Decision Made
Doyle lay stretched out on the sofa, his head resting on a cushion, alternating between holding a pack of frozen peas to his sore nose and taking drags on his cigarette.
They had been Darin McNamara's men. Somehow - and he didn't know how - one of his debts had been sold on and he was back in the red with McNamara. It didn't seem to matter what he did - one way or another - that was always where he seemed to end up. He'd never borrowed money from McNamara directly and yet … like magic, he always seemed to be in the club owner's debt. He wondered if maybe McNamara did it on purpose, purposefully sought out Doyle's debts - maybe he just particularly enjoyed messing with Doyle.
But the Irishman would need to be careful. Every time he ended up in McNamara's debt, he seemed to end up doing serious crime to try and pay his way out. He didn't want to do that again, didn't want to take those risks - didn't want to live that way.
He managed to survive the beating, only getting a few bruises and cuts and ending up with nothing broken, by handing the money he had just borrowed from Kizzie over to the two heavies. It didn't cover the full debt, but it did get them to back off for now. But they would be back for the rest - and he didn't have it. And now he owed McNamara and Kizzie and he didn't have the money to bet on the ponies tomorrow so had no chance of getting the money.
He'd have to borrow from somewhere else. This was getting ridiculous. He couldn't keep living like this.
Groaning, he lowered his cigarette and raised the frozen peas to his stinging nose. He closed his eyes - and the image of himself, lying on the sofa, battered and bruised, peas clutched to his nose, sprang fully formed in his mind. He could see himself perfectly. He looked pathetic. He looked like the even more useless rodent Whistler had told him he would become. If he didn't change - then this was all he would ever be, and he would just keep on sinking deeper and deeper until eventually he wound up dead.
He opened his eyes, and gazed directly at the ceiling - as if trying to stare through it right the way up to the PTB. 'OK - you got my attention,' he said out loud. 'What is it you want me to do?'
