Chapter 19 Part Four: The Mission Chapter 19: The Set-Up
When we reached The Spill, I left Max lurking in the alley. Inside, the place was dead, just Molly behind the bar, wiping glasses with red-rimmed eyes.
“Hey, Molly.”
She forced a smile. “Tilly. You’re back.” Leaning over the counter, she pulled me into a half hug, then shuddered, tears breaking loose. I held her tight, even though I hated that kind of thing.
“He’s gone. Liam’s gone.” Her voice cracked.
“I’m sorry, Mol.” I wiped a mascara streak with my thumb. She stared at my missing fingers.
“So much violence.”
“I know. But it’ll be okay.” Liar. “Listen, is Seamus around? I need to see him.”
“He’s with Lacy, making arrangements with Liam’s mum. Wake’s here after six.” Fresh tears spilled. I squeezed her shoulder.
“Molly, I need Seamus to front me some Chids. Anything in the till? You know I’m good for it.”
“Till’s empty.” She dug into her bra and slapped a stack of bills on the counter. “Seventy Chids. And I want it back.” She shoved a glass of whiskey at me with a Rad. I knocked both back, pocketed the cash.
“You’re a lifesaver, Molly. Thanks.”
As I turned to leave, she shouted after me, “With interest!”
Max was nowhere to be seen as I stepped back into the streets. First things first—I needed to ditch this sickly, blood-stained dress and find something less conspicuous. By now, I had a decent grasp of these alleys and avenues. With a little coin in hand, I made my way to The Thrill.
The red glow of the sign flickered overhead as I pushed through the door. Jenny Jones was there, hawking her usual wares. “Back so soon, honey? Knew you’d return. Everyone works for me sooner or later,” she rasped, her laugh deep and throaty.
“No, thanks. Just a bath. No strings.”
Her smile faltered, but she kept it in place. “Twenty Chids.”
I pulled out the two old knives and the axe I’d scavenged earlier. “These do?”
She barely glanced at them before tucking them under the counter. “They’ll do. Now hand over your own weapons. Same room as last time, water’ll be ready in a tick, honey.”
I surrendered my gear. “Thanks, and no surprises this time.”
She smiled innocently. “Just remember to come back when you want real work. Can’t make Chids with that pretty face all messed up, well, unless someone’s into that.” She gave a sultry chuckle. “Enjoy your bath.”
The room was just as I remembered. The bathwater was scalding, and for the first time in what felt like ages, I felt clean, pure even. Sister Angus used to scold us kids with that old saying: some sins can’t be washed away. But as I lay there, steam curling around me, I almost believed in rebirth.
I scrubbed my underwear and dress, hanging them to dry before stepping out. The mirror showed the truth, bruised face, scars from every brawl, and the reality of my body. The illusion shattered. I pulled on my jeans and my much-repaired tee, cinched my gun belt tight, and headed out, reclaiming my weapons on the way.
Max emerged from the shadows the moment I hit the streets. For a one-legged man, he was a damn sneaky bastard.
“Tilly,” he whispered as he approached, voice low.
“Max, where’d you go? How’d you find me?”
“Had to see someone.” He tapped his nose knowingly.
“Yeah, had to see a man about a dog, if you-”
“Yeah, Max,” I cut him off with a smirk. “You been busy? Buying or selling?” He nodded toward The Thrill.
I punched him in the arm, maybe a little too hard.
“Fuck you, Max. Just needed a bath and a change of clothes. Nothing more.”
He rubbed his arm, looking like a kicked puppy. “Found our man. We gotta go this way.” He grabbed my sleeve, tugging me along.
Something was off about Max. He was jumpy, quiet, dragging me through the streets like a man possessed. We took a sharp turn—now heading straight for Hangman’s Alley.
“Max, where the hell are you taking me?” I dug in my heels.
He yanked again. “It’s alright. Know what I’m doing. Come on.”
Just before we entered the alley, a hulking figure, wide as a refrigerator, stepped into our path.
“—illy. Me Rebel. My sorry for face.”
A massive, horned red mutant stared down at me, waiting.
“Hey, Rebel. No hard feelings.” I rubbed my jaw, remembering our last encounter.
Max clawed at my arm. “Tilly, we gotta go.”
“Rebel come-oo. Na-e’s orders. S-ick to -illy like glue s-uff.”
Max whirled on him. “You can’t come, Mut.”
Rebel answered by plucking Max up by the head, lifting him effortlessly until they were eye to eye.
“I come. Nate’s orders.”
“Put him down, Rebel. You can come,” I said.
Max squeaked, “No!”
But it was settled. The three of us moved deeper into the alley.
The place was full of desperate druggies that littered the streets, and every other doorway led to a brothel, women and other things hawking their wares outside. We passed a biker club, motorcycles lined up like steel stallions, their hulking owners pumping iron. Nearby, a naked man stood slumped, a cardboard sign around his neck that read RAT. He was tied to a dartboard, more darts sticking out of him than a hedgehog has spines.
As the alley narrowed, Rebel suddenly turned, crashing into two hooded figures. They must’ve been following us. “No-nice-people,” Rebel muttered as they crumpled into the mud. They wore military-grade boots, but before I could get a better look, we were moving again. No one else even blinked, just another day in this hellhole.
When we reached a seedy-looking shop, more hooded figures slipped out. I could’ve sworn one was Charles, I didn’t see his face, but that sickly, expensive aftershave was unmistakable.
Inside, Max’s eyes darted left to right, but he stayed silent. The shopkeeper glanced up. “Yes?” His hands were hidden under the counter. I loosened my gun, fingers twitching. Something felt off.
“I need a tag for Sector 2. Today.”
He smirked, finally placing his hands on the table. “Short notice. That’ll cost you. But no problem.”
“How much?”
“Tag’s 30 Chids. Another 10 for no questions. Forty total, and nothing traces back.”
“Thirty.”
“Thirty-seven. Final offer.”
I paid. The tag read 256.
“How do I know this’ll work?”
He grinned. “It’ll work. Trust me.”
I could not leave that place soon enough.
My bunk was close to the alley, so we swung by, and I ditched my rucksack along with anything unnecessary, I kept my gun with eight bullets, two knives, both my tags, and my money, just 23 Chids to my name. I needed a disguise.
Where can I get a hood? A jacket with a hood? I muttered into the air, no, to Max.
“Market’s your best bet,” he replied.