"Michael, he had a, a large heart."

She fiddled with the cigarette, trying to light it with a shaking hand.

"One day he came in, hugged me around the neck and told me 'one day I'll be somebody.'"

It lit up after a few puffs.

"I always kind of believed 'im. Even when he kept gettin' in trouble, he just had that go-getter attitude, ya know? He was always up to somethin' and you just figured at some point he'd stop that delinquent crap."

She took a few puffs, nodding, her left eye half-closed due to the wafting smoke, smiling all the while.

"But he never damn did, did he?"

She laughed and rocked back in the chair, puffing away on the cigarette.

"He never damn did."

+++

"Michael? Care to share this time?"

The meetings took place every week and every week Michael would wave a hand when it was his turn to speak. But this week wasn't any old week.

To the councillor, Michael looked disinterested. To the other members, he looked like they all did when they first started trying to deal with the trauma. Fucked. But again, this week wasn't any old week.

The councillor waited, looked Michael over and just when he turned and was about to ask Roger next, Michael spoke his first words since being forced to attend.

"It shouldn't have went down that way."

The councillor chose not to interject. Michael fidgeted with the bottom of his shirt, his right leg shook and his heel knocked against the wooden leg of the chair. 

"They did everything they could."

He was looking down yet he wasn't focused on the floor at all. He was worlds away.

"They gave me everything."

Michael reached his hand out, shaking.

"And I couldn't save them."

Michael shut his eyes tight and grit his teeth, shook his head and clenched his fists.

"I couldn't fuckin' save them.."

A hand touched his shoulder. It was grabbed, twisted and a punch smashed into Roger's jaw who fell to his knees with a yelp.

"Michael!"

The councillor was out of his seat and so too were some of the other circle members. 

Michael seemed to snap back to the anger management meeting with his name being shouted. He looked around, stunned and a little lost, his hands out in front of him in a defensive pose.

"It's alright, Michael."

The councillor lowered his voice and slowly moved towards Roger.

"He was only trying to help."

"Fuck!" Michael raged and flipped over his chair then stomped out of the meeting.

No-one looked even a little shocked. They just casually resumed, like they'd seen or been here themselves before. 

One member picked up the chair and slotted it back into the circle as they reset, "at least he spoke this week."

"Yeah, I wonder what happens when he gets pissed off then?" humoured another.

"Come on guys, he'll be alright. Just give him some time." The councillor said as he took his seat again. Roger slumped onto his seat. He looked a little groggy and was grabbing and wiggling his jaw.

"Now, where were we..."

The councillor took a moment to catch his breath. He brushed his hand through his fringe.

"Anyone else want to share?"

Has anyone told FatherMacklePenny?  That's one angry lady

Don Al was sitting quietly in attendance, hoping to keep himself to himself. He'd been motionless during Michael's outburst. He just wanted to stop causing problems for Godfather Transistor. But most of all... He just wanted Frank back.

A voice squeaks, piquing Al's interest. He slowly turns his head to look at a young gangster - one of he recognised from Don Sylence's ranks.

Al stared at him for a few moments, hoping the councillor would speak up. Nope - nothing but silence.

"Really? This is what we're here for? To gossip...?" Al gritted his teeth. More silence.

"Hello? Councillor? You're here stop us being angry... Well I'm getting fucking angry. This little shit stain is gonna come in here and talk shit about people and you're just gonna sit there and what? Do NOTHING?!" Al takes a deep breath before closing his eyes and begins counting back mentally from 10... 9... 8...

The councillor nodded, his hands steepled together.

"And this Father Mackle...Penny? How does his cross dressing make you feel?"

"He seems pretty relaxed." Chimed in one of the circle members.

"Alright, Adrian, but I'm asking them directly."

"I think he might also wear dresses and is one of them queers." Said another with a straight face.

"Peter..I don't think you can say that."

"Transitioning To Womanhood is in Room 5 ya nunce." Another managed to say in a thick British stammer while looking a little hot under the collar. She was leaning well forward on the chair eyeing up Joon.

"Sally!"

"I might take this ruffian home with me!" Yelled out another with a twitching left eye, almost falling off of hers.

"This isn't Hookup Cookup Patricia." Said Karen with a disgusted look. She really needed a new haircut.

The councillor was having a hard time keeping the chatter to a minimum before Albino's voice cut through the room.

The councillor and the other anger management members shut up and listened. One even seemed to shed a tear. He did take acid before the meeting though. Who knows where he currently was, or where he wasn't.

As the usually quiet mobster finished speaking, The Councillor tried getting in before the pack, "Everyone is entitled to their say, Albino. Everyone is an equal here and has a voice."

"Yeah Al, it's all good." Said Tony with a thumbs up. He was uncomfortaby comfortable in these meetings and was smiling like a Cheshire cat.

Out of all of the frequenting members Tony was probably the one with the most positive outlook. Week in and week out he would bring in cookies for the group. Roger really liked Tony's cookies.

Their drivel echoed through Al's ears, on top of the ringing he was already constantly and consistently experiencing. He promised Transistor he'd keep his cool and follow the stupid rules - and he meant it. He was a changed man! But at a certain point someone had to speak up and say something. He'd learned over and again from experience if he didn't have his say at the proper moment, it'd soon be blood rather than nasty words he was spraying. So he said it.

Did he regret it? Yeah, definitely. Would he do it again? Probably. But he'd keep trying to overwrite his programming. Maybe one day he'd get there. Today he'd done well! He was proud. He hadn't killed anyone. He hadn't even stood up! He reacted all from the discomfort of his shitty plastic seat. His arse was numb and he was sick of hearing all of their shit and he still kept his cool. The councillor should be thanking him, not lecturing him. Dumb cunt.

7... 6...

Don Al sighs, releasing some of the tension. The soothing was coming, he could feel it overcoming him. These groups weren't all bad - they gave him a good testing ground. He hated sitting with these stupid fucking idiots. If he could sit here once a week and listen to their gripe for an entire hour, he was obviously on the road to recovery. He couldn't have done that just a few short weeks ago - he'd never have got through the hour without leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. Well done, Al!

5... 4... 

He'd learned patting himself on the back was important. It seemed pompous but it got him through - and it got everyone else back home to their families. Which was more than he ever expected when he started these shitty meetings. Why was he even still doing them? He was in control now. He'd got all the way to 4 and nobody was dead. Clearly a changed man. 

3... 2...

Ahhh. Peace. The anger was leaving his body. Tension was evaporating. Like having that first piss after a 12-hour sleep. Glorious! What a release. Finally. He'd mastered it. The councillor might've been a certified cunt, but he knew his shit. He'd actually done it... He'd fix crazy ol' Al! What a fucking legend! He was getting excited - bossman was gonna be overjoyed when he hears this story. 'You had your say AND nobody died?!' - He could hear his surprise already! Maybe he'd finally get one of those fucking Drug Front Properties for his troubles... He was sick of slinging crack on corners like some chump! He could be trusted now - he was a better man! A fixed man! A new man! Reliable. Solid.

"Yeah Al, it's all good." Said Tony with a thumbs up. He was uncomfortably comfortable in these meetings and was smiling like a Cheshire cat.

Don Al's eyes popped open. His jaw tightened. His eyes narrowed. His fists clenched. He exhales.

"What?"

He looks over at Tony.

"Say it again."

The councillor begins to stammer, attempting to speak but unable to find words.

"Shut the fuck up. Now. Seriously. Shut up, I'm talking to Tony." Al says sternly, yet calmly.

"Tony. Say it again."

Unfortunately for Tony, he was kicked in the head once as a kid by a pony - or some shit, Al tried not to listen but some of the bullshit went in. In any case, the kid's memory wasn't great and Al was getting sick of reminding these silly bastards. It was time to help them remember.

Tony looked nervously at the councillor.

"Are you deaf as well as thick, cunt? I said say it again." Al scorned. Tony stuttered.

"NOW."

"It's all good..." He paused, nervous and confused. "It's all good, Al?" He finished.

Albino sighs before rising from his seat and making his way over to the fresh pot of coffee on offer - mainly to stop the junkies itching and scratching throughout the session. The councillor was a clever man, he'd learned a few tricks during his long career - he'd seen some things too! Some crazy things...

Al grabs two clean mugs from the counter and drifts over towards Tony, handing him the pair. "Hold these, Ton'. We're gonna have a chat. I'm gonna help you with your memory problem." The room remained in complete silence while Albino walks back over to the kitchen surface. He taps the glass container to ensure it's hot.

"Mmm. Piping hot. There's nothing better than fresh coffee." Al smiles as he grabs the pot of coffee, sugar and a spoon before making his way back over to Tony. He places them on the floor, freeing his hands to then slide his chair over in front of Tony's before sitting down opposite him.

"I think it's important to have conversations one-on-one, Ton' - I can call you Ton', right? We're pals." Al winks, politely taking one of the mugs from Tony who was now beginning to smile again - nervously, but it was a smile. Al smiled back.

"You're right... It is all good." Al clears his throat. "I apologise to everyone for my outburst there." 

He lifts the coffee from the floor and proceeds to pour them both a cupful.

"Sugar?" He looks up at Tony who was still too nervous to answer. "No? Okay..."

Al begins pouring sugar into his cup. The councillor attempts to speak again.

"Shut up, cunt. Trust me..." Al pauses pouring the sugar and looks up. "Shut up." He continues pouring.

"No sugar - that's good, Tony. Shit's terrible for ya. Me, though? I've got a sweet tooth. Can't do without my sugar." He continues pouring. Sweet tooth? What a ridiculous amount of sugar.

"Say it again, Ton'."

Slow as he was, even Tony could tell something was right. 

"Come on, pal... I'm sorry. I know it's confusing for you. Just... Humour me. Pretend I'm as thick as you. I can't remember shit... So what did you say, Ton'?" Al smiles sweetly, still slowly pouring his sugar into his coffee - if you could still call it that at this point.

"It's all good, Al?"

Albino's eyes turn blood-red as he flicks the coffee cup up and into Tony's face who suddenly begins screaming and flailing around the room begging for his Mother. 

"No, Ton'. It's not all good." Al replies calmly, not moving an inch from his seat but firmly holding his gaze on Tony as he runs left.. then right.. then left.

"It's really not alright, Ton'. See, my name's not Al, kid." Al wipes his hands on his trousers before picking up the coffee pot from the floor and rising to his feet. Finally the extra-sweet coffee now attached to Tony's face had begun to cool and he'd found himself on the floor snivelling, begging for assistance. The councillor hadn't moved - he clearly wasn't one for rushing to defend people, the spineless cunt.

"No point begging for help, Ton'. Didn't you hear what the good councillor said? Everyone's equal here. Right?" Al grins, looking at the councillor for agreement. He nods in a panic. 

"See? Oh - in case you missed that Ton', the councillor nodded. You probably didn't see. In fact... You'll probably never see again. That, there, is your reminder. You did forget to say thanks though... That's a bit fucking rude, eh?"

Al makes his way over to Tony, rolling him on to his back before leaning over him.

"I can't stand rudeness."

He pours the rest of the coffee pot over Tony's face before lifting it above his head and smashing it against Tony's skull.

 *BONG*

"Ooh, solid glass - real good stuff! I do appreciate a good bit of kitchenware."

Don Al proceeds to smash the pot against Tony's head repeatedly, stopping between each attack to speak with him, one word at a time.

"My..." *BONG* 

"Name..." *BONG*

"Is..." *BONG*

"Al..." *BONG*

"...Bino." *BONG*

Don Al stops and pants from exertion. He looks down at Tony's lifeless body and shakes his head.

"Fuck sake..." He sighs. "Look at the state of my fucking beard."

He rises to his feet and attempts to flick the brown stains from his beautiful white beard before looking at the group.

"My name is Albino."

The group looked back at Albino. Roger's jaw was locked sideways and open. Sally was on the floor holding Peter's leg who was frozen to his chair with a petrified look on his face. Adrian kept blinking and nodding but otherwise seemed to be taking things pretty well, although urine was slowly filling his boots. Patricia and Joon were missing and the councillor looked like he'd prefer to be where Tony was. He was just as scared as Peter and felt to his core that he was next.

The door was slowly pushed open. CREEEEEEAK. Felson was looking down at the ground as he tripped through the single swinging door and entered. A yawn then forced his eyes closed as he rubbed the back of his neck. His footsteps filled the small hall. One step. Two steps. Three. Four. He trudged along holding a glass bottle in his left hand, his head hung low and he was looking at the checkered tiles with squinted eyes.

A few more steps and he happened upon Albino and the group. He yawned again and stretched his arms out, then opened his bloodshot eyes, licked his dry lips and looked at the group.

After only a quick glance around, he focused on Tony, who looked to be taking a little grandma nap on the ground. Albino's body was covering Michael Felson's sight to the mess that was now Tony's head.

"Hey Tony, how 'bout them cookies, huh?"

Felson then noticed Roger, and could only see the back of him and the group in general from where he was standing. He took a few more steps forward, "Roger, where them crumble discs at?"

No response either. In fact, no-one was moving and all seemed to be facing Albino and Tony. Felson moved again, this time circling sideways around the back of Albino; Tony's paper mache looking head slowly revealing itself. Felson's left eye twitced a little.

"Fuuuuuuck."

Felson grabbed his puffer from his trouser pocket and huffed on it twice.

"Guess there's no need for milk then."

Albino remained silent, he was all talked out. But milk! Oh, yes please! He sighs at the sight of Tony's corpse and shakes his head. Why did arseholes do this to him? He'd worked so hard on bettering himself but there was always that one cunt who triggered his programming. He was a firm believer there was a lesson in everything - what was the lesson here? He couldn't work it out. Was he doomed for eternal rage? Would he forever be a thorn in Transistor's side? He was sick of the overthinking. 

"Milk's not a bad idea, kid."

He makes his way over to the fridge to pour himself a glass. Milk was the drink of champions! Nothing could beat the cow juice. He'd tried that horrible goat juice, it was disgusting. Cow juice was where it was at!

He downs the cold liquid before turning to look at the councillor who was sat stationary, still too shook to do anything.

"Relax, councillor." Al places the glass on the side calmly. "I'm better now. Sometimes all I really need is a glass of milk."

The councillor remained silent.

"Ton's freaking you out, huh? Hold up."

Don Al makes his way out of the room, gesturing to one of his heavies who proceeds to follow him back into Room 3.

"Can you get that horrible sight out of here, Bert? He's killing the vibe."

Bert nods before grabbing Tony by the legs and dragging him into the hallway, leaving a trail of blood in his path. The councillor was stunned at how natural the pair's interaction was. How many bodies had that giant dragged around for Albino? 

Al makes his way over to his seat and moves it back into position within the circle before parking his arse and fussing to find comfort.

"Okay... Shall we continue? I think I could use the extra time today."

He waves his hand at Felson and then at Tony's seat.

"Take a seat, son. Ton' don't need it."

Albino was smiling like a Cheshire cat who'd got the cream milk.

Felson rubbed his eyes as he took a seat. Roger was on his left. He could kind of see him out of the corner of his eye. His face was still wonky. He also noticed Sally, who was seated across from him, was transfixed on the trail of blood Tony's meat suit had left behind.

The councillor cleared his throat and spoke up, "Alright, do as Albino says." Then he muttered under his breath to himself, 'we're all gonna die.' 

The pack fell in line and gathered around in a circle. Once they all settled, Adrian raised his hand and initially looked at the councillor, then at Albino. The shock had warn off and he was well aware his socks were soaked.

"Sir, can I please leave? Or is this like a hostage situation?"

Albino turns his head in Adrian's direction, a confused look growing across his face.

"Hostage situation?" Al shakes his head in disbelief. "Why would this be a hostage situation?"

He pauses for a moment, noticing the puddle of piss he was sat in.

"Oh, Adrian... " Guilt had overcome Albino. "I'm sorry... You can leave. Of course you can leave."

Don Al looks around the room at all of the concerned faces. "Hey, guys... Listen. You're all safe, you can come and go as you please. It's fine."

Unsure, Adrian slowly rises to his feet and escapes the scene unharmed.

"See? It's fine. If you don't want to be here, leave. It's not up to me... This is the councillor's show, not mine."

The councillor hurries to his feet but before he could take a step, Al interrupts. 

"NOT you, councillor!"

Al sat still, growing further confused. "Why are you trying to leave, councillor? I need your help... I came here for your help..." 

A tear begins to form in the corner of his eye. He attempts to fight it. "Why does everybody leave me? First Frank... Now you, councillor. Why does nobody really want to help?"

He grows emotional. "Is everyone just a fucking liar? Just lying straight to my face all of the time?"

"You all SAY you want to help. But you haven't really helped. Why can't you just help me, councillor?!"

He takes a deep breath to avoid breaking down.

"You said you could fix me." He pauses.

"Fix me."

Although high as Sputnik, Felson was moved by Albino's speech and heard it for what it was. He stood, removed a gun from his jacket pocket and fired the clip into the ceiling. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. Each shot had more and more wood fall down and around the scattering group. It didn't take long before the last to leave, the councillor, fumbled through and out the door.

Felson nodded and slipped the sub-nose gun back into his pocket. He approached Albino and reached out his hand, "no offense Don," after a hearty shake Albino was standing, "but I always wanted to do that."

Felson's high was lightening to a more social buzz.

"Fuck these meetings."

He removed a joint from his jacket.

"Let's get high and shoot some guns. Best therapy there is." 

Felson started walking towards the door. He slid the joint behind his right ear.

"Fuck this place. Who the fuck doesn't just go home and beat their wives anyways? All these guys are fuckin' nuts. We don't need therapy. We need action."

×××

Outside, Felson was holding a lit joint and Albino had a shotgun in his hands. They were standing in front of the main gate of the community centre where Bert had balanced a milk bottle on the gate's post. Both their cars had their headlights on and were parked and pointed at the gate. Tony was in the boot of Felson's car.

"Alright, so before you shoot, you have to say some shit that you want to get off your chest then you take aim and," Felson raised the joint, took a puff then exhaled, "you just let it all go."

Al looked down at the shotgun in his hand and then up at Felson. The idea had intrigued him and it was surely better than sitting in that shitty room putting up with them whiny cunts and their pathetic stories. He'd been there weeks and not shared fuck all. It had all come to a head and Albino had snapped. The day he was just growing ready to share was the same day Ton' met his end. That couldn't be coincidence. Al didn't believe in it. The councillor was never gonna fix him. But this shotgun... This might just do it!

"So I say anything I want? Just get it off my chest?" Albino quizzed. "And I get to shoot.. AND I'll feel better?"

Disbelief. That couldn't be right... Fuck it, worth a try.

"Alright, ummm..." Al thought long and hard. He had hundreds of things he really wished he could share. But not many he was capable of sharing. He wasn't one to open up, it was tough. 

"I actually liked Tony." 

Al lifts the barrel of the shotgun and pulls at the trigger.

"Even if he was a dumb cunt. He was one of them cunts who just floated through life happy... He had it easy! Fuck them guys." He swaps the shotgun for Felson's joint.

"Your turn." Al takes a toke.

"Yeah," Felson pumped the shotty into action again and police sirens started being heard off in the distance, "Tony was definitely a dumb cunt."

Felson spotted red and blue lights on the horizon. They were approaching fast. He had the gun resting on his shoulder as the lights turned into a police car which then skidded to an abrupt halt, noticing Felson now pointing a gun in their direction. He didn't give them time to do much else. He dug his heels in, gave his right one a twist and held the shotty towards the car.

"I MISS WAR!" Felson barked.

He then lowered his voice and tightened his grip on the gun, "I miss all you guys."

Shell after shell blasted into the front wheels and grill of the police cruiser, rendering it fucked.

Steam spewed from the front of the car but through it Felson could see both officers were out and readying themselves behind the vehicle.

Felson nodded to Albino.

"See? I'm feeling therapeutic as fuck."

He tossed the spent shotty onto the backseat of his black and white 4-door Chevrolet Bel Air, hopped in after it and removed the snob-nose revolver from his jacket.

"We'll take my wheels!"

Felson began to reload his gun using bullets kept in his inner jacket pocket. His heart was racing yet he felt relatively level headed. He'd been here before though. Wars were all the same.

"If Bert drives we can keep 'em busy!"

Don Al's ears perk up. Sirens? What sort of silly bastard calls the cops on Al? They're fucking lucky he wasn't in Philly or he'd be having a long conversation with them boys in blue followed by a less talkative interaction with the snitch. But no time for that. Al didn't have these fucks on his payroll and he wasn't about to spend time in the slammer! 

He nods at Bert who rushes into the driver's seat while Al hurries to the trunk of his own car and scrambles around for his favourite weapon... A TOMMY GUN. He laughs, full of excitement. Finally, he'd get to use this bastard! 

Al grabs all the ammunition he can muster and rushes over to the Bel Air, hopping into the backseat alongside Felson.

"Alright Bert. Flick the radio on and boot it!"

Bert obeys, ensuring the radio volume is up and blaring a hype tune before wheel spinning into action.

Don Al prepares the tommy gun for action and turns his body to face out the back off the roof-less ride.

"Hey, Felson - nice fucking ride! Where you get this from? Young buck like you in a ride like this - you got connections?"

Al notices a police car skidding round a nearby corner and hurtling towards them from behind. He grits his teeth and presses his arse against the back of the front seat. Tightly gripping the dual handles of his full automatic, he cackles and squeezes the trigger.

 KA-KA-KA-KA-KA-KA-KA!!!

He pauses, hysterical mania painted across his face, chortling maniacally.

 KA-KA-KA-KA-KA-KA-KA!!!

Bullets sprayed all across the hood of the chasing police car and then through the windshield which soon became a crumpled pattern smothered in blood.

 KA-KA-KA-KA-KA-KA-KA!!!

He continues to burst with delight. "TAKE THAT, COCKSUCKER!!"

The police car skids across the road spinning 90-degrees left and through a shop front window. Al takes a breath. More sirens could be heard in the distance, drawing closer.

"More! Bring us more!"

Al pulls the clip from his 1928 Thompson and prepares for round 2.

The car skidded as it swerved in and out of traffic. They zoomed past a yellow thunderbird, the driver of the convertible waving her hands in the air in celebration, then narrowly missed a white Corvette, the Bel Air stylishly drifting around the other cars making them look like Sunday drivers. 

Felson used his knees to keep himself mostly glued to the backseat, one against the back of the driver's seat and the other against the door as he reloaded his five shooter. 

"Well the car's mine.. but it ain't mine."

Most bullets made the chamber, 2 missed and hit the floor and were bouncing around with each sharp turn. Felson was talking to Albino, his words more pronounced when they'd hit an uneven patch of road.

"Got it at Gulf gas when I went for a walk. Some greaser left the keys in the ignition."

Just as Albino had spent his magazine and signalled a reload, Felson flicked closed the cylinder on his revolver. He spun the chamber, smirking.

"Was I wrong?"

They rolled hot into to a T intersection. Bert tugged sharply on the steering wheel, sending them sideways as they turned left onto 20th street and into the path of two more police cars with their sirens blaring. 

They motored by one which whipped around as soon as it was safe. Bert caught a glimpse of it in his rearview mirror, a cloud of smoke plumed as it's wheels struggled to gain traction. It sideswiped some parked cars, incidentally nudging it back into traffic and behind them a little ways back.

The second car was bearing down on them and was about a block away. They watched as it crossed the solid white line that divided the middle of the street and started flashing it's headlights, signalling Bert to pull over.

Felson was familiar with the chicken game. Hold the nerve. Win the prize. Losing usually cost a little pride and maybe some money, but these three had more at stake and things were happening so fast that a wrong move here could be the ending none of them wanted... except maybe Tony.

"You got this, Bert?"

Felson was bracing himself, his hands pressed against the side and back of the seats with loaded handgun in hand. He flicked a quick nervous look at Albino.

Al had spun himself 180-degrees and was now squatting behind Bert's seat, pushing with his legs to peer over his shiny, bald head. He glances at Felson and then back at the police car. "Yeah, 'course Bert's got this! Eh Bert?"

"You see, Bert's actually ex-military - he was a crewman. You know - tanks, armoured vehicles, all that shit!" Al beamed with pride. "Only the best in our unit, son!" Al grins.

The trio continue hurtling towards the oncoming police who were now spraying bullets in their direction. Bert ducks and weaves his head, dodging them with ease.

Some miss, whistling straight past the vehicle - others bounce off of the polished bonnet.

   *Peeee-oooooow!*

    *Ting!*     *Ting!*

"See? Never mind tank operator... This man IS a fucking tank!"

Don Al pats Bert on the shoulder - just as one bullet flies straight through the windshield and explodes Bert's face into pieces smothering the white interior in blood.

"Bert..?" Al's jaw drops in disbelief. In the same second, gravity overpowers Bert's giant skull causing his now limp posture to crash on top the steering wheel. The car suddenly spins out of control just as it's about to make contact with the oncoming police vehicle, causing them to collide with the right-side of the Bel Air. Both vehicles come to an abrupt standstill with a crash! Smoke and steam pisses out in all directions. Everything stops.

***

Al was sat gathered around a table in a fancy bar with five others. They were well-dressed gentleman - all of them huge in stature, middle-aged, fierce-looking motherfuckers. They were sharing jokes, drinking fine whiskey and eating fancy snacks from trays carried round atop the fingers of beautiful waitresses. The Don was younger, maybe 20 years. Everyone was smiling, happy, laughing and joking. Al looked at the little crowd around him with pride, love even. He taps his tumbler on the table and clears his throat.

"Listen, gents... I know, I know - I talk bollocks constantly! I'm 10 whiskeys too deep to be talking!" Al gets interrupted. 

"Nah, you're just fucking boring!" They all burst into laughter. Al reaches over the table and swings his arm, attempting to throw a punch in retaliation.

"Shut up, Bert! You fat fuck! I'll come over there and beat both your braincells out ya fat fucking head, cunt!" They continue laughing for a moment.

"Seriously though, fellas... It's been a long fucking journey to get here. I've known that fat fuck since I was three-years-old! And most of you almost as long!" Young Al tightens a fist, waving it in Bert's direction. "Shoulda killed him soon as I got that first knife, the fat fuck..." He chuckles. 

"But... BUT! Serious now, fellas..." Al beams a truly warm smile. "We made it. I can't fucking believe we did it but we actually did it... Our first proper job." Al bursts with confidence, a smug look plastered across his cocky face. "We got how many fuckin' paintings out of that place? HOW FUCKING MANY?!" They all break into laughter once more.

"Boys, this is unreal. No more fuckin' around on street corners like a bunch of fuckin' hooligans anymore. Even Bert can afford to eat!"

Bert spits an olive across the table at Al.

"We fuckin' made it, fellas! We fuckin' MADE it!"

They all raise their glasses, clinking them while cheering and banging on the tables. They stomp their feet on the ground. Excitement takes over and they all jump up in celebration, causing a ruckus while wrapping their arms around one another and hopping around in unison.

***

"Al?!" A voice exclaims. "Al, please wake up!" He panics. 

Don Al's vision is blurred. His ears feel as though they're bleeding - what the fuck is that ringing? Where the fuck was he? Where's his tumbler of whiskey and fuckin' caviar? And who the fuck was that voice? That wasn't Bert...

"Oh, Bert..." Al folds into himself. "Bert, you cunt..." He grows angry. "Bert, you FAT FUCK!"

Al groans, mustering strength and attempting to lift himself out of the bent-up position he'd woke up in.

"Come on, Al. Let me help you." Felson pulls on Al's arm - the pair of them grunting as Al wobbles upright, climbing out from under Bert's seat. 

"What the fuck..." Al looks at Bert's lifeless body. "You motherfuckers..." He was too upset to be angry - for now.

Though injured himself, Felson aids old Al in escaping the back seat of what little remained of Felson's Bel Air and back on to solid ground.

"Well, it was a nice ride, kid..." Al follows Felson's lead in wrapping his arm over his shoulder and the pair hobble off towards a gathering crowd outside a nearby bar. The onlooker split like Moses had arrived, allowing the pair entrance through the double doors of the building on the corner. 

Once inside, the atmosphere changed entirely. Loud, jaunty music was playing, people were laughing and joking. The pair look completely out of place in their shredded attire while everyone else is dolled up and ready to mingle. 

"Let's get you a whiskey..." Felson speaks softly, just loud enough to be heard.

The pair hobble towards the bar but Al stops suddenly.

"Hey... Felson, wait." The pair stop. Al points. "That's the the fuckin' councillor."

Don Al puts weight on his second leg, removing his arm from Felson's shoulder and growling as he forces all of his limbs to obey.

"I'm upright. I'm alright." He sighs, angered at his ageing body. "Do me a favour, kid. Get hold of that cunt. Let's get him outside and somewhere quiet."

Al looked down at his waistband - he still had his pistol. He draws his weapon, ensuring it's loaded before handing it to Felson.

"Quietly, if you can. But if not..." He shrugs before looking back up in the councillors direction.

Don Al tightens his jaw.

Felson took the gun with a stern nod. He had scratches on his face and arms and his jacket left him awhile back. His hair was messy but still looked decent for the place they were in and the crash they'd just walked away from.

"Give me 3 minutes."

Felson tucked the gun into his waistband and walked away, hobbling. He was missing a shoe. As he reached for a champagne glass on a passing waiter's tray, Felson felt a pain in his side. He winced yet tried playing it off with a smirk as he nodded his appreciation to the waiter. 'Broken ribs?' he thought.

The liquid courage was downed, the glass placed on another floating drink station and two more taken. With a drink in each hand, Felson approached the councillor from their earlier anger management session. He was standing near a pillar chatting with a women.

"Councillor?"

Felson flashed a smile and had his arms out like you would if going in for a hug. The women noticed Felson first. She looked strikingly beautiful in a red dress that held her figure and bust like a glove. Her eyebrows lifted at the sight and her mouth opened agape. Her reaction caused the councillor to turn towards Felson.

"Wife? Mistress?"

Her eyebrows furrowed and her lips tightened. She folded her arms and her face soured.

"Hooker?"

Felson downed both glasses of champagne, one after the other as her annoyance turned to disbelief. She looked at the councillor, then back at Felson. Her face was now pulsing a bright shade of red. Before she or the councillor could speak Felton handed the empty glasses towards the women, which had her gasp in horror and to her disgust Felson looked annoyed that she wasn't taking the glasses.

"Seriously?"

He jostled with his torn shirt, glass in hand, to reveal the gun lodged in the front of his trousers. Felson then offered the glasses to the lady again.

"Make sense? Off you go."

Felson gave the women a wink as she cautiously took the glasses from his hands. She then turned and quickly walked away.

The councillor had his arms crossed and looked uneasy. He'd managed to change his clothes from earlier.

"I didn't say anything."

"Nobody said you did."

Felson stepped forward, grabbed him by the arm and attempted to escort him away. He refused to budge.

"No!" Said the councillor as he defiantly ripped his arm away.

People were moving around them, some chatting in groups here and there, but for the most part this area looked to be a foyer and where people passed to go to the toilets or into and out of the venue.

Felson stepped closer and removed the gun from his waist. He pushed it into the councillor's ribs and grabbed him by the arm, twisting it behind his back and holding it there. He glanced around briefly to see people's interest. One gent dressed in a tuxedo was watching. Felson gave him a smirk and a nod as he strong-armed the councillor into a walk. The gent looked away.

"Move or you'll never move again. Ever. Let's go."

+++

There was a thud on the back door. Then another. Then it popped open. Felson nudged the councillor through the doorway and as they stepped outside he let go of his grip, then shoved him in the back. The councillor stumbled forward then turned around. Felson tucked the gun away as he kept walking towards the councillor, who started to backpedal.

"I swear, I didn't say anything!"

The councillor had his hands out trying to calm Felson down and was frantically looking around on the ground, near the fence, near the dumpster? Bingo! He almost fell over trying to pick up a broken bottle. He swung back around and swiped the weapon in front of Felson.

"Uhh! STAY BACK!"

Felson stopped and put his hands on his hips. He glanced around. It was dark but a spotlight above the backdoor lit up the area. It was currently just them.

"I'LL.. I'LL.. I'LL KILL YOU!"

Felson looked the councillor over. He really let him know he was eyeing him up with an exaggerated look of intrigue, "Nah" he said then stepped towards the councillor, snatched the bottle and smacked him across the face with the back of his hand.

The councillor took the pimp slap like most would, with a squeal. He hit the dumpster then fell to the ground. He coughed and moaned as he rolled over onto his back.

Felson fixed himself into a squat position near where the councillor was laying, something he learned from the enemy while serving.

"Good boy. Now stay. Albino won't be long."

Don Al had dragged his worn body to the bar and found himself a stall, ordering several whiskeys and throwing them down his throat in an attempt to numb his pain. It wasn't working. He was slowly progressing from upset to angry and there was no chance of return. Maybe Bert would've managed to calm him down... But that was impossible now.

He nods at Felson as he watches him shuffle the councillor out of the door. He'd meet him there later, but right now he needed some time alone.

A few more whiskeys and 30 minutes passed before the aged mobster decided he was strong enough to walk properly. He was growing tired of the happiness filling the place. None of these fucks had any idea about real life. Most of them hated their wives - most of them weren't even here with their wives! But they hated the whores with them much the same. 

"Disgusting fucking creatures, human beings..." Al mutters under his breath. "This world is a fucking joke. There's nothing sacred around here anymore." 

He peers around the room at all the faux joy - all the fucking idiots dressed up in their overpriced garments pretending to be halfway decent people in an embarrassing attempt to climb the meaningless social hierarchy. None of them grasped the true meaning of life: love. Not that bullshit romance bollocks either - Al meant real love. Loyalty, respect, honour. The type of love you rarely find. Al had found it. Al loved Bert.

A sudden shove in the back causes Al to spin 180-degrees, lifting his tumbler above his head to react with aggression before he could even perceive the threat. His eyes widen on his target - a man holding a woman on each arm.

"Two bitches, eh?" Al grits his teeth. "Are either of them your wife, you disloyal fucking animal?!" He smashes the glass on the man's head causing the women to run away squealing in panic.

"Does she fucking know what you're doing, you fucking DOG?!" He hops off the bar stool, wincing in pain as he lands and proceeds to stamp of the man's face. The whiskey hadn't completely numbed him yet.

"Here! Let's see if you can talk yourself out of this when you get home, you cheating fuck!" He continues throwing kicks before stopping abruptly. He straightens his beard which had become a scruffy mess and turns to look at the bar staff who were utterly gobsmacked.

"Give me that fucking bottle of whiskey. NOW." Al wasn't asking. The bar staff hurried the fresh bottle to Al, shaking as he handed it over.

"P-Please, sir... You have to leave." He trembles.

"Don't worry. I'm fucking going." Al reaches into his pocket, pulling out a wad of notes and slams it on the bar before exiting with his bottle. He needed a walk - or a hobble, as it were.

***

Al was halfway through his bottle but not nearly finished for the night. He'd found himself leaning against a chain-link fence with his shoulder, overlooking the water. He loved the water - it was calming to him. A wide open space not yet entirely tainted by the human race. The tide rolled in and out. There were no interruptions to it. Just in... and out... He could stand and stare at it all night, just thinking. His head would go round-and-round, thought after thought. He was interrupted occasionally by a tear.

'No crying, you little pussy...' He'd recall his Father's orders. 'Real men don't cry.' 

Al scoffs, wiping a tear from his cheek. "Fuck you, old man. You didn't know shit." He takes a swig from the bottle, still refusing to let himself cry.

"Bert raised me. Bert and the streets - not you, you useless cunt!" Al's voice grew as he spoke. 

"Who was there when I got attacked by that dog?!" Al rubs the scar on his arm and took a swig. "Bert..."

"And who was there when I nearly died climbing that tree?" He takes a deep breath, chuckling to himself. "Out of my fucking brains on them crazy arse mushrooms..." He recalls fondly. "Bert..."

"NOT FUCKING YOU, OLD MAN!" He takes a bigger swig, smacking his lips together to fight the burn and sighing.

"Bert was there. Bert was always fucking there." His voice breaks. "Who the fuck's here now?! WHO'S HERE NOW, EH?!" Al looks around the vicinity - no one, that was who. For the first time in as far back as his memories went... Albino was truly alone.

He turns his back against the fence and sighs as his body goes limp, sliding down it and on to the floor. He begins humming a song - a reminder of Big Bert as he whimpers to himself.

"Love you... You fat fuck." He takes another swig from the bottle and begins to sob.

Some time had passed and Al had finished his bottle. He was beyond drunk and beginning to shiver. Numb as he was, it was fucking cold on this waterfront! He uses all his might to force himself into a squatting position before pressing against the fence as an aid for his deteriorating balance. Slowly, he found his way to his feet, still clutching his empty bottle.

He attempts another swig, realising it's empty.

"For fuck sake - no whiskey? Are you fucking serious?" Al slurs before launching the bottle across the water and into the distance. *SPLOSH*

He takes a few moments to watch the water some more before tucking his hands in his torn pockets, turning up his collar and heading towards the rendezvous point.

On his travels, he stumbles across a shop, still open and awaiting his business. Al stumbles through the door to buy cigarettes and whiskey.

"Good evening, si-..." The shopkeeper is interrupted.

"Shut up, you fucking clown. I'm not here for word porn. Just take the money, give me my cigarettes and you get to go home tonight." Al hisses before continuing. "Oh, I'll take that, too..." Al gestures at a toolbox sat on the floor by the man's feet the other side of the counter.

"Sir, that's not-.." Interrupted again, this time by a stern look. The shopkeeper nods, hurrying the toolbox on to the counter. Don Al whips out his money, peeling off a few extra notes before throwing them at the geek next to the till.

"Good man. You get to go home." Al grins, grabs his supplies and exits.

***

"HEY FEL-SOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!" Al exclaims. "I'm sure this was the spot we agreed...." He mutters, quieter.

"FEL-SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!!!!" Too drunk to understand it's probably not the best time to be shouting - he was about to be involved in some real illegal shit in a city foreign to him with cops who were already looking for the pair. This couldn't possibly end bad. He was too pissed off and definitely too pissed up to understand the danger. Fuck danger.

Young Felson hurries out from behind the building, chucking a 'pssst!' to successfully grab Al's attention - lucky one of them had their wits about! Al moseys over to the door and slips inside the building. Felson peers around the area to ensure Al hadn't grabbed any unwanted attention before slamming the door behind the pair.

"Where is he then?" Al shakes the toolbox. "I brought presents."

He hands the toolbox to Felson before withdrawing a cigarette, lighting it and offering the same to Felson.

"I keep tryna quit these fuckers but my cigars are back in the fucking motor..." Al gets distracted. 

"Hey, where is my motor anyway?" He pauses before correcting. "Bert's motor..." Al sighs. "I arrived in Bert's motor."

Al growls, he wasn't gonna cry anymore - he had other plans.

"Come on then... Time for our Anger Management meeting." Al glances his watch. "Where is he?"

The coin hit the concrete and bounced a few times. It stopped a few inches from the dumpster. Felson's coin was a few more inches away. He was squatting a few feet back. Devastated, he slapped his hands on his head, "Fuck you!" 

The councillor was down on one knee next to him. He pumped his fist, "Another win!"

"How the fuck?"

"Too good."

They both stood up.

"Yeah, yeah, let's go again."  Felson had a focused look on his face. He swiped his coin up off the ground.

"You sure you got the money?" Teased the councillor. He too grabbed his coin and a small pile of notes.

They squared up and both looked at each other.

"Wait, where's Al... bino?" The councillor looked over his shoulder, then the other, back towards the door. He'd forgotten why they were originally out here for a moment but anxiety was now creeping back in.

Felson took a look around. Nothing to note. Then suddenly, BANG!

Felson dove for cover. The councillor, with all his book knowledge, just stood there. Felson tugged his arm to drag him behind the dumpster.

"Get down you muppet!"

"Alright, alright!"

After about a minute of hiding they slowly took a peak. Nothing.

"Wonder what that was.."

Felson reached his hand back and slapped the councillor hard over the back of the head.

"AH! The hell was that for?!"

"Because I'm your captor?"

"Yeah, about that, can't you just let me go?"

The councillor was rubbing the back of his head when Felson pointed towards the back door.

"Move."

"Alright, damn."

The councillor lead the walk to the backdoor of the venue. He then turned to face Felson.

"Seriously, I have a shit ton of money. I could give you it, and you could say..let me go? Al..I mean Albino, wouldn't even have to know. You take the cash. Say you couldn't find me. I dissapear. Maybe goto Mexico. You don't see me again and I forget this ever happened. Come on, you're a reasonable guy..Michael..we know where Al.."

"Albino.."

"Albino, we both know where he's going and it's no place good. But you? You can still turn your life around.."

Felson removed the gun from his waistband and smashed it into the councillor's forehead. He fell back into the closed door, bounced off of it and down the three back steps. Felson grabbed him by the hair and pulled him to his feet.

"Listen up! We're going inside now. If you think about running I will shoot you. Understand? Good."

"These classes really don't work do they?"

"No they fuckin' don't now get inside."

Felson gave the councillor a kick in the ass as they entered.

+++

Back in the foyer, Felson scanned the area for any sign of Albino. Nothing.

"Let's try the bar."

Just as they were heading towards the bar, there, entering through a side door was an intoxicated and wild Albino. He'd mistaken someone for Felson in his drunken stupor and followed them inside.

The councillor saw him first and with a well timed moment he slowed his pace until there was enough distance between him and Felson.. then made a dash for the back door. He shouldered into it full bolt, figuring it would simply open and he'd be scott free. He bounced off the metal door and thudded to the floor with a groan.

Felson shook his head then sped over to Albino and grabbed him by the arm.

"Where'd you get to?"

He looked the Don over. He noticed the toolbox and the smell and look of alcohol.

"You're plastered! Come on, let's take this party somewhere quieter."

Felson and Albino grabbed the councillor by the arms and walked him down the hall. They tried opening a few doors. No bueno. Locked. After a further check the fourth door opened. They pushed the councillor inside and closed the door.

Don Al remained still, staring at the closed door with his back turned against the counsellor who was now stood freely about 6 feet behind Al.

"Albino... Sir..." The counsellor begins to shake as he speaks. "I'm not sure what this is all about, but please... I promise I'll never tell anyone what happened. I already promised!"

Albino remains silent.

"I just want to go home... I wasn't meant to be at that bar. I was just trying to get over that horrible sight..." The counsellor's voice breaks. "His face... It was in pieces... I've never seen anything like that. So much blood... I just..." The counsellor pauses, looking to Felson for support. Felson just shrugs.

"That poor man... He had so much life left to live..." The counsellor begins to whimper. "The police wouldn't stop asking questions... I have to go to the station tomorrow. If you hurt me, they'll find you..." His voice grows defiant. "You're not thinking. I know you, Al... Bino. ALBINO." He rushes to correct himself. "You didn't mean any of this. I know you didn't. You're always so quiet, you're a good person really. I can feel it."

The counsellor continues to beg. Felson wanders across the room, taking himself to one side and preparing for the show.

"Albino...?" The silence had started getting to him. "SAY SOMETHING." 

Albino remains silent.

The counsellor gives up hope - he takes himself to the back wall, sitting himself on the floor and begins to cry.

"I'm going to die, aren't I?" He asks. "I'm never going to see my family again..." He whimpers. "What about my clients? Who will help them without me?"

Albino begins to laugh, quietly at first, then louder.

"Help?" He speaks. "You think you help?"

Al turns around, his eyes fixed on the counsellor sat with his legs tucked into his chest and his arms wrapped around them.

"Well..? Do you think you help?" Al demands.

The counsellor nods hesitantly. "I.. I thought so...?"

Albino bursts into laughter. "Do you think we'd be here... In this shithole... If you helped?"

The room fell silent while Al began to survey the area. It was dark and gloomy, with some dim lighting allowing them enough vision to see all four walls - about 15 by 15 foot across. Clearly some sort of storage space, there were chairs and tables stacked against the left wall, with a solid oak desk on the opposing wall - mostly empty, holding just a lamp which accounted for most of the room's lighting. Felson sat atop the desk with his legs swinging - he sparks up a joint and rests against the toolbox he'd placed next to him. Beside the desk stood a large record player with a few vinyl discs scattered around - on top and on the floor nearby. The back wall was mostly empty, except for the counsellor now sitting somewhere roughly in the middle. Al remained in front of the door, directly opposite, with his eyes fixed firmly on him.

"Look at this place... Do you want to die here?" Al kicks a scrap of paper near to his foot on the floor. "Do you want your corpse to be left here for rat food...?" 

The counsellor whimpers, shaking his head. "No, sir. Please, I don't. I don't want to die at all." 

Albino's hard stare remains while he reaches into his pocket for another cigarette. He places it in his mouth and lights it before finally breaking his gaze and wandering over to the left wall to grab two chairs, dumping them upright on the ground before kicking them across the room to the centre. He wanders over to the one nearer the door, taking a seat and removing the cigarette from his mouth before blowing a cloud of smoke.

"Sit." Al points at the chair opposite which prompts the counsellor to hurry to his feet and into his seat.

"Welcome to Anger Management..." He glances at his watch and back up at the counsellor . "2300 - near enough.... Room.. 4? I guess." Al smiles before continuing.

"I'll go first today, counsellor." He smiles again. "If that's okay?"

The counsellor nods hastily.

"Good. I feel like we've made progress already!" He continues to smoke his cigarette, taking his time between his speech which starts with a long pause while he gathers his thoughts.

"Sometimes when I get angry, I do silly things..." Al giggles to himself before looking back up at the counsellor with sincerity. "Really silly things." His eyes widen, nodding a couple of times before continuing. "You see, I'm not crazy. Not really." He takes another pull from his cigarette. "I just have no control... You know?"

The counsellor nods, "I understand, Albino." He'd found a little comfort in the situation.

"Personally, I think it's everyone else that's crazy..." He pauses, thinking of Tony for a moment. "Ton'... He was pretty fucking crazy, eh?" Albino laughs for a moment before demanding agreement. "HE WAS PRETTY CRAZY, EH?!"

"Yeah! He was nuts!" The counsellor panics, nodding his head more times than necessary.

"Don't just agree with me, counsellor - do you really think he was crazy..?" Albino's eyes narrow in on the counsellor, watching his body language. "I'll know if you're fuckin' lying to me..." His attitude took a dark turn.

"He was eccentric, Albino! Definitely eccentric." The counsellor said with every bit of conviction he could muster.

Albino tilts his head, looking at the back wall for a second and then to the counsellor again. "Good answer - he was eccentric." Back to calmness.

"How does a guy like that get so far in life?" Albino ponders. "See, I had to become someone I wasn't... Just to fucking survive. You think I like this shit? No, counsellor... I was made for better things. As a kid, all I wanted to be was an artist." He smiles as he reminisces.

"I used to draw my Mum the best pictures ever... I remember this one time - I drew her a clown! A sad clown... The shock on her face..." Albino chuckles. "Clowns are supposed to be happy! She said to me in the beautiful soft voice she was blessed with..." Al sighs, he really missed his Mother. "She didn't get it... She wasn't an artist. The face didn't fit the clown... It was intentional!" He laughs. "I didn't mind... Mum was a good person, she wasn't being nasty... She just didn't get it.. You know?"

The counsellor nods, "Go on, Albino. This is good." The silly bastard had started forgetting the situation he was in.

"Dad hated it." Albino's jaw tightens. "Called it the worst clown he'd ever seen... He said the only thing I got right was that it looked like me... 'A miserable piece of shit' is what he said!" Albino grew immediately angry. "Miserable?! I wasn't miserable!"

"No, Albino. I'm sure you wasn't." The counsellor offers support.

"Are you fuckin' mocking me, counsellor?!" Al looked up at the counsellor, his eyes glowing red in the low light.

"No! I'm sorry, I meant that! Really... I promise." He begged.

Albino let out a long sigh, releasing the anger from his body. "I'm sorry... I know you didn't mean anything by that. You're not fuckin' stupid. You know full well I could strangle you to death with my bare hands. You're a smart man... You wouldn't tempt me." Albino narrows his eyes, still unconvinced.

"I promise." The counsellor repeats. Al lets it go.

"Anyway... He screwed it up. He ruined my picture." Al said softly, as if he were that young kid again. "Mum said he didn't mean it... But he did. She always saw him better than he really was. He was a fucking animal. A pig... Lower than a pig. A true waste of fuckin' consciousness... And he made sure the rest of the world suffered the consequence." Al growls. "I pissed in his grave the same day we buried that cunt. I'd have taken a dump if that bastard groundskeeper hadn't chased me out of that graveyard before I could get my fucking trousers off! That cunt ruined my celebration." Al finishes his cigarette, flicking it across the room and blowing the last of his smoke before staring into the abyss for a few moments.

"Wait here... I need a piss." Al stares at the counsellor for a few moments before continuing. "Don't give the kid here any shit when I'm gone. I'm telling you now, counsellor... You fuck him about and I'll make sure no one stops me shitting in your grave."

Al stands up slowly and exits the room.

"Michael, you have to get me out of here! This guy's fucking NUTS!" Begged the counsellor. "Michael!" He raises his voice. "Please!"

Felson ignores him entirely, continuing his joint peacefully.

"Michael... Please, I really need to get out of here... Why are you doing this?!"

Don Al re-enters the room, closing the door behind him, remaining still with his back facing the counsellor once more. The growing tension caused by the deafening silence becomes too much for the counsellor.

"Albino..?" He speaks nervously. "Is everything okay?"

Al doesn't answer but instead wanders over to the record player, taking a peek at the few vinyls available.

"Do you like music, counsellor?" It was rhetorical. "I do. I spend a lot of time listening to music. I love finding relatable songs, you know? Those songs that just really speak to you... Meaningful songs." He picks up one of the vinyls and blows the dust off of it. "Oh, what a classic!" He grins. "Oh, if you haven't heard this, counsellor... My my, you're in for a treat!" He proceeds to prepare the record player, dropping the disc into place, before gently bringing the arm over and placing it in position. The crisp crackle runs through Albino who closes his eyes and smiles as the playback begins.

"Don't you just love that sound? Beautiful... This new radio shit will never beat a proper bit of vinyl..." Al sighs happily as the soft introduction begins.

Al reaches into his pocket and draws out another cigarette before lighting it. He takes a pull and nods his head to the song as he releases the cloud of smoke from his chest. Pausing for a moment as the lyrics begin, he taps Felson on the arm to prompt his movement before opening the toolbox.

"Well that's fucking lucky... He keeps tape in here!" Al pulls out a roll of thick tape and makes his way towards the counsellor.

"No... What are you doing?! I thought we were talking!" He begs.

"The time for talking..." He pulls the tape open, wrapping it around the counsellor's face multiple times before working his way down his body to ensure he's firmly fixed against the chair. "Is over." He leans down to wrap tape around the counsellor's legs, binding him to the chair legs before biting the tape, snapping it and launching the remainder of the roll across the room. He extends his right arm, grabbing the back of the chair and rocking it. "Yeah... You're not going anywhere."

Albino moseys back over to the toolbox, nodding his head to the beat as he rattles through the tools.

"You know... These walls aren't too thick... Certainly not as thick as you, you silly bastard." Al pauses, he found his tool. "You silly... silly... bastard." He lifts a claw hammer from inside the box and turns to face the counsellor.

"You see... I thought you said you wanted to help me. In fact... I was convinced you wanted to help me. You tricked me. You lied to me." Albino stares at the counsellor who was now shaking around in his cocoon frantically. "And I fucking hate liars."

Albino wanders over in front of the counsellor as if he had no care in the world.

"Would you like to know what I did to the last person who lied to me...?" Al pauses. "Sorry, you can't talk... Of course you'd like to know." 

He takes a pull from his cigarette, squatting down to be closer to eye-level with the counsellor. "I cut his tongue out." Al chuckles. "He'll never lie to me again." Al smiles.

"Relax - you can keep your tongue. I don't trust you to shut up for long enough for me to remove it!" Al straightens his beard, still watching the counsellor as he squeals behind the tape. "No, you... You deserve something else. Better, if you ask me!"

Al looks down at the man's feet, grinning to himself with excitement. He kneels, resting on one of his knees and begins removing the counsellor's shoes who attempts to kick back - the realisation overcomes him when he cannot move his legs at all.

"You finished? Stop fuckin' around!" Al digs the clawed end of the hammer into the man's leg. "Do you really want to make this worse?"

The counsellor stops fighting and begins sobbing.

"Thank you." Al grabs hold of his shoes one at a time, viciously pulling them off and throwing them across the room. He then proceeds to remove the man's socks, revealing his feet. "Oh, I fucking hate feet..." Al growls. "But this is all for a greater cause."

Al rises to his feet and goes back to sitting in his chair, continuing his half-smoked cigarette as he speaks.

"You see, counsellor... You only think you're clever." Al smiles. "I mean, you're not entirely thick... Just a bit fucking slow. But I'll tell you something about you..." Blowing a cloud of smoke. "You're quick on your feet..." Al chuckles. "No.... You WERE quick on your feet." His look turns sincere. 

"Your convincing smile and soft voice won't save you here, though. You can't talk me out of this. You can't calm me down. You cannot fix this. The same way you couldn't fix me. You didn't even want to!" Al's brow turns sharp. "Did you even want to fix me?"

The counsellor nods his head furiously.

"I don't believe you, counsellor. I think you're a fuckin' liar. You tried convincing this man here to let you go, didn't you?"

The counsellor shakes his head.

"LYING. Again!" Al raises his voice. "You TRIED convincing Felson to RELEASE you! DIDN'T YOU?!" Al grows impatient.

The counsellor sobs harder, submitting to the reality of the situation. He was fucked.

"You can't even fuckin' admit it! You little pussy... You fuckin' spineless piece of shit!" Al throws the last of his cigarette across the room before jumping to his feet.

"I gave you so many fuckin' chances, cunt..." Albino steps forward, grabbing hold of his captive's leg with his left hand and raising the hammer with his right.

"All you had to do..." He swings the hammer down full-force against the exposed big toe causing blood to spray in all directions. Al's beard now had a red splatter across it. The counsellor cries in pain, the tape muffling his begging. "Was FIX me."

Al lifts the hammer a second time, smashing it against the second toe in line but catching the next two - more blood explosion.

"You should've tried harder, counsellor... You would still have your fuckin' toes if you fuckin' tried harder, you silly cunt!"

He lifts the hammer once more, tapping it gently against the man's kneecap. "Stop fucking squirming or I'll do your kneecap, cunt - don't fuckin' test me!"

A sudden third blow to the remaining two toes finishes the job of the first foot. Al rises back to his feet, taking a step back and looking down at his handiwork.

"See? I should've been a fuckin' artist..." He quips before reclaiming his seat.

Al sits silently for a moment, watching the counsellor continue to whimper and sob in pain before resting the hammer in his lap and pulling out yet another cigarette.

"Man... That foots pretty fucked up. I wonder if you can die from injuries like that?"

Don Al lights his cigarette and looks over at Felson whose eyes are fixated on the mangled foot.

"You fancy a go, son?"

Felson was seated on the desk and had one leg up so he could rest his wrist and joint against it. He took another puff and rested his arm back on his knee. On the exhale he spat out small bits of marijuana. His left eye twitched.. That foot, looked fucked. His head hadn't moved and wasn't moving. He was sitting completely still and staring right at Jones' foot like he were watching a Tarantino flick.

"Felson?"

Albino's voice was feint and barely heard. Michael's left eye twitched again.

Felson could hear helicopter propellers whirling and chopping the air overhead. His vision was narrowing. The chopper was getting louder. His vision was becoming more and more black.. until he slipped.. into his mind's... eye..
 
"FELSON! GET YO ASS UUUUUP!" Ruddar roared.

"Mickie!" Tommy's voice was nearer.

Felson felt a jolt to his consciousness. Tommy slapped him again, "Quick, get up before that Barker tears you a new one!" 

"UP UP UUUUUUP!" Ruddar pushed Tommy aside then snatched Felson by the collar.

"GET THE FUCK UP YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

This time Ruddar slapped him and with a little more spice. Felson's consciousness snapped back into his body, his eyes flicked open and he desperately gasped for air.

"BREATHE!"

Felson tried to suck in more oxygen, his eyes were wide open, looking like they were trying to breathe too. He gripped and struggled to twist Ruddar's sleeve as he squirmed on the ground. Their position had been hit with 155mm artillery from German's on the cliffs above and they were scrambling to recover.

"That's it. Just breath."

Tommy checked Felson over, patting him on his chest and gut, "No holes! Someone loves you up there!"

Felson was lucky. Ruddar pulled him up and sat him against the cliff face. He was awake again and his senses were returning. 

To his left Ruddar let out a whistle and waved his hand in the air beckoning an audience. Military command from the three Ranger regiments fell on his position with the rest of the 2nd Ranger Battalion hugging cover at the bottom of the cliff, awaiting orders.

All the while, Felson was catching his breath and watching the carnage unfold around him. One guy bolted towards the cover of a ditch. Felson watched as one, two, then three bullets cut him down. He flinched at a mortar exploding to his right, sending sand, mud and a Ranger into the air shouting.

Felson closed his eyes and reached for his necklace. He could hear explosions every few seconds and constant gunfire tearing up the beach, his hands and lips were shaking as he whispered a prayer..

"Be present, O Lord, to our prayers, that in all the successive changes of time we may ever be strengthened by thine unchangeableness. Dispel for this hour, O Lord, the manifold distractions of the world; that we may be able with quiet minds to receive the promptings of thy still small voi.."

"HEEEEEELP!" 

Hearing the voice his eyes snapped open. There was a soldier crawling towards him, reaching out. His eyes were burnt shut.

"PLEASE! HELP ME!"

Felson's heart was still racing. Another explosion jolted his attention to his left. Then the guy called out again,"PLEASE! IS ANYONE THERE?!"

Felson could now see the infantryman was missing both legs.

Felson started punching himself in the face, "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! FUCK! FUCK!"

He took a few sharp breaths, tucked the chain away and pushed himself up and onto his knees. He took a quick glance above at the clifftops, then at the blind soldier..and booked it..

Bullets hit the sand behind him as he pumped his arms and legs as hard and as fast as he could, then leaped into the air. He rolled forward, grabbed the infantryman by the uniform and began dragging him back towards the safety of the bottom of the cliff.

As soon as Tommy noticed what Felson was up to he sprang into action too, picked himself up and bolted towards him. The pair quickly dragged the wounded soldier into a safe spot and Tommy immediately got to work tieing off the blood gushing from his half missing thighs.

"It's gonna be alright, buddy!"

Tommy tore a cap off a white syrette with his teeth and jammed the needle into the wounded soldier's arm.

"P-P-Peter .."

"What's that buddy?"

"M-My N-Name .."

The soldier was dozing off. He'd lost a lot of blood.

"It's .."

He didn't finish. He slumped forward into Tommy's arms, who took a moment, then pulled off his dog tags and checked the soldier's pocket for a letter.

Felson, all the while, watched. He watched the man struggle to see, to move, to live. He watched him struggle to tell his saviour, his name. He didn't want to live. He just wanted the pain to go away. And he watched the makings of a depressing letter back home.

Tommy slid the items into his jacket pocket, buttoned it closed and turned to Felson, "You good, Sunshine? We're moving as soon as the Navy get their fuckin' fingers out!"

Tommy reached out to Felson, "Do not go gentle!"

Felson nodded and grabbed his wrist, "Into that good night!"

+++

"FELSON!"

Michael's left eye twitched, then he shook his head and looked around the room. He glanced down at the joint in his hand. It had extinguished itself. He flicked it off to the side. Shit, the councillor.

"I said, you fancy a go, son?" Albino repeated.

Felson hopped off the desk and walked towards the councillor. He took another, closer look at his foot. Mangled.

"With that thing? I'm more of a death by a thousand cuts kind of guy.."

Felson bent down and tugged a wallet out of the councillor's back pocket. He flipped it open and started pulling out some cards.

"Counselor Jones, Trauma Therapy." Felson flicked the anger management business card off to the side.

"Oh, also, Councillor Jones, Philadelphia City Council." He paused, then flicked that card away too.

"Here.."

Felson closed the wallet.

"Mr. Rupert S. Jones. 124 Elfreth's Alley."

Felson pocketed the driver's licence then flicked the wallet onto the floor with the rest of the piling mess.

"The guy said he has a bit of money to give."

Felson stepped to the toolbox and rummaged around for something sharp. He removed a chisel and approached the councillor. During Felson's PTSD flashback the councillor had become unconscious due to the pain.

"Maybe we wrap him in a carpet, take him somewhere else... 124 Elfreth's Alley?"

Felson looked to see if the councillor was still out. He was.

"Either way he's done, right?"

Felson didn't want to off the guy but if Albino wanted it done, he knew what had to happen. He didn't like people dying that didn't need to, but that also included himself, if he didn't follow orders.

"We get the cash, dump him clean, avoid prison."

Pressing his point further, Felson waved the chisel in the air, "I can do the carpet."

He walked over to the record player, lifted the needle and replaced the vinyl with another that was laying there. Mannish Boy by Muddy Waters started playing.

"Or you want to pop him here and forget the cash?"

Felson was trying to lessen the guy's suffering, somewhat, with the options he was offering Albino. He'd been in his shoes, sitting in that chair. He'd do the old stoic exit before going there again. There was always the chance Albino would still torture him more if they hunted for the money, but that hurdle didn't exist yet.

"What you thinkin', Al?"