Pollution lifted the flannel rested beside him. As the warm, moist towelling clung to his rough hands, it struck up more childhood memories - happier memories. Happier times. He chuckled to himself a little - a chuckle in his current mood? Right.. it surprised him, too. He'd often remember how caring and loving his Mother always was to him as a child. His Dad too, in fact. Not always in the same affectionate manner but his Dad always offered his support in other ways. He offered Pollution courage and strength. Not forgetting confidence... God, he gave him far too much confidence. However, he couldn't help but feel he was letting his late Father down just recently. All these tough traits he'd passed on to his boy and look where things had ended up for him. If Pollution was one to believe in an afterlife, I'm sure he'd feel some sense of shame or feelings of failure. Being that he knew his Dad couldn't really see, he shrugged it off but secretly the thought remained implanted in the back of his brain's 'memory box'.

He'd kept the smile from his memories and ignored the less happy thoughts - how he dealt with most anything that troubled him, really. Gently pressing the refreshing feeling of the warm material against his face, he took a moment before running it down his face slowly. As the room was re-introduced to his vision, he noticed Mrs. Bobbie stood over him holding a tray - how did he not hear her coming? For an older woman, she certainly had some ninja movements. She lent over, gesturing the offering of the tray's contents, 

"Go on, love.. That one there. Coffee.. Three sugars still?"

Pollution looked at the woman, a little puzzled. It had been years.. too many years for Pollution to even remember how many. Yet, this ageing woman remembered the number of sugars his coffee had? He barely recognised her face. He certainly couldn't brush off the guilty feeling for this one.

"Yeah.. That's err," he stuttered, entirely unable to accept the ability of the woman's memory, but so impressed, he released a slight chuckle.

"That's perfect. Thank you." He shook his head, casting the thought from his brain.

Lifting the posh china to his face, Pollution's chest grew warm in contentment as the liquid replaced the empty feeling within him. One mouthful wasn't enough. He gulped the second, quickly removing the cup from his face so's not to lack manners entirely. His eyes shot to meet their lids, looking up to check if he'd disturbed Mrs. Bobbie in all his noisy consumption. Maybe she was too polite to react - or perhaps a little deaf even, but he'd got away with it.

The china clattered with the woman's touch as she took it from the tray she'd rested on the dark oak coffee table in front of them. As posh and well-kept as her china set was, the cups never seemed to slot into the saucers just right, they always rattled a little. Her slight shakes didn't help, but that was to be expected. This was not only an elderly woman, but a woman who'd seen a traumatic life - far more traumatic than most would ever understand.

As is obvious from Pollution's confusion, Mrs. Bobbie's daughter got her beauty from her Mother. But she got her name from her Father - Harley. ... Harley? What sort of Father names his daughter Harley?! Yeah.. Harley agreed with you. Whenever she was asked that very question, her response would always be, "A bad one." Harley didn't have quite the upbringing Pollution was so lucky to receive. Of course, it's more than obvious she had a very caring, doting Mother. She always remembered how much her Father preferred to be away on business though. She never knew as a child just what sort of business he was out attending and only ever assumed the worst. By age 13, she accepted her Father wasn't on business and was in fact with a second family. Heh... He kind of was, but not how she thought. Something Harley came to learn later in life.

"How's that coffee, dear? Sweet enough for you?" She couldn't switch off the worry. Did she care more for people now she'd truly learned the value of life? Maybe she just appreciated Pollution's company - it was one of few remaining links to her daughter, after all. He didn't care for her reasons, her intentions were kind and gentle and that was all that mattered to him.

"Yes, Mrs. Bobbie. It's perfect... All so perfect. Thank you so much."

24 hours ago, Pollution could be seen down a dark alleyway bouncing someone's head up a solid wall for being too loud when approached. Now, he'd remembered all his perfect 'Ps & Qs' - did he even know who he was, at this point? He wasn't a bad guy at heart. Just a man from a dark walk of life. A world Mrs. Bobbie would very much not appreciate hearing of, so he thought it best the sweet woman be left with the better memories of him, rather than mentioning it when asked.

"So, what are you doing with yourself these days, Polly?"

The question had completely flown past his head, all he heard was the old nickname he had as a child. So he was known as Polly and his best friend.. she was called Harley? To be fair, most things about the couple were backwards, it was only fair the names followed suit. He'd quickly ensured he lost the childhood nickname as he grew further into the dark world of criminals but of course, Mrs Bobbie didn't know him like that. He let it slide and forced an answer,

"Err.. I'm in Construction." He nodded slightly... Construction? That's a lie he'd not had to tell for a while. He'd been part of Vegas' top boys for so long, most people knew his face by now - and they certainly all knew not to ask what he did.

"Yeah, it's a bit rough on my hands and the size of some of the bo-..." he paused, "bricks we have to carry is unreal." Pollution nodded - had he escaped it?

Mrs. Bobbie looked over to him, her wrinkled smile growing as she listened. Either this old woman was a little too into her late husband's lifestyle or she really had a hearing problem.

"How about you, though? How are you keeping, these days?" 

Pollution's voice was noticeably different to his usual tone. He'd found himself speaking softer - but louder, too. Clearer. He knew the woman was no fool and she was certainly doing great for her age but he'd been raised with respect and that always ever-so-naturally outweighed the 35-year-old personality he'd grown. He didn't mind. He owed this woman a lot - not just for dragging him off the street tonight, but for all she did for him as a child. They grew even closer with the sudden death of her daughter but he eventually took a bad turn down a one-way road and so the connection faded to absence. 

He still had nightmares about Harley as real as the day it happened. He had good dreams too but the nightmares were always more memorable. It was a hot summer's day. 96 Fahrenheit, in fact, Pollution remembered joking about struggling to handle the humidity. The day was nearing an end and as they left the funfair, walking arm-in-arm destined for home, like they so often did, things took a tragic turn. While Pollution still struggled with vivid dreams over a decade on, he wasn't sure how much he actually remembered and how much was just self-torture. One thing was for certain - he still remembered the ear-piercing screams of desperation as he watched her body bounce against the shop window and slump to the ground. 

A month previous to the incident, Pollution had found some information out about Harley's Father. He'd started making a few connection in the local crime families and soon picked up a trace of their family name. It appeared Harley's Father wasn't useless after all - just a useless Father. He'd found himself too in love with the Mafia life to find time for children - least of all a daughter, whom he'd always assumed would go on to become a secretary or perhaps a cook. He didn't see past her gender. He didn't see her potential - as much as he did try, there was just no way of making a Don out of her - or so he thought. Truth is, Pollution knew Harley better than anyone - better than her own Mother, even. He was sure she'd have made an exceptional Don but he knew he'd never come to know now, so it was not a train of thought worth riding. In some sick twist of irony, Pollution actually came to learn of her Father's mafia connection on the day of his Donning. 

A month had passed since the Donning and a lot had happened. Harley was now aware of her Father's position and had even started impressing a local crime family - oddly, a rival of her Father's. Her view? He didn't deem her worthy of even knowing and so she didn't need his help, she'd prove it alone, or so she'd intended. But how does this tie in with her untimely death? Pollution soon came to realise he'd poked his nose in a bit far and being just a no-name associate (to most), he'd made himself some rather unhappy enemies. Don Bobbie had sent some men to sort young Pollution out. Nothing too serious - just a beating, maybe a scar as a permanent reminder. He didn't want to hurt the kid too much - just help him remember to mind his business. However, the guys hired for the job had different ideas. It seems Pollution had stirred a lot more pots of shit than he intended and the hired heavies thought he deserved a bigger lesson, he deserved something a bit more permanent. A bullet, to be precise. 

As the screeching of tires tore through his ears and the car grew nearer with speed, he didn't have time to work out why they were targets, but it was obvious what was coming. He'd pushed Harley to the ground and attempted to instinctively dive on top of her in a struggle for protection. He failed. He failed to protect her. He later came to realise that not only did he fail to protect her but he was also the reason the gunman were there. Naturally, he felt responsible and that's where his problems really started. The recent drinking... The gambling... The tracks he'd found himself de-railing recently were just stress-relievers really. His real issues happened over a decade ago and there was not a thing he could do about it. Being in the presence of Mrs. Bobbie so many years on sparked up a lot of memories and while he naturally assumed this would cause him more harm than hindrance, he was quite relieved to re-live some of the memories in such a welcoming atmosphere. He brought his attention back around to Mrs. Bobbie as she responded,

"I take it day-by-day. You understand, I'm sure."

Pollution nodded, his heart sinking for the woman who'd lived almost an entire life with the loss of her only child.

"You've done very well for yourself, Mrs. Bobbie. You have a lovely place here and you're still the amazing woman I once knew. Most would be destined for a life of tragedy after that day."

Mrs. Bobbie smiled. It wasn't often she'd heard kind words either - or any words at all, really. No daughter. No husband. No real family left at all, to speak of. Pollution could see just how much the simple words meant to her - he even empathised. This woman had just entirely changed his perception and inner-emotion with just the offering of a cup of coffee. it was more than that, really. It was the warmth - the connection of Harley they shared. Perhaps he should've had one of Mrs. Bobbie's coffees 10-years earlier. 

He felt a knot forming in his stomach, but it wasn't a bad feeling. It was enlightening. It crept up his stomach and forced a subtle relieving sigh to escape him. 

"I'm sorry we haven't kept in better touch. I got so wrapped up in life that I forgot what I left behind." Pollution's guilt had got on top of him and while her company had helped him so much, he wanted to ensure he'd done some good, too and not just stirred hard memories before leaving.

The elderly lady nodded, "Well, you know where I am now, dear. You just make sure you come visit me from time to time, Polly! It's good to see you're feeling better. Perhaps next time, I won't find you in such a state!"

Pollution smiled, nodding. His entire day had taken a huge turn and it was all down to one sweet lady forcing memories he'd always been so terrified of facing. The couple spent the next hour exchanging memories and offering comfort. It was a reunion they'd both needed so much - far more than they'd ever realised or probably admit. Pollution wasn't one to believe in happy endings usually, but with something that caused so much pain and hurt for over a decade, a worse ending was impossible. It was undoubtedly a happier ending than it once was and that would do for them.

On Pollution's way out of the door, he embraced the woman. He held her for a little longer than he usually would have. Mrs. Bobbie and he had rekindled and even improved a relationship no others would ever understand - much like he once had with her daughter. A friendship that would undoubtedly last for the rest of their lifetimes.