Walking through town between Attis and Vivienne was both exhilarating and terrifying. 

People openly stared at them. 

Whispers and pointed fingers follow Attis’ stony features around as they walk down Main Street. The rumours about his dad’s return followed them through the streets.

Old ladies’ fingers followed Vivienne. Loud whispers about her corset which was laced tightly, the sweetheart neckline emphasising her boobs and her oversized leather jacket flapping in the wind.

But Attis doesn’t seem to notice the people calling his dad a monster, a psychopath, a selfish asshole. And the comments about Vivienne’s outfit seems to put a spring in her step. 

“We are here.” Vivienne declares as they enter a little courtyard where the buildings are so old they slouch together. She trots down an iron staircase to the cellar someone converted to a shop. 

“This shop closed months ago.” Peggy peers through the cracks in the cardboard and sunbleached newspapers which have been taped to the windows. “And it’s a dry cleaners, not a fabric shop.”

“What are you playing at Vivienne?” Attis demanded. 

“Patience is a virtue.” Glancing over her shoulder, they’d wandered through a relatively unpopulated part of town (probably why the shop closed), so it really wasn’t necessary to check no one was watching.

Vivienne knocked on the door four times. 

“I’m not getting nicked for breaking and entering. I’m in enough bother as it is.”

Attis stepped away, throwing his hood over his face as he did a quick survey of the roofline all while keeping his face angled down. It takes Peggy a second to realise he is looking for security cameras.  

Peggy was too scared to ask what sort of ‘bother’ Attis was already in. 

“We are not breaking and entering.” Vivienne sighed. “I told you we are getting fabric.” 

“Is this where you get your score from?” Attis asked, backing away. “I don’t give a shit if you do drugs Viv, but I am not going into a drug dealer's den. A judge will take one look at my last name and chuck me in jail and throw away the key.” 

“Will you relax?” Viv rolled her eyes. 

Heart thrumming in her chest, Peggy glanced between the door, Vivienne and Attis. Maybe coming here wasn’t such a good idea after all. Maybe she shouldn’t have lied. Maybe she should have told someone that she was coming here. 

If something happened to her, how would anyone ever find her? 

“You coming, Peggy? Or you want to stay here and do whatever dodgy shit Viv is doing?” Attis calls from the entrance of the courtyard. 

Stomach swirling like a cement mixer, Peggy nods. If Attis Jones - aka the Tank, aka only son of the notorious Mike Jones - thinks this is a bad idea then it must be.