Chapter 139 – After Mickey Refuses to Help, Lip Turns to the Black Guys
Ian looked at Mickey with pleading eyes.
Mickey's gun was still pressed against Lip's head—but he turned to Ian, meeting his gaze.
He understood what Ian was asking.
After a long moment, Mickey slowly lowered the gun.
"Fuck!" Lip cursed, the adrenaline finally draining from his body as he collapsed onto the floor.
Ian let out a breath of relief. Then his irritation kicked in.
"Lip, what the hell is wrong with you?" Ian snapped. "Why'd you sneak in here in the first place?"
"Yeah," Mickey added coldly. "Why the fuck are you here?"
Lip knew he was in the wrong. Even though he tried to keep his attitude tough, his momentum was gone.
"I needed to talk to Mickey about something."
"You needed to talk to me?" Mickey scoffed. "About what?"
"I want you to help me teach someone a lesson."
That, at least, caught Mickey's attention.
"Who?" Mickey asked. "Give me a name."
Beating someone up and getting paid for it? That was right up his alley.
"William," Lip said. "Fiona's fuckbuddy. You know him?"
Ian tilted his head, confused—but he stayed quiet. No matter what, he and Lip were still on the same side.
"William… sounds kinda familiar," Mickey muttered.
"Tall guy. Blond hair, blue eyes. Hooking up with Mandy?"
He frowned slightly.
"Pretty sure Terry mentioned him before."
Mandy hadn't been living at home for the past six months, and Terry never shut up about it.
Mickey had heard so much nagging that his ears practically developed calluses.
On top of that, rumors about William in the South Side had only been getting louder.
Still, deep down, Mickey actually thought Mandy moving out was a good thing.
"He fucked Mandy too? Holy shit!" Lip's eyes went wide when he heard that.
It only made him more pissed.
Or rather—more jealous.
"You didn't know?" Mickey smacked his lips and pulled a beer from the cooler.
"But that guy's not easy to deal with."
He cracked it open and took a swig.
Lip frowned. "What? So are you doing it or not?"
He pulled out a crumpled stack of bills—tens and fives—about fifty bucks total.
This was money he'd secretly saved over the past few months.
Fiona had no idea.
"That's not enough," Mickey said flatly, shaking his head. "William's not someone you mess with."
He didn't take the cash.
Mickey wasn't stupid. Terry couldn't handle William—why the hell would he step in?
As for the money excuse, that was just pride talking. He wasn't about to admit he was scared.
William dealt in military-grade hardware. Who knew which brass he was connected to?
Mess with a guy like that, and you might not even know how you died.
By now, William's terrifying reputation had already spread through the South Side's underground.
"Pussy," Lip snapped.
Mickey refusing the job set him off. His neck flushed red as he spat the word.
Mickey had let Lip off earlier partly because he didn't want trouble—he'd just gotten out of juvie.
The other part was Ian.
But now this asshole was calling him a coward?
"What the fuck did you just say?" Mickey grabbed Lip by the collar.
"Let go of me!" Lip grabbed Mickey's wrist, trying to break free.
Ian watched the scene, suddenly feeling exhausted.
For the first time, he thought: Lip might actually be hopeless.
"Mickey," Ian said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Do me a favor. Don't bother with him. His head's not right lately."
Mickey looked at Ian.
After a moment, he let go.
Lip stood there, seething, glaring at his brother and Mickey. He wanted to say something—but didn't dare.
So he turned and stormed out of Kash's store.
Once outside, he flipped Mickey off.
"Fuck you! Go die, trash!"
Pure, useless rage.
He kicked a trash can by the curb.
BANG.
Garbage spilled everywhere.
After venting, Lip spat on the ground and walked off.
If Mickey wouldn't take the job, he'd find someone who would.
The South Side was big. The Milkoviches weren't the only ones in the game.
Soon enough, Lip found himself near a basketball court in the Black neighborhood.
As a white guy, he stood out immediately.
If not for his scrawny, harmless look, someone might've thought he was looking for trouble.
"Yo," a heavyset Black guy sitting under the hoop called out,
"you don't belong here."
"I'm not here to start shit," Lip said. "I wanna teach someone a lesson. Heard you guys are professionals."
His stomach was tight.
These guys weren't like the Milkoviches. They didn't have to play by any rules.
The heavyset guy sized him up, then shouted toward the court:
"Yo! JD! Get over here! We got business!"
At the word business, JD immediately tossed the ball to a teammate and jogged over.
Looking at JD's thick muscles—built just as solid as William—Lip felt a surge of confidence.
"What's the job?" JD asked bluntly.
"I want someone beaten up," Lip said.
"William Blake. You know him?"
Lip had always been too sheltered by Fiona.
Despite working in William's operation, he still hadn't grasped what level William was on.
JD and the heavyset guy exchanged a glance.
They instantly understood each other.
"Hold on," JD said. "I'll call the others."
He turned and shouted at the court:
"Everyone, come here!"
People gathered quickly.
Seeing the crowd, Lip suddenly panicked.
Sure, beating William sounded great—but he only had fifty bucks.
"Hey—uh—guys, we don't need this many people," Lip tried to backpedal.
"He's just one asshole."
"Who?" someone asked.
JD answered calmly.
"He wants William Blake handled. Thoughts?"
The group exchanged looks.
No words.
Consensus reached.
"Get him."
At the heavyset man's command, every single one of them lunged at Lip.