Mallory of Misfortune

Chapter 1; An offsetting start

Most stories have a dramatic background in which an evil villain kills the parents. Oh how we wish that was the case here. The story begins on a cold winter's night, Brett Mallory playing the piano near the bar as his sister dealt poker cards to countless men at the round table. The two had made a fair share of money that night, Brett from money for playing recommended songs, and Rachel from winning poker so often. She'd taught herself, and although it seemed like she knew cards well, it was more-so knowledge of those playing that  kept her constantly winning. The same men that had become addicted to smoking, and addicted to drinking alcohol at the same bar every night, had become addicted to gambling against the 13 year old, stubbornly confident they'd win a round soon enough.
Brett, however, had a different gift. His talent unmatched on the piano, playing any song just by hearing it. For a dollar he would play any song you like, as long as you could tell him the tune. Reluctant as the bar owner was, the two twins attracted too much business to kick out. They stayed for 3 hours a day, and those had become the busiest times for visitors. It brought in the usual customers and 30 extras, who liked the entertainment too much to complain about the wait on their drinks.
Once the two twins had made their share of money, they'd leave for the 2 mile trudge home to their father who never failed to amaze. Always drunk or high to no end, it was truly a gamble whether he would scream and shout or hug them with all his weight. They'd get beat or tucked into bed snug and cozy, and there was no patter to tell what was coming next. You see, Edward Mallory was a man of many trades. False trades. A fake stock advisor; who'd take your money in trade for advice that would fail you in a week. A luxury car dealer; who used flimsy parts and magnets to change the view of the mileage on the car. Electrician that charged hidden fees, and several other scam jobs around the market. He'd lie about his name, age, residence, and anything else he felt like lying about. He had enough money to last him a life time, but that didn't stop him from stealing more.
Tonight happened to be the worst of it. He was cork high and bottle deep (extremely drunk). The two siblings quickly noticed several empty bottles of expensive vodka and liquor sprawled along the living room, the smell of cigar smoke and alcohol reeking through the house. They could hear the ruckus in the master bathroom, seeing their dad walk out, hair a wreck, face heated and red with eyes that looked almost ghostly. "Where'be you been!" He shouted with no control of his tone. "Out walking." Rachel gave a quick lie, she'd told it several times, but her father was never sober enough to remember. "The kitchens a mess" Their father began once again. "You messed it up!" Brett stepped in, not allowing his father to blame them for his wrongdoings. "Don't talk back to me!" The grey-haired man lunged forth, attempts to slap the boy in a wobbled stance before being pushed back. He, in his drunk state, fell back, tripping over to his side and landing his head heavy on a piece of a broken vodka bottle. "Fuckin' hell!" He  screamed holding the places on his head and neck where the glass has punctured him. He stood unsteadily as his vision blacked out, throwing one final punch at the boy who'd pushed him over. Rachel retaliated, kicking him back to the ground where his heavy back hit the brick fireplace, knocking him out as he fell to the floor onto another bottle with a crash.