We'd have little competitions between us. Going after the same girl, inevitably to both be rejected because she was five years older than us, who could steal the most in a night, who could run faster, who could eat the most, who could punch harder... Okay, so everything was a competition. I'd say we were pretty evenly matched.
Graham seemed to have a soft spot for us. Probably because we were the youngest members of the gang. He taught us a few of his techniques and his pick up lines - though it's arguable if that was a good thing. But the most important thing he taught us was his code of honour, the moral compass that guided his actions.
Never steal from the poor, never spill innocent blood and give hope to people who have none. Those were the three rules Graham lived by. It'd be a different story if Malcolm and I had taken them more seriously, but it's in a kid's nature to rebel, I guess, and when you've had an upbringing like mine and Mal's, it's to be expected.
Graham was quick to discipline us if we didn't follow his code. when I was twelve, I took an old lady's handbag. Graham made me find the old lady, give it back to her, then help her out for the rest of the day. I'm pretty sure that was the most embarassing day of my life. You don't know humility until you have to wash gigantic old lady panties.
Disaster struck one night. I was fifteen, and Malcolm and I'd just stolen about three big ones worth of jewelry. Graham took us out for Macca's, just the three of us. It was strange how normal that dinner was. When we got back to the run down warehouse, everyone had been killed. It was a bloodbath. People's bodies dismembered, completely ripped to shreds, bones a odd angles, bloody symbols painted over containers and a stench that smelt worse than a week-old burger. They were all dead. Every last one of them.
For the second time, I'd lost a family.