Rules for Enduring the Sweenys

Rule #12: Violence is the Last Resort

There was only a single light on in the small brick building. It was squashed in between the barber shop and a clothing store. Neither was open at one o’ clock in the morning and nobody was out in the freezing streets.

Owen drove through the alley, parking the car in the spot reserved for the Harken clan. He jumped out, and despite grumbled protests from Bella, he lifted her into his arms and kicked the back door lightly. The door immediately swung open and Maria ushered them inside, glancing both ways down the alley.

“Hurry up, there’s a room ready for her at the end of the hall.” Maria closed the door tightly, locking it. The neighbors were sometimes suspicious of the patients she treated. They said she was encouraging reckless behavior in the poor people, ‘cause she was just gonna keep treating them for free.

“Put her right there on the bed,” Nurse Antonia said, her voice muffled because of the mask she was wearing. Owen set her down gently, smoothing down her sweat-slicked hair. He took her hand that was coated in drying blood and squeezed it lightly, hoping that he wasn’t hurting her. The nurse began examining her injuries carefully. “Out.” She pointed to the door. “Wait outside.”

Owen’s pleading eyes drifted to Maria who was standing in the doorway. She shook her head carefully, her eyes soft. “We’ve got work to do honey.” Owen left reluctantly, sliding to the floor just outside her room. He closed his eyes tightly, remembering the last time he’d sat waiting to hear about someone he loved. His heart was racing and he couldn’t keep the terrible images and thoughts from popping into his head.

* * *

Georgie’s left eye was bloody, and swollen shut, it hurt like a sonofabitch. His good eye was trained on the boys standing around him. He’d never seen the tall fellow, whose head almost touched the roof of the house. And he’d never met the tattooed thug. Not that it mattered. He grinned, showing his slimy, rotting teeth.

He reached up and scratched the back of his head. Chuckling sheepishly, he said, “I guess the little whore got away after all.” To his left, he heard something crash, and saw Jake shaking, clenching his fists. His hazel eyes were fixed on his father.

“Don’t ever talk about her that way!” he shouted, picking up the bat at his feet and starting forward. Zane and Bryce grabbed him from behind, both gripping him as hard as they could while he tried to struggle free. “Get the fuck off me! I’m gonna kill ‘im right now.”

“Calm down!”

“Get your shit together!”

This time, Frankie was the one to hit Jake. It wasn’t hard, but it shut him up, knocking him into his identical twin. “Cool it man.” Georgie laughed.

Oliver was glaring at the man. He pulled a potato sack out of his pocket and slid it over his head, before tying his hands uncomfortably tight, behind his back. “Let’s go,” Oliver growled. He and Frankie grabbed Georgie’s arms and dragged him out into the bitter cold night. Zane tossed Bryce the keys to Georgie’s truck and they climbed into the front seat while Oliver and Frankie sat in the bed with the Lowlife. Jake followed behind in Oliver’s 1984 Volvo.