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tryin2writehere · 7 months ago

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PEOPLE IN GLASS HOUSES

Chapter Three

He could still smell Susie’s perfume from the previous evening, and Edward wondered if the wisps of smoky vanilla custard were really there, or just in his mind.

“You’re not even listening to me,” Charlotte sighed.

“Of course I am,” Edward turned from the window. He hadn’t been listening to her in the slightest.

“What is it?” she questioned, folding her arms in frustration.

“Hm?”

“You’re clearly not paying me any attention, and you’ve never been prone to daydreaming; what is it Edwina?”

“I’m sorry, Chuckles,” he grinned affably. “You have my attention.”

“It’s just got to be Susie Glass.”

“Hm?” He picked up his long-forgotten cup of tea.

“That’s who you were thinking of a moment ago when you were supposed to be listening to me. You get this flummoxed look lately. Have you told her that you fancy her?”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t fancy Susie Glass?”

“I haven’t fancied anyone since the age of seven.”

She raised her right eyebrow, “You’re enamored Edwina, and you know it. You ogle at her like you haven’t eaten in three days, and she’s a braised duck.”

“You’re spending too much time with Freddy. You’re beginning to sound like him,” he teased, and smiled genuinely at his sister, “braised duck?”

“You like braised duck, and you like Susie Glass. It was an inspired comparison.”

“Accurate I suppose.”

“No one could blame you. She is the most stunningly fit éminence grise on two legs.”

Edward stilled, his teacup nearly to his mouth, eyes wide in response.

She huffed her stilted little Charly laugh at his expression, “I have eyes, do I not?”

“Apparently,” he sipped the tepid tea, the sunny bergamot scent still strong.

His pocket vibrated, and he excused himself, opening his phone to a text. A sense of foreboding crept under his skin. He tilted his head, studying the screen, and then tapped the text.

“Everything okay?” Charlotte asked, “You look suddenly quite unwell.”

“She just texted me her location,” he scowled.

“Who?” she responded, peering around him, “Susie Glass? Why?”

“I’m not actually sure,” he said dialing her number and consequently frowned when he reached her voicemail. He looked at his phone and quickly thumb-texted, “Is this a request to retrieve you?”

Answer. Answer. Answer the fucking text Susie.

“She’s not answering.”

“Well give it a moment.”

He shook his head, “Last night, she was distracted. Troubled. Something’s amiss.”

After he hadn’t looked up from his phone for several minutes, Charlotte studied his expression, “you look concerned.”

His eyes still locked upon his phone’s screen, he silently willed Susie to respond so his fucking heart could resume beating, “I’m…becoming a bit concerned.”

Anxiety-weighted silence spread within the room until Charlotte finally blurted, “Go on then, Edward. Go find her. Mother wanted to take the baby and me anyway.”

She jerked her head towards the door, and he planted a quick kiss on her forehead, “thank you Chuckles.”

He heard her calling after him as he raced out the door, “and do be careful!”

He dialed Blanket as he ducked into his car.

“Are you with Susie?” he demanded as soon as Blanket answered.

“No, I’m up in the big smoke visiting my sister.”

“Fuck.”

“Lose track of her?”

“She sent me her location.”

“Well, where she at then?”

“Birmingham, but that’s not the issue; she had a meeting with a gym owner, some former boxer, Sugar Something.”

“Sugar Walsh?”

“Yes, you know him?”

“Heard of him.”

Eddie waited for Blanket to expand and when he didn’t, “and what is it that you’ve heard Blanket?”

“Ah well, heard he likes whizz, fixing fights. Uh. Trafficker. Guns, heard maybe girls sometimes. Supposed to be a cunt.”

“Fuck.”

“You to meet her?”

“No.”

“Why she sending you where she at then?”

“That’s precisely what I’m attempting to determine, Blanket,” Edward explained between clenched teeth.

He steadied himself, “Would she have taken anyone else with her?”

“What? To the meeting? No. No, not since Keith, you know. Just by herself or with me or you know, with you.”

“Fuck.”

“She in trouble?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“Best call the old man,” Blanket advised, sagely.

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Susie wouldn’t want me to.”

“Yeah. But -“

“Blanket.”

“Yeah. All right,” he sighed. “I’m on my way.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Be there in two hours.”

“I’ve got it handled.”

“Yeah I heard you, but I’m on my way.”

Edward nodded, “I’ll text you the address.”

“Update me if everything cool, yeah?”

“I’ll do that Blanket; thank you.”

Eddie heard keys jangling, “yeah.”

Of torturous drives, this one topped the list. Eddie's muscles burned with tension, pressing upon the accelerator and squeezing the steering wheel like he was ringing out a wet flannel. The drive through the rain seemingly unending. By the time he pulled into Walsh’s Gym car park, every horrible scenario possible plagued his thoughts.

His hope remained that upon walking into the gym to an anodyne scene, Susie would give him that look, the one where her eyes intimated doubt in his decision-making.

The car park projected eery silence, Susie’s Land Rover the only vehicle. Located in an industrial area in the Digbeth neighborhood, Eddie noted the unusual lack of neighboring businesses and activity.

He plucked his gun from the cubby box before exiting his car, and steeled himself for whatever encounter awaited.

Finding the glass front door unlocked, he surreptitiously entered the gleaming lobby. Left or right? Left or right? Confronted with the two entryways, he chose left and found himself in an elaborately ostentatious office.

He quickly spotted Susie’s large Hermès handbag, the contents spilled across the tatami flooring. Beyond the office, a horrifying path of blood led Eddie through the gym, passing an enormous still-wet rufous stain, followed by another more significant blood trail. One of Susie’s blue velvet stilettos paused his pursuit. His heart surged into his throat, and the overwhelming urge to frantically scream out her name nearly overtook his good sense.

He followed the sanguineous trail like some grisly German fairytale set of breadcrumbs into a dimly lit room full of boxing rings. His eyes pinged around the area and landed upon a large body in an enormous pool of gore.

Not Susie’s body. He resumed breathing, but as he drew closer to the large man’s slumped form, his stomach dropped through the floorboards. Susie’s bloodied face and right hand protruded lifeless from beneath the dead behemoth.

He sprinted to her and dropped to a crouch beside her. With a grunt, he shouldered the giant man off of her. Seeing Susie Glass blood-soaked, stripped of her usual armor, and sprawled upon the floor jarred him into a brief paralysis. She resembled a horror film heroine: blood everywhere, one foot bare, her baby blue silk blouse torn open revealing a lacy cobalt bra, and rivulets of blood nearly covering her bare torso. An open wound above her eyebrow steadily streamed fresh blood into her ear canal.

He slipped his hand under her head and found her hair entirely sopping wet with blood. He pressed his fingers to her neck, instantly finding her pulse. She was alive. A peculiar little laugh of relief sputtered from him.

Urgently, he whispered, “Susie!”

To see her in this vulnerable state of undress (where were her fucking layers?) rattled him nearly as much as her countenance as she returned to consciousness with a sharp frightened gasp and eyes wide with terror.

Before this, he’d been certain he’d cataloged all of her expressions, could predict them based upon circumstance, and draw them to his mind at will. The look on her face at this moment, however, would play unbidden in his future nightmares.

“Susie, Susie, it’s me,” he tried, scanning the room for anyone who may have heard them. “Is anyone else here?”

Unresponsive to his words, her eyes wide and wild and pinned to the corpse beside them. Eddie gave her a little shake, instantly regretting it as she winced in pain, “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Susie, please look at me.”

She glanced at him blankly, then back at the body, then back at Eddie, recognition finally glimmering: “Edward. What’r you doing here?”

“Susie, you need to answer me. Do you know if there is anyone else here?”

“Here?” she looked around as though trying to place where ‘here’ was. “Sean and Don. In the slaughterhouse.”

His head swiveled madly, looking for whatever she referred to.

“They’re dead.”

“There were two of them?”

“Sean and Don. Don and Sean.”

“You killed them both?”

“Yes.”

“You’re certain?”

“Fucking yes, Eddie,” she grumbled and attempted to pull herself up, crying out in anguish as a result. The sound of Susie Glass in pain sent shockwaves through his body.

“Just stay still for a moment, Susie,” he tried to invoke placidity in his voice. “I need to check you for injuries. Is that alright?”

“What do you mean?”

“I need to see if you’ve been injured. Is that-“

“I’m injured?”

He swallowed thickly, deeply concerned at her level of confusion.

“That’s what I’m asking, Susan,” he said softly, gently pushing the hair back from the open cut on her forehead. “Can I take off your jacket?”

“Another time Edward. Quite tired.”

“Does it hurt anywhere? I’m just trying to determine if you’re okay.”

“Am I?” Her normally bright blue eyes were nearly black with dilated pupils. She looked like a frightened deer, and this filled Eddie with dread.

“You will be,” he tried to smile reassuringly.

She suddenly clutched his lapels and pulled Eddie closer to her face as if to kiss him and whispered, “he spiked my drink.”

“What?”

“That dead cunt,” she suddenly yelled and lunged in the direction of the dead body. Yelping in pain from her sudden movement, she groaned and clutched her midsection, “he spiked my drink.”

“He fucking drugged you?!”

He never wanted to murder an already-dead man more.

“Yes, Eddie. That’s what I said,” she groaned again. “Fucking hurts.”

“We’re going. I’m carrying you,” he gently nudged her fully into his arms, carefully standing so as not to jostle her, “which way?”

“It’s a horseshoe. For luck. You have to point it up.”

“Okay then,” he raised his eyebrows and nodded, his jacket and shirt instantly absorbing some of the blood she’d been stewing within.

“Where we going?” She rasped.

“A and E,” he scanned the area.

“Mmm, not keen on that idea. Not bleeding out,” she looked down at herself, “am I?”

“No. You’re going to be fine,” he kissed her temple and hoped he sounded convincing. He didn’t spy any gaping wounds, aside from the forehead laceration, but being covered in the dead cunt’s blood hampered his ability to asses her.

She giggled, a sound completely foreign and yet utterly delightful to him, “Edward, you’re carrying me.”

“Indeed,” he tightly smiled down at her, turning backward, pushing against the glass door, finally exiting the hell Susie had been trapped within.

“No hospitals,” she directed, but with unguarded watery round eyes.

“No, you’re right, Susie. We’ll have the family doctor meet us,” he agreed, easing her into his car and securing her with a click of the seatbelt.

He rounded the car, trying to cooly note any pedestrians, cameras or cars. Finding none, he slid into his seat pressing the ignition in one fluid motion.

“My knife,” she lurched forward and unsuccessfully reached for the door handle, instead hitting the window button, “its scrimshaw, doesn’t set off metal detectives…detectives? No, No. Detectors!” She announced like she’d solved a riddle.

“Leave it,” he said, rolled her window back up (covertly hitting child safety lock) and peeled out of the parking lot.

“Was my mother’s,” she slurred softly and fell back against her seat, defeated, hissing in pain from her sudden movement.

He glimpsed her aggrieved face; she’d never mentioned her deceased mother, at least not to him, “I’ll have the cleanup team retrieve it.”

She swiveled her head to him, eyes glassy and heavy-lidded, “promise?”

“Of course,” he nodded. “What’s hurting the most right now?”

“Hm? You hurt Edward?” she mumbled, eyes lolling.

“Susie stay with me for just another minute - are you able to determine if you were stabbed or shot anywhere?”

She squinted like he was far away, “I was stabbed and shot? Fuck me.”

“No, no, you’re okay. You’re safe.“

She quietly observed him, “I’m safe?”

“Of course. I’m with you, Susie. Go ahead and rest. I can handle the remaining issues.”

“Just for a moment then. Ta.” She closed her eyes, and the tension left her face. Within a minute her breathing deepened into a steady rhythm.

He thumb-dialed Geoff, and before he even uttered a greeting, Eddie launched into orders: “Call Doctor Halley. Get him there now. Susan is injured, I don’t know how badly, but she’s also been drugged. I’m not sure what with.”

“How far out are you?” Geoff didn’t miss a beat, all-business, bless him.

“An hour, Geoff; I’ve another call to make; see you shortly.”

Disconnecting the call, he then pulled up Felix in his contacts.

“Your Grace,” Felix answered.

“I’ve got a situation Felix.”

“Go on then.”

“I had to leave the location, I’m texting you the address. Three bodies, bring me the knife, the high heel, the handbag, check for cctv - this, this has to be perfectly executed Felix. You’ll need to retrieve Susie’s car. Blanket should be there shortly as well. And Felix, move quickly.”

After disconnecting the call, he glanced at Susie, his eyes rolling over her, head to foot, trying to tamp down a building rage he couldn’t sort. His gaze again landed upon her feet, one blue velvet heel on and one delicate little bare foot, toes painted cherry red. He couldn’t fathom why this sight in particular upset him so much, but he physically shook with anger, repeatedly clenching and flexing his hands upon the steering wheel.

“Audible,” Susie murmured, pulling his attention to her face.

“Susan?”

She turned her head towards him, and without opening her eyes mumbled, “read the Magna Carta.”

“You’re alright Susie.”

He had no idea if this was true, but he desperately yearned to blanket her in comfort and security. He awkwardly placed his hand alongside her face. Her skin too cold and clammy, he clenched his jaw and pressed the accelerator to the floor, the darkening countryside whipping past.

After an emotionally exhausting drive, he finally pulled in front of his home, cutting the engine, he bolted out of the car. Upon quietly pulling the passenger door ajar, he hovered over her, carefully unbuckling her seatbelt. He swept his arms under her knees and back, easily lifting her from her seat and into his arms. She moaned lowly, wincing, though still unconscious.

“Almost there, Susie. Just a few more moments,” he said softly.

The front door opened, and Lady Sabrina ushered them forward, “come in Darling.”

Geoff appeared from somewhere, “the doctor is five minutes away.”

Sabrina regarded Susie’s appearance, her shock and concern evident, “what in the world happened?”

“I’m not entirely sure, Mother,” he headed to the stairs, clutching Susie’s cold body close to his chest. “Send the doctor to my room when he arrives.”

“Of course,” she replied, and he ascended the staircase, two at a time, whispering solace as he traveled, “I’m here Susie. I’m with you. You’re alright. You’re safe.”

As he gently deposited her upon his bed, he surveyed her form, and the reality of her small, prone body in front of him lodged a lump in his throat. Susie Glass exuded authority, competence, precision, and cutting intelligence. She earned it. She demanded it. She deserved better than whatever happened in Walsh’s Gym.

He released a quivering breath and quickly blinked away the tears pooling in his eyes.

“Fuck,” he whispered, shaking his head, trying to free himself of bootless could-have-should-have-would-haves.

Where the fuck was the doctor?!

Author’s Notes:

My apologies for taking forever to finish this chapter, for promising quicker turnaround and for the short-ish chapter. This is going to be a longer story than I expected. I love writing them. 🖤

Tell me what you thought of this chapter. What worked for you? What didn’t? Or just say hi! I love our tiny fandom.

#the gentlemen 2024 #gentlemen susie glass #the gentlemen #the gentlemen netflix #eddie horniman #the gentlemen eddie x susie #eddie x susie #edward horniman #susie x eddie #Eddie horniman fanfiction #horniglass #gentlemen fanfics #gentlemen fanfiction #whump #whump writing

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tryin2writehere · 9 months ago

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TW: Descriptions of violence and non-con, so if that is difficult for you to read about, please skip this bit of fic and take care of you!

Chapter 1 is

People In Glass Houses

Chapter 2

Edward Horniman’s voice was a trip down a long gravel road at midnight, rumbling out his ridiculously confident effusions. Sometimes that voice just uttering Susie’s name flared an inconvenient arousal within. She often contemplated how lovely it would be to hear him reading aloud, vacillating between his clipped, precise enunciations and his rocky waterfall oratory. Ideally, Eddie reading to her would include wrapping his mouth around luscious descriptions and dipping his tongue upon an abundance of flowery syllables. Gabriel García Márquez? Alice Munro? Nabokov? Truthfully, he could read the fucking Magna Carta, and she’d thrill to hear his voice octave-dive, the wondrous way it did sometimes. The man missed his calling; he should be working for Audible.

Certainly old enough to know her own foibles, Susie mentally cursed her wretched streak of impulsivity. If Eddie opened his mouth close enough (sans cigar,) she’d have him on the nearest flat surface.

Thank the stars for GPS. She hadn't even noticed the time pass, the landscape change, or the weather turn. Approaching Birmingham, a rainy gray wall shrouded fields and roads, and light fog swirled like ghosts on the ash tarmac. The polyrhythm of the windscreen wipers and the tiny raindrops swayed her back to meandering thoughts of Edward.

Susie decided it was inevitable. One day, one of them was going to hold eye contact a moment too long, and that would be it. It would sweep them away like a brush fire, feeding on their oxygen, and… what in the hell was she thinking? It was beyond reckless to even entertain fantasies, and she chided herself.

Far worse than carnal desires for Eddie was the equilibrium she noticed in his company. Accustomed to operating alone, Susie truly rarely felt lonely. But now? Now, she craved his steadying presence and the meter of their banter. She longed for the way he regarded her, listened earnestly, trusted her vault of knowledge and experience. She enjoyed the pull and push; it reset her in a way. He validated her authority even while he toyed with their power dynamic. She found his respect seemingly eclipsing his fear of her, and she wasn’t sure she’d EVER experienced this in a relationship that wasn’t blood-bound. She reveled in his quickened breathing pattern when she’d antagonized him, his parted mouth when astonished, his sweet tobacco and woody Blenheim smell, the intensity of his coal-black gaze in low light, the flexing of his enormous strong hands -

“Fucking hell,” she huffed a sigh in frustration, acutely aware that she’d circled back around to lust. Again.

As she pulled into the Walsh’s Gym car park, she drew her thoughts to the task ahead: how to coax a bargain from a notoriously licentious wanker. As luck would have it, Susie excelled in appealing to the pragmatism of the depraved, and this bolstered her confidence.

“You here to see Mr. Walsh?” A lanky man with ginger hair swung the glass door open, ushering her inside.

“I am. Susie Glass,” she introduced herself, stepping into the white glossy lobby, endless photos of boxers wainscoted the walls.

“I’m Sean,” he said, and nodded at a squat man dressed like a cartoon cat burglar in front of the reception desk, “that’s Don.”

“How’s it?” Don nodded, barely making eye contact as he rummaged through the thigh pockets of his black… leggings? Was he wearing leggings? She amended her cat burglar analogy to beat poet/jazz dancer.

“He’ll be down in two ticks,” Sean drew her attention in time for her to see his eyes sweeping over her body. “Mr. Walsh has great taste.”

She raised an eyebrow, “in what, Sean?”

He snorted, “in whatever you are.”

“Sugar and spice and everything nice,” Don stated without inflection, his expressionless brown eyes lifted to her as he mumbled, “found it.” He flicked his knife out of his leggings pocket, saluted her with the knife hand and dove over the reception desk with Balanchine-like elegance. Definitely a dancer.

“You’re gonna dull that gorgeous knife. Use a fuckin box cutter!” Sean shook his head in dismay.

“I didn’t see any other cars; are you closed today?”

Sean and Don exchanged a look and Sean snickered, “uh yeah, we’re closed.”

Don amended, “to the public.”

“I see you’ve met Sean and Don,” a booming voice called.

“Mr. Walsh,” she said by way of greeting when she spotted him strutting towards her.

“Ah no, love, you call me Sugar,” he smiled his oversized capped teeth, like a row of fresh white marble tombstones. He was a startlingly imposing man, at least 6’4” and obviously muscular in his fitted white designer tracksuit. His big square head was topped with a full head of blonde hair, curls product-tamed into place, grays brushing his temples. Through the cauliflower ear and the wide crooked nose of a former pugilist, she could see he was likely considered a handsome man.

“Let me give you the grand tour!” He placed his hand on her back and guided her to the right open doorway.

Sean interjected, before they were fully through the door, “Mr. Walsh, that shipment came in this morning.”

He stopped, hand still on Susie’s back and growled, “did you inventory it?”

“No.”

“Well inventory it then ya fucking eejit!” He laughed loudly, guiding Susie to the right with a squint of his gray eyes.

As they walked away, Susie heard the distinct metallic clicks and clacks of guns.

He led her into a red brick-ensconced training hall. Black heavy bags lined both sides of the room, hanging like abattoir hunks of meat on hooks. Enormous windows topped the brick walls, which would have typically given the room a vibrant quality. As it was, with an overcast sky, lights off, and dead quiet, it just felt like a slaughterhouse.

Susie stopped at the last heavy bag, “your gym is stunning, Sugar. Are these new?”

“Aye, they are. We don’t use this gym as we do the others. Well, not for the training anyway,” he winked and laughed, further confirming the talk that Sugar’s side hustle was indeed weapons trafficking.

Turning to her, walking backward, Sugar prattled off his history of purchases for the gyms punctuated by fighter accomplishments. She enviously eyed the red tatami springboard floors they walked upon, wondering what method could keep them so immaculate. Susie attempted to shutter the redesigns that populated her mind as they talked.

Sugar led her through another area with huge vaulted ceilings and five boxing rings, boasting of his success, “no other gym in England has turned out as many wins.

That was an outright lie, of course, but Susie didn’t balk. She was no stranger to the arrogant blustering of giant egos. She had wrangled worse.

As they entered the next doorway, she clocked the building's orientation as a horseshoe shape. It briefly conjured memories of the horseshoe above the door of her childhood home. “Pointing up, to catch all of the luck,” her mother had whispered to her, as though it was a secret. Well, it didn’t fucking work. But this would. Perhaps she would name it: “The Horseshoe.” She could hear her brother’s voice in her head, “what the fucks that got to do with fightin’?”

“Drink?” Sugar offered as they entered his office.

“Sure,” she sat at a mahogany table plonked at an odd angle within the large room.

He handed her a glass of whiskey and took his to what could only be described as a leather throne of a chair tucked behind the largest desk she had ever seen.

“This is Middleton Distillery. You know it?”

“I do.”

“So Susie Glass, what’s a pretty puff dealer like you want with a boxing outfit?”

She sipped her whiskey, and it reminded her that if she was going to drink posh Irish whiskey, she preferred Redbreast 32.

“Your succinct description is a bit off the mark.”

He laughed at her, “is that a fact?”

“I own and operate GlassKnuckle,” she offered. “My brother is a boxer, and my grandfather was a boxer. I’m interested in expanding, and this area would be ideal.”

“Yer fucking kidding! This area??” He slammed his hand on the desk. “ridiculous shite.”

“Which part?” She asked coolly.

“This has been my home for twenty years, and I’ll tell ya, it’s gone to gentrification, hasn’t it? Fucking hipster craft beer arseholes! I hate them all. It’s all I can not do to gut the little fuckers with their wee coffees and their precious art shows,” he swallowed the last quarter of his whiskey in one large gulp. “Used to be a standup neighborhood with decent folk.”

“So, not fond of Digbeth. I can understand that; the location does suits my needs, if we can come to a mutually agreaable deal.”

He was as well groomed as his unused gym, his nails manicured, he smelled strongly of some pine-forward cologne. She decided his attention to the superficial likely didn’t stem from breeding; instead, much like her own meticulous appearance, a stab at the control and exuding power.

“Another?” He offered as he poured himself a generous glass.

“I’m still working on this one,” she smiled politely.

“You nurse a drink better than Florence Nightengale,”

“Moderation has its merits,” she replied flatly.

He raised his eyebrows, “Are you judging me, Susie Glass?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“That’s good,” his face relaxed as much as she figured the Botox would allow, and he loudly drank the entire glass.

She sat patiently, sipped at her drink and waited for a natural opening to wrap this shit up, “Sugar, are you entertaining offers on this location?”

“I am,” he smiled and pointed to the picture on the wall with his gold ring-adorned fingers. “You know who that bloke is?”

“I do. Hero of yours?”

“Hero to everyone, should be. We have a statue back home, but here, right underappreciated, Rinty is.”

“I’m sure. Where’s home?”

“Belfast. But you know Rinty, he said, ‘It ain’t about how hard you can hit. It’s about how hard you can hit and keep moving forward.’ I feel sometimes I can hear him saying this to me. I just keep moving forward.”

Susie was well aware that quote was from the film Rocky, and wondered if he was fucking with her, until she noticed a framed quotation also misattributed to Rinty on the shelves behind his desk.

Her vision blurred momentarily, and she felt weighted with sleepiness. She made a mental note to grab one of those wee espressos from a hipster arsehole when this was done.

“And I’ll tell you what else, he could fucking sing!” He boisterously announced and pitched his glass into the wall, physically delighting in the thunderous crash with a loud laugh, his head kicked back. She hoped she hadn’t flinched.

“Sean and Don are fantastic with a Hoover and a mop,” he explained, as though it made sense to casually smash glasses into walls if one’s henchmen are good at cleaning. Cunt.

“I’ll sing it for you, one of Rinty’s favorites.” He wasn’t asking.

He loudly launched into a verse of “The Fields of Athenry.” Susie desperately attempted to somewhat hold the uncomfortable eye contact while he crooned to her.

She hoped he wasn’t set on singing another verse and clapped, quickly complimenting him, “you’ve a lovely singing voice Sugar.”

What she would have initially described as loquacious was now resembling mania. No matter. He wouldn’t be the first unhinged business acquaintance she’d worked with, and he certainly wouldn’t be the last.

The dizziness returned and she felt more at . She’d only had three-quarters of her glass, and when the force of realization hit her, she nearly shook. She steeled herself and looked into his eyes, which matched the dreary sky, “if you’re game, I’d love to discuss details with you, but I need to use the loo first.”

She stood and the room spun.

“You good there?” he stood as well.

She steadied herself and turned from him, “the loo this way?” She pointed and began walking away from Sugar as fast as she considered nonchalant.

“Yeah just up the stairs to your left.”

Stairs? Fucking great. She saw the stairs in the distance, her vision blurring in and out like faulty binoculars.

As casually as possible while attempting to walk with authority, she unbuttoned the top button on her blue blouse, and using her pinky to hold the sheath in place under her center bra wire, she slid the bone knife she had tucked between her breasts into her hand.

With no small amount of force, she slammed into the wall and was suddenly sandwiched between the bricks and Sugar’s body. Sugar’s mouth hovered at her ear, “look a bit wobbly Susie, you need a hand.”

He wasn’t asking.

“Get off of me,” she ordered with a calm ferocity.

“You drank too much,” he roughly spun her by the shoulders to face him and pressed her back further against the bricks.

“You clearly don’t know what you’ve done.”

“Just relax Susie,” he said pressing himself against her more firmly, his hands on her.

“You’re going to get off of me, or I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“Just relax,” he ripped her shirt open with a flick of his fingers, and panic surged forward. Don’t fucking panic.

Her right arm was pinned against the wall, and she was using her left to try and push Sugar away from her.

Reworking her strategy as quick as her foggy brain would allow she spat, “that quote isn’t Rinty you fuckwit. it’s Rocky Balboa.”

That got his attention and he pulled back a bit to look at her face, “what are you on about?”

“And Barry McGuigan was an infinitely better boxer than fucking Rinty,” she sneered.

“McGuigan?! He was a fuckin eejit! Fuckin tout pussy!” He screamed, towering over her.

Susie felt her arm finally free of his weight and jammed her knife into his left eye socket with as much force as she could muster. He hurtled backwards as she yanked her knife back out of his eye. She dropped to the ground with a muted thud, her legs unexpectedly going out. He clutched his eye with a hand screaming, and she sunk her knife into his crotch, then frantically scuttled backward away from him.

Her legs felt like foreign objects on the cool textured floor.

“Purse, purse, purse, purse,” this was the mantra as she crawled, her hands slapping the floor, her knees and shins burning as she frantically dragged them along. Why was she so fucking loud?

Her vision telescoped into a purse vignette, and everything else was blurry and terribly far away. After crawling endlessly, she reached her purse and clumsily poured everything out on the floor with an immense clatter. What did she need? What the fuck was she looking for? Who was hollering? And there it was, gleaming amongst the clutter, her beautiful Beretta. She clutched at the textured grip and upright upon her knees turned in time to see what appeared to be an armed Sean and Don hustling toward her. Which was which?

She used one of her hands to push herself to standing, and hobbled towards them, towards the slaughterhouse.

“What the fuck is going on?” Sean (or maybe Don) squeaked, eyes wide, swinging his gun around.

“Holy shit!” Don (or possibly Sean) yelled when he spotted Susie.

Count them Susie.

“Count what?” Don asked.

She fired at them. OneTwoThreeFourFive,” she watched them collapse to the ground, unmoving.

“Five shots; three left,” she thought, or possibly said aloud.

Quite suddenly, she couldn’t breathe; was she in a straitjacket; no, she was being crushed in a bin lorry. Dizziness and confusion consumed her, and she desperately willed herself to make sense of what was happening.

Sugar Walsh’s arms were crushing her (clearly not a bin lorry,) and he was behind her and bellowing something, but she couldn’t understand words. They slammed into the floor; he rolled her onto her back, straddling her, his hands on her throat squeezing, blood dripping onto her face from his, huffing and puffing his whisky-tinged breath on her.

Do something!

She remembered the gun in her hand, deliberately pulled her noodle arm up, squeezed the trigger and Sugar’s head exploded. His enormous body collapsed fully on top of her like an avalanche of giant Irish cunt.

Her breath wooshed out like a bellows, and she couldn’t get it back. But she was alive. She couldn’t move, but she was alive. She used her free arm to wench his shoulder pit up up up far enough for her nose and mouth and chin to wedge from underneath him, and then blackness closed in.

When she regained consciousness, she frantically tried to move her pinned body, wiggling and screaming, “get the fuck off me!”

“Fuck!” She cried, and an epiphany struck her addled brain.

Phone, phone, phone, phone, phone, phone. Where is it??

She yelled, “Hey Siri!”

She thought she heard her phone respond. Dizziness weighted her body. Stay awake, stay awake, stay awake!

“Text The Duke my location!”

“Send your location to The Duke?”

“YES! Yes!”

“It’s sent,” she thought she heard Siri say, and the last thought she had before the darkness swooped in again was “I hope I don’t chuck up.”

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