Chapter 13
Well, we figured out what the fuck happened to our shipment. The Boston Irish made a move that is going to cost them monumentally. The mob once ran a major part of that city. People up there think they’re more Irish than a lass born and bred in County Cork. We usually get along. By that, I mean, we stay the fuck out of each other’s way. They keep New England, and we keep everywhere else east of the Mississippi. The exception is Chicago. They have their own ruling family. Their reach is nothing.
“What does Rowan O’Malley think he’s doing?” I look at Shane as we stand in my bedroom while I pack.
“Flexing. He’s only been in the position as long as Dillan. But he has a massive chip on his shoulder. He has since we were kids. His mommy didn’t love him enough.” My brother is silently seething.
The lost goods are costing a few million. In the grand scheme of things, that’s a lot, but it’s not much more than a pinch. It’s them worming their way into a place they don’t belong. They have their own deals with foreign markets. They don’t need to steal from us. It’s not revenge because we usually leave each other the fuck alone. They’re trying to prove something. Prove they can embarrass us. Prove they can conduct business with impunity. Prove we’re their bitches. Oh, how wrong they are.
“Is the jet ready?”
“Yeah. We can go, Finn. I know you have stuff going on here.”
“She’s not stuff. And I’m not shirking my duties. If Thea and I have a future, then we need to see if we can get through these things. If we can’t…” I shrug. The guys might let me off this time, but I can’t quit my obligations forever.
I’d rather be with Thea than taking a late-night flight to Bean Town. Being away from her is another thing I’ll punish Rowan for. My goal is for this to take only three days. Tomorrow is getting the lay of the land. I need to scout things and meet with my informants. The next day is action. We’ll decimate them. Anything less means they’ll have resources to attack again. The third day is clean up and my flight home. I pray it’s truly that simple.
“I’m headed to the airfield, then. The sooner I get there, the sooner I can finish. I need you guys to keep an eye on Thea. I already spoke to Joey. He and his brothers have a few days off this week. They volunteered to keep an eye on her place. I didn’t ask. They volunteered. But that’s not enough. I need her to have a shadow.”
“Why?” Shane’s brow furrows. “Don’t you trust her?”
“I do. But someone put a brick through her window tonight. She claimed it was a bird. I pressed, and all she would commit to is it’s a family matter. I won’t strong-arm her into telling me the full truth, but no one puts a brick through your window without following up. I don’t want this mystery fecker to have the chance. If there’s more than one, the leader goes to the station. Shoot to kill the rest of them on sight.”
The station. It’s an abandoned rail station in the Bronx that’s been out of service for more than a decade. It has a subterranean level that we’ve made virtually impossible to access. Only the people who know can find it. We did some renovating and retrofitting. We have a kitchen, showers, and a bunkroom. Sometimes we’re there for days at a time. It’s our controlled location. We have another place, a house, on Staten Island where we can hold people until we’re ready for them at the station. It’s not ideal having to transport people more than once, but sometimes it’s a necessity. Once a person goes to the station, they aren’t walking out on their own. Ash or sludge. That’s how they leave.
The other families think their places are secret. The Italians have a garage in Queens, and the Russians have a warehouse there too. The Colombians have a vacant bodega in the same borough. We stay the fuck out of Queens. We all grew up there. It’s too fucking obvious. Their places were simple to find.
Everyone shuts off their phones miles away from their place. We track them, so we know everyone usually turns off their phones five miles out. You mark the circumference from that radius and work your way in. Whatever’s large, usually close to a river, appears abandoned, and will mask sounds— screams —is the place. The other families think we have a storage facility. We do, but that’s not our place. They think we used to use a fake storefront. We never did.
I say goodbye to Shane and head to the town car. Joey’s still at Thea’s, so I have a different driver. In the privacy of the backseat, it tempts me to text or call Thea. But we said our goodbyes. It’s better to leave without prolonging the agony. When Cormac and I spoke, I thought I’d stay in NYC. But that’s not an option now. I made it sound like I was staying here. If I call or text her, I’m going to feel guilty not telling her I’m headed to Boston.
I don’t want to tell her more lies, and I don’t want to cause myself a fresh wave of longing and missing her already.
Ridiculous.
We’ve gone on two dates. But a day is a decade in this world. A decade is a lifetime. Knowing I could die at any time, day or night means hyper vigilance. It means we must decide in the space of a couple seconds. Anything more gives your attacker the upper hand. That’s death.
I’ve thought about Thea practically every free moment I’ve had. I think about how much I like her. I think about the danger I’m bringing her into. I think about the things I can share, and the things I’ll always keep hidden. I think about whether or not that makes me too emotionally closed off. I think about what a future would look like coming home to her every night. I weigh all the options over and over.
I think about worst- and best-case scenarios with every permutation I can come up with. It always leads to the same place: I won’t walk away unless she tells me to. And it’s not confirmation bias. It’s not me wanting that so much, it’s the only conclusion I can come to. I have a shite ton of doubts about this. I have a nearly suffocating fear I’m making the wrong decision. But I can’t imagine not being with her now that I know her.
I’m thinking about this as the plane takes off. When we get to our cruising altitude, I force myself to get my laptop out. It’s barely more than an hour flight, but I pull up the program I created to track cell phones with a remotely downloaded feature in their operating system. We all have it. We wear trackers built into our watches, but it’s a secondary tool if something happens to one of us, and our trackers don’t ping. If the phone is on, I can locate it without using any government or law enforcement connected satellites.
It’ll be two a.m. when we land, so Rowan is enjoying his last night of sweet dreams. I’ll check into a hotel because they will discover I’m here. It’s not where I’m staying. We have a house in south Boston. It’s a shithole like the rest of the place. But it’s also where the Irish dominate. Embarrassing that they’ve been relegated to the shittiest part of the city. I don’t care that my accommodations won’t be luxurious like they’d be at the hotel. I often sleep beneath a rail station for fuck’s sake. It’ll make it faster when I strike. Rowan holds court at a bar near Dorchester.
I get to the house, and my guys— five of them came with me —rack out. We’re all exhausted. We had cars waiting for us at the airfield, so we didn’t have to wait around, and no one saw us. As far as the FAA is concerned, we never landed there. We have a false registration for that jet. They know the plane is there, but they don’t know it’s our plane. I’m asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.
“What the feck is he doing?” I mutter to myself.
Rowan is standing on the sidewalk talking to some motorcycle club leader. The guy is huge, but you can see his arrogance from a mile away. That’s his weakness. At least, it’s the most obvious right now. Size won’t protect him from the stupid decisions arrogance causes.
Rowan and this guy swap envelopes with no discretion. He wants any and everyone to see them doing business. What’s he got this guy doing for him? I pull my phone out and focus my camera from the car we’re sitting in half a block down. The windows are tinted, but not so much they draw attention.
I like nice things, but I don’t have the highest end of most stuff. My cars aren’t flashy, but they’re fucking expensive even before all the aftermarket parts. My cars’ lights and horn do nothing when I lock or unlock them. The dome lights don’t come on if there’s a bomb. The frames are reinforced, and the windows are bulletproof. I have a few occupational hazards.
My watch isn’t flashy since I don’t need some fuck nut thinking I’m a good target to mug. It’s also where my tracker is hidden. However, my phone is. I have shite programmed in no one will find, but it also has the best camera on the market. I got it for days like this. No one’s carrying some hefty Nikon for the world to spot. I snap some pics and enlarge them. They’re high resolution, but we’re just far enough away that the photos don’t show as much detail as I want.
I recognize the biker when he turns toward me. “Tom, hand me the binoculars, please.”
I’m in the front passenger seat. I lean forward and focus them. It’s just who I thought. Corey Byrne. Fucking sack of shite. He drives around on a piece of crap bike. He thinks the noise intimidates people. He needs to compensate for a micro penis. He rides down to NYC periodically, but he knows to stay the fuck out of our neighborhoods. He knows if we catch him, we’ll— at the very least —beat the shite out of him. If he thinks of doing any business in our neighborhoods, we’ll kill him. Utterly worthless.
Corey strides over to his bike and lugs his fat arse onto the seat. He uses his size to terrify people, but he hasn’t been in a fight in like twenty years. His goons do the manual labor. He has five of them today. He acts like they’re his enforcers. They’re his bodyguards because there are a few hundred people who would off him if they had the chance. He revs his bike and takes off.
Rowan checks the contents of the envelope he received. He appears satisfied with whatever’s in it. After a quick glance in Corey’s direction, he heads to his car. When he pulls out of his driveway, we follow. We make sure we stay three cars back. We only got a few hours of sleep because I wanted to be here before sunrise. Peter, my senior-most guy on this mission, slipped a tracker onto Rowan’s car. If we wind up losing him because we need the three-car buffer, we still know where he’s going. I have my laptop open on my lap, and his car’s signal flashes a dot as it turns right at an intersection. We see the car in time to follow without needing the tracker, but he’s merging into morning traffic.
It takes no time to realize he’s headed to warehouses they have in Lynn, which is four miles north of Boston. Lynn, Lynn, city of sin. You never come out the way you came in. Jaunty little ditty. We’re almost to an industrial park when we pull off. We can watch the parking lot from here. Once he’s inside, we’ll creep closer. Fucking move your arse. He’s standing outside on the phone.
“Are we close enough to get a heat signature?”
“I think so.” Nate hands me the heat seeking binoculars. There’re at least a dozen people in the building. I can’t tell how many might be out back at the loading dock. We’ll check before we pull into the parking lot. My informant said they’re moving the cargo today. It’ll sit here until Rowan finds a buyer. The rugs are nice and all, but I want our motherfucking nanochips back.
It takes another fifteen minutes for Chatty Cathy to finally head inside the building. We wait five more minutes before we head out and make our way closer. We’re not dressed in our full fatigues like we are for some missions. We’re dressed in casual street clothes, but each of us has at least one gun holstered to our back and knives in our pockets and our boots. You can never be too prepared. We split off into two trios. Three guys head around back to look at the loading dock to see what’s going on there. My other two men and I creep closer to the front door.
I wish I still had the heat-seeking binoculars with me. But those are impractical if I have to run or fight. We’ll have to make do without. You’d think they would have tinted the front wall of glass, so you can’t see inside. Since it’s not, it”s much easier to get a glimpse of what”s happening than I expected. More fool are they as we get closer.
The reflection off of the glass makes it harder to peek inside than I want to admit now that I’ve assumed it would be so easy. There’s a lobby area, but nobody’s there. It’s obviously a fake front for whatever they have going on in the back. There’s some type of pass code door I see when I put my hands to the glass and peer inside. We’ve already looked to see if there were any surveillance cameras in the area attached to trees, posts, or the building. There’re none. Now that actually is foolish of them. My two guys and I turn around and head to the back of the building and meet up with my men who’re waiting there.
“What’s going on?” I whisper as I join the others at the building’s corner. I peer around the side but duck back quickly.
“Something to do with weapons they’re selling across the border. They have buyers in Mexico City.” Peter fills me in as I risk another glance at the loading docks.
“There aren’t any cameras back here either.” Tom nudges his chin toward the roof as he speaks.
“They’re the only property owners in the area. Half these places are vacant, and the other half are businesses they own.”
I checked out all the deeds when I woke up this morning. It wasn’t hard to hack into the city clerk’s system. I only got three hours of sleep since I wanted that done before we headed out at dawn.
“Get this. We heard them talking about a bunch of iguanas they have waiting for them at some rich fecker’s house in Brookline.” Tom smirks and rolls his eyes as if to say stupid, rich people.
Brookline is one of the most expensive communities in Boston. The average home costs one-point-two-mill. Not surprising there’s an exotic animal trade running out of there. I’m not into lizards, but they are easier to transport than most animals. We’ll snag those and take them to the MSPCA. They’ll know what to do with them. That’s a nice little afterthought to add to my retribution list.
“What do you want to do, boss?” Nate glances over his shoulder at me.
He and I are the same age. We hated each other growing up. We were super competitive, but I always had an edge on him with anything academic or athletic. It used to piss him off like nothing else. It wasn’t until our sophomore year of high school, and we got in a fight with Pablo and Juan Diaz that we decided we had to put aside the hate, or we’d both end up dead. Thanks to him, I cracked Pablo’s collar bone. He crushed Juan’s hand and broke three ribs. We made peace after that.
“I want two of you inside. We need to know what else they have here. I noticed the fire escape on the far side of the building and a roof hatch. Luke and John, you head up there. Text me once you’re in. If you can, call me on video.”
You couldn’t find two brothers who look more different. Luke has almost black hair with blue eyes, and John’s hair is nearly bleach-blond. He has dark brown eyes instead. Luke’s almost six-and-a-half feet tall while John barely makes it to six feet on his best day. But their mannerisms are so damn similar, you can’t doubt they’re siblings. I watch them head back the way I came.
It surprises me that no one’s noticed us yet. They would if they had security cameras. The guys in the loading bay haven’t glanced in our direction. Makes life easier for us.
John
We’re in
It’s a few more minutes before my phone vibrates again, and it’s a video call from Luke. I answer, but no one makes a peep. He has the camera facing forward as they inch their way down a hallway with closed doors. With their guns drawn, they test each one. They’re all unlocked, but there’s nothing there. Once they clear all of them, they continue forward. The hallway had carpet, but it turns into a metal walkway over the main warehouse floor.
Both lie on their bellies as they inch toward the end of the carpet. Luke tilts his phone down, so I can see through the slats. There’s a shite ton of stuff stashed here. I spot crates marked with a caduceus— the international symbol for medicine. My guess is surgical supplies and prosthetic devices. It’s shite that should go overseas as humanitarian relief. I recognize a logo on a crate.
Luke pans his phone around the warehouse, so we can see more crates. I also notice burlap sacks. Grain, rice, and seeds. Those’re legit imports from Asia, so that’s what I want to get first. I prioritize taking their legal shite over everything else. Once we clear out what we want tomorrow, I’ll tip off the feds. What we don’t take, law enforcement will confiscate. I want them left with nothing, so the legal goods have to come with us.
The camera angle shifts, and I can tell Luke is commando crawling with one elbow. He’s silent as his head and shoulders move over the grated walkway. He’s opened his chest to be a target. He rolls to his side, and I can see the other half of the warehouse. Motherfucker.
There’re a dozen animal carriers lined up against a wall, and they each have a spider monkey in it. Iguanas and monkeys. What other exotic animals are they dealing? Is Luke going to turn around and find tigers waving?
He zooms in. Riley O’Malley, Rowan’s younger brother, appears on camera. He must have come from an office underneath the carpeted hallway. Since Luke and John are probably holding their breath, waiting to get shot, it’s easy to hear Riley when he speaks.
“The buyer’s in Florida. We need to get these guys to the airfield tomorrow night. Rowan’s going to meet us there with the lizards and birds.”
Birds? They have a fucking menagerie going on. It could be Miami, but my guess is Tampa. That’s the largest port in the state, and with undomesticated rare animals, people are far less likely to suspect Tampa than Miami.
We haven’t seen Rowan since he went inside. Did he slip out the front? No. We would have heard the car, and he definitely would have spotted us. Summoned like the devil, Rowan walks over from I don’t know where. The brothers move to a spot where Luke can film them, but he doesn’t have to lie on the walkway. He inches back into the darkened and carpeted hallway’s protection.
“Finn’s in town.”
I grin. Didn’t take him long to hear. My informant’s doing her job. Heidi was a regular fuck buddy, but we weren’t even exclusive about that. I’ve been with Rowan and Riley’s sister, Cady, every time I’ve come up here. The thought that I could fuck her while I’m here didn’t come to mind when I sent her a text, telling her to call her brother in a panic. I’m going to have to explain to her there’ll be no more sneaking off for a quickie any chance we have. There will be no chances. It won’t go over as well as it did with Heidi. She’s always believed I’m way more into her than she is me. She thinks that gives her power over me. I haven’t corrected her because I haven’t cared.
“What? How?” Riley fists his hands as though he would punch anything in reach. He puts them on his hips as Rowan explains, repeating what Cady told him, which is verbatim what I told her to tell her brother. Supposedly, I stopped in town to see her on my way up to Montreal.
The sex was good, but never good enough to schedule a layover. Cady didn’t point that out, so she believes we’ll hook up before I continue my trip north. She doesn’t need to know I’m here for a sole purpose: ruin her motherfucking family.
“So, what’re we supposed to do? Just ignore an O’Rourke rolled into town to feck our sister?” Riley’s full of questions.
He’s known about Cady and me since the first time we hooked up. Rowan didn’t find out for like four months. He tried to have the shite beaten out of me for it. He wound up two men short after that.
“Yes, but it means we have to get those rugs out of town tonight. We can’t keep them here.”
“And where do you suggest we put them? The ship doesn’t sail into port until tomorrow morning. Keeping them here with extra security is our best bet.”
“We take them to Corey.”
That surprises me.
Apparently, it surprises Riley too because he’s shaking his head hard enough for his hair to move. “Feck no. I don’t trust him, Rowan. He’s nothing but trouble.”
“He owes me.”
“That info about Gallagher isn’t worth shite.”
Riley jerks his head back as his brow furrows, and he frowns. It’s a completely derisive and dismissive expression. He thinks his brother is fucking nuts. Rowan tries to rationalize his stupidity.
“It is to him. He despises his nephew. Corey’ll put the screws to the guy and force him to accept help. We’ll get a cut of the hush money and another way to fuck with Finn.”
No. It better fucking not be…
“You really going after the guy’s daughter?” Fear laces Riley’s question. He’s smarter than Rowan.
“I’m not. That’s all Corey. From what I’ve heard about Finn’s lovesick arse, there’s nothing he won’t do to save her. If he wants to make the threat go away, he cooperates with us.”
Not a fucking chance.
“When’s Corey headed back down there?”
Back? Did that fucker put the brick through Thea’s window?
Rowan shrugs. “Day after tomorrow, probably. Soon enough to get down there before Finn finishes his shite in Montreal.”
“How long’s he here for?”
“Just tonight. He’ll feck Cady a few times, then be on his merry way.”
“But he’s with Corey’s grandniece now.”
“From what I hear, it’s only been two dates. It’s nothing serious.”
“Bullshit, Rowan. The O’Rourkes don’t just date. They fall hard and fast. If he’s gone on two dates, then we should consider them engaged. Look at Dillan. Hell, look at the Mancinellis. They weren’t any different from the Kutsenkos. Those New Yorkers are all in or nothing at all. This shite’s going to blow the fuck up in our faces.”
“Stop pissing vinegar. He won’t know shite until after it happens. Corey knows what he’s doing. He’ll use her to get to her parents. She’ll do anything to protect them, and they’ll do the same for her.”
“I’m telling you, this is the worst idea Corey has ever had. Does he know she’s dating Finn?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” Riley throws his hands up in the air as he explodes. “You better motherfucking know soon. He knows Corey. He knows the piece of shite is connected to us. They’re already pissed about the rugs.” He gestures toward the crates.
“Calm down.”
Riley steps in front of Rowan. “And I’ll be telling you to give a shite at your wake on Sunday. We need to get all of this shite out of here. We need to clear out and not come back. We haven’t brought him here, but Dillan knows about this place. He’ll tell Finn, who’ll stop here on the way home from Montreal and blow everything up.”
“No, he won’t. He’ll rush home to Althea.”
“Althea? What? Are we in 1950?”
I want to punch Riley in his junk. I never think of her full name, so it’s jarring to hear. I especially don’t enjoy hearing it from either of them. So much for today just being about scouting. I pull up John’s contact.
Me
Fall back. We need to go.