26. Finn
Finn
There Is No Last Straw
I’m in a meeting, but it looks nothing like it to an outsider.
Mickey holds the punching bag so it can’t move around when I lay into it. Johnny holds the stopwatch and the towel.
Kentigern sits on the octagon steps and continues the discussion.
“I’m just saying that the girls want a place they can call their own.”
I’ve broken a sweat, so I’m not going to stop now. Johnny makes a suggestion.
“There’s a new nightclub opening on Fourth Avenue. Maybe I can find a DJ to take over a ladies night?”
“Right foot forward. Punch. Left foot forward. Punch. Footwork, son, footwork.” Mickey’s also listening, but his priority is my training.
He adds his two cents to the chat though. “You mean one of those bars for ladies who don’t fancy men?”
Kentigern chuckles. “Father O’Malley will have a cadenza, mate. My sisters think there should be a wine bar or something. Nice food. Soft lighting. You know, when a doctor or a banker asks a girl out on a date and she wants to meet somewhere upmarket.”
Johnny says it first. “You mean somewhere her brother isn’t going to oversee how the date’s going?”
They laugh. I do footwork and carry on punching.
They chat around the topic as I move over to the speed ball and set up a steady rhythm, right hand, left hand.
Mickey motions for me to stop. I grab a water and towel.
“Eamon let the entire entertainment sector on Fourth go to shite. I don’t want it to be given over completely to betting and boozing. Kenty?”
He stands up and jogs forward. “Yeah, Boss?”
“Tell your one she’s got a good head on her shoulders. I want ladies and families to be included every step of the way from now on. Scope out a nice location for that wine bar and a coffee shop or bistro for families. Take Beth with you.”
Kentigern shakes his head. “I can’t be doing that, Boss. Beth wants to be your motzer!”
Loud laughter, but I don’t mind it. “Tell Beth to stick to dating doctors. I’m taken.”
That seems to throw a pall over the warehouse.
Kentigern doesn’t know that voices echo off the walls. He mumbles to Johnny. “Yeah, but does she know it?”
He’s not talking about Beth.
Mickey changes the subject. “Iain Farrell wants to throw his hat in the ring for the bout this Wednesday. I asked him to join us.”
We discuss Iain’s training like Kenty’s comment never happened. I’m not delusional or anything, I have a plan and I’m sticking to it.
Three bangs on the door lets us know that one of us is coming in. The light is so bright when it opens, but it shuts off quickly when the guards slam the door shut.
It’s Iain.
“Good man!” I beckon him to come forward. “Did you bring your gear?”
Our friendly banter disappears when we get a look at Iain’s face. “I’ve got more than training on my mind, Boss.”
He’s not looking forward to explaining his news, I can tell. Iain looks proper haggard.
My stomach contracts. Is she all right? Has something happened to her?
“Sorry, Boss…” Iain’s voice tells me that something fucking tragic has gone down.
All those beatings I got as a kid for allowing my emotions to show steel me. I walk to the shadows and lean my face against the corrugated sheet walls.
Iain doesn’t follow me, just shouts across the warehouse into the darkness.
“I couldn’t stop it, Boss. Saoirse gave the order for the old O’Shea house on Narrow Ave to be turned into rubble. Didn’t even have the paperwork for it.”
The lads grumble and mumble and wait for my reaction.
My laughter should reassure them, but instead it makes them nervous. “Don’t fly off, son.” Mickey warns me. “What gets knocked down can be built back up.”
My laughter just gets louder. I’m fucking roaring with it. “It’s fucking class she is!”
The pressure in the room goes down a few notches. The lads join in laughing.
“Whew! I thought you’d have an unholy reaction to news like that, Boss!” Johnny slaps me on the back.
“Ah, Johnny lad, I’m grand. It’s an open invitation from her ladyship. And I’m prone to giving her my RSVP in person.”
Running up the steps, I duck into the octagon. “Come on, Iain. Let’s be seeing your moves then.”
***
My phone has become a constant flow of information when it comes to Saoirse.
I know what time she gets out of bed. And I know that bed is in the guest room now. She’s abandoned the marital suite, giving her restless tossing and sporadic insomnia as an excuse.
Monday through to Saturday morning, she moves around the three Byrne real estate brokerages, checking sales and mergers and liaising with developers. Sunday is Mass in the morning and a midmorning service.
She works—hard. And since I came back on her radar, she’s obsessed with erasing every trace of my family from Brooklyn’s footprint.
Too bad I got there first.
There’s a score to be evened here. That’s the only information I’m interested in getting now.
My phone vibrates close to midnight. The message is short.
Left to visit P.
It’s a bit late for Saoirse to be visiting her Da. Hopefully the poxy old geezbag is sick or dying. They can’t do it fast enough for my liking.
Liam gave me a map of how to access the place before they sent him to sit at God’s right hand. I committed the layout to memory a long time ago.
Jogger pants and hoodie, this time in black. A small backpack straps over one shoulder. I run upstairs and step outside—a fox on the scent.
“Anyone come here by car?” It’s the guards I’m asking.
I don’t have a car. They’re too easy to rig to explode. That’s a handy little trick I brought back with me from the old country.
No one owns a car. It fucking sands my crack to know my soldiers have been squeezed out of the ‘house with a garage and garden’ market. If I needed a reason to win all my fights, that alone would be enough.
“I’ll call one of our lads who drives a taxi, Boss.”
“Tell him to meet me at the Home Depot Home Services parking lot. He’ll need to take a ramp off the two-seven-eight to access it.”
By the time I get to the parking lot, the car’s waiting for me. We give the nod. I get in.
“Head north. I’ll tell you where to go.” I don’t expect any of my lads to know where Patrick Byrne’s luxury mansion is.
But that’s not where I’m headed. I’m not driving up to the front door. Liam told me about a tree behind the wall. Its branches hang over a section in the corner.
It tells me more than I need to know that Patrick’s staff have done sweet FA to check for possible security breach access points.
They don’t care. And Patrick’s taken his eye off the ball.
My soldier lets me use the car roof for a leg up before driving away. Once I’ve strapped the backpack over both shoulders, it’s easy for me to edge to the trunk and swing down into the garden.
I land in a crouch and listen.
I’m back in the shadows where I belong.
Hood up, hands in pockets, I make my way toward the house, but it’s that presumption that nearly fucks me over.
Saoirse stands in front of me, but not looking at me. She’s staring at a large open-faced crate. The smell of rotting vegetation rises out of it.
The slinky number she wore at the bakery is gone. So are the clunky shoes.
The woman is barefoot and wearing one of those small summer dresses. Her hair’s pulled off her face and held back by a band.
It’s a rake she’s got in her hands.
“I got your invitation, darlin’.”
It’s one of those plastic-headed rakes. Great for leaves, shite for keeping me at bay.
She knows this—doesn’t even attempt to attack me with it—and just sighs.
“If you’ve come to discuss selling the land on Narrow Avenue to me, Finn, I’m all ears.”
It’s a hot summer night. The stars are out. The moon is full. The last thing I want to be talking about is real estate.
“Nah. I’m not interested in selling. In fact, I’m expanding the property.”
I’ve moved close enough to have a private conversation. The time for Saoirse to get spooked by this has passed. Which is interesting.
“You can’t expand. The house is surrounded by condos.” She stares down at the composted leaves like they’re tea leaves about to tell her fortune. She sounds tired, defeated even.
I don’t want to punish her anymore. I want to protect Saoirse from her worries. Got to push that urge down.
“About that…” We’re only inches apart. I do my best work up close and personal. “I managed to track down one of the condo buyers. He agreed to sell his unit to me.”
That’s got her attention. “You want to live in a condo?”
I thought this would be my ace, but my victory feels hollow.
“Nah. I’m good where I am. But I know half a dozen rowdy individuals who’re set to move in there. They’ll add a bit of Irish flavor to the neighborhood. Whiskey. Parties. Brassers. All night, every night.”
Her face is a mask. The moonlight catches her eyes and makes them glitter when she looks at me.
“Is that what you came here to tell me? Job well done. I’ll get my legal team on it.”
I take her hands and bring them to my chest. “It’s lawyers you want to solve our problems, storí?”
Trying to pull her hands away, she hopes to break my hold before I can see the tears pooling in her eyes.
“You’re my problem, Finn!”
She struggles, but it’s half-hearted. It’s slowly dawning on her that I’m not here to fight.
I’m here for submission.
Saoirse falls to her knees. “Leave me alone, why don’t you? Let me taste success without you tainting it.”
I shrug out of the backpack, let it fall on the grass next to her. “Not until you show me how sorry you are. My family home, darlin’. That’s low.”
The silence stretches out. She’s not fighting me anymore. She’s fighting herself.
It fair takes my breath away when she starts unbuttoning the front of her dress.
“I’m not going to say sorry, Finn.” She lets the dress fall. “It’s probably better that I show you instead.”