Chicago Blood: Detective Shannon Rourke Book 1

by Stewart Matthews

  It didn’t feel like praise for his sister. The way he said it made it feel more like a threat against the two men sitting across the table from him: respect my family, or I’ll knock your teeth down your throat.

  Ryan looked at Shannon in silence for a moment. Henry took another sip of his beer.

  “Sorry Shannon,” Ryan said. “I didn’t mean nothing by it—just kidding you a little bit.”

  “It’s fine,” she said. “I wasn’t offended.”

  She wished Michael wouldn’t have made a big deal about it. He didn’t have to protect her anymore.

  “I’m gonna go walk and talk,” Michael said. He nearly pushed Shannon out of the booth, but she found her feet quick enough to get up and let him pass.

  She’d have to keep an eye on him tonight. Being exposed to Ryan and Henry were pretty low on the list of bad things that could happen to Michael here. There’d be other people who showed up later. People she should be concerned about.

  “I’m gonna step out for a cig,” Ryan said. “Henry, you coming with?”

  He slammed his glass down and followed Ryan out of the booth.

  Shannon slid back in. She took out her phone and reflexively opened Facebook. What the hell was she doing here? Keeping Michael out of trouble? Working? Neither? Maybe it’d be better if she left now.

  Shannon slid her phone back in her pocket and got up from the booth.

  “I didn’t think you’d be leaving so early, Shannon.”

  Ewan Keane, Colm’s father, stood in front of her.

  If she didn’t know better, she wouldn’t think he was a captain in the Irish mob. He wasn’t some blowhard pumped full of bravado and booze. He had a firm, intelligent way of speaking—one that made it easy to fall under his spell. His face was kind and there was a disarming way about him. Ewan Keane looked like the sort of man you hoped your widowed mother would bring to Thanksgiving—someone you assumed would treat her right just by looking at him.

  He wore a fitted black suit to his son’s wake. His face was cleanly shaved, and his white hair freshly cut and parted. His cologne smelled like roasted pine.

  Shannon had to admit, he looked good.

  Ewan motioned toward the empty bench across the table from her. “Would it be a bother if I took a seat?”

  “You own the place.” She slid back into her spot on the bench. Maybe she’d get to ask a couple questions.

  “That I do,” he smiled at her as he eased into the seat. “And I must admit, I’m a little surprised to see you and your brother here, Shannon.”

  “We were Colm’s friends.”

  “Of course you were.” He folded his hands on the table. “Would you care for a drink? I’m buying.”

  She looked over the tops of all the heads and between all the people mingling around the tables and chairs in the middle of the bar. No sign of Michael. She wouldn’t be able to escape that easily.

  “You’ve been to enough of these to know it’s rude to turn down a drink from a family member of the deceased,” Ewan said.

  “I’ll have a rum and Coke,” she said without thinking.

  Ewan raised a finger. A waitress was over before Shannon could change her mind.

  “My guest would like a rum and Coke,” he said. “Give her something from my private collection.”

  “Which rum exactly, sir?” the waitress asked.

  Ewan looked Shannon over. “How about the Santa Teresa? There should be a bottle in the basement near the walk-in.”

  “And for you, sir?”

  “A glass of Laphroaig 18.”

  The waitress was off. She cut through the crowd of people as if she were on a life or death mission.

  “I think she’ll be one my premiere staff members,” Ewan said, “but she needs to learn the drink list a little better.”

  Shannon gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Mr. Keane, may I ask what you want from me?”

  He leaned back in the booth and interlocked his fingers in his lap. “That’s funny. You sounded like your father just now.”

  Shannon’s skin crawled. “I’ll try to watch what I say next time.”

  “I know you probably weren’t his biggest fan,” Ewan said. “That was obvious when you didn’t show up to his funeral—but you might be surprised to learn he had a few redeeming qualities.”

  “I would be very surprised,” she said.

  Ewan laughed. “You’ve got his relentlessness, you know. He passed you his knack for cutting through all the mess and getting to the point. I think that was the trait I valued in him the most.”

  “Then you wouldn’t mind if I asked you about Colm’s girlfriend,” Shannon said.

  “I wouldn’t mind at all. But I don’t think I’d be able to tell you much.”

  “Why not?”

  “My son rarely clued me in to his personal life,” Ewan said. “Until you informed me, I had no idea he was seeing anyone.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “You do?”

  “I do,” she said. “You knew about his death quickly enough to throw this wake together and get all of these people here, but you expect me to believe he was able to keep his girlfriend a secret from you?”

  Ewan laughed.

  “What?” she asked.

  “If you think I had spies watching my son or some other way of keeping tabs on him, you should think again,” he said. “It was your brother, Michael. He called me about Colm’s death last night.”

  There was nothing to like about Michael talking to Ewan. Shannon felt her nerves bundle up in her stomach.

  The waitress popped up at the end of the both again, two drinks on a round tray. One was Ewan’s scotch. The other had a lime slice hanging off the rim of the glass. She passed it to Shannon.

  “To Colm.” Ewan lifted his glass.

  Shannon did the same. They both took a sip.

  Think what she may about Ewan Keane—the man knew how to stock a bar. The rum in her drink was sweet with a little bite, but not overpowering—just enough flavor to tell her it was in the glass.

  Ewan held his glass at eye-level and studied his drink. He looked pleased with himself.

  “I know what you must think,” Ewan said. “But I didn’t come sit with you so I could work you over. I’m sure I’ve got a reputation at CPD, if not with you personally, Shannon, and I want to lay any fears you have to rest.”

  “What would I be afraid of?”

  He shot her a polite smile. “I can pretend you’re duller than we both know you are, if that’s what would please you. But I thought you’d find that insulting.”

  He waved his glass at the rest of the bar. The ice cubes clinked inside of it.

  “All these people here tonight to celebrate Colm, and not one of them knows you or your family like I do. Even the people here with connections—they don’t understand your brother the same as me.”

  She tried not to clench her jaw at the mention of Michael.

  “I don’t mean that as a threat or an allusion,” Ewan said. “I meant that exactly as it came out. I respect you and your wishes to stay apart from the rest of us. I respect your brother’s new life. I understand why he left us, and I wish the best to both of you. And out of that same respect, I’m willing to speak with you, as it concerns Colm.”

  As if it came from thin air, he had a business card under his fingers. He slid it toward her.

  Shannon took it. Ewan’s name and address were printed neatly on it.

  Was he telling the truth? Would Ewan Keane, a man with more reasons than not to avoid the Chicago PD, willingly help her? She studied his eyes for a moment. They nestled inside the rugose skin on his face, cool and light blue—unflinching.

  “Why?” It was all she could think to ask.

  “I have associates who would rather see that Michael didn’t get involved. So, I’d like to provide you with any information I have.”

  “Is that because one of them killed your son?”

  “No,” Ewan said sharply.
“I wouldn’t let them touch a hair on Colm’s head—but you just demonstrated why we’d rather not have Michael insert himself into this. Anyone looking at this from the outside would be suspicious of them—just as you are.” He took a drink of scotch. “If Michael’s suspicions of my friends gets the better of him, even I can’t stop them from retaliating against him.

  “I’m sure that you know how persistent he can be when he’s made his mind up about something, and I know you don’t want to see your brother hurt,” Ewan said. “Trust me. No part of me wants that either.”

  She laughed. “That’s the problem, I can’t trust you.”

  Ewan took the last sip of his scotch. He moved his closed lips up and down, chewing the alcohol, then swallowed. He tilted the glass on the table and rotated it on its bottom edge, watching it focus and refract the dim lights in the bar.

  “One day, I hope you come to the realization that I’ve always been on your family’s side, Shannon. Since the moment I met your father, and every moment thereafter.”

  Ewan excused himself from the table, adjusted the knot on his tie, then turned around. Someone walked in the door and called his name. He left Shannon to go say hello.

  She scanned the room for Michael. He sat on a bar stool, leaning over a glass of cranberry juice by himself. She had no idea what she’d say to him.

  CHAPTER 12

  “You know, the last time I came to this bar, Colm beat the hell out of some guy in that corner over there.” Michael pointed at a corner where a pair of digital dartboards mumbled to themselves. “The dartboards weren’t here back then.”

  Shannon pushed her empty glass away. She signaled the bartender for another. “Why’d he do it?”

  “Told me he didn’t like the guy.” Michael traced the rim of his glass with his finger. “I never could get a straight answer out of him about it. For all I know, he did it for fun.”

  Shannon looked over her shoulder at the giant picture of Colm. “He was a real prick, wasn’t he?” The bartender sat a fresh rum and Coke in front of Shannon. “But here all these people are, talking about him, remembering him. Do you think any of them really knew who he was?”

  “Probably not.” Michael shrugged. “I’m not sure I did.”

  “I should talk to some of them,” she said. “That would be the responsible thing to do.”

  “Then why don’t you?”

  “Half of them would walk away from me, and the other half wouldn’t be able to tell me anything useful.” She pulled Ewan’s business card out of her pocket and passed it to Michael. “Anyway, I’ve got the cooperation of the one person here who’s supposed to know Colm best.”

  He looked at it and laughed. “Yeah. Okay.”

  She put it back.

  “Did you need Ewan’s business card to find him?”

  “No,” she said. “But it’s nice to know he’s serious about talking to CPD. I might get lucky and catch him with a couple kilos of coke on his desk.”

  She waited for Michael to laugh, but he all he did was stare at the last few drops of cranberry juice in his glass.

  “Watch yourself around him,” Michael said. “I’ve seen that man do things to people you wouldn’t begin to believe.”

  “He wouldn’t touch me.” To her right, she heard Ewan’s laughter roar above the din of loud conversation in the bar. He slapped somebody on the back and flagged down his favorite waitress for another drink.

  “That’s the exact attitude Ewan preys on.”

  And how would Michael know, exactly? What had he done that allowed him to see that side of Ewan?

  She picked at the edge of her napkin. There were a hundred questions she wanted to ask her brother, and all of them were better left unsaid.

  “What is it?” Michael asked.

  “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Don’t hold secrets from me.”

  Funny he’d say that.

  “You don’t want to hear it.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “I think it’s strange that I can sit right here on this stool next to you. I can reach out and touch your arm, I can hug you, I can toss your glass off the bar, but sometimes I feel like you’re so far away, I can’t see who you are.”

  He sighed and leaned away from her. His eyes took a pass around the bar like he waited for someone to jump out of the crowd and stab him.

  “Michael, I just had a known mobster come over and practically beg me to make sure you stayed out of anything to do with Colm.”

  He perfectly executed his cocky half-smile as he fished a piece of ice out of his glass and popped it in his mouth.

  “Yeah?”

  “Why’s that funny to you?” she asked.

  He shrugged.

  “When I left for the Marines, you promised me you wouldn’t do what Tommy did,” she said. “But when I came back to Chicago three years later, all I heard from our old friends was how you’re laying in a halfway house somewhere with a needle in your arm—no explanation of how you got that way, or why you did it.

  “That was ten years ago, Michael. It’s been five years since you got clean for good and I still don’t have an explanation.” She laid her hand on his wrist. “Do you understand what that does to me?”

  He pulled his arm away. His eyes locked on Ewan Keane yukking it up with his buddies at one of the tables near the edge of Colm’s mess of flowers.

  “I won’t tell you because I’m not proud of anything I did while you were gone,” Michael said. “Leave it at that.”

  “I can’t,” she said. “You know I can’t.”

  Michael turned to her, ready to say something else when a hand dropped to his shoulder. It was Ryan’s. Henry stood just behind him.

  “Mikey, we’re going to Wrigleyville.” Spit leapt from Ryan’s mouth with every syllable. He swayed like his bones were made out of jelly. “You’re coming with us.”

  “I appreciate the offer,” Michael said, “but I’m staying here.”

  “What?” Ryan looked at him like he’d just confessed to shooting his dog. “No, you gotta come with us. We’re gonna have fun.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You’re not planning on staying here with them all night, are you?” Ryan swayed to his left, then regained his balance at the last second. “You and Colm weren’t even friends like that, were you? Hadn’t you dropped off the face of the Earth the last few years?”

  “We were friends,” Michael said. “And I’m not going to the bars with you.”

  “It’s Wrigleyville, man! Don’t you live down the street?”

  Michael jumped off his stool. “I said I’m not going.”

  Ryan put his hands up and slowly stepped back.

  “I’m not trying to start nothing with you, Mikey—just thought you looked like a special sort of miserable since you been sober so long.” He laughed. “Don’t want you to blow your brains out like your old man.”

  That was the wrong thing to say.

  Michael swung on him faster than Shannon could react. His fist connected to Ryan’s chin in a split second, and Ryan stumbled back into a table, spilling drinks and tripping over himself as he tried to regain his composure.

  Shannon wrapped her arms around her brother.

  “Stop it!” she yelled.

  Michael didn’t try to get away from her.

  Nobody in the bar seemed upset that he’d knocked Ryan out. There were whistles and laughing while Henry ran over to pull Ryan off the ground.

  “Now it’s a wake!” someone yelled.

  Shannon turned Michael toward the door, and walked out with her arms around him.

  “You can let me go now,” Michael said as soon as they were outside.

  The words came out a little cooler than Shannon expected. She dropped her arms from her brother and took a couple steps away from him.

  It had been years since she’d seen this side of him. Part of her hoped he’d left his anger behind him, but that was naive, w
asn’t it? You can’t shrug off the things he went through. You can’t wake up one day and decide to forget nearly twenty years of your life.

  Underneath that cool exterior, he was a powder keg. He’d been that way ever since she could remember.

  She watched him pull a steel cigarette case out of his front pocket. It looked familiar.

  “Wasn’t that Tommy’s?” she asked.

  Michael flicked it open with his thumb. The top reflected the green light from the McCullough’s sign, revealing all the delicate, complex lines etched into it. For some reason, the design on her father’s cigarette case always reminded her of wind.

  He laid a cigarette on his bottom lip.

  “It is, isn’t it?” She swiped for the case, but Michael was faster.

  It clicked shut in his hand. He slid it back into his front pocket, then produced a lighter.

  “Why do you have that?”

  “It was Dad’s.” The cigarette bounced on his lips. He held his hand up to it, flicked the lighter on, then took his first puff. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because it was his,” she said. “Why would you want to keep anything that belonged to him?”

  “Ewan gave it to me.” He shrugged. “Didn’t seem right not to take it.”

  “That doesn’t mean you have to use it,” she said. “That doesn’t even mean you have to keep it. You could do what everyone does when they get something meaningful they don’t really want—just put it in a closet somewhere and forget about it.”

  “I’m not everyone else.”

  He watched a moth dance around the neon lights of the sign.

  There was no getting to him when he didn’t want to talk about something. There was especially no debating decisions he made.

  “Find anything new about Colm?” he asked.

  “You shouldn’t ask me that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’ve been drinking.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. Two rum and Cokes already. Work would be miserable tomorrow. “The investigation isn’t going well.”

  Michael sighed. The cigarette’s cherry brightened under his breath.

  “How about an information exchange?” he asked.

  “You can’t be serious.”