Chapter 10
Sean
Chapter Ten
I hated leaving Lina behind this afternoon. Yeah, I would have loved to have sex several more times before dawn. But I wanted to talk too, and not about why Ewan sent her or the encryption I still haven’t cracked. I like how she texts me questions. I like that she’s curious about me. I like that she’s letting me get to know her too. It would have been preferable to do that side by side or looking at each other.
Now, I’m on the family jet to Baltimore to observe Ewan. I’m certain Lina doesn’t know he’s outside New York. I didn’t know until Finn called. A CI there called to tell him about Ewan. My brother could have gone, but no one expects him to go out of town right now.
He’s a newlywed. So’s Dillan. Ally felt horrible that Dillan intended to go on Finn’s and her honeymoon. Not because it was someone joining them. They had five other someones joining them. She didn’t want him to leave Mair behind. It was my cousin-in-law who convinced my sister-in-law that it’s best to have all of us to guard the most vulnerable.
I look out the window, but there’re only clouds to see. White puffy, peaceful looking clouds. I used to think heaven was just above these clouds. I didn’t have an explanation for where heaven went when it wasn’t cloudy. But when I was five, it made sense.
I spend this time thinking about what I know so far about Ewan’s trip to Baltimore. He came down here to sell some product. You have to pass New York to get to Baltimore from Boston. He’s a long way from home to sell drugs. What he’s off-loading isn’t going to street hustles. This is headed to Germany. They have one of the largest medical marijuana markets in the world. But this isn’t the stuff meant to alleviate chronic pain or nausea during chemo. This is recreational. Now that possession is legal in Germany, that market’s expanded too.
Ewan wants in. He wants to bump us out to make room for himself. He’s tallying up a long list of sins he’s going to have to account for. It won’t be St. Peter at the gates of heaven. It’s about to be St. Dillan at the gates of hell. Actually, if he doesn’t get shot before we can get him to the Bronx, we’ll take him to our abandoned railway station where we handle the unsavory—messy—side of this world.
If anyone told me to spy on Ewan three days ago, I would have happily put a bullet in him for convenience’s sake. It’s not so simple now. I didn’t pull the trigger that killed Rowan. Finn didn’t either. But Finn arranged for someone to carry out the hit on Lina’s dad. Our hands are more dusty than dirty, but we’re eyeballs deep in the shite. I don’t want to be the one who puts a bullet through Ewan’s skull. For being such a douche to his sister when he should protect her—value her—I should put it through his heart. Problem is, it would pass through an empty space.
The landing’s smooth, so I look at Shane. The guy’s out. He’s practically snoring. It must have been a late night at one of his clubs. We’re all silent investors in every BDSM club worth mentioning in the tri-state area. It pays to be kept off the letterhead but to have access to the member list. We know where everyone worth paying attention goes to spank or be spanked.
If we didn’t hate each other, we’d probably all be friends. The other men in the syndicates aren’t that different from one another. Our work is identical, and the men we become to do that work are the same. We have the exact same values, which means our family and organization come before and above everything else.
It also means we share similar proclivities. We are men who crave control because that’s the key to staying alive. BDSM ensures we have it constructively. The submission offered to us isn’t coerced through fear and pain—the kind that leads to death. Perhaps it’s our redemption of some sort. All the things we do outside the clubs are evil. When we do some of it with consenting partners, we remind ourselves we aren’t always monsters.
“Wake up, sunshine.” I shake Shane’s shoulder as I walk past to get my bag.
“Five more minutes, Mom.” Shane grumbles as he straightens from his slumped position.
John, Luke, Nate, and Peter are with us. They’re the same guys who went on the mission with Finn that clued us in to the O’Malleys’ recent activities. They’re among the best guys we have. Peter’s the senior most of the four, and I can’t stand him outside of work. But he’s good at what he does, so I respect and trust him. He bitches about everything. The good thing about jobs like this is none of us talks much.
I sign off on the fake manifest and records before going to the hold where the other guys are gathering our weapons. There’re two SUVs waiting for us. Kelly—a man’s name in Ireland for centuries—waits next to the lead vehicle. He’s our CI. He’ll ride with Shane and me to brief us. The other guys will follow. They’re on a need to know, so they won’t know anything we don’t need them to.
Shane and I load our personal luggage, tactical gear, and bags of weapons in the trunk before we climb in. Kelly’s driving. I take the front passenger seat, and Shane climbs into the middle seat in the second row. Both SUVs have burlap sacks with the stuff we’ll use to replace the weed we steal.
“He’ll be at a warehouse north of downtown, but he’ll have to go to Locust Point if he wants to see the cargo off.” Kelly starts the engine.
I know exactly where he’s talking about. It’s an industrial area that hasn’t been fully gentrified yet. There’s still industry there, but residential neighborhoods keep creeping closer. Baltimore’s running out of good places to hide in plain sight. Locust Point has water access that Ewan can use to smuggle the shipment out to larger freight ships just past the harbor. I know all of this because I’ve been to both places plenty of times. He’ll have to cross the city to get from the industrial park to Locust Point. Plenty of room for us to operate.
The cargo will be in a truck since there’s way too much to pack into a car, SUV, or van. This is a big haul. It’s like we found where our parents hid the Christmas presents. We’re going to shake a few boxes, maybe open them a little. If we like what we find, we’re going to play with them before slipping something back into the box. Unlike our parents, the O’Malleys will be clueless.
One year, Shane and I discovered our parents got us new bikes. They hid them in a storage room in our basement they assumed we had no reason to go in. The house we grew up in is enormous, even by most mansion standards. It’s eight bedrooms in the main house with a three-bedroom pool house. Yeah, there were only three sons living there, but between two other couples, there were four more kids.
Dillan’s sister, Colleen, had her own room. It’s not a shrine to her, but no one in our immediate family stays in that room. My parents only use it when they have enough guests that they need it—usually Christmas and Easter. My aunts and uncles’ homes are like that too. Big enough for everyone with open-door policies. They’re just not open-fridge anymore.
I glance over at Kelly before going back to looking out the window. “When’d he get in?”
“This morning around ten.”
Motherfucker. This is why Lina flew commercial. She might have wanted to blend in, but it was because her shitbag brother used their jet to fly down here. He made sure she was already in NYC before he touched down. I left her at the hotel today, but she won’t get back until midmorning tomorrow. He’ll make sure he slithers into his place with time to spare. I fucking hate him.
Shane leans forward between the front seats. “Who’s he seen so far?”
“He went straight to Ellie’s.”
Ellie Mu?ez. They were together through high school and college. Her dad’s around the same age as mine, so about fifteen years older than Rowan was. Rowan’s mom used to babysit Scott Mu?ez, so he’s known the family for decades. Rowan’s dad, Desmond, welcomed him into the fold as a messenger boy in middle school. Scott’s worked for the O’Malleys ever since. When his wife got sick, they moved closer to her family twelve years ago. It was touch and go, but she recovered. They went back to Boston, but Ellie stayed.
“Isn’t she married now?” Disgust drips from Shane’s words. Kelly just glances at him through the rearview mirror.
“How long was he there?” I want to get an accurate timeline.
“A little over two hours. But they just talked this time.”
“About?” We’ve had her place bugged for years since he sees her any chance he gets.
He should have married her while he had the chance, but his ambition kept her as a side piece. She wouldn’t have him, anyway. She loves him, but she doesn’t want the life that comes with him.
“Ewan’s sister. I guess she’s living with him now. Sounds like he conned her into moving down there. Told her she would work purely behind the scenes. No one would know she was working for him. I guess she’s got computer programming skills that make you and your brother look like you still have training wheels.”
He isn’t wrong about that. Fucking encryption situation got a shite ton more complicated now that Lina and I are—involved.
“Did that change?”
“Yeah. He told Ellie about how he sent her to New York today. He admitted he didn’t tell Nikki he’s here. That’s her name. He plans to be back before she returns later tomorrow. His best friend’s going to cover for him if he’s late.”
Colton Flaherty.
Douchebag.
“He said Colt could calm Nikki down if she lost her shit. I guess they were engaged.”
My heart’s still beating even though it feels like every ounce of blood just drained onto the floor. I don’t need to look back to know Shane’s watching me. It’s unreasonable for me to expect Lina to have told me about her past relationships in the space of one day. We had plenty of other intense topics to cover.
“I never knew he was. Must have been a while ago.” I try for nonchalant.
“Yeah. I got the impression it was probably like four or five years ago. From the way Ellie reacted, it didn’t end well. I guess Colt used her because he wanted a better position, and Rowan wanted someone to keep Nikki out of his way. Ellie was talking about how lucky Nikki was that it ended since it didn’t matter now that Rowan’s dead. Ewan told her Colt can still get Nikki to do whatever he wants. I guess he’s got a Magic Mike dick.”
My hand closer to the door clenches. I don’t want to know about a man she once loved. I don’t want to know about a man she once slept with. I don’t want to know about the man who fucked her like a stripper performing. I don’t know if she’ll take him up on an offer. I might puke.
I shouldn’t care this much. I have no claim over her. We talked about wanting to see if this can go somewhere. She knows my goal is permanent, and she was okay with that. That makes me think she wouldn’t screw someone else. But it’s not like we’re in an actual relationship.
Shane leans farther forward to rest his elbows on his knees. It makes it easy for his right hand to touch the inside of my left elbow, which is digging into the center console. I look out the passenger window while my brother takes up the questioning. Kelly’s a good informant, but he doesn’t need to know about my private life, which he’ll figure out if I ask anything else about Lina.
“Did Ewan say anything about what’s going on here?”
“Yeah. Schlossberg is meeting him at eight for the second installment payment and to check the merchandise. They’ll meet in the morning once Schlossberg has confirmation everything made it aboard his ship. Ewan’ll get the last installment then.”
I look at my watch. Half an hour. It’s going to be rushed. I shouldn’t have taken so long to say goodbye to Lina. I don’t regret taking my time, but it’s going to inconvenience the others. It gets cramped changing into tactical gear inside an SUV. It’ll be annoying enough with only three of us. There are four in the other SUV. Shane’ll go in the trunk. I’ll move into the third row, and Kelly’ll climb into the second row. The other guys’ll sort it out, but it’ll be tight.
I keep looking out the window as we approach an abandoned power generating station. It’s five minutes away from an industrial complex, so it’s a good place to park while we change. I still have nothing to say after finding out about Lina’s former fiancé. If I don’t act surprised—assuming she tells me—she’ll want to know how I found out. I’ll lie. This is shit I shouldn’t have to keep from her. But I can’t tell her a CI told me. I can’t even say a friend told me because she’d want a name and how they knew.
I climb over the back of the second-row seats once Shane’s in the trunk. He hands me a bag that I pass to Kelly, who followed me into the second-row. Shane cocks an eyebrow I can barely see since it’s so dark in this area. We’re parked where streetlights filter in, but not close enough for other people to notice. The left side of my mouth draws in. A half frown. Nothing I can do about it now.
“We’re good to go.” Nate’s voice flows through the earpieces we now wear.
We’ll talk as little as possible. The other guys’ Gaelic is just good enough for us to give curt commands and answers if we can’t avoid speaking. No one from the other families has bothered to learn Irish Gaelic. We all speak fluent Spanish. We’re New Yorkers, so we’d be knowledgeable of Spanish and Yiddish, regardless. It wasn’t eyebrow raising when we learned it in school.
We speak way more Russian and Italian than the Kutsenkos or Mancinellis realize. Anyone in my family who isn’t proficient in one is proficient in the other. Seamus and I can read Cyrillic well enough to figure out most stuff. We’re not the potato eating, steel pipe to the kneecaps, dock working Irish the other families think we are. We all know where we went to college and grad school. We know how many of us went to Ivy Leagues and top tiers.
Hell, Finn was in Niko Kutsenko’s year at NYU. They had classes together. Matteo was at Cornell, studying architecture at the same time as me. He’s three years older than me, so he was a senior when I was a freshman. Riley O’Malley was Matteo’s roommate. There was a sizable age gap between Rowan and his younger siblings Riley and Cady.
“Ready here, too.” I answer Nate as I pull my beanie over my ears. With our red hair, Shane and I have to cover it if we want any anonymity or element of surprise. It’s a fucking beacon otherwise.
Kelly pulls out of the lot and gets back on the road. It’s seven-fifty, so we’re cutting it close to be in position. Both cars’ lights flip off before the last turn. Kelly weaves us through the buildings until we get to the middle of the set of four warehouses. We coast to a stop after he makes a tight U-turn, so we’re facing out. He shifts into park quickly to keep the taillights on as briefly as he can. That’s why he let the car come to a natural stop. He didn’t want the brake lights beaming for anyone to see. Peter pulls up alongside us. The man drives like he’s at a monster truck rally when he has to.
We make sure the dome lights are off before anyone opens a door. In near silence, we pull our weapons out and check them. I have a pistol strapped to my right thigh and another holstered on my left hip. I’m like a fucked-up version of a cowboy gunslinger. I also have a rifle with its sling across my chest. I have knives in my pants pockets, my left boot, and on the web belt that has ammunition pouches attached to it.
We all triple check our phones to be sure they’re off. We never have the GPS services on unless we absolutely need directions. We screenshot, then turn it back off. No one needs to know where we are. Those who do are already here. We just don’t need anything ringing or buzzing.
While Kelly stays behind to guard the vehicles—truly the most important job in any operation—we creep forward until we arrive at a cluster of freight containers. The kind that goes on a ship, not a train. Not what should be here. Luke steps forward with the bolt cutters. We turn our backs to the doors and raise our rifles. Noise is inevitable, so we’re prepared. There’s a rattle, but it’s not as bad as I expected. This isn’t where the drugs are, but we still need to know what’s at a site the O’Malleys chose. Luke swings the right door open. Empty.
Was the lock on it to keep homeless people or animals out? We shine our flashlights into it. The interior doesn’t seem wide enough to match the exterior size. Filled with boxes or crates, it wouldn’t be so noticeable. I step inside, flicking my wrist to move my flashlight over all the surfaces. Something catches my eye when my beam hits a black space. The rest of the container is reflecting the light from the metal siding.
I inch closer until I can point the flashlight into the nook. It’s barely wider than the width of my palm, but I spotted it. I pull on the siding, making the hole larger. Interesting.
I turn toward the door and flicker my flashlight three times. Shane knows that means to approach. Luke’s brother, John, comes with him. I point the light into the hole again. I reach inside and grasp the first bundle I touch. As I pull my arm out, Shane whispers what I’m wondering.
“Real or counterfeit?”
“I can’t tell yet.” I put the end of my flashlight—which I disinfect after every use and keep in a case—between my teeth as I thumb the stack of bills I’m holding.
There’re hundred-euro bills flapping in the air. It’s a full strap, so ten-thousand. I reach into the hole again and start pulling out more. I hand the euros to Shane and the yen to John. I pull out ten straps of euros, which makes a bundle. We squat, so I can stack the money as I grab it. When I lean as far in as I can to get a better look, there have to be at least five bundles worth of just euros. I gather more stacks of yen, adding pounds sterling, rupees, pesos, and rubles.
I pull a ruble loose, and Shane and John shine their lights on it from behind when I raise it between us. I shine my light from the front. I can’t be certain beyond a reasonable doubt because of the shite lighting, but it looks real. I repeat the same thing, pulling a bill from the center of the strap. Fake. I do this over again with the euros, and it’s the same thing. The tops and bottoms are real, but the centers are fake.
“Am.” Time.
Peter’s voice fills my ear. We have nothing to carry the bills in right now, and we’ll move away from the container and vehicles. We can come back for it later. My brother and friend toss the money back in after I’ve dropped mine into the hole. I push the siding back to roughly where it was. We hurry but remain light on our feet, not wanting our footsteps to echo.
As I step out, I hear a car roll over a pothole. I know where it is. Luke pulls a padlock from one of his pouches. He shuts the door and fastens our lock through the holes. If we don’t make it over here before someone else, they’ll need bolt cutters like we did.
With our rifles slung across our backs and at least one pistol in hand—safety off, silencer on—we fan out enough to move through the shadows. The vehicle’s a Mercedes G Wagon. It comes to a stop, and a man gets out of the front passenger side. We all know the type. We’ve all been the type. Big, dressed in black, and intimidating. I’m certain this is Schlossberg’s car. A German in a German car. Both are completely reliable. I glance at my watch. It’s exactly eight o’clock.
When we’re within three hundred feet, we wait. It’s only a couple minutes later that a Cadillac Escalade pulls up and circles around to face the Mercedes. I slide one strap of the backpack I’m wearing off my shoulder. I ease the zipper open and retrieve the parabolic microphone and headphones. I flip the switch and point it toward the conversation I’m about to fully eavesdrop on. I put the left padded side to my ear and hold the headphones like I’m some music exec in a cheesy movie.
“Mr. O’Malley.” A heavy German accent flows into my ear.
“Mr. Schlossberg. Thank you for meeting me here.”
“Not exactly the Michelin star restaurants where I usually conduct business. But that’s because you’re hiding.”
“And you’re right here with me.” Testy. Testy.
“I’m not the one worried about being found.”
“You should be, Schlossberg. The O’Rourkes might want my head on a pike, but you’ll get drawn and quartered right alongside me if they find out you’re part of this deal.”
“Then let’s skip the pleasantries.”
Ewan raises his hand in the air, and a truck drives forward. I glance over at Shane, who has his NVGs on like the rest of the men. They’re difficult to wear while using the headphones, so I can’t see as clearly as they can. I still see plenty. While no one’s talking or moving between the Boston Irish and the German delegations, Shane pulls his own backpack around to reach inside. He pulls out a camera with a high-speed telephoto lens. He silently snaps photos while Nate holds up his phone to record whatever it can see. There will be no refuting the evidence since I’m also recording the audio.
“Here you go.”
Ewan unlocks the roll top door and pushes up to reveal the entire truck is filled with what looks like brand new sofas still covered in clear wrap. He hoists himself into the truck and pulls a knife. He cuts a slit in the wrapping of the sofa closest to the door. He tugs out the seat cushion, then unzips the back. Holding both edges of the fabric, he tips it upside down, allowing a cascade of marijuana bricks to land in front of Schlossberg.
It's Schlossberg’s turn to pull out a knife. We’re a regular ol’ Boy Scout den. Always prepared. He sticks his blade into the package, wiggling it enough to get it in without ripping the cling wrap open. He pulls out the knife and uses his thumb and forefinger to pinch some of the contents. He brings it to his nose as he rubs the pads of his fingers together. He signals one of his own men to come forward.
The guy pulls out his phone and taps the screen a couple times. He steps closer, practically shoulder checking Ewan out of the way. He puts his phone on the edge of the truck bed along with a testing gadget before he takes the brick of marijuana from Schlossberg. I know what he’s doing without needing my NVGs or a zoom lens. He’s going to test the THC, CBD, and CBN. He draws his own sample from the open package using tweezers. He puts the flowers in the gadget and starts the analysis through the app on his phone. It’s going to take three to five minutes to get the results.
This is the tedious part. It’s not like you’re friends with your buyer. You’re not chatting about the weather or where you’re spending the Fourth of July. You’re not reminiscing about bygone days. You’re trying to tell if they’re going to screw you over more than you intend to screw them over. You’re making sure none of your men get trigger-happy. That always makes for a bad night.
Our guys, Shane, and I remain still as the minutes drag. These exchanges are never as exciting as the movies make them seem. At least we have these commercial tests now. It’s not like in the olden days where your tester had to smoke a joint to tell how good the stuff was.
My mic catches a soft ping, and the German quality assurance officer picks up his phone. His finger slides up and down the screen before he gives a decisive nod and hands the phone to his superior. Schlossberg appears satisfied because he waves another guy over. He accepts the envelope his guard hands him and opens it for Ewan to see.
Ewan doesn’t hesitate to pull the bills out and flip through them. He does exactly the same thing I did when I examined the money I found. He doesn’t go through every bill, but he goes through plenty.
For fuck’s sake, hurry the fuck up. It’s not like it matters at this point. You’re going to be giving it back in the morning. There’s no way Herr Schlossberg will let you keep a single speck of it once the pot doesn’t show up. With his German efficiency, the money’ll be back in his Swiss account before you can say eins, zwei, drei.
One, two, three. He’ll snatch that money back from Ewan so fast it’ll give the shit bird whiplash.
Ewan holds on to the envelope while his truck driver pulls the door shut and locks it. As though they’re saying a lingering goodbye—no air kisses, though—neither turns their back on the other. The truck takes off, and the men fill their respective SUVs. Then they’re pulling away in opposite directions. None of us makes a peep for three minutes. That’s when I can no longer hear anything at all.
“We need to be fast. Nate, get the padlock undone. Luke, John, grab the gear bags from the vehicles. Peter gets the spotlights set up.” I’m putting my equipment away as I speak.
We travel with solar powered, portable work site lights. We don’t do everything in the dark. The guys hurry to do their tasks while Shane and I stand together. We whisper to each other. Shane looks in the direction Schlossberg’s envoy drove as he speaks.
“Are you prepared to save him when Schlossberg goes after his arse in the morning? You can’t let your girlfriend’s brother die.”
“We see how it plays out. It would have been better if this happened a month ago. Then I wouldn’t have to keep his dumb arse alive. It would have been so fucking convenient.”
“Do we let Schlossberg rough him up?”
“Within reason. We can’t go in and save him, though. We’ll have to find a way to have Schlossberg call off his Wachhunde.” Guard dogs.
The guys have the shipping container open, and the lights set up. Peter hands me a crowbar, and I go to the spot I found the hidden stash. I pry back the metal before stepping away. Luke and John take my place and toss the various currency bundles into the bags. Finn will go through everything and decide what to do with the counterfeit—who to sell it to—and which accounts to hide the legit money in.
Shane and I search throughout the container, going in opposite directions. We find a couple more suspicious nooks and crannies, but they’re all empty. We’re all wearing gloves, so no need to wipe anything down. We leave the siding pulled away from the walls and the door hanging open.
It’s not long before we’re on the road and catching up to Ewan’s truck. As we expected, it has no escort. A couple quick maneuvers, and we have it boxed in and forced onto the shoulder of the road. We all have balaclavas on now. Not that the driver or the guy riding shotgun will talk. They won’t breathe. We work in silence, even with Kelly along who’s never done this type of job with us. We work fast, going through every sofa, carefully extracting one cushion at a time—seats and backrests.
Nate and Peter set up a workstation with two TV tray tables while Shane and I help the other guys carry burlap sacks full of oregano to them. They get the wrapping open, then pour out the contents into empty sacks. Luke and John help them funnel the oregano into the original packaging while Shane, Kelly, and I haul the sacks to the SUV we arrived in. We aren’t worried about the weight of the bricks we leave behind, so some packages look deflated.
The ones that look the worst get hidden in the far back sofas. The entire operation takes nearly four hours, but then it’s done. It takes precision, which takes time. Peter’s the new truck driver with Luke riding shotgun. Kelly pulls into the lead vehicle position and stays there until we’re three blocks from the harbor. We hang back, trusting everything will be fine while Peter and Luke get everything offloaded.
This part feels like an eternity even though it’s only another two hours. We still have our earpieces in, so we can hear what’s happening. But if shite goes sideways, we can’t get to them in time to save them. I breathe a sigh of relief when it’s done. We meet up with Kelly’s dad and brother. The three of them deal with the vehicles once they drop us off near the back entrance to our motel. Nothing flashy because we don’t need anyone noticing we’re in town.
“We roll out in three hours.” Shane waits for my agreement.
“Don’t oversleep this time.”
“That was seven years ago, and I had the fecking flu which you gave me.”
“But I still arrived on time at the airport.” I grin at him as he flicks me off.
I head into my room and take a quick shower. It’s just after five a.m. I’m about to fall asleep when my phone buzzes. What the fucking hell now?