never.
“And you’re sniffing in shit that you shouldn’t.” Gibbons reversed the shotgun and punctuated his words by thrusting the stock forcefully into Connell’s belly.
Connell had been correct in his initial assumption; it did hurt. In fact it brought tears to his eyes and it took all of his will power, along with his excellent prior preparation, to remain nonchalant and on his feet.
“You boys are the one’s making a mistake,” he gasped . “If you think Gesting’s the only one who can smell your stink …” He smiled through gritted teeth and swallowed the wince that tried valiantly to escape. “Give it up before it gets any worse. Tell me who’s paying you to look the other way and save me the job of working it out. ‘Cause guys, I will find out and then you’re basically fucked, and you can be sure there’ll be no deals on the table then.”
Gibbons laughed out loud. “Connell, you’re so full of shit, a washed out ex-cop who can’t even pick up his own gun. What’s the matter, Tommy boy, scared it’ll go off in your face?” He joyfully landed another blow and this time Connell struggled to stay upright but struggled even more to maintain his composure. “You run on home now, Connell, and keep your nose out of business you don’t understand.”
“I understand more than you think,” he wheezed. “I understand there’s money to be made by turning a blind eye and the lure of the greenback is very tempting.” He paused and sucked in a much needed breath. “What I don’t get , though, is why you’re not combing the streets looking for a lost kid. Where’s the money in that?”
Gibbons cocked his head and raised his weapon. “What kid?” He shot an amused glance at his partner. “Do you know which kid he’s talking about , Scotty?” Scott shrugged and Gibbons turned back and tightened his grip on the shotgun. “Forget the kid, Connell, unless you want to lose one of your own.”
Connell raised his head, blinked slowly and looked Gibbons straight in the eye. He felt the thrum of something nasty begin to rise inside and allowed it full rein, the pain in his gut forgotten. Nobody, but nobody, got away with threatening his boy. The last person who’d made the mistake of doing that, well ... the less said about that, the better ...
“Fuck you!” he snarled, launching himself away from the car, which in hindsight was misguided, considering the car was the only thing keeping him upright. He was r ewarded for his dubious bravado with the butt of the shot gun slammed against his temple. He did drop then, like a stone, and when he was down, Gibbons stood back with a grin and waved his partner forward.
“Scotty, I believe you had something you wanted to say.”
“Sure thing, buddy.” Scott, who lacked the eloquence of his partner, let his boots do the talking for him. It was a short but succinct conversation, and when it was over, Connell was left to ponder rather painfully on the disadvantages of looking into things that he shouldn’t.
Gibbons squatted down , with some difficulty due to his bulk, and took hold of Connell’s hair in his meaty fist, yanking his head roughly from the ground. “Go home, Connell, you hear me? We see you around here again and we won’t be quite so accommodating. I’d hate to see you get mixed up in something dangerous and have to go tell your little English girl that you’d met with an accident. Poor little thing - all alone. Who knows who she’d turn to for comfort?” Releasing Connell’s hair, he let his head smack to the ground.
So, he’d been wa rned, and as he lay in the dirt and tried to reset the default button on his senses, he accepted that although Gibbons and Scott may have assumed they knew him, they didn’t know him well enough if they thought he would give up that easily. Those guys were involved in something more than backhanders for favors and now he was going make it his personal mission to find out exactly what that was.
“And you’re sniffing in shit that you shouldn’t.” Gibbons reversed the shotgun and punctuated his words by thrusting the stock forcefully into Connell’s belly.
Connell had been correct in his initial assumption; it did hurt. In fact it brought tears to his eyes and it took all of his will power, along with his excellent prior preparation, to remain nonchalant and on his feet.
“You boys are the one’s making a mistake,” he gasped . “If you think Gesting’s the only one who can smell your stink …” He smiled through gritted teeth and swallowed the wince that tried valiantly to escape. “Give it up before it gets any worse. Tell me who’s paying you to look the other way and save me the job of working it out. ‘Cause guys, I will find out and then you’re basically fucked, and you can be sure there’ll be no deals on the table then.”
Gibbons laughed out loud. “Connell, you’re so full of shit, a washed out ex-cop who can’t even pick up his own gun. What’s the matter, Tommy boy, scared it’ll go off in your face?” He joyfully landed another blow and this time Connell struggled to stay upright but struggled even more to maintain his composure. “You run on home now, Connell, and keep your nose out of business you don’t understand.”
“I understand more than you think,” he wheezed. “I understand there’s money to be made by turning a blind eye and the lure of the greenback is very tempting.” He paused and sucked in a much needed breath. “What I don’t get , though, is why you’re not combing the streets looking for a lost kid. Where’s the money in that?”
Gibbons cocked his head and raised his weapon. “What kid?” He shot an amused glance at his partner. “Do you know which kid he’s talking about , Scotty?” Scott shrugged and Gibbons turned back and tightened his grip on the shotgun. “Forget the kid, Connell, unless you want to lose one of your own.”
Connell raised his head, blinked slowly and looked Gibbons straight in the eye. He felt the thrum of something nasty begin to rise inside and allowed it full rein, the pain in his gut forgotten. Nobody, but nobody, got away with threatening his boy. The last person who’d made the mistake of doing that, well ... the less said about that, the better ...
“Fuck you!” he snarled, launching himself away from the car, which in hindsight was misguided, considering the car was the only thing keeping him upright. He was r ewarded for his dubious bravado with the butt of the shot gun slammed against his temple. He did drop then, like a stone, and when he was down, Gibbons stood back with a grin and waved his partner forward.
“Scotty, I believe you had something you wanted to say.”
“Sure thing, buddy.” Scott, who lacked the eloquence of his partner, let his boots do the talking for him. It was a short but succinct conversation, and when it was over, Connell was left to ponder rather painfully on the disadvantages of looking into things that he shouldn’t.
Gibbons squatted down , with some difficulty due to his bulk, and took hold of Connell’s hair in his meaty fist, yanking his head roughly from the ground. “Go home, Connell, you hear me? We see you around here again and we won’t be quite so accommodating. I’d hate to see you get mixed up in something dangerous and have to go tell your little English girl that you’d met with an accident. Poor little thing - all alone. Who knows who she’d turn to for comfort?” Releasing Connell’s hair, he let his head smack to the ground.
So, he’d been wa rned, and as he lay in the dirt and tried to reset the default button on his senses, he accepted that although Gibbons and Scott may have assumed they knew him, they didn’t know him well enough if they thought he would give up that easily. Those guys were involved in something more than backhanders for favors and now he was going make it his personal mission to find out exactly what that was.
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