Chapter two, banged out while avoiding my fiancee' while he is temporarily working two jobs and acting an ass. I've been reading books set in Ireland, and watching British TV for 2 weeks, and am now stuck talking like them. It's ridiculous, and annoying, and at least I haven't adopted an accent. Lol. Not proof-read, or Brit-picked, just spell and grammar checked. Enjoy!


Whitey sat down on the edge of the bed, the test in his hand. A tear ran down his face as he realized what she was talking about. He had gotten her pregnant. Knocked up. Up the duff. Damnit, he wasn't ready for this. SHE wasn't ready for this. She was still in school, clawing her way through a master. He was a no account cabbie, despite the influx of money. What the hell was he going to do? He stood shakily and dropped the stick in the trash and walked over to the phone. He picked it up and dialed a number he hadn't dialed in years.

"'Ello?"

"March, it's Whitey."

"Whitey… it's been…."

"Years, yeah. Listen man, I have a problem, can you meet me at this address in an hour?"

"Sure mate. Anything for me little brother."

Whitey jumped at the pounding knock on the door. He rushed over and opened it to reveal a tall blonde man, who bore a striking resemblance to himself.

"Winston!"

"Marshall, thank god." He was enveloped in a hug, complete with requisite back pounding.

"What is going on little brother?"

"Well…" Whitey launched into a long winded explanation of how he met Alice, his abstaining from previous behaviors, and finally this morning's events. March just sat and listened to him.

"Well, what should I do?"

"Shouldn't you go track your woman down?"

"Probably…" Whitey stood, and March followed him up the stairs.

"How did you land digs like this?"

"Oh, it's Alice's place." He shoved open the door to 'his' room. "This is my space."

"Don't sleep here do ya?"

"No, we share a room." Whitey shifted some papers on his desk.

"Does she spend any time in here?"

"Not really. She spends most of her time in the sunroom…"

"Then what the fuck are we doing up here? If she left clues to her whereabouts, they would be where she spends time." Whitey dropped the books he was holding and led the way to the sunroom.

"This her planner?" March held up a little leather-bound folio.

"Ya, it is. Give it 'er March." Whitey snatched the little book out of his brother's hands and flipped it open. He turned pages noisily, mumbling now and then about the notes there.

"Ah. Here we are. Alice Potts. Her best friend in New York."

"Funny, they have the same first name."

"Shut it March." Whitey quickly dialed the number.

"Misses Potts!"

"What do you want Whitey?"

"Do you know where me Alice has gone?"

"Not exactly…"

"What does that mean?"

"Well, she didn't tell me where she was off to, but when we went to London as teens with her father, she loved going to the Alice statue outside of Moor House. She liked it. Said it was her place to think. If your needing to find her, I would check hotels around there."

"Thank ye Ma'am." Whitey hung up the phone, and then threw the handset across the room. It clattered to the floor as her spun around to flop on a chaise near Alice's desk.

"Bloody fuckin' 'ell."

"What? Where did the 'gel say she was?"

"Near Moor house."

"Oh."

"Oh is right. Right back 'Orrible 'Arry's territory. Hopefully she is staying somewhere spiffy enough to be off his radar." March shook his head and sat down in the chair in front of the desk.

"Well."

"Well what?" Whitey raised his head to look at his brother.

"Well, let's go find her huh?" Whitey let out a heavy breath and flopped back down.

"Yea lets."