Page 91 of Savage Justice

“Fifty grand.”

His eyes bug. “Fifty grand? Fer a two-bit, clapped-out whore? Are ye mad?”

“Well, I am, rather. And, there we have it, the difference between you and me. You see, Agnes was loyal, and good at her job. I liked Agnes and I could rely on her to tell me when some greedy chancer tried to steal from me. Someone like you, Albert.”

“I’m not— I wasnae, would ne’er…”

“Was she onto you? Insisting you pay what was due?”

“No, I—”

There’s no warning this time. Ethan lands the blow before Mulligan even registers it’s happening. He wails and promptly vomits all over the table.

“Fuck, what a mess. I should rub your fucking nose in it.”

Mulligan’s gasping, choking on his own spew.

“Get a hosepipe,” Jack snarls.

Tony nips out and returns a couple of minutes later with a hosepipe coiled over his arm. He connects it to the tap in the wall, then sprays cold water all over the table to swill the mess away. Mulligan is soaked, shivering with the cold and a fair helping of shock, too, I daresay.

“Try not to do that again,” Ethan advises him. “Now, where were we? Ah, right, you killed Mrs Ellison because she knew you were short-changing me. That’s right, isn’t it?”

“She could’ve ’ad a cut, too. I told ’er…”

He clams up, but it’s too late.

Ethan strolls around the table again, avoiding the rapidly expanding pool of blood on the floor.

“You don’t have long left, Albert. You know that, don’t you?”

“If ye let me go, I can work fer ye. I’m good, I’ll make ye money. I have girls, plenty o’ girls, an’—”

“For fuck’s sake, stop babbling.”

Mulligan’s way past saving, if he could but see it. He would do well to keep his mouth shut, but he continues. “Drop me off at a ’ospital. I willnae say ’ow it ’appened. I can run yer operations in Inverness, or anywhere else. Whatever ye like…”

Ethan stops pacing. “I’m torn.”

Mulligan isn’t done yet. He finds more straws to grasp at. “There’s the cars. I’ve bin good wi that, ye ken I ‘ave. Made ye thousands.”

“He’s right,” Jack agrees. “We’ll need to find another partner on the ground to keep the enterprise running smoothly.”

“What about Lemmy Olsen,” I suggest. “He’s been asking for a chance.” And young Lemmy has an inventive, I heard his mother is ill and he needs the money.”

“You can give him a call later,” Ethan agrees. “But that doesn’t solve my dilemma right here.”

“What’s the problem, boss?” Tony asks.

“Well, I can shut this bastard up by slicing his tongue out, but then he won’t be able to tell me why he saw fit to knife Nico. And I would like to hear an answer on that. Wouldn’t you?” His final remark is directed at me.

“Yes, boss. I would.”

“Right, then. He keeps his tongue. For now.”

“What about his nose? Or his ears. His eyes, even?”

Ethan gives that a few moments’ thought. “A bit medieval, but effective. Pass me those shears.”

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