Chapter 25
Ellie
A limping bartender, a retired cop, and a disgraced federal agent sat together in a bar. But it wasn’t a joke. Collectively, we made one hell of a somber trio. Jameson was the poison of choice. Silence was our confession. I poured three glasses and raised a glass toward the bar.
“For each petal on the shamrock this brings a wish your way. Good health, good luck, and happiness for today and every day."
The words were automatic. The sentiment was no longer a balm.
It hurt too much to feel joy.
We drank.
Bridget set her glass down and confessed, “They offered me my job back.”
I barely paid attention.
Casey, however was. “You turned them down, right?”
“I can’t do it. I can’t anymore.” She slammed the remnants of her drink.
“Is bartending difficult?” she asked.
“Horribly difficult,” Casey replied.
“Why do you do it then?”
Casey thought about her question. “Because I’m not made to kill people. I can’t hold a grudge long enough.”
I could. I sipped on that thought as they chatted.
Bridget needed this. Commiseration with a fellow cop who’d lost his way and his purpose. She was struggling to find her path.
Lying did that to a good person.
“Did you know I only discharged my service weapon once?” Casey was trying to be helpful, but he didn’t know the truth. If he did, he might have said something else. Or maybe not been as sympathetic.
Bridget took the blame for killing Johnny.
Her confession was scrutinized for two weeks as I recovered. We’d gotten the story straight before we even left the house. It was her decision. Not mine.
He’d left me.
I wasn’t worthy of love.
The knife Johnny buried in my thigh missed most of the vital parts of my leg. But the damage to the muscle took a while to heal. I’d only been mobile without aid for two days. Bridget had a severe concussion. She spent three nights under observation.
The prosecutor reviewed Bridget’s case and examined the findings on our injuries. They deemed the shooting self-defense.
My lawyer had her free within 48 hours. The mob lawyer.
And yes, I paid for her defense. It was the least I could do since she almost died because of me. We made a pact to never again mention Johnny Porciello. Ever.
She didn’t want her job back.
Which was why she was considering bartending. “We need the help.” St. Patrick’s Day had been a madhouse with Kat and I missing Saturday night. She showed up at the hospital for me. Edward in tow.
He didn’t have a plane, so he couldn’t leave.
Which hurt, too. Ringo flew almost halfway around the world to dump me.
I talked Kat into taking the Sunday parade shift.
It didn’t take much. Casey had gone above and beyond managing the Saturday puke fest. He hid in the downstairs bar while Kat tossed folks to the curb when they got too drunk.
We had our best revenue day, ever. And I wasn’t there.
It made me realize the bar didn’t need me, it was me who needed it.
It felt like a shoe that had been outgrown.
Familiar bagpipes filled the air.
Some regular customers stood as the mournful song played over the noise coming from the TVs. Tall Bob removed his hat.
“You put this on, didn’t you?” I accused Casey.
“I figured it fit your mood.” He licked his lips.
A cheer went up as the song ended and the normal volume of the bar returned.
“Don’t be that way.” I slammed the contents of my glass and grimaced.
“I should say the same to you. Drinking won’t get him out of your head.”
I met his eyes. “It will if I drink enough.”
He shook his head. “Nope. It won’t. I learned that’s true because leaving the force felt like losing a limb. And it broke my heart. Don’t think love’s any different.”
Bridget lifted her glass and muttered, “Amen.”
He pointed at her. “She knows. You feel lost. No job, no reason. It sucks. And your heart? That’s the worst part. It wants hope. And there ain’t none.”
“That’s supposed to cheer me up?”
“You’re still alive. Some folks ain’t as lucky.” He glanced at Bridget with a funny look on his face. Like he had a secret, and she should somehow know it. Yet both her and I knew he didn’t know the full story.
He cleared his throat. “Things are awful quiet now that there’s only one boss in town.”
How in the hell? I glared at him.
He tipped his head and pretended innocence.
Bridget smiled. It was her first in a long time. “You think he’s hiring?”
“You don’t want that job.” Casey scanned the bar. All was normal. “You want to escort Ellie on her next trip. Make sure your passport is good.”
“What in the hell are you blathering about, old man?” I asked.
“You. You’re going to go to Italy or wherever your sister is and stop moping around here. I never figured you as someone who gives up. I thought you were a fighter.”
I digested that advice. “I didn’t give up.”
“Bullshit.” He pointed at the bar sign. “I’ll call you on that if you try to argue with me.”
I was drunk enough already. “What if he doesn’t want me?”
“You won’t know until you go.”
That’s what scared me. I’d much rather remain in this limbic state of denial than find out the truth.
“Maybe he thinks you don’t want him.”
Bridget wasn’t helping.
She ignored my glare. “He did ask me to make sure you got to the hospital. He cares. I know he does.”
They needed a reality check, fast. “Both of you need to stop comparing notes. It’s not healthy.”
“I figure if he wanted me dead, I’d be dead. Same with Casey.” She shot a thumb at him.
“Hey now, I cultivate a good cover story, don’t go dragging me into your demise.”
Bridget studied the table. “What’s Sardinia like?”
I resented both of them. I resented Kat, who was currently in Macau or somewhere obscenely exotic and rubbing elbows with the most subtly notorious circles of power. I resented my sister who had just celebrated her second month of pregnancy drama and issue-free.
And, I missed her terribly.
I turned to Bridget. “Do you have a bathing suit? The water is crystal clear. You can see a hundred feet down.”
“Really?”
Don Manca was going to kill me. I couldn’t bring a former federal agent to his doorstep, could I?
I wasn’t a quitter. I wasn’t a fighter, either. I was a complication. It was time I acted like one. I filled Bridget’s glass, then mine. “Two days or as soon as I can book the flights. We’re going in.”
“Hear, hear! Let’s storm the castle.” She clinked glasses with Casey.
What a funny way to put it.
Loppa met us at the airport. I couldn’t exactly keep the trip a secret. Firenze shadowed us from the bar that night. At least he knew how to keep a professional distance.
“Signora Perkins, Ellie. I hope your trip was smooth?”
I glared at Firenze behind us, then addressed Loppa. “Don’t tell me that I really needed a bodyguard. Because I’ll kick your shin if you do.”
He smiled. “It’s good to have you home.”
“I’m not home.”
He sent me a little shake of the head as if correcting me. Then addressed Bridget. “And you, Miss Perkins, where do you call home?”
She glanced around. “I don’t know. What’s the hunting like around here?”
His grin widened. “I’m certain we can find entertainment for you. This way.”
That went better than expected. Although, I doubted Bridget would leave the island for a long time, if ever. I’d made the introduction. It was up to her to figure things out.
Allie was well. Not showing, but glowing. Even Firenze could tell us apart at this point. Me being the morose twin, and Allie being the happy one. I hugged her for a long time. Mario must have cleared his throat at least three times.
He could wait for his. I was mad at him.
I left Perkins behind with the crew to climb a long-ass mountain trail.
Firenze followed at a distance, only catching up and pointing to the right path when I got lost. It was lonely up here.
The goats danced from rock to rock making it appear effortless.
The bells around their necks clanged under the relentless sun.
I caught sight of a man in a ball cap sitting next to a circular hut. Stones piled on top of each other made up the bottom half of the cuile and the conical roof was shaped by rough boards bound together by brush and plants.
It was a far cry from a lakefront penthouse. Or that beautiful villa in Italy. The whole thing would fit in the atrium with that naked statue.
I tromped up to announce myself.
“What are you doing here?” Ringo stopped whittling a pointed stick and flicked his knife shut.
“I’m exploring a new career in goat shit testing.”
He glanced down at my shoes.
I knew my toes felt too warm. I scraped the tip of my boot in the dust to get the worst of it off. Then I straightened my back.
“Looks like you stepped in enough.”
“I also climbed a fucking mountain.” I swung my arm at the vista. There was nothing but trees, rocks, and steep slopes under the fluffy white clouds in a too-blue sky.
He glanced at my leg. “You’re limping.”
“Duh.” I was stabbed in the leg a month ago.
He frowned. “You shouldn’t have come.”
“Why?” I spread my feet apart, bracing for the worst.
“I’m not good enough for you.”
“Bullshit. Try a different story.”
He took a breath and stared at the slopes. “How’d you find me?”
Firenze scuffed a toe against a rock, giving away his position.
“Traitor.” Ringo threw down the stick he was destroying.
“Don’t bitch at him. Don Manca made him follow me.”
At the mention of Mario’s grandfather, Ringo winced. “I can’t be the man you need.”
“Don’t I get a say in it?”
He shook his head.
“So, that’s it. You’re just going to give up on me. On us?”
He stared at me with haunted eyes. “I killed someone in front of you.” He laughed once. “He was your fiancé for crying out loud.”
“Ex.”
Ringo squinted.
“Ex-fiancé,” I clarified. “And I’m glad you did. In fact, I can pay you a half a million for it.” I glanced around. “Lord knows you could use some money to renovate the hovel.”
He shook his head despite laughing. “There’s a reason I’m here. You realize that, right?”