Chapter 11 Bruno
brUNO
“When you asked me out to shoot something, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind!” Saoirse yells over the hail of bullets that thud into the wall we’re hiding behind.
“Why?” I grin at her as I reload my gun. “Aren’t you having fun?”
She rolls her eyes and leans out past the wall to take a few pot shots at the Triads who have us pinned down behind a rabidly crumbling brick wall.
I invited her here because I’d tracked the ownership of the house those women were found in and after jumping through an insane number of property hoops, I got a name.
Inviting Saoirse to meet him was the fair thing to do and while I’d teased about a firefight, I hadn’t expected it to turn into one as explosive as this.
My car, my beautiful but rickety car, lies in flames on the other side of the parking lot after a few stray bullets landed right in the engine.
I’m going to miss her.
“Shit!” Saoirse throws herself back behind the wall, panting. “I don’t suppose there’s a chance we can talk them down?”
“Doubtful.” I dart upward and fire quickly, finally hitting one of the men camped out in the window of the tailor shop. “They don’t seem to give a shit about talking.”
“Think they knew you were coming?”
“I think—” Ducking back down to avoid the next burst of gunfire, I puff out my cheeks. “I think they expected it and were just waiting after we cleared out that house.”
“Fuck,” Saoirse gasps. “Oh, about fucking time!”
Following her line of sight, several black sedans roar down the street and screech to a stop not far from us.
Out of them pour several men and women armed to the teeth who immediately start firing into the building containing the Triad.
One man sprints over to us and hits the ground, narrowly avoiding some bullets.
“Hank!” Saoirse grabs him by the arm and hauls him behind cover. “Jesus, have you got a death wish? Cormac would never forgive me if something happened to you.”
“Sorry we’re late,” Hank pants slightly. “Roadworks.”
“You’re not serious.” I stare at him in disbelief as he nods and flashes me a lopsided grin.
“New York, eh?” He turns back to Saoirse. “You want them alive?”
She nods quickly. “I need them.”
“On it.” He’s back on his feet before I can say anything else and he joins the rest of the squad as they approach the building in a formation born from the military.
“Shit. You lot don’t fuck around.”
“Nope,” Saoirse replies. “Not when it counts.” Suddenly, she grabs my hand and stands. “Come on.”
With Saoirse leading the way, we head toward the tailor shop where the Triad have had the sense to duck inside behind cover.
Not that it will save them. As soon as Hank’s team kick down the door, all hell breaks loose.
The dark building is lit up by the flash of muzzles and bangs of smoke grenades, men yell and shout over the cacophony of gunfire and footsteps thunder all around.
The crashes sounding from the floor above are loud enough that it’s a wonder the ceiling doesn’t crash down on top of us.
In a cloud of smoke that clogs my lungs and makes my eyes water, I stumble along a wall using its sturdiness as my guide until I run into the back of one of Saoirse’s men.
He glances at me and smiles briefly, then leads the way down a small corridor toward a room at the back.
Just as he approaches the door, a closed door to the left swings open and an armed gunman charges out of the broom closet with his weapon drawn.
Barely thinking, I charge forward and slam my shoulder into the man’s chest and send us both crashing back into the broom closet.
We land hard and the man scrambles about underneath me like a feral cat.
Two punches to the face and he’s rendered unconscious.
“You alright?” yells the man I’ve paired with.
I clamber unsteadily to my feet and nod, coughing harshly around the smoke that still lingers in my lungs and turn to face him. “Yeah, I’m good!” I’m still speaking when a gunshot rings out in the corridor and the man vanishes from view with a spray of blood.
“No!” Gun raised, I charge out of the broom closet in time to see the guard fire several shots into a dying Triad on the ground. There’s a moment of relief when our eyes meet and I wait for that simple, small smile.
It doesn’t come.
His eyes roll back in his head and he collapses forward without making a sound.
“No!” I throw myself forward but don’t reach him in time before he hits the ground.
Pain lances up my knees as I hit the ground next to him and grab his shoulder, rolling him over.
Blood pools in the hollow of his throat and stains his neck dark crimson.
It floods forward, washing up over his chin and down into his dark shirt, making the black stretch out like an infinite abyss.
“Where?” I yell as if the pale man beneath me has any ability to answer me.
“Where is it?” I pull at his sopping clothes, try to smear the blood off his skin and roll him back and forth as I desperately search for the wound, the source of the bleeding.
My fingers are drenched in seconds and no matter where I search, I can’t find the wound to stem it.
I press my hands against his neck, then against his chest and his shoulder and pints of warm blood wash over my fingers but I can’t locate it.
In the mess of his clothes and armor, I can’t find it.
My heart races like the thump of pounding footsteps in my ears and while I didn’t know this man at all, his concern for me was more than enough to plant a curl of guilt in my chest. If he hadn’t been checking on me, maybe he would have seen the gunman.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit! I can’t find it, I can’t find it! ”
It’s not until Saoirse appears next to me with her gentle hand on my shoulder that I realize the gunfire has stopped and the smoke is clearing. Her grip tightens on my shoulder and her face is warped with sympathy when I look up at her.
“He’s gone, Bruno,” she says quietly. Hank stands just behind her, looking pained.
“I tried,” I gasp. “I couldn’t find the— and there was so much blood, I just couldn’t—”
“I know.” She slips her weapon back into her hip holder and tightens her grip on my arm. “Come on.”
Three hours later, I lean against the hood of Saoirse’s car and watch as she says her final goodbyes to Mickey’s family.
That was his name. Mickey Simmons, twenty eight years old with a wife and two kids.
Watching his wife break down at the news of her husband's death was a tough pill to swallow but I refused to look away. I only knew him for ten minutes but I felt a responsibility to be there and look her in the eye when I told her about his last moments. Despite her grief, she seemed thankful that Mickey wasn’t alone in the end.
Then Saoirse took over with a practiced response to this kind of news and I sank into the background to process.
It was supposed to be an easy bust. Maybe if I’d done things differently, it wouldn’t have turned into a firefight where we needed back up, then it wouldn’t have become a bloodbath and Mickey would still be alive.
Saoirse waits until the front door to the house closes, then she slowly walks down the gravel path toward me. “How are you doing?”
“Is it weird that I feel guilty?”
She shakes her head. “No. You were with him in his final moments. I think that leaves an impression on anyone.”
Nodding slowly, I rub at my jaw. “What did you say to her?”
Saoirse glances back at the house with a heavy frown.
“What I say to all of them. Mickey was a great man and he gave his life protecting others. I’ll pay for the funeral and we’ll support her family for as long as she needs us to.
It won’t make her grief easier but we can take care of the bullshit while she processes. ”
“You sound like you’ve done this a lot.”
She looks back at me with a small, sad smile.
“Cormac advised against it when I started delivering this kind of news personally. But I always felt that it helped the both of us. These are my people. My guards. It doesn’t matter how they go or whose orders they are following, it’s my responsibility.
And I don’t want the families to feel like their loved ones were just a number or cannon fodder. They’re all important.”
Given how often lives are lost in this line of work, I can’t imagine how often Saoirse has delivered such news. I suddenly see her in this new light, absolutely filled with empathy and care for everyone under and around her. Maybe she really, truly can help with my father.
“What?” Saoirse asks as I stare at her for a fraction too long. “Do you think it’s a bad idea too?”
“No.” I shake my head quickly and lean up from the car. “I think it’s admirable.”
“Fuck off.” She laughs, but despite her words, she sounds glad at the comment. “Come on, let’s go.”
“How’s Hank taking things?” I ask as Saoirse drives us. “Were they close?”
“He’s taken it hard because it was his order to breach,” Saoirse explains.
“He’s not typically out in the field much these days because he’s Cormac’s personal bodyguard but he’s reliable in a pinch.
I just…” She trails off and after ten minutes or so of driving, we pull up into an empty parking spot overlooking the river and park under some trees that sway lightly in the wind.
“What’s wrong?” I shift in my seat to face her, bracing myself for anything from tears to anger.
“I just need a minute.” Her hands remain on the steering wheel and she stares out of the car, gazing out across the river. When she sighs, her cheeks puff and a few strands of auburn hair drift upward. “No one was supposed to die.”
“I know.” The guilt in my chest tightens. “It’s my fault.”
Her head snaps to me. “Huh?”
“If I had planned better or been more prepared when we turned up there, then this wouldn’t have happened. I should have been smarter.”
“We can’t know that.” She doesn’t strike me as one to shift blame so the fact that she doesn’t blame me eases my guilt a fraction. “There’s no telling how differently that could have gone. But I do know one thing.”
“What?”
“We’re on the right track. They wouldn’t have been so defensive otherwise.”
“You think?”
“I know.” She sighs again, deeper this time like something old and heavy weighs down on her. “I can’t speak for the Italians but anyone would be a fool to mess with the Irish. Our reputation is pretty…” She clicks her tongue and we sit in silence for a few more minutes.
“Doesn’t make me feel better,” I say finally. “I didn’t know him but I can still feel…” Staring down at my clean hands, one blink and all I see is the constant flow of blood pouring over them. The heat was unlike anything I’d felt before. How can someone so dead still feel so warm?
Suddenly, Saoirse’s hand appears in mine and she lifts my knuckles to her lips. Our eyes meet as she very slowly kisses over my knuckles and lightly squeezes my palm. Another blink and the blood is gone. There’s only my golden skin now lightly stained with pink from her lipstick.
“Better?” Her voice is gentle and her eyes as warm and as earnest as when she was speaking to Mickey’s widow.
“Better,” is all I manage before I’m leaning over the gearstick to kiss her.