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Tommy Gets a Banger

Tommy got a banger, kid.

Eight filly minions, man-size and two full lines of pork, please.

The squinty-eyed butcher cut the steaks, and went next door for the pork.  He had a special look for Tommy, open faced, complimentary but still, hedged and less than wholehearted and if you looked closely, you could see bitterness.  The rest just got the sneer and the curled down, narrow lips, the Faganesque glare.

They looked at each other, mumbling Saturday morning friends-ish but still, strangers in a queue.

Filet mignon, loin of pork? All in the papers, twenty millions, twenty bloody millions in a sea of billions. But he’s caught! Dodgy small-town thick-as-shit solicitor.

Friends and clients, a small party, Sean said he’d do the beef and the pork.

Yeah Tommy, the squint narrowed, that’s seventy euro please.

There was always a crowd there up to mid-day, the great, the good, the brutal and licentious all got their meat here. The big fat smiling happy butcher statue outside welcomed everyone.  All meats, all cuts, economy offal and high-end sirloin, loin, knuckle, packet and tripe.

Clients Tommy, after the match I suppose?

Yes, the match, framing the day – say a prayer for Paulie’s knee though.
HAH.

Yes Mrs Quinn, a pound of mince and four pork chops.

Mike, lamb steak and kidneys, the usual? I think he has it away – I’ll just check.

Mike’s kid poked him, Done?  Are we done now?

Seven and a half euro and nine to you, Mrs Quinn.

They shuffled along, rashers and sausages, a roast beef for five – yes please, cut it there – two pounds of round steak Mrs Murphy, is it?

Tommy reached out and picked up his order.  It might have been the stretch and the weight, it might have been that but he stopped, stopped guffawing and held himself still, as if in a suspended animation. His jowls stopped blubbering, eyes narrowed and he made as if to burp.
The queue watched the paling face and the bluing lips.
He clasped his hand to his chest, exhaling loudly.
The crowd backed away, watched him fumble for support and tumble heavily to the floor, white face grimacing and contorted in agony. They watched his navy lips and backed further away. A dark patch appeared around his groin, a trickling puddle of piss.
Mike waited long enough and then leant down, loosened his belt and un-buttoned his collar. Mrs Quinn told him firmly to stand back, taking charge as she had learnt in the manual.
She put her hand behind his head, drew out a stiletto knife and stabbed Tommy repeatedly in the fontanelle. The blood spilled, spurted and evaporated in an instant, the jagged head gashes tucked in and disappeared.

What happened Dad?

Tommy got a banger, son.

Why dad?

God’s way son.

But Mrs Quinn Dad?

An angel from above.  Tommy got a banger kid.

9 replies on “Tommy Gets a Banger”

It’s about anger – there are other angry pages hereabouts – I am incandescent now – and need talking down…often- sometimes can’t handle the ever evolving corruption – stab them – kill them now – that type of vibe… capiche ?

@ cat – no, it’s not just you.

Mrs Quinn is an avenging angel.

When Tommy gets the heart attack, someone might have saved him but no one even went to help, cause they knew him as a robbing bastard who shoulda stuck with the legal conveyancing ( his area of expertise) but instead got greedy and speculated on land and building shit.

He defaulted on his Anglo Irish Loans of $20 million and really didn’t t give a fuck and maintained his lifestyle.

Mike makes a half-hearted attempt to save him but Mrs Quinn stops him.

She stabs Tommy in the head ultimately killing him and wreaking revenge for his hedonism and the theft of a nation’s purse.

The blood and brains disappear cause she has holy super powers .

Tommy is a metaphorical greedy cunt .

No one is doing anything about these fuckers, so I’m letting Mrs Quinn have a go.

Thanks monsieur Un -somewhere over the rainbow

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