Chapter 43
Chapter Forty-Three
TALLY
W alsh is being his usual evasive self, disappearing whenever there’s a rush, but as the night progresses, he’s either doing drugs again, or he drops a handle on his control, because he starts acting like a kid waiting for Christmas morning. He’s basically bouncing on his feet in his eagerness.
“Tally,” he calls as I’m walking out from behind the bar to clean the VIP room.
Pasting a smile over my face to hide how very little I think of him, I walk over. My stomach cartwheels when I see he’s got his keys and my backpack on the top of the bar next to him.
“You went through my locker?” I snarl, unable to hide the glare I aim his way.
“It was open. But it doesn't matter. You want to come with me to one of our other pubs? I have to look at the work the contractor did and drop a couple of kegs there for a friend to pick up.”
Walsh wouldn’t be a great poker player. As soon as he starts lying, his eyes drop away.
He’s most certainly hiding something. I consider his offer, including assessing the potential risks.
I’m mostly confident I could take Walsh out, since his bravado means I’d read his actions before they happened.
Add in, this is exactly the dodgy shit I’ve been waiting for, and it’s an easy yes.
“Are you paying me still?”
He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, playing around with me, trying to be chummier than we are. “Aye. Plus, extra, since it’s outside of your normal duties and all. So, what say you? You interested, or I’ll catch one of the boys from the kitchen to help.”
I smile and reach over to rub a hand over his shoulder, doing a better job pretending we’re buddies than he does. “Hell, yes. Let me grab some crisps for the drive and race to the loo.”
“Ya good. I’ll meet you round the back once you’re done.”
I nab my backpack and let the other waitress know I’m finishing up.
Opening the back door, a cold wind nearly blows me off my feet, and I curse the change of weather, especially since I didn’t bring a hoodie.
Not one of mine, anyway. Rafferty’s forest green one is in the bottom of my backpack, but I’m dead certain it wouldn’t be a good move on my part to pull it out.
It would be a reminder of where my loyalty lies.
If Walsh chooses to ignore my connection to the O’Connors, that’s not on me.
Returning inside to the staff room, I take the time to peel off one of the small trackers that come disguised in a headache medicine box.
Activating it, I have it stuck to one of my fingers while I dig through the lost and found box in the staff room.
I pull out a construction worker fleece that’s dirty but not offensively stinky.
The florescent strips aren’t great for hiding, but the polar fleece is going to keep me warm, no matter what we’re doing.
Walsh is already in the box truck. The white side is plastered with the distinctive cyan and yellow logo of Commercial Fleet.
As I walk around the back of the truck to the passenger side, I drag my hand along the side, sticking the tracker right in the middle of the logo.
It’s small and discreet, and the clear backing means it blends right into the logo.
As I climb in the cab, he waits until I’m buckled in before taking off.
“Goddamn, it’s cold,” I mumble, reaching over to turn the heating to high, but he flicks it back to low.
“Got shit in the back that can’t get too hot.”
I turn, resting my back against the door so I can keep up the appearance of being friendly, encouraging any mindless chatter as we drive. Because Walsh is too proud and not smart enough to know what he should and shouldn’t be sharing with people.
“Where are we going?”
“About an hour away.”
I open one of the packets of crisps and pass it over. His favorite too. Cheese and onion, and he takes them without thanks. “I didn’t realize the Kellys have more properties.”
“Here’s the thing, it ain't one of theirs,” he gloats, smiling like the cat that ate the canary.
I let my mouth fall open in mock surprise before I dial up the charm, even throwing in a few flirty giggles for encouragement. “Walsh, I knew you were important, but I didn’t realize you were the man .”
“Well, I ain’t the man, but I work for him. You can’t be telling anyone this, Tally. I mean, even Black and his lot don't know the extent. And definitely not the O’Connors. It would get you and me killed.”
“What? Why me?”
“Because you can’t know.”
“Oh my god, then don’t tell me.”
“Ahh.” He waves my mild theatrics away.
“You don’t have a problem with what happened after Mass?” I ask, triple-checking I’m not walking blindly into a trap.
“I was a little manky to start, but like you said yourself, you’ve been a good lass and not been sharing what happens in my pubs. You think Keegan was speaking the truth about me sacking ya?”
I wait until he looks at me before I roll my eyes and wave the suggestion off. “Nah. He’s just like that. Bossy, I mean. But I meant what I said before, Walsh, I’m not giving up my independence till I know if I’m staying.”
“Aye, sure, I get that. Though most in your shoes would have been done with their deciding by now. The O’Connor boys are royalty. You not up for that?”
I glance away and chew on my lip for a bit, to add a bit more angst to my response. It must be working because he reaches over and pats my leg.
“Sometimes things are just arseways, until they right themselves. You’ve got a job with me for as long as ya need, Tally.”
“I appreciate ya, Walsh. I’m damn grateful every day, I answered that ad.”
And then I draw my knees up and put my feet on the seat making, it hard for him to reach over again. Opening my crisps and eating them, we drive in quiet for a bit until his phone rings.
Walsh uses his headphones so I can’t hear the other person speaking. But given the short answers Walsh uses and the long pauses where he does nothing but listen, it’s easy to assume it’s his contact.
Reaching forward to put my empty packet in the front of my backpack, I try to see the number on screen, but there’s no number, just “No Caller ID.” It’s a missed opportunity that leaves me dealing with rising frustration.
I’m annoyed because Walsh clearly doesn’t trust me as much as I need him to, and I’m searching for ways to bridge that gap when he takes a roundabout too fast.
The wheels on one side of the truck lift, and there’s a god almighty bang in the back of the truck as something heavy falls over.
I startle, making a girly noise, and he reaches over the space, his hand patting my knee in comfort again.
I have to bite my fist so I don’t punch him in the snout, but at the same time, I’m stoked with my acting skills.
Walsh quickly finishes up the call, then diverts the truck to an emergency lane before pulling to a stop.
“Shit, Walsh, that sounded bad. Can the things you’re transporting break?”
“Nah. Is all good. Right as rain, Tally. You wait here.”
“I’ll come help, then we can get going quicker.”
He grunts as he gets out but doesn’t tell me no. The temperature has dropped even further since we left.
“Ack, it’s freezing,” I say, filling in the gap, acting a bit awkward and stressed.
“We’ll be right.” Walsh passes over his unlocked phone. “Hold the torch.”
Which I do… while I open up his call history, seeing what numbers he’s dealing the most. There’s no way I can risk screenshotting, so I focus on the top two and memorize them as best I can while Walsh keeps fumbling with the padlock.
“Want me to try?” I ask when he starts getting more irritated after each failed attempt.
He holds the keys out, and we swap positions. After a couple of tries of me wiggling the key, it snaps open when I crash it against the lock. It’s old and shitty, and clearly the rental people haven’t done any maintenance.
Together, we shove the roller door up. The inside of the flatbed is mostly empty, except for the kegs Walsh said we were taking. They’re all secured by straps to the side wall of the truck. The ones that crashed over happened because the strap holding them broke.
Hopping inside to help him right them, now that I’m standing in front of them, there’s an obvious size difference to the ones stacked and tied on the opposite wall of the truck.
“Stay there,” Walsh barks over his shoulder, moving to where the kegs are on their side.
I watch as he struggles to lift them up. And even full of lager, he should be able to push them back up, but he can’t, because it’s pretty clear they’re not full of beer or lager. I’d put money on them being full of missing children.
Normally, I’d say drugs or even pound notes that need to be laundered, but considering the obvious absence of chatter around any hard drugs, besides a bit of coke, and no weird notes passing my till, it’s easy to take them out of the equation.
“Let me help you,” I insist, moving quickly when he’s in the middle of trying to pick up the keg.
He can’t very well shoo me away, although he gives me a glare that would send others racing away.
As soon as my hand touches the metallic-looking barrel, I get confirmation it’s in looks only. The surface is warmer than any stainless steel or aluminum I’ve touched.
“Out of that, Tally. Get in the front of the truck and shut your fucking trap,” he snaps in his panic, as soon as we right the first one.
“Bit late to be doing that, Walsh,” I hiss, folding my arms over my chest. But I still act like a smart waitress and not a seasoned detective. “I want more money now. Obviously, you’re transporting something illegal.”
“You’re not really in a place to be demanding shit from me.”
I walk off but stop before I hop out of the truck.
A growl of frustration and agreement has me smiling before I walk back to help him with the other fallen keg. “Walsh, you remember I’m here to help. We’ll work things out. Together. I might actually be a good alibi. I’m sure we could come up with some story.”
His shaking hand gives him away.