Knocking gently on the door to the sick room, Irish pushed it open slowly. A worried looking Specs was leaning over the bunk, his black hat hanging on the post beside him. His hand was gently stroking Gip's rosy, soft cheek with love and affection. Her side had been bandaged and a shirt once again covered her. Irish wished not to disturb the girl's slumber, but she needed to know what was going on.

Fortunately for Irish, she did not have to wake her, for Gip's eyes fluttered open at that second, her lips eliciting a gasp of pain as she awoke. Her eyes moved from her sweetheart to Irish and she attempted a smile.

"Specs, go get something ta eat, I ain't gonna die if you leave my side y'know." The boy opened his mouth to object when Gip interrupted. "I need ta talk ta Irish anways, airight?"

After glancing over at Irish, Specs leaned down and kissed her gently on the lips. "I wont be gone more den an hour, okay?" Specs said, grabbing his hat and smiling sadly with concern, he turned and walked out the door.

Irish shut the door after Gip's reluctant boyfriend, and pulled an old wooden chair up next to the bunk. "How ya feelin' Gip?" Irish asked.

"Fine, but what happened when I left? Wheah's Bittah? Are ya hoit at all?" Gip looked worried, her paling face making her look like a broken, defeated animal.

"I'm fine, but Bittah's gone, we t'ink de gang's got 'er somewhere," Irish rubbed her eyes. It had been a long day and Irish couldn't contain her emotions any longer. Her eyes welled up and silent tears streamed down her cheeks, creating a pool of water on her dirty, black shirt.

"I jist don't know what to do… Why is all dis happening?" Irish buried her face in her hands.

Gip swallowed her pride and spoke the truth. "It's because of me…"

Irish looked up, shocked, her tears reddening her cheeks. "But…"

"Just let me explain… let me tell you what happened…" Gip waited for a nod from Irish before beginning her tale.

I was new to the Bronx. I didn't have a place to call my own, or nothing. One dark night found me at a small run down joint that smelled of shit and piss, but the liquor was famous throughout the Bronx. Not terribly expensive either. Of course it was no place for a woman to be, and I found that out pretty fast.

Each pair of lust-filled eyes was on me as I entered, claiming a seat for myself and starting my long order of drinks. I was quick to ignore the prying eyes of the many men there, until one character decided he was brave enough to approach me. He was handsome with longer black hair hiding his dark grey eyes, and he was a tall lanky guy, towering at a height of almost six feet. I wasn't at all in the mood for men tonight and he definitely didn't know who he was dealing with as he approached, that was for certain.

"Hey toots, whatcha doin' in a place like dis all by your lonesome," he took a seat next to me as he spoke. I tried to be a good girl and ignore him, but he wouldn't take my silence for an answer.

"Hey, I'm talkin' ta ya!" he grabbed my arm, making me spill my bourbon.

That was the last straw, the last of my withering patience spent. I pulled my switchblade from my pocket, flicking it open and gashing the arm that had made me spill my drink. "Don't you speak that way to me," I growled through gritted teeth.

Flicking his own knife out, a butterfly knife mind you, he swung it at me, but I blocked it, gashing him across the cheek. He was much more intoxicated then myself, and therefore his balance was very much off. I caught his arm as he swiped at me again, breaking his middle finger as I wretched the knife away from him, sending him to the ground as I did so..

Everyone's eyes were on us, and his cheeks were flushed in embarrassment. He rose to his feet and growled at me, "I'll get you for dis" and with that he ran out of the place. I found out later that night exactly who he was. The bar was full of whispering men after that and I easily got the information out of one man by simply waving my knife in his face.

Shade, the cousin of the infamous Blade, the leader of the Butterfly gang, that's who he was. But that isn't the end of the story.

Morning found me asleep in the nearest empty building. It was a kick that woke me, not a gentle, prodding kick, but a brutal, painful kick that was landed in my ribcage. I was quick to my feet, standing to meet my attacker. The instant recognition of Shade threw me off a little and he took advantage of it, throwing me against the nearest wall. "I'd like me knife back…" he growled, wrenching my arm behind me, twisting it painfully.

His hands intruded upon my pockets and I grimaced in disgust. He found what he was searching for and pushed me to the ground. "An' now it's time ta teach you a lesson…" he lunged at me, knife glinting in the sunlight. I pushed him away with my feet, grabbing my own switchblade and flicking it open.

"Ya went through all de trouble ta find me jist to be beat again, eh?" I smiled as I gashed his left thigh, dodging his next attack.

He only growled again and did something I definitely did not expect. He dropped his knife and pulled a pistol from his pocket, pointing it directly at me. "I don't think so… now drop the knife…" Shade growled, stepping closer, releasing the safety on the gun.

I gulped, unsure of how to defend against a weapon of that caliber. The sound of metal connecting with the concrete made me close my eyes and wish for heaven to take me.

His steps were slow and cautious as he bent to grab my blade. A sudden lack of fear made my body react in one last suicidal attempt; I connected my fist with his face and my knee with his stomach, the small pistol released and falling to the ground. I dove as did he and my hand reached it first. We hit the ground and the gun was right against his head, my finger on the trigger…I closed my eyes and BANG!

"Well… these t'ings happen…" Gip's pale face emphasized her glowing blue eyes, danger and fear mixing to make it impossible for Irish to turn her eyes away, to break the gaze. Irish nodded, knowingly, unable to think of Gip as the murderer that she was.

"Yes, those t'ings happen…" Irish trailed off, scared to death for Bitter, for Gip, and for herself.