Well now, that certainly added layers to the whole thing, didn't it? Made sense in a lot of ways. I pondered the brother/sister connection while Malcolm spoke again.
"I don't like drugs, boyo," he said. "Don't like them in my establishment or near me in any way." He nodded to me. "Promised your dad years ago, Fee. A bit of sideline distilling, some gambling. No leg breaking or anything like that. Just some friendly business. But drugs." He turned back to Pitch. "You find a new line of employ, you hear? Or a fresh place to do your dirty work."
Pitch sagged and exhaled like he'd been expecting worse. "You're not going to kill me?" The last two words squeaked while my heart thudded at the implications.
Malcolm laughed. Threw his head back, fists on hips and guffawed. Before silencing his humor with an abruptness that made my skin tingle with goosebumps in the sudden silence, broken by the distant cheer of the soccer match TV crowd.
"Not in front of the lady," he said. "Now scoot."