Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Fuck. Relationships. Shit’s complicated, man.
Speaking of…
“You killed our da! Go feck yourselves in the arse!” the second boy shouts, to emphasize the point his brother just made, I guess.
And now everyone is looking around at everyone else. We’ve been going on like this for about a half-hour and we’re getting nowhere. These two are tougher than they look. It’s not like we’re beating them with rubber hoses or anything. We’re just a bunch of bad motherfuckers with a shitload of guns and the clear willingness to use them, but that’s usually enough to get someone talking. My guess is they’ve been around enough horrible shit and seen enough horrible shit to know that it’s unlikely we’re going to actually do anything awful to them. At least probably not. That’s not the best way to—
BLAM!
I was so lost in thought that I didn’t even notice Eliza passing between Alec and Russell, grabbing Russell’s gun on the way, and blowing a hole right through the kneecap of the first kid who mouthed off. Which is not good. That I didn’t notice, I mean. It’s not like me to lack that kind of situational awareness. I suppose I just figured we have everything under control and could afford a second’s distraction. But that’s a dangerous thing to suppose and a bad habit to start at this point in my life. I need to keep an eye on that.
It’s also probably not good that Eliza is standing with her face two inches from this kid’s mug, gun pressed against his other kneecap. This whole thing could start spiraling out of control if we’re not all careful.
Out of control. Not careful. As if it isn’t and we aren’t already.
“Ahhhhhh! Ye feckin’ cunt!” the kid screams.
“No, me old son. You haven’t seen me turn into a feckin’ cunt yet,” she replies. “This is me when I’m still calm and willing to bargain. But my patience is thin, dear boy. So very thin.”
It’s interesting. Her accent slides from street to posh seemingly by accident. I’m not sure which version is scarier, but it definitely sounds like a person who’s hanging onto the very edge of her sanity.
“Eliza,” Alec starts and moves toward her.
“Don’t,” she snarls, and turns the gun toward Alec. Russell takes him by the arm and pulls him back into his place in our little circle. He shakes his head at Alec ever so slightly.
Again, I glance at Christine, who cocks her head and raises her eyebrows. In our time in Belfast she and Eliza have come to something resembling a fragile peace. They’re far from friends—it’s unlikely they’ll ever be friends again—but Christine seems to have stopped hating her quite so much. Eliza’s child has been fucking abducted, after all. And, at least in part, it’s because Christine killed David—my old business partner with Brasil—in an attempt to disrupt Brasil’s smuggling operation. And, as a result, all the shit that’s happened since has happened.
It’s a big, thick, foul-smelling onion to peel, but at the end of the day, some things are more important than hurt feelings and even betrayal. And we can all agree that an innocent two-year-old kid is one.
Fuck, man. I really, really hope she’s alive. Otherwise…
“Ahhh!” screams the red-headed ragamuffin as Eliza presses the barrel of the pistol into the gunshot wound in the kid’s bloody knee.
“Feckin’ stop, ya bitch!” shouts the other one. “Yer all proper dead, I hope ye—!”
Eliza has the gun pointed between the eyes of the boy before he can even finish his sentence. “Sorry? What was that? Say again? Who’s dead then?”
The one she’s pointing the gun at doesn’t answer. His lips tighten and he huffs and puffs through his nose, nostrils flaring like a bull’s.
Eliza drops the gun down into the boy’s crotch and gets very, very close to his face just like she did with his brother. She’s quiet, but it’s also very quiet in the space now that the tinny echo of the gunshot has faded away. Quiet enough that I hear her say…
“I understand, my boy. I do. Your father is dead. And you’re angry. That makes sense. Family is family.” I look at Christine and Alec and find them looking back at me, almost like a reflex. “But you must understand that it is your family that has caused all this mess. Your cousin, Brasil, he’s the one responsible. He’s the one who has taken my daughter and my brother. He made this choice. Pity that you all have to pay for it, but you should be taking that up with him. Not us.”
She waves the gun around at the assembled group and the kid eyeballs us all one by one. One thing about Eliza Watson: She is fucking persuasive.
“Go. Feck. Yerself,” the kid replies.
(Usually. Usually, she’s persuasive.)
She stands to her full height, smiles at the boy, strokes his cheek, and then blows a hole in his knee just like she did his brother’s. As he also screams in horrible pain, she turns and marches over directly to me. “Well?”