Chapter 34
Declan
The Maguire family is an old Irish clan from deep in South Philly.
They started out life as a group of bank robbers and car thieves before pissing off the police commissioner back in the fifties.
Their leader at the time, an old craggy Irishman from the seedy part of Cork, was pretty much stuck up shit creek without a paddle.
His name was “Craggy” Lorcan Maguire, though most just called him Crag, and he was a real piece of shit.
But back in those days, my father was just coming into his own as the boss of a crime family, and he saw something in the old bastard.
Maybe it was the Irish accent. Every Irishman in Philly’s got a little sentimentality about the old country.
Or maybe it was how effective Crag and his brothers were at stealing vehicles and breaking them down into parts.
Whatever the reason, my father decided to pull some strings and use his burgeoning sway with the cops to keep Crag’s jail stint on a very short side, and when Crag got out, the whole Maguire group joined up with my father’s outfit, and the rest is history.
Except it’s not history. It’s still happening. That’s the thing, history doesn’t repeat, but it echoes. Because the DA that went light on Crag was Donnell’s father, and now Crag’s son Lorcan and Donnell are thicker than muddy blood.
The Maguires still live in a row home off Washington Avenue. The neighborhood’s seen better days, but they refuse to leave. Seamus leans against the hood of his truck and frowns around us before nodding down the block. “I’ve got about fifteen men lurking around, just in case.”
“We won’t need them.”
“You really think the Maguires aren’t out to put a bullet in you?”
“They’re not that stupid.”
“Come on, Donnell and them are tight. If he’s against us, so are they.”
I shake my head. “Got to give them the benefit of the doubt. Otherwise, we’re going to start driving around this city killing absolutely anyone who looks at us wrong.”
Seamus glares at me. “Not a bad idea.”
“Easy for you to say. I’m the one that has to clean up your damn messes.” I head to the door and wave him off when he moves to follow. “I’m good. I’ve got this one myself.”
He grunts, obviously not happy, but this is tricky business. If I don’t do it right, I’m liable to turn a bad situation into something even worse.
Lorcan himself answers the door without me having to knock.
He’s clearly been waiting. “Got one of those new Ring cameras,” he says, grinning manically.
He’s got the same look as his old man Crag did: messy, thinning hair, a wrinkled-up face, a gravelly voice from decades of smoking. A nice and loud echo of the past.
“I’ve been meaning to install those at our place.” I follow him inside. The interior is warm and comfortable. Despite the way the Maguires have slowly fallen out of favor and onto hard times, they’ve kept up appearances.
“I bet you’ve got more than a few cameras already.”
“Just a few.”
“And some very watchful eyes.”
“Well armed, that’s for sure.”
Lorcan laughs but there’s no humor in it. He takes me into a sitting room at the front of the house. There’s already whiskey served on a tray and a young man’s on the couch in the corner, looking very stiff and uncomfortable.
“You know my boy, Rory.” Lorcan introduces his son, another hard-faced Irish young man, though this one must have a bit of his mother in him. His hair’s curly, shaved close at the sides, and his eyes are a deep brown. I don’t know him well, but I put him in his early twenties.
“Thanks for visiting us, Mr. Whelan.” He shakes my hand and has a firm grip. I like that he’s being formal. Shows respect.
“I appreciate you having me.” I take a seat across from the Maguire men and accept a glass. The whiskey’s decent but I don’t throw it all back.
“Times are hard right now.” Lorcan sighs noisily and shakes his head all pious and frowning. “Your father passing is a real blow. He was a good man. Saved my father’s life back in the day.”
“The two of them always got along well.”
“My old man always said your father was the sharpest knife in the city. The way the Whelans have been these last thirty years, I suspect he’s right.”
“You’ve done well for yourself too.” I gesture at the decent furniture and the comfortable room.
“Not as good as some, but still good.” Lorcan’s too proud to admit that he’s unhappy with his family’s station in the organization. “But we don’t need to do this dance for long. I’ve got nothing but respect for you, Declan, and for your whole family. Was that Seamus out there I saw?”
“That’s right. He’s keeping an eye on the street for us.”
Lorcan nods like that’s totally natural, but he knows how these things go.
If the head of the Whelan family’s street muscle is nearby, that means the whole house is surrounded by loyal guns.
Lorcan might have ten men hiding behind a door with rifles and bad ideas, but he’s now very sure that none of them will survive for long if they start pulling triggers.
“We always appreciate his hard work.” Another sharp smile from Lorcan. His son, Rory, shifts uncomfortably, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, and says nothing. “Let’s get into it then. You want to talk about the future, I expect.”
“That’s right. The future. That’s a good way of putting it.
” I smile at him. I do my best to mask the rage in my heart.
I don’t want to hate this man or anyone in his family because they’ve all been like kin to me for a long while.
I remember Lorcan at events and functions, like my own christening and dozens of parties. But they brought this on themselves.
“Donnell’s been visiting here. You know he and I are close.”
“He’s close with a lot of people.”
“Some more than others. He’s just got concerns, that’s all.”
“And why didn’t he mention these concerns sooner? Why didn’t you come to me or my father before now? Seems interesting how you waited until my father got sick and died before having these concerns.”
Lorcan’s face hardens. “I don’t like the implication you’re making.”
“Then tell me I’m wrong and make me believe it.” I lean forward before he can speak. “You and Donnell were itching for my father to get buried, weren’t you? I bet Donnell didn’t wait until he was cold before he started talking about mutiny.”
Lorcan works his jaw. “That’s just lies and disrespectful.”
“Then you’re happy with the way things have been in the Whelan family lately?”
“I didn’t say that. We’ve got problems, same as anyone.”
“Tell me what bullshit Donnell’s been spewing and maybe we can discuss a few compromises.”
He shakes his head and slams his glass back down on the coffee table. “I’m coming out straight here. Donnell said you’d try this, and here you are. He said we’ve got to stand firm together.”
“Who’s ‘we’ exactly?”
“Me and some other families like ours. You’ll hear from them soon enough.
But listen to me now, Declan. If you want to be boss, you’ve got to learn how to make everyone get along.
Your father was good at it, but Donnell’s not so sure you have what it takes.
I’m just being as straight as I can be out of respect. ”
I nod slowly and put my glass down. It makes a soft click sound.
The son flinches slightly and stares down at the floor like he’s afraid.
I wonder what he thinks of all this, and an idea comes to me.
It’s not my usual style of leadership, but maybe I’m not in normal times anymore, and the usual style won’t be enough.
“I appreciate your honesty, Lorcan.” I get to my feet. “I want you to reconsider your alliance with Donnell. Your father was a loyal Whelan man. You can be too.”
“Old Crag’s dead and gone. The Maguire clan’s mine to lead. Sorry, Declan, I really am, but we’re with Donnell Lynch for now. You and he need to work this out.”
I nod and look away. The things we do for our family. This stupid bastard thinks he’s making a good play, but that’s not how I see it.
I reach into my jacket, grip my pistol, and draw.
Lorcan’s got enough time to open his mouth in surprise before I shoot him in the skull.
Blood and brains splatter the wall behind him. His son screams in terror, his face drenched in gore. Lorcan’s corpse slumps sideways, steaming and mangled.
“Tell whoever’s waiting to stay out.” I train the gun on Rory. The young man seems frozen. “Do it right the fuck now.”
“Connor! Don’t come in!” Rory’s voice is shaking as he looks wildly over my shoulder toward the door. “Stay out for right now.”
“Tell them we’re talking it out.”
“We’re talking!” Rory’s eyes flip to his father’s body and back to me again. “We got this! Just don’t you come in!”
I wait, gun still aimed at the young man. Nobody moves. There’s dead quiet in the house. If there really is a Connor waiting, he’s got some good restraint.
"That’s good.” I move so I can see the door and Rory at the same time. I don’t lower the gun. “Your father’s dead. That makes you the leader of the Maguire clan now.”
“Sure. I’m the leader.” His face is pale, and he swallows hard like he’s trying to get himself under control. He looks at me, pointedly turning his back to his father’s corpse. “I didn’t agree with him.”
“That’s easy to say with a dead body at your elbow.”
“I mean it. I told him to cut it out. This shit with Donnell. It’s no good.”
I think back to earlier. The way the young man looked uncomfortable. How he was practically squirming this whole time and could barely meet my gaze.
“I believe you.”
He seems relieved. “You’re not going to kill me too?”
“That’d be a waste. You don’t seem as stupid as your father.”
“I loved my dad, but he wouldn’t see reason. I told him this was going to happen. I warned him.” His voice chokes and tears fill his eyes. I lower the gun slightly. If he hadn’t reacted like this, I doubt I would trust him. But he’s emotional, and he should be.
“What was he doing with Donnell?”
“Plotting mostly. I don’t know the details. I wasn’t a part of them.”
“How many other families are involved?”
“A few. The Mahoneys and the Flannerys for sure. I think Ronan Walsh and his little crew.”
That’s worse than I thought. I keep my face calm and impassive. “What are they planning on doing?”
“I don’t know. I swear it, boss, I’d tell you, but I don’t know.” He sits forward suddenly. I fight the urge to raise my gun again. “There’s one thing. I told my father it was wrong. He even agreed Donnell might’ve gone too far.”
“Talk now. We don’t have much time before my brother comes in.”
“They hired someone. This hitman. An Italian name. I’ve never heard of him before, but I said we can’t be bringing in outside muscle. That just ain’t right. Not for something like this.”
Feeling drains from my limbs. I stare at Rory and try to parse what he’s saying.
Donnell wouldn’t have gone that far. There’s just no way he’s that stupid, right? He’s a power-hungry bastard, but now suicidal.
“That killer… is his name Senesi?” My tongue feels thick as I say it.
Rory brightens and nods. “That’s the one. You know the guy? He seems like a real piece of work, in my opinion.”
Motherfucker. I shove the gun back into my holster. Rory relaxes back with a deep sigh.
“I’m leaving now,” I say loudly for anyone listening. “If there really is a Connor out there, keep your gun down. We have a new understanding, don’t we?”
Rory nods wearily. “I’m a Whelan man. Like my father’s father was and my father before he made some bad choices.”
I walk out of that sitting room. In the hall, I find three young men, all scowling at me. The head of them must be Connor. He nods at me, hands up in the air.
I look over my shoulder, and there’s Seamus standing in the doorway with a shotgun and a smirk. “Wasn’t gonna let my big brother wander off into a trap.”
Connor spits. “Wasn’t a trap like that.”
“Come on.” I walk past Seamus, ignoring the young thugs. “They’re just doing their job. We’re all on that same side now.”
Seamus follows me, whistling a tune. He’s always in a good mood when there’s violence in the air. “I take it Lorcan wasn’t helpful.”
“Not even slightly, but his son was.” I stop on the sidewalk and grab Seamus by the arm. “Donnell fucked up. That stupid, greedy bastard might’ve gotten everyone killed.”
“What did he do?”
“Stuck his fucking dick in razor blades and prayed he wouldn’t get cut.” I shove Seamus lightly and storm to the car. “We’ve got work to do.”