28. Finn
Finn
Away With The Fairies
Iwant Saoirse in the most basic way a man can want a woman. I love to fuck her. That’s the truth of the matter.
I’ve got a lot to think about while I wait for a driver. I watch Saoirse get into the car driven by one of my soldier’s wives. She has no idea that I’ve got her permanently surrounded.
Traffic’s light, so my ride arrives fast. It’s Cousin Donnell from Boston. He waits for me to hop in the front with him, but I get in the back.
“What’s the craic, Boss?”
I give him the nod. “Always have your one sit in the back so the fecking shades think you’re a cab.”
He smiles. “Sure. Mickey said that you’d run back?”
I stare out the window. “Can’t. Not wearing any briefs.”
Donnell chuckles. “That must’ve been some session.”
That’s not going to get an answer out of me. I cut to discussing business.
“Byrne’s told his guards to stand down permanently. Arrogant shitehawk. The brass of the man. Thinks he can take out all his competition and then toddle off into retirement.”
Donnell answers, but keeps his eyes on the road. “The previous generation of gangsters thinks a heartfelt confession to the priest wipes it all out. That’s what the old geezers tell me, at least, when I knock on their doors with my shotgun.”
If the Holy Church forgives them, then who are we to hold a grudge?
We’re the Fighting O’Sheas, that’s who.
We’re their punishment. The kind that no amount of Hail Marys and Our Fathers can negotiate with.
“I want a list of all Patrick’s soldiers, the ones who didn’t move over to Declan when Byrne closed shop.”
“For clipping?” My cousin makes eye contact in the rear mirror.
“I’ll not clip lads for wanting to go straight. They obviously didn’t go over to Maguire for a reason. Take a few good men with you and find out why.”
I’m not tired. I got forty winks with Saoirse lying on my chest. She weighs no more than a feather.
It was interesting. She’s quite an experience. I was there for information. I got that.
I was also there to punish her.
I got that too.
Donnell and I discuss business. The car slides through the mostly empty streets, crossing from Queens to Brooklyn, from good neighborhoods and into dodgy ones.
I change my mind about where I want to go. “Head to Fourth Ave. I need to check on something.”
“This isn’t Boston, Boss. How am I meant to know which businesses are for The O’Shea and which are for Maguire?”
“The ones that are still open will be ours.” The businesses given over to shift workers and drinking.
The sky’s well gray in the east when he drops me off. “I’ll stick around. Give you a lift back?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Hands in hoodie pouch. Head down. Backpack slung over one shoulder, I push the door of O’Sheas pub open.
Two men are sitting at a table, scoffing a fried breakfast. The one with the Guinness close to his right hand shows me he’s not the designated driver.
Four young lads are drinking in one of the green booths; they don’t bother hiding the rails of white powder on the table.
As Declan’s—and Saoirse’s—latest rising star of a soldier, Feargal was handpicked to take over from Eamon.
He’s an ex-con. Liam’s cousin. On paper, a traitor to the cause. So, it’s time I paid him a visit.
“Where’s Feargal?” I head over to the counter.
The barman jerks his head toward the backroom. “He’s inside counting the night’s takings.”
He doesn’t bother searching my backpack. I look like a jogger, not a hitman.
Lifting the counter hatch with casual indifference, I don’t want to let on that I’d know my way to the backroom blindfold.
No need to knock. I don’t think Feargal is expecting me.
He looks up and sees me standing there. Poor lad. His eyesight is fucked from staring at the ledger for too long.
“Boss…?”
“It’s Finn, you dozy fecker!”
Feargal jumps out of his chair and runs to the door. When he reaches me, we hug it out.
“Boss! What brings you here at sparrow’s fart? It’s that early. Christ.”
What me and Saoirse do in our spare time is for my ears and eyes only. Feargal brought a fair bit of information my way when he was her driver.
“I’ve come to find out how the books are going.”
Officially, the pub pays dues to Maguire. Unofficially, it runs one of my betting operations. And washes a lot of the money too.
And if a cop comes sniffing around, it’s Declan Maguire’s name on the lease.
Feargal sits down again, so I can see the fat stacks on his desk. “Bets are booming. Yatcha turns over the most. You might want to think about branching out, setting up franchises.”
Not that I’m strapped for cash, but the list of men on my payroll gets longer every day.
“Donnell’s here for a visit. He’s taking a franchise offer back to Boston with him. Sound lad.”
When I sit on the corner of the desk, Feargal looks up at me, then down at the books.
“You might want to tell Saoirse to change her perfume, Boss.”
“Duly noted.” Fuck. I should’ve gone straight back to the warehouse and showered. “Who’s the local dealer?”
Feargal shrugs. “The boys in the booth? They brought the C with them.”
I better get moving. I don’t want to catch the rush hour traffic that I saw building up slowly on the way here.
“Cheers for this, Feargal. Remember to check in on the burner every day so I know you’re grand, yeah?”
He gives me the nod and goes back to counting.
I head over to the booth. The four young lads watch my approach. Paranoia flickers in their eyes, but none of them are fronting yet.
“What’s the story?” I point to the lines on the table. “Looks like you’re giving it socks.”
The one closest to me replies a touch too quickly, which lets me know that he’s spooked.
“It’s sound, mate. We’re having a session.”
It gives me a chance to size them up. Designer labels. Credit card kept behind the counter for an unlimited supply of drinks. Nice haircuts.
One of the fellas tries giving me Alpha attitude. “You gonna stand there staring all night?”
My hands are in the hoodie pouch. He can’t see my tatts, so I forgive him.
I need more lads like this as my customers. “I came here to place a bet. I wanted to find out who you backed.”
They’re all ears, just like I knew they’d be. “They got a book here?”
I pretend to be cautious. “Sure… if you know who to bet on. You follow MMA or UFC?”
They nod in unison.
“Who’s Irish American at your gaff? You’ve got to have some connections to bet on the local fight circuit.” There’s got to be a mam or a da somewhere in their family tree for them to feel comfortable to sniff coke at O’Sheas.
All four of them shout out their personal information. Parents’ names. What town or city in Ireland their folks are from. Where they live. Even what car they would be driving if they weren’t so locked.
I pretend to be impressed. “There are two fights coming up. Strictly underground. The odds are insane, but if you back the right man, you could score.”
I give them the name of my opponent and Iain’s name as well. He’s a new fighter, still feeling his way around the octagon. He’s set to lose his first bout, but not from lack of trying.
“I just placed five gees each. I suggest you go large. Play big, win big, you know what I’m saying?”
The wannabe Alpha stands up. He’s swaying, but he manages a fist bump. “I’ll risk a couple of gees. Can I use my credit card?”
“Sure you can.” Dumb fuck won’t understand the odds. Doesn’t know that he’s about to hand over his next twelve paychecks to Feargal.
I give the barman the nod and get ready to leave, but I pretend to be reminded of something.
“Mate, you’re solid. Can you give me your man’s number? For an eight-ball?”
He hauls out his phone and gives me a name, a number, and the code word linked to his account.
“Thanks.” I head to the door, this time for real.
Outside, I take out my phone and stick the dealer’s information into it. Donnell’s rental is idling at the curb.
“We good?” He wants to know.
“We’re better than good.” He drops me off at the warehouse before traffic has the chance to build up into more than a trickle.
It’s not good to be alone with only my thoughts about Saoirse for company, but there’s nothing I can do about that.
A message pings on my burner as I get out of the shower. Naked, I dry off my hand and push connect. “Yeah?”
It’s Feargal. “Jaysus, Boss. Get some sleep, why don’t you! I’m calling about the bet those four squirrels placed.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose to help me concentrate. “Yeah.”
“Liall—” one of the barmen, and a good soldier, “came in early for his shift and told them to bet on Iain’s opponent.”
I’m waiting to hear the reason.
“Because the only way to keep a punter coming back is to give him a win the first time around. Half a win, in this case.”
“Tell Liall he did good. Good night.”
I manage to drink a large protein shake before falling into bed. I’m so tired, I’ll be away with the fairies for a good eight hours at least.
***
Waking up, I see I’ve missed about a million calls.
No rest for the wicked.
Coffee grains steep in the pot while I check the calls. A lot of them are from Feargal. He still lives at the Maguire gaff in Woodside.
It’s dangerous, but I need to know what Saoirse is doing all the time if I’m to stay sane.
I call back, impatient. On edge. I wish I’d never fucking introduced those four stooges to the betting books now.
It’s only given me more work to do, hooking up with the dealer to make sure he’s not slinging meth and skag, and getting him to cut us in on his score.
Feargal doesn’t wait for me to identify myself. “Christ, Boss! It’s been hours, you realize!”
He’s whispering, so he’s somewhere on Maguire’s property.
“What’s up?” Got to say the lad’s not sounding very happy. But he’s got the use of his hands and voice box, so he can still make a run for it if Declan’s found out he’s a double agent.
“Saoirse’s in trouble, Boss. I don’t know what to do!”