#@frankthemack

[colleenmurphy]

"Hey Mackey you and I have to talk. Stop by the Gaelic Club tonight after 9. I'll be closing early."

She kept her voice in check as she inhaled sharp and deep from her hand rolled joint. Somewhere below her the jukebox whirled through some song that reminded her of the summer she turned 21. Hairspray, Sun Coast tan oil and Wink's Harvest Wine Coolers. What she had to talk to Mr. Mackey about what important. There was a line that could not, no, absolutely would not be crossed if she could help it with her entire being. She'd cash in every favor she'd ever tucked away for a rainy day. Her father had connections all the way back home and her Frank, well, his work portfolio always allowed time to dedicated to his wife's sudden passions. Colleen was after all, an artist and quite given to her creative and Irish temperament. It was this very temperament that made her so protective of her best friend in the world. She never had the chance to have a sibling as her father, Reg Murphy had died suddenly back Home, as it was called. Minnie had never remarried, or rather taken up residence with another man since then so she was always Minnie MacKeen.

By some grace she's wandered downstairs and taken over cleaning duties. The entire place soon smelled of Country Garden cleaner and lemon furniture polish and she, well, she was stoned. Rueing over her feared reaction to Mackey's reaction to Helene's news she scrubbed the bar top until it shone. Moving on quickly to bar prep she took note of the garnish trays, sticky with red grenadine and finishing sugars.

'That won't fucking happen to Helene.'

Colleen vowed fiercely as she sliced lemons behind the bar at the tiny prep station. The entire time her knife snipped with cold efficiency as her father had showed her. She then moved on to peel garnishes with the same determination.

"There's my little aggressive garnish maker! Woah...what the hell did those lemons do to you, Colly?"

"I called Mackey to talk...I'm all over the place about how he's going to react and I swear to god Frank...if he tries anything with Helene I'll fucking kill him."

The way that his wide green eyed rosy cheeked wife said this with such cold determination scared Frank a bit. He remembered the mess with Benson and how her father's legal team 'cooperated fully' with the Sloughbridge PD.

"Frank Mackey's not Joel Benson. Frank Mackey's a scared scarred little boy who got dealt a shit hand in the father department. Joel Benson was a psycho piece of shit whose mother should have kept her legs closed. There's a difference. You of all people should see that."

"Touche, Flannery."

"Why not let me handle this and you can get started on...lunch? a sandwich sounds good about now."

"I've got a knife in my hands, pouring my worries out to you and you want food?! What the hell kinda man did your mother raise?"

"Ma raised four strapping Flannery men, thanks much."

"Your sister Mo doesn't count!"

"I'm tellin' her you said that!"

"No! No! Don't! She'll kill me. What kind of sandwich?"

"The Everything with Mac Salad."

"Fine."

"You ever think of just talking openly to Mackey? Make him a plate, settle him down with a drink and just talk. You can do that, Col."

"I'll think about it."

A fist pump from Frank Flannery as he went about cutting lemons. Score one for the peaceful approach.