19. Callahan
NINETEEN
callahan
We’re not close to Central Park, so I run along the West Side Highway paths that take me down to Battery Park and up to around the West Fifties.
Then I turn and run back.
The park’s better, but this’ll do in a pinch, and while we’ve got a gym at home, I needed to get out of there.
I push myself hard, relishing the burn in my calf muscles.
The thump of the music in my ears chases most of my thoughts away.
Apart from the stubborn ones which have everything to do with her.
Lucie.
Fuck.
I took her virginity last night.
But that’s not even the problem.
I’d always planned to.
That was written in stone, me fucking her, ever since she kicked me after rescuing her that first night.
But shit. I didn’t expect it to be so fucking good.
It wasn’t that she was tight.
Most pussies are tight, that’s the point of them.
But no, it was something else.
Chemistry, the heat of her…
I don’t fu cking know, but I need more.
And after I have her again, I’m positive that need for more will only keep growing.
My chest quakes, breaths short and sharp.
I jog The High Line in Chelsea and head home.
Slowing down to round the corner of my street, I stare at the morning sun just starting to peek over the horizon.
I mop the sweat from my face with my t-shirt and start to open the gate when a soft whine stops me.
“Hey, Arnold,” I say to the skinny German shepherd as he peeks at me from one side of the tree.
He whines again, then growls, which is not like him.
I look closer and see why.
There’s blood on his fur, and as he comes to me, trembling, his right paw only grazes the ground.
Anger grips me. If I can find the bastard who left him out here to be attacked like this, I’ll return the favor tenfold.
Only that person won’t be limping anywhere.
They won’t be fucking breathing.
“Hungry? Come in.”
The dog limps to the gate, growling and trembling, but he refuses to come in.
So I take a gamble. I have bowls, a water bottle, and the kibble by the front door, in a duffel bag.
I leave the door open and grab them before coming back out.
At first, I don’t see Arnold, but then I do.
He’s huddled in the shadows in the corner of the yard.
I set everything down and fill the bowls, one with water, the other with kibble.
He’s starving, and he tentatively comes up, butts my hand, then bends and chows down.
In seconds, he laps the bowl dry.
I pour some more water in.
I want to stroke him but he’s hurt, and I don’t want him to associate food with pain, so I leave him be.
When he’s done, he wobbles a little, and I pet him.
When I get to the blood, he growls, but I don’t feel a giant wound, and any attempt to take his leg is met with a snarl and snap of teeth.
A warning.
“Okay, okay. I get it.”
I close the gate, hoping I can get the leash and the collar to get him inside, even if it’s only into the backyard.
I put more kibble in his bowl.
“Wait here.”
The house is quiet when I walk inside.
My useless brothers are no doubt sleeping.
Torin might not be, unless he was up late working.
I have things to do today.
We need to meet with de Rosa, but I want to try and locate that fuck, O’Sullivan.
And I have a late afternoon meeting with a dangerous drug cartel.
Drugs aren’t my thing.
But they are money. And in Manhattan, purity of certain recreational drugs is big money.
I want in. With the right person.
And I think this cartel is perfect to carve a small relationship with.
I’m not selling. I don’t want that, but there are paths and doors I can open with the relationship.
That’s worth gold.
And cartels, like me, respect loyalty.
Respect someone’s word if it’s kept.
I understand all that, more than most. Because when you come up from nothing, earning respect is currency, and your word keeps you alive.
The scent of coffee hits me, and I get the leash and collar and follow it, thinking maybe I can steal some of the ground beef Declan bought for a spaghetti dinner.
Fucking kid. He wants to cook.
For my bride.
If he wasn’t my brother, I’d kill him.
But she’s right, they’re similar ages, and I’ll allow a friendship.
He knows enough not to touch her, to keep any stray thoughts hidden deep.
“Thinking of the devil…” I mutter .
There she is, in jeans and a pretty floral top.
I drink in the length of her body for a long minute.
“Are you staring?” she asks, blushing, a coffee cup in hand.
“Yes.”
“W-why?”
“I’m thinking of banning jeans. Legs that pretty and a cunt that delicious shouldn’t be hard to access.” I take her coffee, take a sip, then pull a face.
“How much sugar is in there?”
“Four teaspoons.”
Dear God.
“Cream?”
“It’s good.”
“Horrendous.” For some reason, I find myself smiling as I get the chopped meat from the fridge.
Of course, Lucie Joy would drink horrible coffee.
She has a history of drinking questionable drinks.
As I turn, I catch the blooming garden scent of her, so I do what any reasonable man would.
I grab her and kiss her hard.
“Now that’s how I like coffee like that. Direct from your mouth.”
I kiss her again, licking against her tongue, sucking on her lip.
Then I step back.
“Why do you have meat and a leash?”
I grin.
“Want to meet Arnold?”
“Who?”
“A stray dog.”
She skitters back.
“I don’t like dogs, they scare me.”
“Not Arnold.” At her doubtful expression, I add, “Live a little.”
I hand her the wrapped meat from the butcher Declan found on Bleecker Street.
Then I go back out, pretty damn sure she’s following.
I bet she won’t be able to help herself.
Arnold’s still out there, in the farthest part of the front yard, which is not very far away considering how small the property is.
But it’s dark, shadowy, even as the sun starts to brighten up the early morning.
For one second, then two, Lucie stands, hovering, doubt everywhere.
And that fear’s real, but not crippling, but it causes her to dig fingers into the paper-wrapped meat.
Then Arnold whines pitifully and lifts his sore paw.
He tilts his head, anxiousness shining in his dark eyes.
“Oh my God, you cutie,” she says, pushing past me.
No one ever pushes past me.
Except this snarky lass.
“Baby, your little paw.”
She’s down on her knees, and remarkably Arnold is all wagging tail and zero growls.
Like he recognizes good in her.
Probably. I’m a monster, I know that.
So does he. But I feed him.
And I understand his spirit, how he’s fought the odds.
He’s a survivor.
“You have a cut on your paw!”
Irritation is suddenly strong in me as she gently holds his paw and smooths a hand along his muzzle to his ears, her earlier declarations gone.
She shakes her head and looks at me.
“You can’t keep him out here, and you can’t call him Arnold.”
“Yes, I can.” My brothers would get the name.
Terminator or Barbarian seemed a little over the top.
Arnold is subtle. Badass.
“I’m trying to get him inside, at least to the backyard.”
I hand her the leash, but she pushes it away, then opens the paper containing the meat, feeding him a piece.
He carefully gobbles it from her palm.
“I don’t need a leash. Go make him a bed.” She turns to me.
I don’t move. “Are you ordering me around?” I ask in a dangerous voice.
“Yes. A little. ”
“And I thought you didn’t like dogs.”
“I never said that.”
“You did.”
Her cheeks flush a deep pink as she stands and drops a piece of beef.
Arnold scarfs it up, looking at her for more, whining pitifully.
“I’m scared of them, but he’s not scary.”
She starts up the steps, and desperate for the beef, Arnold follows.
Narrowing my eyes, I grab the dishes and follow as he looks anxiously back at me.
“Don’t listen to the mean lady, you’re bad and scary and kick-ass.”
When we’re inside, Declan’s awake, sees the dog, and bounds over, scaring him.
I tell him to make a bed, and with the three of them busy, I shower and dress, glad Lucie’s distracted.
Because I might be tempted to haul her up here and fuck her senseless.
I straighten my jacket as I come down to meet Seamus and point at Dec.
“You’re on Lucie and Arnold duty.”
Seamus raises a brow.
“Arnold?
“Ready?” I ask, ignoring him.
We head out and into the SUV that Clive has waiting.
“Who’s the dog?”
“Arnold?”
“Of course he’s fucking Arnold… And who is he?”
“Our new pet?”
He just side-eyes me.
As we head to Queens, we map out the day.
There’s going to be blood and death later.
A gang of upstarts that are fucking up a supply chain we have needs to be taken care of.
We just took over that particular cog, so cleaning out the debris is number one on the list.
“What’s on the agenda?” I ask.
“Volansky’s in town from Europe and we promised an introduction. We have a table booked in Manhattan. ”
“Okay,” I say.
“What else?”
Seamus consults his iPad.
“We’re supposed to arrange a meeting through de Rosa with Butelli.”
I tap my fingers, thinking.
“Let’s flip the script. Do we have Butelli’s number?”
He nods.
“You wouldn’t be looking to cause trouble now, would you, Cal?”
“Trouble? Just in the mood for some boat rocking. Call him, then Volansky and de Rosa. I’ve got a plan.”
He looks at me.
I shrug. It’s not much of a plan, but it’s something.
“You’re a control freak, Callahan.”
“Don’t be rude, Seamus. I prefer ruthless cunt.”
I’m not sure how much I trust de Rosa.
About the same amount as I did before Lucie.
I expected that to change.
Better, worse, something.
I married the prick’s kid.
And it’s early days, but he hasn’t called, hasn’t asked about her.
That bothers me in ways I don’t examine too closely.
But my instincts are usually spot-on, and while I know I can keep the upper hand with de Rosa, I can’t help returning to the tiny, niggling thought that I’ve missed something.
Which is why it’s good to change things up.
I want to meet Butelli and can arrange it without the official introduction with de Rosa and the unified front.
But that won’t help, and besides, I want to see them together.
We go way back with Volansky, so he doesn’t worry me.
And though he looks like a small player, he’s important.
He can open all kinds of doors, more than I’ve needed, but he’ll run some things past me if something doesn’t ever sit right with de Rosa.
My plan is to just observe de Rosa with old and new relationships and in settings of my choosing.
As plans go, it isn’t much on paper.
But even I’m surprised by what people give up when their microcosm shifts even a little.
Like Lucie.
She’s bloomed.
But right then, she’s a distraction I don’t need, so I push her from my mind as best I can and work with my brother to set up the day.
We wine and dine on our terms with de Rosa’s man and then bring ours into de Rosa’s domain.
And it’s enlightening.
De Rosa seems out of sorts being on new turf at the Butelli lunch.
Until he finds his big man groove and the smaller mafia man simpers.
I already know I won’t use Butelli for much.
He’s too much in de Rosa’s pocket.
Maybe he’ll handle a shipment, a line to something I might want but not need.
Low maintenance and nothing sensitive.
Butelli’s now firmly in that camp because of how up de Rosa’s ass he is.
But de Rosa’s ego is bigger than I first thought.
He’s like the fucking wizard in Oz, playing bigger than he is.
Unlike the wizard, he’s dangerous, but so the fuck am I.
And seeing the ego unleashed tells me I could, if I wanted, control him.
It tells me I need to watch him, too.
When we meet with Volansky, I watch him, not de Rosa.
Volansky doesn’t give a shit about big power and influence.
He gives a shit about someone’s word and if he thinks that person is genuine.
I don’t think he liked de Rosa, but he’ll work with him the way I’ll work with Butelli.
It’s in his expression .
It leaves me close to where I was before, but with a little less trust.
After Volansky leaves the Bayside mansion, I lean against our SUV, smoking a cigarette as Seamus texts with Torin.
“We’re waiting for…” He looks up at me.
I blow out some smoke.
“For de Rosa to swoop in and be the man thinking he can own us.”
Seamus just laughs.
“You think he’s that stupid?”
“Not stupid.” Exactly.
“That arrogant, yeah. But I can play with arrogance.”
His phone buzzes and he glances down.
“Fuck, Tor said the lead on O’Sullivan didn’t pan out, but there was an SUV that followed us to Queens.”
“Could be nothing, could be something. Everybody and his mother drives an SUV.”
And it could also be that fuck, Paddy.
He mutters something and glances at me.
“If he?—”
“Mr. Murphy.” A man crunches his way across the gravel, “Good, you’re still here, Mr. de Rosa wants a word.”
He’s standing at the window in his office when we’re led inside, and I catch Seamus’s eye roll.
“I just got word… there’s a place in Jamaica…”
His man hands me a card with the address of a Thai restaurant in Jamaica, Queens, that has some odd hours.
“This is a small guy, but pivotal, which is why…” De Rosa stops.
“It seems someone… a rival… took this man’s daughter. He?—”
“Cut to the chase, de Rosa,” I say.
“I don’t have all day.”
De Rosa’s man turns and holds out a phone that Seamus takes .
I glance at it, and all the information, including the picture, looks legit.
“This associate will be someone you want, too.” I don’t move as Vincent breathes out.
“The girl’s sixteen. This crew, they sell girls, some into porn, some for rich men to play with… We need the crew leader, who has her neutralized, and then we have to get the girl back. This guy, Pella, is small-time, a nasty piece of shit, and he’s got her held at that restaurant. His crew is moving her tonight if he doesn’t get the dollar amount on the back of the card by five p.m..”
Seamus hands the phone back.
I turn the card over.
“Tell him to pay the million.”
But I know what he’ll say next.
“He’ll take the money and the girl, and this guy can’t go in. Territorially, it’s?—”
“I’m not interested in the sob story or the politics.”
“If you know someone, Cal…” de Rosa says, “it would be good business.”
I don’t bother looking at my brother.
“Callahan,” I state.
“And if you want a favor, ask. I don’t play games.”
“I thought?—”
“Careful now,” Seamus says, “you don’t want to be pissing Cal off. Say what you mean.”
De Rosa takes one look at my face and drops his gaze.
“The money’s yours, or whoever goes in. But it has to be done now, when it’s not expected, and before Pella’s people even know what happened. Quick and clean and the girl comes out safe.”
They’ll know anyway, but as I said, fuck the politics.
They aren’t mine.
I give de Rosa a cold look.
“I don’t need the reasons why you, your crew, a thousand other crews can’t go in. I haven’t been introduced yet. ”
“But you took out Mitchum.”
“For you?” I half smile.
“For you, yes, and for good reason. Your daughter and our agreement. This? All the politics and who can’t do what and when? Honestly, I’m not fucking interested. Come on, Seamus.”
Vincent de Rosa balks.
“Cal?—”
“We’ll do it; I just don’t need a sob story and enticement. That doesn’t work on me. But right now, I’m feeling generous. So consider this your last favor. The rest will cost. On top of whatever spoils a job might garner, it’ll cost. All of it. Cleanup, payoffs. Everything.”
With that, we leave.
No one says a word as we get in the SUV.
“What was all that now?” Seamus asks.
I shrug. “I think the girl’s legit, and there’s no reason we return her immediately. Fuck, we can talk to this Pella, too. Take him.”
“If he exists.”
I check weapons, add extra ammo, and hand Seamus a gun.
He takes it. “Something here stinks.”
“Of course it does, Seamus,” I say.
“It’s either a test or a trap. We treat it as a trap. Get the girl, this Pella if we can, and then shoot to kill whoever’s left. Look up Pella. See what you can find on him.”
“Well,” Seamus says a minute later after lightning fast research is done.
“Pella’s real. And an ugly bastard. He travels with crews. They’ll be armed.”
“Hence the shooting to kill, Seamus.” I sigh and light a cigarette.
“Fuck it, if the asshole doesn’t look in the mood to talk, kill him. A sixteen-year-old’s more likely to talk our ears off.”
“De Rosa’s right, I got the name of the father, and he’s small, but someone we’d definitely want to do business with.”
“Maybe the girl knows something.”
“You can’t use a child, Callahan.”
I give him a dark look and blow smoke at him.
“I said talk. And then we return her. We’ve got a nice safe house. Make arrangements.”
He mutters something rude as he does what I ask, and I blow out another stream of smoke, letting my thoughts circle in no particular way as we head to Jamaica.
Nothing jumps out. I’m not sure what to think of Vincent.
He asked for a crew or anyone we knew who’d handle this.
And then he showed us the info on the girl and her father.
As Clive parks just down from the shuttered restaurant in Jamaica, a delivery truck pulls up.
Two guys start hauling out crates of vegetables and sacks of rice.
An actual delivery, but the guy who takes it doesn’t look like any sort of restauranteur.
It’s the perfect distraction.
“Clive? Wait for the signal, and the moment either we, or a girl, comes out, I want you moving. If it’s the girl, grab her. If it’s us, be ready to take off.”
“I know how to do my job, Cal.”
“Fucker.”
With that, Seamus and I head for the back door.
The manager’s office is back here, and I can hear someone crying inside.
A girl.
At least that part’s true.
Seamus picks the lock and I look at the girl once we’re in.
“Quit your crying and go with him,” I say.
“Silently. Now.”
“Cal.”
I send them off with a wave of my hand and creep deeper inside.
There’s something off about this.
I inch down the hall, past the restrooms to the restaurant.
Outside, a truck starts up, and voices filter from the kitchen.
Then I see him. Pella.
He’s drinking from a bottle of tequila at the bar.
Not exactly the mastermind of an operation.
More like a man hired to do a job and waiting for his next order.
So I grab him, smash his head against the bar, break three fingers, and twist his arm so sharp behind his back something snaps.
Then I loop my arm around his neck and stick my gun to his temple.
“You’re going to tell me what the fuck you know about Vincent de Rosa, and I’ll decide just how little pain you’ll go through before you die. Deal?”
The guy tries to fight.
Fuck this. He’s the kind of nasty you hire when you don’t want any information getting out.
Namely because he has none to give.
I pull the trigger, right as I see something on the floor.
I know what it is.
A fucking bomb.
They knew that we’d show up here and were ready to take us out.
Because of de Rosa.
Son of a bitch.
Seamus appears and I shove the body down to the floor just as the men from the kitchen start charging in.
Bullets whizz through the air.
I grab my brother and throw him through the glass front window.
Then the world shatters and shakes, the deafening explosion casting flames and debris everywhere around me.