Friday is trash day around here but Wednesday’s #1lineWed theme is **JUNK, TRASH, GARBAGE.** And boy did that fit right in with the scene I needed to write yesterday. Warning, this is a first draft. It might be boring. I’m still working on characters, settings/world-building, and the plot. Hopefully, by the time I type The End, it’ll be exciting and compelling and all y’all will want to read it. One of the major characters–this IS something of an ensemble cast–is starting a mob war in Boston for…reasons. Anyway, The first shot was fired in Chapter 1 and this is the beginning of Chapter 3.
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The Eastside Rovers held court in a joint called the Bayside Bar. Located at the corner of East Second and Acadia, it wasn’t much to look at. The place occupied the first floor of a triple-decker. Jack and Seamus lived on the top floor and the second floor contained rooms for their boys to flop in, along with office space. The bottom floor had been painted a dull brown, the windows blocked off with wood, except at the very top. The bit of space at the back was crammed with junk, trash, and a Dumpster close to overflowing. The stench of spoiled food and stale beer was enough to gag a maggot.

Ronan shook his head in disgust. Evidently, the O’Ferrells weren’t paying their bills. Mick rolled his eyes at the mess. They continued walking down the street to the front door. There was no sign on the outside. They waited, just out of sight should that door open.

One of the boys slipped in the back door after jimmying the lock. He was back in a matter of moments. “Full house,” Sean reported. “Jack’s at the bar. No sign of Seamus. They’ve got their girls in there tonight, like a party. They’ve no clue about Willie and they’re all about three sheets in the wind.

The Rovers enjoyed the flesh trade though their whores did not. Ronan had heard more than one complaining about the working conditions. Then the rumors started coming in about the new flesh available to special customers, about girls who never worked the streets. Ronan wanted to find out about that but he’d need Seamus. Jack ran the gambling and the smuggling. Seamus was all about the girls.

“How many?” he asked Sean.

“About twenty.” He rubbed his jaw. “And maybe fifteen women?”

“What’s our plan?” Mick asked.

Ronan smiled and more than one O’Hara man shuddered at the frigid resolve wafting off him. “We’re going to take out the garbage.” He retrieved his phone from his pocket and made a call.
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There it is, for better or worse–and I suspect a lot of it will end up in my trash folder. Or maybe not. Anyway, writers, any trashy words to share? Readers, who takes out the garbage at your house? 😉