Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
seamus
“Are you sure this isn’t an excuse to get in some dirty times in public with your bombshell wife?” Dec asks as he drags the usually perfectly behaved Arnold into the living room. “Emphasis on the bomb.”
The cat’s yowling in his carrier.
“Maybe you should worry about your furry friends and walk them more before concerning yourself with my sex life,” I say as he unclips Arnold and puts Clawzilla’s carrier down before letting him out.
The animals race to the door, barking and hissing like banshees until Cal’s thundering “Enough” makes them stop. Dec drags them off to Torin’s office, closes the door behind them, then dusts off his hands.
“Got a dinner reservation soon, Cal,” I say.
On the sofa, Torin sips his whiskey, checking his phone. “And I need to pick up Harry.”
“You two don’t think I want to see my Lucie Joy?” Callahan lights a cigarette, looks at it, swears, and puts it out. He picks up his whiskey instead. “Dec?”
My brother hurries over. “What?”
“The guy you spoke to at the altercation, the one who called in the problem?” Cal asks. “Two things. Do you trust him? And is he coming with that photo anytime soon?”
“Who, Mitchell?” Declan asks as he helps himself to the Redbreast. “Always pays on time, never causes any trouble, and he’s given me the heads-up on small issues he’s seen.
Passed along info here and there. I give it to you when it’s worthy.
He said he’d be here with the photo of Lev. I believe him.”
“Why does he have a photo of Lev?” Cal asks, leaning over to grab the bottle and refill his glass. “It seems too handy. Too coincidental.”
“I asked about the Lev group. He mentioned he has a photo on his phone of a friend with Lev at a prime titty bar.” Declan sips his drink, looking at us all. “I told you all this. It’s why he’s coming here.”
Prime and titty bar don’t tend to go together and what kind of careless gangster poses for photos?
But this is a world where everyone documents even the smallest thing, and a group outing might garner a photo, especially if it was an up-and-up evening. Still…
“Lev just posed, and this Mitchell just happens to have a photo of him?” I ask, staring at the wedding band that both melds into my finger and stands out—at least in my mind—among my other rings. “Sounds convenient to me.”
Dec glares. “I don’t know if it’s the Lev or a Lev, but there’s a Lev. He did say he knew some people who’d joined the Lev group, but it wasn’t like they had a base.”
“Rebels, meeting in basements and the backs of bars or wherever they can.” Torin frowns. “Homegrown rebels sounds grassroots. The type not to have Semtex.”
“If they’re made up of lots of different people who want changes, then…” I shrug. “They could have an expert.”
“One who’d cover their tracks a little better. Didn’t you say the build was Irish?” Cal asks, leaning against the wall.
“I’ve seen things like that before. The heavy hitters, professional shit at home. It’s like… homegrown got a college degree but wanted to pay homage to their roots. There’s always a tell,” I say, stretching my hand where I grazed my knuckles on someone’s teeth earlier.
It was a run-of-the-mill altercation, a gang pressuring a small family-run business that operates on our land. They didn’t call, mind you. They pay us, but for some reason, didn’t call us.
It took a criminal who ran drugs in another nearby store to make the call.
And it pissed us off.
The family didn’t call because people like them don’t. They pay on time for protection, because it’s how things are done, and they don’t cause trouble. Nice people, small and easily picked on.
They get a discount. We don’t need the money, but we also don’t do shit for free. That gets out and encourages asshole behavior.
The gang won’t be back but this guy, Mitchell, mentioned Lev, just like Dec said. And then he went on to say a Hank Kerry came in to get some merchandise and mentioned he was meeting someone named Lev at Camilla Fine Italian while he was on the phone.
And he apparently has a picture.
He told Declan all of that. And said he’d give us the picture of this Lev, too.
If he could find it.
Mitchell is a dude who knows people. The low-life criminals always do.
Which is why I want him to hurry up, so I have an idea of who to look for at Camilla’s with my hateful wife in… I look at my watch… twenty minutes.
“So you think whoever built the bomb’s Irish?” Torin asks.
“Or learned from someone Irish.” I take a swallow of my drink as Dec crashes down on the sofa.
Cal raises an eyebrow at me. “A specific kind of Irish, you mean.”
“Da’s friends had a certain way of building, you know that.
I was young, but I saw them work. I watched and learned.
I might not be able to build some of them, but I know each maker has a quirk, a tell.
Sort of like a signature. Like I can tell if someone’s learned to make bombs like me or like Liam back home. ”
“Or Paddy,” he says.
I nod. “Or Paddy.”
He sighs, then rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand. “This isn’t our fight,” he warns.
“But it could be.” I slap a hand on my thigh. “It’s worth looking into who’s who. And I think we should have done it from the start.”
Cal’s look is sharp. “Do you now? We poke too hard and things awaken.”
“Walk carefully and carry a big stick,” I mutter.
“All of you remember the Lev group, even this mythical Hank, isn’t our business or our problem.” Callahan pauses. “Not until it is, so if anyone asks, we’re looking for something that might harm our future business merger with the Volkov Bratva.”
“We’re still taking that?” Dec asks.
I sigh. “It’s the idea. But like anything we do, we check it out. Don’t talk until you have to and keep it simple.”
“I knew this fucking party job would bite us.” Callahan picks up his cigarette and holds it, staring at it like he’s contemplating relighting the thing.
“Bottom line, find out if any of these threats to Romanov are really about us. Carefully. Very fucking carefully. And while you’re at it, see if there’s any trouble we might need to clean up down the road in regard to the bratva we’re going to take over. Unless your bride’s the sharing type?”
“She isn’t.” At all.
My brothers keep talking. Actually, Dec controls most of the conversation. He had fun today and I’ll give him that. Sometimes it’s fun. But I worry he thinks everything is fun when it’s not.
I tap my fingers on my glass. I’m not being fair.
Declan’s young, has a good heart, maybe the best of all of ours, in that pure way, but he’s lived through the same hell as we have. Oh, we protected him from a lot, but things happen. Dicks like Paddy happen. Danger always lurks in the shadows.
Dec sighs. “These gang strikes happen more often, like they can smell power shifts or openings.”
“In us?” I ask.
Declan shakes his head. “The merge of Romanov and Assisi gives them both more power and expands their base, but it causes turmoil, too. That’s what I mean. In turmoil, it’s like being at home. But with more players.”
I throw a cushion at him. “You’re a Murphy all right. I told you, Torin, Mam didn’t pick him up at the pound.”
“He’s right,” Callahan says. “Gangs and the cartel and other criminals not affiliated can feel the changes, and then they get bold. Since we did security…”
I look at him and rise to my feet, needing to pace. “You don’t think anyone believes we’ve joined forces, do you?”
“Who the fuck knows? But we keep this all about us. Romanov and Assisi can fight their own battles. We’re not tangling in their messes.
” Callahan pauses. “I want to expand our power base, and we will, but we stick to slow going, and we stick to careful choices of allies and what we take over. When do you get in to see the workings of the Volkov Bratva?”
I shrug. “Not sure. It shouldn’t be long. We see her lawyer soon. I guess once they’re sold on the marriage, we’ll be in.”
Cal sighs. “Could be at the end of the year, but we should be able to get access to the smuggling routes earlier.”
We’re talking to talk because this Mitchell guy is taking his time turning up.
When the doorbell finally rings, Dec answers after looking at the security monitor.
“Here.” Mitchell hands a package over once he opens the door. “Take it. Just in case I’m being watched, I’m giving you a sample of our merch.”
Cal comes up to the door. “You don’t need an excuse. You rent on our territory. Call this an extra payment for being late.”
“But I put—”
“Your prerogative,” Cal says. “Next time, don’t sweeten any deal. Got it?”
The man nods. Then he turns and scurries down the stairs. From the car outside, the window rolls down, but Cal shakes his head and then gently pushes Dec out of the way and shuts the door.
“You’re not following the guy?” I ask.
“Why? We know where he works.” Cal takes the package. Sure enough, there are drugs in there and he tosses them to Dec. “Get rid of them.”
The first photo Cal pulls out is of a man. A naked chick is behind them working a pole. Lev, I presume since it’s written on the photo. I don’t recognize the other guy in the picture, but our friendly drug dealer circled Lev for us.
The other’s a blurry printout from a security camera that doesn’t give us much. I squint at it. The subject looks tall. He has gray hair and what looks like a scar.
And as I look closer, something occurs to me. I’m probably wrong, but… because I’m always interested in puzzle pieces, and the picture of Lev is pretty clear, I think…
What if we’re a target now?
Or worse…
What if we were the real targets of the bomber at the wedding?
Not the guy who set it, but the one who made it.
There were people who knew we’d be acting as security for the event.
A deep chill settles into my bones.
Fuck.
“When the guy I killed in the grounds of the Romanov mansion came at me, he didn’t stop when I told him I was security,” I say. “Chances are he could have bluffed. A lost guest, a staff member? Or he could have just stayed still.”
Cal looks at me. “What are you saying?”
My jaw tightens as I look between my brothers. “What if, from the very beginning, someone was interested in getting rid of us that night?”