by Karr, Kim
Declan was busy tongue-diving into Peyton’s mouth and I thumped him on the shoulder. “Come on, man, let’s go.”
He pulled away from Peyton and I heard her sigh.
Guess they liked each other.
When we stepped out onto the sidewalk, the sky was bright enough that I had to pull out my sunglasses. I stopped just out of sight of the boutique. “Can you call Miles and see if he can meet us at my old man’s in an hour? We need to regroup.”
Declan squinted against the sun. “Yeah, sure. What are you thinking?”
“That there’s a possibility Tommy wasn’t lying about O’Shea killing Lizzy or about the reemergence of the Dorchester Heights Gang.”
Declan tilted his head.
“What?” I said.
He eyed me. “Scary shit, that’s all.”
I started to walk backwards. “Maybe, maybe not.”
Using his hand as a visor, he shaded his eyes. “You have a plan?”
When I reached the Rover, I hopped in. “Yes. See you in an hour.”
Elle had driven the Rover once but after the first time she drove in my old man’s beat-up Porsche 964, she fell in love with it. Why, I have no idea. The black 1989 Porsche looked like it needed a shower even after it rained—the paint had no gleam left. But like my old man, something about it charmed her.
Either way, she had two options, and it hadn’t gotten by me that she was still borrowing Peyton’s car when she visited Clementine, which means she hadn’t told O’Shea about us yet. I hadn’t pressed the issue, either. And now in light of the fact that Tommy might not have been yanking my chain after all, it was probably best she didn’t tell him about me.
For now.
It would more than likely just piss him off.
But Elle had a point. She didn’t see O’Shea as a killer, so if Tommy was right, there had to be more to all of this.
I put the car in drive and took off.
The house in Dorchester Heights had belonged to my grandfather for more years than I’d been alive. With its small front porch, narrow driveway, detached garage, and side door that got used more than the front, I wondered if my old man would keep it now that Gramps wasn’t around, or sell it and move somewhere else.
Maybe even out of this godforsaken town.
Something felt different when I walked into my old man’s kitchen. The memories of what had happened here would never truly fade from my memory, but with Tommy gone, I felt like I could breathe.
A huge burden had been lifted from my shoulders. Not only was Elle no longer in danger—from Tommy, anyway—but my old man was free. No more mob ties that bound him.
“Pop!” I yelled, walking toward the family room, where I expected to see him horizontal on the couch watching sports highlights.
Perfectly groomed hair, wearing a pair of jeans and a Red Sox T-shirt, my old man appeared on the landing of the stairs. “Logan, what are you doing here?”
Freedom seemed to be good for him.
I raised a brow. “Came to bend your ear. Where are you going?”
His grin was wide. “At the last minute your uncle Hunter somehow snagged two tickets to opening day at Fenway.”
“Is he here? I didn’t see his car.”
My father looked at his watch. “Should be here any minute.”
“That’s awesome,” I beamed.
He was tucking in his shirt as he came down. “Do you want to come? I’m sure we can get you a ticket. The scalpers will be out in full force today.”
I plopped down on the couch. “No, I’m good. But is it okay if I hang out here?”
“Yeah, no problem. What did you want to talk about?”
Everything about him was so calm, I didn’t want to ruin that by bringing up Tommy or the threat of a possible underground gang. “Cars. I wanted to discuss cars. Elle needs to get one soon. You get your license reinstated in a couple of weeks, right?”
The smile on his face made me feel like he was going to be okay. “That’s right. May first, and you no longer have to be my driver.”
I ran a hand through my hair. “It’s about fucking time,” I joked.
“What are you thinking?”
My brow creased.
“About a car for Elle. Any thoughts on make or model?” he asked.
Beep. Beep.
He grabbed his wallet. “That’s Hunter.”
“Go, we can talk about this later.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, there’s no rush.”
“Do you want to run out and say hi to your uncle?”
I shook my head. “No, you guys go on. I’ll catch him next time.”
My father looked at me as if he knew I was lying about something. “How about dinner tomorrow?”
“Can’t, I’m taking Elle to New York for the weekend. We won’t be back until Monday night.”
Beep. Beep.
“I think that’s a great idea. The last couple of weeks have been difficult on us all. Relax, son, and try to have fun. I’ll talk to you when you get back.”
I gave him a nod. “Oh, hey, one more thing. What’s that guy’s name over at Tobey’s Automotive you use to tune up the Porsche?”
“Dwayne. Why, is something wrong with it?”
Beep. Beep.
“There’s a hum in the engine that sounds off. I want to see if he can look at it today before I leave.”
He was halfway out the door. “I’ll give him a call.” He glanced toward the driveway. “Where’s it at?”
“Elle’s. I drove her to work.”
His spare set of keys to the car was on the hook near the door and he grabbed it. “I’ll stop by the garage now. I’m sure he’ll be able to send someone over to her place to pick it up this morning and have it done by the end of the day.”
“That would be great.”
Beep. Beep.
“He’s an impatient motherfucker.”
“Like his younger brother.” I grinned.
My old man gave me a shake of his head and then he was out the door.
It was strange not telling him about Tommy, but there was time. I would call him once the news was released, which depending on the circumstances could be as late as next week. But for now, he could use the peace and quiet. For the first time in over twelve years he wasn’t bogged down with the life of the Blue Hill Gang, and I just wasn’t going to pull him back into all the shit. Especially with my uncle Hunter in town. He had kept his distance from that life and preferred to be kept completely out of the loop.
The remote was beside me. I clicked the television on and turned the channel to World News. Stretching my feet out on the coffee table as I caught up on what was happening in the world outside of Boston, my mind started to free itself of everything that was threatening to swallow me whole.
Just as the haze of mindlessness settled in, there was a knock on the kitchen door.
“Come in,” I called.
Keys hit the counter. “Where are you?”
“Family room.”
Miles strode in and Declan right behind him.
Declan, wearing torn jeans and leather braided bracelets, waited for me to move my feet to let him pass.
“Finally ready to do this as a team?” Miles asked, taking a seat in the chair my father always sat in.
I sat up straight. “Yeah, I am, but why do you want to help me?” I asked them both.
“That’s what friends do,” Declan said.
“I want to see justice served,” Miles replied.
“Right. A little too emotional,” I joked, then laughed.
“So what’s the plan?” Declan asked.
“Flush the Priest out.”
“How?”
I looked toward Miles. “You must know some cops looking for him.”
The grin on Miles’s face was wide. “Oh, they’re looking for him. The guys on the beat tell me they’ve definitely been hearing rumblings of emerging underground activity and they’re looking to squash it. It
seems Blue Hill’s downfall is leaving the city wide open and they’re worried.”
My brows popped. “Any of them say whether it’s coming from the men in Patrick’s old crowd? The former Dorchester Heights Gang members?”
Miles crossed his leg over his knee. “Nope. The gang was small and no one has names. The only name they’ve heard on the streets is the Priest.”
Declan kicked back and put his arms behind his neck. “Let me ask my old man. He’ll remember who was involved.”
“You sure he’ll tell you?” I asked as I stood. “He’s been out of it for so long.”
“He’ll tell me.”
I gave him a nod.
“Get me the names, I’ll slide them over to the BPD and let them look into it.”
We all nodded.
Declan shifted in his seat. “Moving forward. I just don’t get why Patrick would have his own son killed unless he stood to benefit somehow. I mean, I know he’s a heartless bastard, but he kept Tommy as his number two for all this time, even through all of his fuck-ups. So why now?”
Miles shook his head in agreement. “I’m with you. Why? It’s true we all know Patrick didn’t keep Tommy around for his brains. He fucked up time after time, each train wreck worse than the last, so how is it Tommy stealing money and selling drugs under Patrick’s nose is any bigger of a crime?”
“A life for a life,” I muttered.
“What’d you say?” Miles asked, his ears perking.
“A life for a life. It’s the code on the street.”
Declan shot to his feet. “That’s it. Patrick had to have given up his son as retribution.”
I started to pace. “But for whose death?”
“That’s what we have to find out. If we find out who has Patrick by the balls, who Patrick gave his son up for, we’ll be one step closer to uncovering this entire mess.”
“You think it could be the Priest?” Miles asked.
“I do, except he has to be relatively new in town. I don’t see him having the pull to get Patrick to agree to off his own son.” Glancing out the window at the clouds that had started to take dark form in the sky, I hated to rain on their parade. “Then again, what if Patrick simply ordered the hit on Tommy for the drug deals he was making behind his back? What if that’s all there was to it?”
Miles was shaking his head. “We talked about this. It makes no sense.”
“I agree,” Declan added.
“Okay, I agree too. So what next?”
Miles pointed at me. “You lay low. You’ve caused enough chaos on the streets. Playing off of the life-for-a-life thing, let me ask around and see if anyone of importance was one of the Blue Hill Gang’s victims. Coming from me, no one will question it. Coming from you, it might just get you killed.”
I conceded. He had a point. I had gotten in a little over my head. “What about O’Shea?” I asked.
“Seems clean. Can’t find anything linking him to his wife’s disappearance before her murder.”
“And Tommy? Any solid links to Lizzy or O’Shea?” I asked.
“Well, we know she worked at Lucy’s. As for Tommy’s claim that Lizzy and him were an item, nothing solid to prove that other than the tape where we saw them together at the hotel.”
Declan cleared his throat.
“You got something?” I asked him.
“Not much, but I talked to a few guys who’ve gone to Lucy’s for years. One remembers her from about two years ago. He said, and I quote, she was a chick who really knew how to suck his dick in the backroom. Another dude said he thinks he remembers seeing Tommy with her more than any of the other girls but when he paid her a hundred to blow him under the table, Tommy was cool with it. Anyway, if Tommy was tapping Lizzy, he didn’t mind her blowing others while he was hitting it.”
“Maybe they weren’t together. Maybe he lied,” I noted.
“Either way, he sounds like a real scum bag,” Miles remarked.
“Did either of the guys you talked to know O’Shea?” I asked Declan.
“Not sure; I didn’t ask. What are you thinking?”
“Maybe he had met Lizzy before he represented her on that pro-bono prostitution charge, like at a strip club, and that’s the connection between the three of them. I mean I’m really reaching here.”
“Like maybe at Lucy’s?”
I was leaning against the wall. “Exactly.”
“Let me check into it,” Miles said as he rose to his feet.
Declan was already in the doorway. “Let’s get together Tuesday and go through everything again. See if we can come up with anything new.”
“Sure. Let’s talk to Frank, too. He was around in the Dorchester Heights Gang days. Molly’s, Tuesday at seven?” I suggested.
“It’s a plan,” Declan said.
“Sounds good,” said Miles.
I followed the two of them out to the kitchen. After they left, I stood there for a bit, listening for ghosts.
None.
I pulled my wallet out of my pocket and took the newspaper clipping of Emily’s death I kept there from it. It was time to let that go. I crumpled it and threw it in the trash.
With a deep breath, I thought about whether I should be kicking a possible hornet’s nest. Tommy was gone and nothing around me showed signs of upheaval. Yet, there was something about O’Shea that had nagged me from the moment I laid eyes on him.
My gramps, too.
Blanchet aside, that was reason enough to dig further.
But not today.
Today was a day of celebration. With the threat of Tommy no longer hanging over us, it felt like a fresh start for Elle and me.
Hopping back in my truck, I decided to go to the bank and get that ring my gramps wanted me to have. I didn’t know when I’d give it to Elle, but I wanted to have it cleaned and sized so when the time was right, it would be ready.
I hightailed it back to Elle’s place first to get the key out of the silver box. I’d told Elle about the box but not the key. And like my grandfather, I didn’t go to much trouble to hide the box. It had always worked for him. While I was there, I picked up my shit that was all over her room. Elle had been cool about it, but it was time to get my laundry done. While I was at it, I also packed a few things for the weekend. I didn’t need much since we’d be staying at my apartment.
My apartment.
I needed to figure out what to do with it.
My current financial status dictated that I should sell it, which didn’t bother me. It wasn’t like I was attached to it or anything. It was nice, though. Located in a ritzy, white-glove building directly across the street from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, it was prime real estate. The problem was my grandfather owned the building and he had insisted that I live there, which meant I bought it for next to nothing. I wasn’t sure what he’d think about me selling it.
Then again, he was much cooler with the news of my leave of absence from the Ryan Corporation than I thought he would be. I think he was finally coming to understand I preferred working on my own. I have no idea what brought about his change of heart, but I accepted it at face value and figured it was time to terminate my employment now that I knew I’d be staying in Boston.
Although Elle and I really hadn’t discussed where I’d reside, I knew she wouldn’t leave Clementine, which meant either I moved to Boston or our relationship turned long distance. The thought of not seeing her every day twisted my gut and the answer to where I would live was an easy one—anywhere she was.
After I shoved everything in the back of the Rover, I jumped in and headed for the bank. The dark clouds had multiplied and there was no doubt rain was coming.
For some reason it made me think about the first night I met Elle. It was raining and she was so wet when she walked into Molly’s. Even then I thought she looked beautiful. Exquisite may be a better word. There wasn’t anything about her that didn’t make me want to give her as much of myself as I possibly could.
Just as the rain star
ted to pound the pavement, something in my rearview mirror grabbed my attention. Someone was following me. My mindless driving had me looking around, trying to figure out where the fuck I was.
I hadn’t been paying attention.
Okay, I was on a small side street, just having crossed over Dorchester Avenue. With another glance in my rearview mirror, I saw flashing blue lights. The sound of the siren immediately followed.
Fuck, how fast was I going? I hadn’t been paying attention.
I pulled over and then yanked open the glove box to retrieve my insurance card. As I was reaching for my wallet, I noticed another cop car pull behind the one already parked.
Suspicion started to loom.
The rain was falling, and as one officer got out of the first car in his rain gear, another leaned out, holding a transmitter in his hand. “Get out of the car with your hands up.”
Fuck me. Not this again.
Slowly, I opened the door and heard my sneakers squishing in the water as I stepped away from the car and turned around. It wasn’t Blanchet’s goon squad, though, like I thought it might be. These cops were from Patrick’s neighborhood, which meant more than likely they were on Patrick’s payroll.
Fuck me.
The officers approached me and this time there was no pretense. “Logan McPherson, you’re under arrest.”
“What for?” I yelled over the drowning sound of the rain.
“Aiding and abetting a known felon with possible terrorist ties.”
Cuffs were being slapped on me before I could even draw a breath to think. “What are you talking about?”
The cop from the second car got out and strode over toward us. He popped the hatch to the back of the Rover. “Call impound and have them pick up the vehicle.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
No answer.
One was in front of me. Another one behind me. The third was now inside the Rover. “I got a weapon,” he said.
“It’s registered,” I bit out.
“Move it,” the one from behind drawled.
Sandwiched between two of them, I was being shoved toward the police car. “You have to read me my rights.”
“Law enforcement has the ability to question suspected terrorists without immediately providing Miranda warnings when the interrogation is reasonably prompted by immediate concern for the safety of the public . . .”