attention was taken by a group of men who were making their way through Cook’s Alley, obnoxiously loud and clearly unwelcome. They jeered and crowed, barging past anyone in their way and, at times, obstructing the path of others just to barge them to the ground. A good number had been drinking, judging by occasional stagger that a simple stride brought about.
‘Oh, that’s just plenty shiny that is,’ Alvina whined, staring deep into her drink.
‘Who’s the rabble?’ Cole quietly muttered.
‘The Sanders Boys. Just one of our many competitors,’ the woman stated.
‘No they’re not.’ Cole peered over his shoulder, eventually shaking his head. ‘Jack and I sold them for a score yesterday.’
‘Some of them no doubt, but not all. The Sanders Boys are one grand, ugly family that’s a straight-up annoyance. That mother of theirs spat them out like rabbits, one after the other like she was a factory of sorts. There was twelve at last count, not including cousins. I suppose with a litter of such size, criminality was all they could look forward to.’ Alvina steadied herself with a staggered exhalation.
‘Is this going to be an issue?’ Cole asked, keeping his voice low.
‘Not if we’re not noticed.’
Alvina hunched herself over her glass with the hope that the pair would remain incognito, only for the disastrous to happen. One of the Sanders Boys came over and leant between them, calling to Marquis.
‘Hey, old-timer. Three fingers of mash, four ales and whatever this pretty thing will drink when she leaves the bore beside her.’
His arm had dropped across Alvina’s shoulders, making her neck hair stand on end. It only took one glance to the woman beside him for his face to fall, for him to release his grip and step back.
Alvina said nothing, letting her stare convey her annoyance, while she finished the last of her soup. She’d hoped the man wouldn’t recognize her, would just see her as another woman annoyed at his chauvinistic advances when she was simply trying to eat.
‘Oh hell. What sort of a coincidence is this?’ the man cheered, waving for the attention of the others. ‘Fellas, come look-see, you won’t believe what I have stumbled upon.’
Luck seemed to be intent to shit upon her from up on high.
From behind, the collection of men, of varying ages and sizes, sauntered over. One showed great irritation at his prolonged sobriety.
‘All this commotion isn’t bringing me my drink any faster, Joey. What are you bleating about?’
‘I recognize this piece right here. This very piece. I’ve seen a bitch like her shake down folks in the street. Exactly like her in fact.’
‘Guys, there’s no need for that,’ Cole protested with his palms open, but he was firmly brushed from his stool with a wave of a muscular arm.
‘Oh yeah, I know who you are, girlie.’ Joey Sanders wagged his finger in her face. Alvina remained stone-faced. ‘I know exactly who you are. You’re a down and dirty Jackrabbit. What in the hell makes you think you’re validated in drinking in this establishment with the stunts you pull?’
Alvina tossed the last of her liquor from cheek to cheek before swallowing the burning away. Finally, and with not an unjust threat, she spoke.
‘You have a big mouth,’ she said. ‘In fact, you all have big mouths. Big mouths with big words, with a tendency to lead you into big trouble.’
Now provoked, the five behind Joey stepped closer.
‘I’ve got half a mind to drag you down the street by your hair and give you a going over,’ Joey stated.
‘At least you’re right about the half a mind part,’ she quipped.
‘No trouble!’ Marquis insisted, repeating himself louder in vague threat. ‘No trouble here! You do that, you do it elsewhere, you do it elsewhere away from here!’
Suddenly Marquis jabbed the air at Alvina and Cole. ‘You two are supposed to be protection! Protect!’
Alvina beckoned the man on the floor to rise with a wag of her fingers. ‘He’s got a point, Little Fish. Feet. Up on your feet with you.’
‘We’re protection?’ Cole asked, taking to his boots though quite unsure about what to do next.
‘For a portion of the nice stallholders’ profits. The ones who pay us of course.’
‘You’re protection?’ Joey repeated in surprise, louder. A couple of the men behind him sniggered loudly.
‘From the ugly – such as you – sure. Why not?’ Alvina shrugged.
Joey was the first to take a swing. He was fast, faster than someone should be with his bulk. He had obviously learnt how to throw a punch, to use his size as an asset. Sadly it would be for naught in this instance. Alvina slipped down on her stool, letting the fist arc overhead. During its course of travel she reached to her belt, withdrew a switchblade and shanked the aggressor in the thigh. It was a motion that she assumed would take the fight from him, though his roar of anger at his wound indicated it had done no such thing.
The second swing was faster, just as sizable, but it too missed its target. Alvina was already on her feet, had ducked beneath the punch and struck him with one of her own on his jaw. It was a decent punch though on a hardened chin caused nothing but surprise.
Before either party could react further, glass exploded between the pair of them. Cole stood frozen, still clenching the neck of a now shattered rum bottle that he had burst against the thug’s temple. It was enough to knock him out, and he landed in the dirt among the thick shrapnel of smoky bottle shards.
‘Thanks,’ Alvina said, though her attention turned to the others. As Cole tossed his defunct tool away, the Marquis abandoned his stall, as did others who had hoped for a quiet meal.
As the Sanders Boys advanced, Cole struggled to see any way out. He had already had one beating this week and was keen to ensure that it wouldn’t be repeated. His fists were raised in defence, trying to recall some of the boxing tips that his father had imparted.
‘Isn’t it a good time to show some iron to these folks?’
‘You don’t pull a gun out in a bar fight. It’s just not how an altercation is done,’ Alvina explained, waiting for the first unlucky fool to take their chance. One did so and was hip-tossed into a barstool, shattering it into pieces. She followed it up with a kick across the jaw, rendering him motionless.
A glint of steel flashed between them. The knife flashed, light sinking down the blade to its hilt. Its owner advanced aggressively and waved it back and forth.
‘And that?’ Cole asked, trying not to panic.
‘Well, that’s just unsporting.’
He watched Alvina flow through the air like liquid, darting and dodging every thrust, moves practised so much that they were committed to muscle memory. The knife pierced nothing but air and when a sufficient opening
