Heatwave Of Revenge

The blaze at the docks sent ripples through Sydney's underworld. Word traveled fast—by dawn, every gang leader from Kings Cross to Redfern knew about Tommy Bannisters stand against the Minh brothers. It was a bold move, but it put a target on the Bannisters family.

Tommy was in rough shape by the time they made it back to their safehouse in Surry Hills. The room reeked of stale beer and smoke, the kind of place that had seen too many late-night deals and hastily cleaned-up bloodstains. Richie patched up Tommy's shoulder as best he could, while a few of their remaining crew kept watch outside.

"I gotta say," Richie muttered as he tightened the bandage, "that was bloody insane. Burning all that gear? Do you even know how much that stuff's worth?"

Tommy winced but forced a grin. "Enough to make sure the Minh brothers will never forget who runs this town."

Richie laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah, well, I'll drink to that. But we're not out of the woods yet."

Tommy sat up, his eyes dark. "No, we're not."

In the days that followed, tensions escalated across Sydney. Every pub, nightclub, and back-alley gambling den was buzzing with rumors of retaliation. The Bannisters braced themselves for the inevitable strike, doubling their numbers at key strongholds and calling in old favors from rival gangs who didn't want to see the Minh brothers rise to power.

But days passed, and nothing happened. No retaliation, no ambush, no Minh brothers in sight. It was almost as if they had vanished.

Tommy didn't trust the silence. "They're planning something," he told Richie as they sat in the back room of the Old Irish, their favorite pub. "They wouldn't just let this slide."

Richie nodded. "Word on the street is they've gone underground, regrouping. But here's the thing, Tommy—the cops have been poking their noses into this too. We might have bigger problems than just the Minh brothers."

Tommy narrowed his eyes. "The cops?"

Richie took a sip of his beer, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. "Yeah, word is, someone high up wants to clean house. There's talk of a new task force, meant to take down all of us—Bannisters, Minhs, everyone. It's bad for business, mate."

Tommy's mind raced. The cops were always part of the game, but they were usually predictable—easy to bribe, easy to manipulate. But a task force? That could spell real trouble. He couldn't afford to fight a war on two fronts.

As they sat in silence, the door to the back room creaked open. Terry "The Turk," one of Tommy's oldest allies, slipped inside, a grim expression on his face. He was a burly man with a reputation for being calm under pressure, but tonight, there was something different about him—an unease Tommy hadn't seen in years.

"They found something," Terry said, lowering his voice as he sat down.

Tommy leaned forward. "What do you mean?"

Terry looked around, then pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket. He slid it across the table to Tommy. "One of my boys in the docks got a tip. The Minh brothers are hiding out in a warehouse down in Marrickville. They've been keeping a low profile, but they're sitting on something big. Real big."

Tommy unfolded the paper, scanning the crude map Terry had drawn. Marrickville was far enough from their usual territory, but not so far that it was out of reach. The warehouse marked on the map was in an industrial area—quiet, isolated, the perfect spot to plan an ambush or stockpile weapons.

"You think it's a trap?" Richie asked, peering over Tommy's shoulder.

Terry shrugged. "Could be. But if they're really holed up there, it might be our best chance to hit them before they regroup."

Tommy rubbed his chin, thinking hard. The Bannisters couldn't afford to wait for the Minhs to strike first. If the information was good, this could be their shot to end things once and for all. But if it was a trap, they could be walking into their own graves.

He looked at Terry. "Get the boys ready. We move tonight."

The night was eerily quiet as Tommy, Richie, and a dozen Bannisters men crept toward the warehouse in Marrickville. The air was thick with tension, the kind that made every footstep seem too loud, every shadow look suspicious. The warehouse loomed ahead, its windows dark, no signs of life inside.

Tommy held up a hand, signaling the men to stop. He motioned to Richie and Terry to follow him, moving carefully toward a side door. It was unlocked. Too easy, Tommy thought, his instincts flaring. But they had come too far to turn back now.

With a deep breath, Tommy pushed the door open, leading his men into the warehouse. The space was cavernous, its high ceilings swallowed by darkness. Dust particles floated through the beams of moonlight filtering in from the cracked windows, and the air smelled of oil, and decay, everything was quiet-too quiet.

Tommy signaled for his men to fan out, their guns drawn as they wove cautiously between rows of stacked crates. Every creak of wood, every scuffle of feet echoed in the hollow building. Tommy could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up-something was wrong.

As they advanced deeper into the warehouse, a low hum filled the air. Tommy stopped dead in his tracks. He could feel the vibrations under his feet. It wasn't machinery-it was something else. His heart began to race.

"Hold up," he whispered, raising his hand again.

Richie and Terry flanked him, their eyes darting around. The hum grew louder, more ominous, and then-like a lightning bolt-Tommy realised what it was.

"BOMB!" He shouted, his voice slicing through the stillness." GET OUT NOW!"

Panic erupted as the men turned and sprinted toward the exits. The floor beneath them seemed to thrum with danger, the hum intensifying as if the warehouse itself was coming to life.

Tommy pushed Richie toward the door, shoving him ahead.

They had barely made it halfway across the floor when a deafening explosion ripped through the warehouse. The force of the blast lifted Tommy off his feet and hurled him into the side of a crate. He crashed to the ground, his ears ringing, the air filled with the acrid scent of burning wood and metal. For a moment, everything went white, and then darkness engulfed him.

Tommy woke to chaos. Flames licked at the edges of the room, casting eerie shadows across the twisted remains of the warehouse. The sound of groaning steel and collapsing walls echoed in his ears. He could hear men shouting-some in pain, others in panic-but their voices seemed distant, muffled by the ringing in his head.

He groaned, pushing himself up on shaky arms, his body aching from the impact.

Blood dripped from a cut above his eye, and his shoulder throbbed from the earlier bullet wound. But he was alive.

"Richie?" Tommy called out, his voice hoarse.

There was no answer.

Tommy stumbled to his feet, his vision swimming. The blast had destroyed most of the warehouse; chunks of debris lay scattered everywhere. Bodies were strewn across the ground-some moving, others not. Tommy's stomach twisted as he recognized a few of his men lying still, their eyes open and glassy.

"Richie!" he shouted again, louder this time.

He heard a cough from the other side of the room and saw Richie crawling out from under a collapsed beam, his face blackened with soot but alive. Tommy limped over and grabbed his arm, helping him to his feet.

"You alright?" Tommy asked, his voice tight with concern.

Richie nodded weakly, coughing. "I'll live.

But Terry... I don't know if he made it."

Tommy's heart sank. Terry had been more than an ally-he was family, someone Tommy had known for years. He scanned the wreckage, hoping against hope to see Terry crawling out of the debris like Richie had. But there was no sign of him.

"We gotta move," Richie rasped. "Before the Minhs come back to finish the job."

Tommy clenched his jaw, fighting down the wave of anger and grief rising inside him.

This wasn't just a trap; it was a massacre.

The Minh brothers had planned this down to the last detail. They hadn't just wanted to kill Tommy-they wanted to wipe out the entire Bannister family.

But it wasn't over yet.

Tommy tightened his grip on Richie's arm and led him toward a broken side door. The warehouse groaned ominously behind them, the structure barely holding together. They stumbled out into the night, the cool air hitting their faces like a splash of cold water.

Behind them, the warehouse collapsed in a roar of fire and smoke, the final death knell of the night's bloody trap.

They made it back to the safehouse just before dawn, battered, bruised, but alive.

Tommy sat in the back room, staring blankly at the table, his mind racing with thoughts of revenge. Richie sat across from him, nursing a bottle of whiskey, his face pale and drawn.

"We can't fight them like this," Richie said quietly. "They're too smart. Too ruthless. If we keep going at them head-on, they'll finish us off."

Tommy didn't answer. His mind was already working, strategizing. The Minh brothers had underestimated him, thinking they could wipe out the Bannisters with one strike. But Tommy wasn't done yet.

"I'm not giving up," Tommy said finally, his voice low but firm. "This city is ours. And I'll burn it all down before I let the Minhs take it."

Richie looked at him, his eyes dark with worry. "What are you thinking, Tommy?"

Tommy leaned forward, his gaze hard and cold. "We hit them where it hurts. We take out their supply lines, their safehouses, every little piece of their operation until there's nothing left. And when they're weak, when they've got nothing left to hide behind, we go after Huy Minh."

Richie nodded slowly. "It's gonna be a bloodbath."

Tommy's lips curled into a grim smile.

"That's the idea."