Sweet Little Lies

Prologue

The streets were dark and wet, normal for this time of year in the city of Queenstown. In fact, it rained most days of the year here. The people were used to it, heavy coats and umbrellas a staple in every resident's closet. Some in the city thought it was God punishing those who lived in sin, for the sin that was committed in Queenstown was no ordinary immorality. It wasn't just the normal casinos taking money from people who couldn't help but gamble their life's fortune away. Or the strip clubs that offered special perks in the back rooms for those willing to pay. Or even the men who prowled the parks late at night.

No, Queenstown had a history. One that not many liked to speak about. It was practically forbidden in the circles of worship, believers terrified that if they even spoke one word that God would punish them. With what? Who knows? Maybe it would be a car running a stoplight as they crossed the street, or running into one of those so-called sins in person, or maybe God would throw down a classic lightning bolt and fry their insides where they stood.

Those who did speak about the sordid past of this town did so in whispers, not necessarily thinking God would do them wrong, but that speaking it into existence might bring them right to the front door of those responsible for said sins. The younger they were, the less serious they took it. College aged kids who either grew up with the ghost stories or the ones who moved there for Queenstown University found the history of the city amusing, exciting, intriguing.

That was until they experienced part of that darkness for themselves.

And they always did. No one was safe. Everyone was fair game, and the monsters who ran the city - everywhere from the pubs on the Southside to the mayor's residence - were sure to catch you.

†††

"Sick of this goddamn rain." Cillian Malone muttered to himself as he made the turn onto the street where his pub stood.

It had been an abnormally long rainfall this time. Two straight months of it. While it rained a lot in Queenstown, there were usually at least small breaks in between storms. Little pockets of relief. Sometimes the sun would even grace the city with its presence.

Malone wasn't normally bothered by the weather too much, but he was already in a pissy mood. One of his bars - not a big one or even a profitable one - had been robbed. They didn't steal cash or liquor. Instead, they focused on the cache of guns that were in the basement. A hidden basement. One that only a handful of people knew about. The entrance was a loose floorboard that blended in so well that even if you knew it was there, it took a second look to find it.

That meant only one thing.

They had a rat.

People parted in the street to let him through, the hat and pin on his jet black overcoat signaling to everyone just what and who he was. It had been a long time since that affected him. Malone used to relish it, stare down those who took too long to move or gazed too long at the gold pin on his breast pocket. Then the paranoia set in after a few years of his ascension, eyeing every single warm body that passed him in the streets, hating how recognizable he had become.

Now, it was as normal as the rain that fell on his shoulders.

He had reached a point in his life where he was finally comfortable. He was the top of the food chain in Queenstown, reputation allowing for a certain level of protection. There were those who tried, of course, but there was nothing more that Malone valued than his trusted inner circle.

That trust was now frayed, Malone unable to figure out who it was who had given up valuable information. Not one of his people had ever given him a hint that they would turn on him. And that was a problem. This information had cost him thousands upon thousands of dollars. Since learning of the heist, that paranoia that had almost cost him everything back in his early days had started to edge its way back into the folds of his mind. Every waking thought was dedicated to finding this turncoat.