13. Callahan
THIRTEEN
callahan
My entire day is fucking shit.
“Christ, Cal, why’re you in such a crap mood?” Seamus asks as he checks his gun.
I nod at the warehouse.
“Does he know we’re not amateurs? And we’re not to be messed with?”
“Cal…”
“We agreed to protect this asshole if he pays protection taxes as well as handles some of our shipments. He does know there’s a deal in there, yeah? Our shipments mean his fucking crap comes in easier, cleaner. But wouldn’t you know it? ‘Irish’ must mean redneck to him.”
“Cal—”
“Because I find late payments unacceptable.”
I ignore my brother and clap the magazine in place.
“Callahan.”
“Who’s next in line in his organization and can they be trusted?”
“Fuck, Cal. Listen, I don’t know what’s up with you, and I really don’t want to know. I swear to the fucking Holy Ghost, I don’t. But you on a rampage will mean an epic bloodbath. ”
“Maybe I like bloodbaths.” Seamus is right.
I’m in one hell of a mood.
But I’m also not going to lose it.
“I might take extra joy in breaking bones and shooting any idiot who speaks out of turn. I don’t know.”
I do know.
Last night, Lucie… fuck me, Lucie, my new virginal bride, gave me probably the most incredible, dirty, filthy blow job ever.
And extra points for her not having done it before.
That’s how I’m choosing to believe it.
That she never put another fucking cock in her mouth.
I get it, she’s fucking twenty-one.
But with legs like that, a face like hers, and a penchant for running around in places she’s not supposed to be, going to fucking dance club parties tells me as sheltered as she is, the boyfriend she once had probably got his little pencil dick into her mouth.
But just so I don’t tear fucking New York City apart and possibly start a war I don’t need, I’m choosing to believe that mouth was pristine until I got through with it.
Or was it she got through with me?
Now, her giving me head shocked the hell outta me.
I wanted to teach her a lesson about touching what she shouldn’t, about pushing me when she most definitely shouldn’t because my control was hanging by one very frayed thread.
My plan was to scare her a little and then let her go to bed pristine until I decided otherwise.
Instead, she surprised me.
And I left because I couldn’t stay.
I’m not ready to sleep with her yet.
“If yer sure.” Seamus checks his phone.
“This warehouse is an important shipment center. Out of the way, small, and it’s not checked by the authorities.” He slants me a glance.
“Of course that’s what they pay us for, to keep it that way. But?—”
“I get it, gobshite . Don’t kill everyone.” I would, though, if I had to, and he knows it.
“Martinez in there? He’s a liability. He’s testing the waters, trying to see how much stretch the rope has. People like him will keep on doing it. They’ll fuck over their own people and skim from the top. He understands he’s an important cog and an asshole. Who knows what else he’ll do? Any lesson other than the one with the gun is going to be seen as a victory. Or worse.”
“Oh, there’s worse?” Seamus shakes his head.
I turn and put my hand on his chest, slamming him into the car door.
I pin him there.
He’s about to protest but looks at my face and stays silent.
“This ends. Now.” I release my brother.
“Christ, Callahan, just fuck her already.”
“Do not go there.”
“You paid for her?—”
“Any word on Paddy showing his face in town?” I ask, changing the subject.
Because he’s uncomfortably close to the truth.
I could take her… do more than I have.
I did pay for her. Paid for an alliance and got a bride who’ll act as hostage and leverage if needed, and who her father will view as confirmation of me taking our business ties seriously.
“Not yet, we’re looking.”
“Keeping low?”
“Or just enjoying the Big Apple.”
I grunt a wordless reply.
Then, “Does Martinez have a second?”
“Clarita Estevez.”
“Stats?”
If this was Declan, he’d give me her measurements, or I should say, the ones he’s making up on the spot to be funny, which the little bastard isn’t.
But it’s Dec .
“Clean. Hardworking. Seems she’s more respected and she also takes care of details.”
“That’s his death warrant, right there. Let’s move.”
Seamus and Clive go in first. I have another man in the driver’s seat today, I’ll call him Dave.
And of course, one more man, but he’s waiting for my cue to follow.
The workers unloading and loading boxes and crates stop, falling silent as we pass.
I’m in a suit with a long, lightweight coat over it.
It’s not cold, but it’s not hot, either, and the coat adds a dash of theatrics I like.
Martinez, when we climb the stairs to his office, isn’t expecting us, and the expression of shock is priceless.
His next moves seals his fate.
“Callahan Murphy, right? I spoke with one of your associates.” The man’s got a gut, needs to wipe the sweat from his face, and wash his greasy, graying hair.
He puffs up as he leans back in his swivel chair, eyes shifting to behind me, where the two people who followed me up the stairs are waiting.
“I explained the situation, and as you know, we handle a lot of things.”
“Do you now?” I pull out a cigarette and light up, blowing smoke into the room as I wait for my other man to come up the stairs.
“You’re new here, and unfortunately New York’s run?—”
“No, wait, I know this…” I take a drag, snap my fingers, and the woman, along with some heavyset dude, are ushered in by my final man.
“This city’s run by all sorts of groups requiring payouts. The garbage collectors—run by one of the mafia families. Same with liquor licenses. And then there are the cops, and all the government agencies watching for illegal shipments. You gotta pay ’em all, am I right? Seamus, I think I’m right, yeah? ”
He rolls his eyes slightly at my over-the-top, cliché Irish accent.
Martinez starts to nod.
And I sigh. “Thing is, I’m not new. Not new to grifters, criminals—being a rather good one, if I do say so myself?—”
“No, y’are, there, Callahan. A brilliant criminal.”
“Thank you, Seamus,” I say, not smiling.
Christ. These people.
I should kill them all on principle.
“My point is, I know how it all works. And, apart from the fact, it’s on you if you’re being extorted outside my protection, because whatever’s stretching your cash flow isn’t to do with the running of this spot. You know how I know? No one would fucking dare screw with anything I stamped my name on. I’m the worst of the lot. I grew up cleaning the floor with smug fuckers like you. The kind who thinks he can take advantage.”
“I have leeway?—”
“No. You don’t.” I cut my eyes to the woman and the dude.
“Estevez?”
“Yes, Mr. Murphy?”
“If I offered you the deal to run this place and pay me my dues at say, every Thursday at three p.m., what would you do?”
“Make sure I had all your money for you by Tuesday night, at the latest.”
“Excellent,” I say to her, flicking my ashes on the floor.
Then I approach Martinez.
Blowing the smoke between my lips, I kick his desk out of the way, and before he can move and grab his hidden weapon or even rise, I’ve shoved his chair, slamming it into the wall, and I’m on him.
I knee him in the groin, his cries and squeals pure choir music any fucking priest would be proud of.
Then I break all his fingers, sucker punch his throat, then stand.
“There are consequences, and this is it. You end today.” I glance at my brother and don’t even bother looking at Estevez and the dude.
They’re not going to help this man.
He’s crying, sputtering, pleading through the screams, and I take a final drag on my cigarette before putting it out on his face.
“Gun?” I say to Seamus.
“Or a beating? Or both?”
I look at the maggot and punch him in the face.
The crunch and spurt of blood from his nose is satisfying, and I slam into him again and again, putting my all into it, the aggression, the frustration, the sexual fucking frustrations for good measure.
I keep going until the man stops crying and pleading and goes limp.
A rattling gurgle fills the air.
“Is he a good boss?”
The dude clears his throat, looking green.
“No, he doesn’t pay us enough.”
The woman’s way more together, and the disgust that spreads over her face tells me things, too.
“So no one would miss him?”
“No, Mr. Murphy,” she says.
This time I look at Seamus.
“Call the cleaners.”
And I pull my gun and shoot the fuck in the head.
Then I turn and fully face Estevez.
“Make sure people are paid. You should get enough from transporting and holding. If there’s a problem with anyone, let me know. I expect payment on time every time. You’re in charge. Someone will be by to clean up this mess.”
“Yes, Mr. Murphy.” She then hurries to a safe and unlocks it, pulling out a stack of money she gives to Seamus, who puts it into his pocket.
No need to count it right here.
Everyone now understands what happens when you fuck with me.
Clive hands me a rag he got from who the hell knows where so I can clean the blood off.
I put my gun away and light up another smoke as we head out to the car.
As I get into the SUV, cigarette in my hand, Seamus says, “Feeling better?”
“No.”
That’s the short answer.
And as we head out of Brooklyn and back to Manhattan, I close my eyes, listening to the call Seamus has with Torin about our other interests of the day, smoking my cigarette, and I think, no.
No, I don’t feel better.
Beating up and killing that piece of shit hasn’t relieved a thing.
There’s only one person who can, and that’s Lucie fucking Joy.
“Pull over,” I say a few blocks from the brownstone.
Seamus grabs my arm.
“Fuck, Cal, there’s blood on you.”
“It’s New York, no one cares.” And I get out.
I cross to the bodega on the corner, stubbing out my cigarette before I go in.
I buy some supplies and, at the last minute, some fancy bottles of Mexican Coca-Cola.
When I leave, I wander down along the street and I turn onto West Eleventh and head up near the little park.
He’s there, near a tree.
“Hey, you wanna come home with me today? Got me a pretty girl you’ll like.”
The dog whines, ducking after letting me pet him once.
He’s not that old, and the German shepherd mix is big, but not as big as he could be.
He’s growing but still a puppy, just not the cute small puppy anymore, which is why, I suspect, some fuckers dumped him off here.
He growls but I rub his head, crouching and working open the first little tray of dog food for him.
He forgets his fear and pushes me half over in his haste to get to it.
I give him a second one, then a third, then I open the kibble and put some in the trays.
They’re clean in minutes flat.
He whines, nosing for more, and when I stand, taking the bag, he barks.
“Stop that, Arnold,” I tell him .
He does, tilting his head, big liquid eyes gazing anxiously at me.
“You could come home with me, fella. You don’t have to come inside, but we have this thing called a New York yard. It’s a small area that’s a postage stamp on either side of the steps, but it’s fenced. You could stay, come, and go.” I bend in and shake the bag.
“Give you some more food and water.”
He whines.
Arnold the stray is a beautiful dog, but since I haven’t had the chance to see him in the past week, I don’t think he’s been eating much other than dropped food.
I can see his ribs.
He’s followed me before, so I’m banking on him doing the same now.
Maybe this time I’ll get him in that yard where I can lead him through the basement and into the actual walled-off garden in the back.
If I can, then… then he’ll be safe.
I grab a handful of the kibble and start to walk, dropping some every few steps.
Arnold follows.
We get close, really close.
To the fucking gate close.
But a siren lights up the street with sound and an ambulance careens past.
Arnold barks and backs off, turning and running.
“Fuck. Next time, buddy, next time.”
With a sigh, I let myself in and head to the second floor when laughter stops me in my tracks.
I burst into the living room.
Declan and Lucie are on the floor, playing some weird card game and they’re laughing.
Something dark and savage grips me.
“Get the fuck out, Declan,” I snarl.
“And get ready. We’ve got work to do.”
Lucie jumps up as Dec stalks off.
Her eyes glitter with anger.
“What’s your problem?”
It’s a fucking good question.
One I have no intention of answering.
Nosy little thing that she is .
“Come with me.” I grab her and haul her twisting, fighting hot body up the stairs to my room.
Our room. Whatever.
She turns, hand touching my chest and my cock immediately gets hard.
“Are you going to ravage me?” There’s anger and sarcasm there, along with heat.
I respond instantly to all that.
Doesn’t she get it’s all a fucking turn-on?
“No.”
“Good,” she snaps.
“Because you’re an ass. And you’ve got blood on you. Been off fucking virgins to brandish their sheets like flags?”
“Too busy today for that. Put on your hottest dress.”
“Why?”
I drag her up against me and kiss her, pushing her lips apart with my tongue to lick a path into her, to rile her up, rile myself up just as much, to lose myself in her taste.
Then when she’s soft, pliant, heart wild and breath uneven, I break that kiss.
“Because you belong to me. So you do what I say. We’re going to a sex club, and I’m going to show you exactly why that is. Get changed, Lucie. Now.”