her flaccid cleavage.
    The three of them stood by the corpse for some moments, their eyes gleaming, tight smiles on their lips. Instinctively they held hands, affirming their brotherhood. Their quiet moment of reflection was disturbed by stirrings in the darkness at the far side of the pathway by the river. There was a sharp rustle and the sound of inarticulate grunting.
    And then, suddenly, out of the shadows, a dark form emerged. ‘Here, what you doing?’ came a voice, harsh and accusative. In shock, the three of them turned to face the stranger, a tall broad-shouldered man with grizzled features and a mop of tousled hair who was fast approaching them. His gait was a little ungainly and he carried a half empty whisky bottle in one hand. ‘You’ve killed her. I saw you, you bastards… you’ve killed her,’ he cried, as he lunged at Laurence, with surprising speed and agility, wrapping his arm around his neck. So swift had been his movements that Laurence had no time to defend himself and in an instant he was yanked off his feet and flung to the ground as though he were the discarded toy of an angry child. The stranger then brought the bottle down on his head. The blow was not entirely accurate and only caught Laurence’s left temple. Nevertheless, the skin split and blood began to seep from the wound. Laurence groaned loudly and sank back onto the grass beside the path
    Laurence’s cry of pain seemed to waken Russell and Alex from their frozen state of shock at the sudden violent intrusion of this stranger. Alex leapt forward and stabbed his knife into the back of stranger’s neck. The man gave a gruff cry and turned in fury on his attacker, punching him to the ground. Now his eyes lit upon Russell who stood before him, knife in hand. With a roar, he lunged forward, but Russell sidestepped him and his assailant staggered close to the water’s edge, but with a nimbleness that belied his size and sobriety, he spun round and grabbed Russell by the neck, his brutish fingers sinking hard into the soft flesh. He brought his face close to Russell’s so that even in the fading evening light, he could see the flashing rheumy eyes and