Epilogue 2
EPILOGUE 2
A year later
October 16th
West Scott
“ T o be fair, we discuss the Mummers every winter for obvious reasons. The topic becomes relevant,” I said, checking my watch. Two-seventeen. Almost time to wrap it up. “We’ll use two slots the last week of December and a longer one in our New Year’s special.” I made a note on my laptop—dates to be decided. “Circling back to the last special in this quarter—Trina, you had an idea?”
Whoever thought meetings on a Saturday were a good idea needed to be shot.
Thanks a lot, Mark, for being sick yesterday, coincidentally on your wife’s birthday.
“Yes, sir. I, uh…” She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and adjusted her glasses.
I waited not-so-patiently.
The other five seated around the table stared at her. Everyone wanted to go home.
Trina summoned the courage and faced me. “It’s been a while since we dedicated a special to the Sons of Munster.”
Was that so fucking hard to blurt out? Christ. Not once had I made my staff uncomfortable around the topic. They sure as fuck didn’t hesitate to gossip about the Sons in the break room. I wasn’t deaf. I’d heard the theories about my marriage to an alleged Son turning into hushed whispers all year.
“Okay,” I replied slowly. “What’s the angle?”
She fidgeted with her pen. “Well, there’s the speculation about the director of the Department of Planning and Development having close ties to Finnegan O’Shea.”
Not a bad angle, aside from the fact that it wouldn’t be easy to justify the reason. A picture or two had surfaced online this spring where Finn had shaken hands with the director—and that was fair. But the fuel on the fire was mostly about both having Irish last names, and I couldn’t bring that to the board.
“I’ll need more than a handshake at a St. Patrick’s Day event in order to call it close ties, but there could be something here,” I replied. “Talk to Camilla and schedule a meeting with me next week where you pitch an outline for the show. But now we go home.”
“Praise the lord,” Devon joked.
I stood up and closed my laptop, and I placed a stack of papers on top. “Mark, I hope your wife had a nice birthday. Give her my best.” I started walking toward the door.
“Yes, sir. Yeah, we went—I mean, it was nothing, really, since I was sick, but…” He trailed off as I walked out of the conference room.
Sick, my ass.
I took the elevator down to the garage and texted Alfie to let him know I was hungry and on my way.
“Uncle West!”
“Reagan! What did Daddy and I tell you about opening the door by yourself?”
“Is that West? Papi, I’ll make a plate for you! Ouch, Ma! Why you gotta hit me all the time? Christ!”
“Daddy’s here!”
“Come on in, West. It’s good to see you again.”
It was the best birthday mayhem upon arrival every time. Today we celebrated Liam and Luna’s eldest a little early. His actual birthday wasn’t until next month. I greeted Emilia and little Reagan, Ellie jumped up into my arms and pointed out all the balloons, and then it was the fantastic sight of the island as soon as I entered the kitchen. Food everywhere, courtesy of Emilia, Giulia, Shan’s sister, and Luna.
“Come to the den, Daddy! Colby and I are kicking butts in mini golf!” Ellie jumped down again and disappeared. Those VR glasses had been a good gift; the whole family had started playing golf. Shan and I were pleased.
“I’ll be there in a sec, princess,” I said. I dipped down and kissed Giulia’s cheek. “Did you by any chance make your artichoke dip?”
She beamed up at me. “Such a question! Of course I did, tesoro .”
“Of course I did, tesoro ,” Alfie mocked in the background. “When Dad and I wanna try the taquitos, we get whacked with a wooden spoon, but when precious West wants somethin’…”
“Whacked or waxed, mate?” Kellan asked in passing.
“For fuck’s sake!” Alfie hollered.
I laughed and hugged him to me. “You poor thing.”
“We need five more minutes with the food. Shoo!” Emilia put a beer in my hand and ushered us out of the kitchen.
Now that it was getting colder, the birthday celebrations were moved from the backyard to the big den just past the kitchen. The room was divided into two parts, one for children’s entertainment and one for grown-ups. VR games and pool over there, seating area with the game on over here. Shan, Phil, Liam, Kellan, Eric?—
“Have a seat, my friend,” Shan said.
“What the fuck’re you doing?” Finn hollered at the TV. His voice carried and naturally upset the little baby girl in his arms. “Shite—I’m sorry, baby. You know how Daddy gets.”
“I’mma rescue her.” Alfie walked over to Finn’s chair and gently snatched up the newborn. “Oh God—never mind.” The baby was promptly returned to Finn. “Change her damn diaper, cousin. The fuck is wrong wit’chu?”
I grinned and took a swig of my beer.
Another wonderful Saturday with mobsters and diaper talk.
Alfie and West will appear as secondary characters in future Irish of Philly novels.
Next up is Detective Reid Hanna’s story.
We Can Turn a Blind Eye
MF | Irish Mafia | Drama | Family