Nearly scalding shower water did nothing to calm Enora from shivering as she soaped her running mascara from her eyes. I can’t keep doing this. We can’t. Silas will find out. He’ll kill us both. She felt a gasp catch in her throat and tears break loose from her eyes. Enora pressed herself to the tile. How did a drunken fling turn into all this shit, all this poison in me? She wiped her eyes, rinsed, and stepped from the shower, as it turned off.

Enora wrapped herself in a towel and leaned against the sink. She ran her fingers along her collarbones, which she could see more of now. The circles under her eyes were puffy and violet. I’m fine. I’m fine. I just need to come down and I’ll be fine.

She opened the drawer and produced her little leather medicine bag. Opening it, she moved a hidden flap back and untucked a little Zip vial. I just need to wake up, she reassured herself and pressed the nearly invisible syringe to her neck. White hot needles climbed inside of her and radiated across her nerves like lighting. She coughed as her heart kicked to life and her blood warmed instantaneously. Enora exhaled, exasperated, and felt a smile creep across her thin lips. Her joints clicked and popped as she stretched her relaxing muscles. She blurred through drying her hair and swiping on her make up, invigorated and focused.

Enora trotted to the closet and slid on her underwear while she waved through her closet. She settled on a convertible dress and relaxed the sleeves’ hue until they were nearly translucent. As she sat down to slip on her shoes, a knock tapped at the door.

“You have a visitor, Ms. C-Carrow,” the answering service alerted her. She looked over from the bedside to the view screen. Michael. Glancing at her phone on the nightstand, Enora saw it was 10:30. Punctual as always.

“Unlock,“ she said to the door, darting around for her clutch. “It’s open, Michael,” she said, dropping to her knees to peer under the bed. She saw her purse down between the frame and her nightstand, and stood back up.

Michael stood in the entryway, motionless. “Silas sent me to pick you up, Miss Enora.”

Enora scoffed at him, making her way around the bed to grab her purse. As she checked its contents, she remarked, “You don’t have to call me that, Michael. Simply Enora will do.” She closed the clutch and took a slim navy peacoat from the rack as they walked out of the apartment. Michael let the door close gently behind him.

“I-I know, Miss, I mean, Enora. But you call me by my Christian name, so I figured you was being proper and what not,” he hung his head and stopped in the hall.

She realized something was amiss. “Have I upset you somehow, Michael?”

He stammered, “N-no. It’s just…” he looked up at her, almost child-like, “No one calls me by my name ‘cept my ma. Well, she was the only one who ever did.”

“You want me to call you by your other name, then? Silas’ name for you?” she queried, laying her hand at his shoulder. His large eyes quivered, and he shook his head.

She sighed and returned to walking. “Come on then, Bones. We don’t want to keep the boss waiting.”

“Yes ma’am,” Bones chirped, picking up his pace behind her.

Enora felt her heart surge with hot spikes and tingle with little kisses of warmth as they made their way through the lobby. Felix opened the hatch on the automacar when they arrived out in the street. Once she, Felix, and Bones were inside the vehicle, Bones commanded the address to Sila’s bar into the driver’s destination. The car merged with traffic and was off. Both men sat hunched over themselves, quiet and stoic.

Enora stretched her fingers and popped her knuckles.

“So, boys. How is the boss this morning?” she asked.

Both of them silently stared at her, then at each other.

She sat up, heart racing. “Gentleman. Is my husband upset?”

Bones sat up and held out his hands. “The boss is pissed. Uptown vigs and backrooms are getting more expensive, and no one consulted him. That’s all I can say.”

Roland? What’s he doing making plays? Enora wondered.

“Thank you, Bones,” she said, cutting her eyes at Felix. “I only wanted to know what sort of mood I’d be walking into this morning.” A bad one, apparently. If the Uptown is putting things in a squeeze, Silas’ books will feel the pressure. I have to figure out what’s going on.

Enora pulled her phone from her clutch and dialed her husband’s private line. After a moment, it connected.

“Hello, my love,” Silas’ gruff Irish voice said from the other end, “Did Tweedledee and Tweedledumbshit pick you up?”

“Yes, love. I’m on my way now,” She paused. “I was thinking I should stop by Roland’s restaurant first, though. Have a word with him,” she sighed, “on your behalf, of course.”

Silas went silent for a moment before he spoke curtly. “I could give a goddamn about words with that enterprising little shit. I want that limey cunt’s head on my fucking desk, is what I want.”

Enora massaged her temple and pressed him. “You understand as well as I that violence is only going to incite combat over turf and bring police attention our way. Neither thing is one that anyone wants.”

“Yeah, you’re right as usual, love,” Silas begrudgingly agreed, then added, “But we can’t let this go unchecked. As long as Felix and Bones accompany you, maybe you can talk some sense into him.”

“You always have been more persuasive than I,” he said, wryly.

I can hear his shit-eating grin.

“Thank you, darling. We’ll sort this out. Together. Good bye for now, love,” she said, smiling.

“Yes, love. Laters,” he replied, disconnecting.

Enora slipped the phone in her jacket and ordered Bones to change their destination.

“Where to, missus?” he asked.

“We’re taking a detour,” she remarked, leaning on her palm. “It’s been a while since I’ve spoken with our friend Roland.”