by Sam Burns
She sucked in a breath. “The guns.”
He nodded. “He showed up at my place this morning and demanded that I go to another meet tonight.”
“He’s planning to kill you, Liam,” she said immediately, her eyes narrowed. “Wait, go back a minute. You said six bodies. There were three Colombians and two Russians. Who’s number six?”
“Donny O’Hanrahan.” For some reason, he felt a stab of guilt at the name. It wasn’t his fault Donny was dead, but there was no good reason for it, and Liam hadn’t saved him.
Casey looked like she wanted to bang her head on something. “You’re kidding me. O’Hanrahan’s nephew?”
“Yeah. The bastard got him killed,” Liam agreed. “And I don’t know what he did with the body. He sent me off in the Russian SUV, and it was about all I could do to get back to my apartment in one piece.”
“And you were bleeding in the Russian SUV,” she said. She looked over at him, eyes soft and concerned. “Are you okay?”
“It’s just a graze. I’m fine.” He thought of Alex as he said it, and sighed. “The problem wasn’t the graze. It was that Alex was at my place when I got there.”
“The kid you’re watching?” she asked. She looked as confused as he’d ever seen her. The one time he wanted her to be freakishly insightful, and she failed him.
“We’re dating, Casey.” He tried to keep his tone even, and not let his self-consciousness derail him. “He came to see me, and found me bleeding all over myself.”
She blinked. “So your fake boyfriend—whom I still haven’t found in the database, by the way—demanded to know why you were bleeding, and you, what, you told him?”
“No!” He spoke a little louder than he had intended, and turned around to make sure no one was watching them. “None of that is right. I didn’t tell him why I was bleeding, other than that obviously, someone shot at me. And he’s not my fake boyfriend.”
She seemed to stop and think that through, then gave him the interrogation eyebrow. “He’s not your fake boyfriend.”
“No.” He tried to hold her eye and not keep talking. It was hard, but she needed to know that he was serious. Even if it ended his career, he wasn’t going to pretend that Alex didn’t matter to him.
“You’re saying that you’re actually dating the kid that you’re fake-dating on Brendan Quinn’s orders?” she asked. She looked confused, her brow furrowed and a frown on her face, like she couldn’t figure out the layers of deception. He couldn’t blame her.
“I was never fake-dating him, Casey.” He sighed and pushed his food away despite having eaten practically nothing. “It was always real. And I haven’t told him anything at all, except that I wasn’t telling him the truth. Until last night.”
She stole the bread from his plate. “I thought you still hadn’t told him last night?”
“I still didn’t tell him the truth,” he said. He dreaded telling her, but there was nothing else to do. “I told him that I couldn’t tell him the truth. And he told me he was scared I would end up dead, and no one would even tell him about it, so he’d never know for sure.”
Casey’s face contorted into something that resembled sympathy, and she dropped the bread back onto his plate.
“So,” he said, his nervousness starting to return. “I told him that if I was missing, he should call you.”
“Me? Wait, you told him about me?” her mouth hung open, and she gripped the cola bottle so tight Liam was afraid it was going to break.
He felt like he’d jumped into the ocean and only then realized that people hadn’t been kidding about that whole ‘undertow’ thing. Every question she asked pulled him deeper under. “No. Not exactly. I told him to call you, that your name was Casey, and that was about it.”
“And he was okay with that?” She looked like she didn’t believe him.
“No again,” he said. He was starting to worry that he was going to knock something loose, with all the head shaking he was doing. “He’s not okay with any of it. We already know that when I tell him the truth, he’s gonna kick my ass. But he’s willing to accept it as the answer for now.”
“So you told your boyfriend that everything you’ve told him is a lie, and you can’t tell him the truth right now. And he’s accepted that. Seriously? Is he on drugs?” Casey looked like she wanted to laugh. With him or at him, he wasn’t sure. Either way, it was better than the smack on the back of his head and lecture he’d been expecting.
He gave her a hint of a smile. “He’s not on drugs. But basically, yeah.”
Again, he got the feeling she thought he was full of it. “He’s either lying to you about everything, too, or he’s letting you think this is okay because the sex is too good to pass on. Is the sex that good?”
He blushed. “Casey, I’m serious about this. He’s not lying, and I trust him.”
She shook her head, looking stunned. “I have no idea how this happened.”
He tried not to laugh. “That’s okay, Casey. I was there, and neither do I.”
“You’re screwed, you know that, right?” The look she gave him was sympathetic. “And even if this doesn’t get you put on probation until the end of time, do you know how much paperwork you’re going to have to fill out? Russians, Colombians, burned SUVs—it’s like something out of a movie.”
He nodded, grabbing the bread up again and taking a bite.
“So is the sex that good?”
She almost had to give him the Heimlich to keep him from dying of bread inhalation.
13
Alex Becomes a Cliché
Monday afternoons were surprisingly busy at Wilde’s. Alex hadn’t realized so many people went out for lunch while at work. He had always imagined that people worked in cubicles and ate their lunches alone at their desks, or microwaved frozen meals in tiny staff lunch rooms and ate together there.
It wasn’t until halfway through his shift that he caught sight of Keegan for the first time that day, and he realized that he hadn’t spoken to the man since finding out about his father. Their fathers.
He wasn’t sure what to say.
Keegan didn’t seem like a criminal. He seemed like a nice guy who owned an expensive restaurant that masqueraded as a bar. Alex had never seen him with shady people, in quiet conversations in the corner, or looking over his shoulder nervously. He was loud, smiled a lot, and kept his office door open.
On the other hand, what was he really expecting? Al Capone? Men in expensive suits who carried guns openly? Thugs who talked with thick New York accents and carried bags of stolen money with dollar signs on them? All the experience he had with mobsters was in movies, and he figured if they acted like that in real life, they were probably already in jail.
“Alex?” Brigit asked from right behind him.
He almost dumped his tray on the floor. It was just dirty dishes, but it still would have been annoying. “Sorry. I just finished table twenty-four’s eight millionth water refill.”
She rolled her eyes. “That woman. I worry she’s sick or something. Comes in every Monday, always drinks like ten glasses of water. You’d think her faucet at home doesn’t work.”
“At least she’s not drinking a whole bottle of wine at her business lunch,” he pointedly did not look at the red-cheeked guy at table twelve.
She shook her head and went serious. “So what’s going on with you?”
“What? Why does something have to be going on with me?” He asked.
“Defensive much?” She gave him a look that said she was onto him, and then looked over to where Keegan was chatting with some people at a table near the front. “You were just looking at Keegan funny.”
Wincing inwardly, he tried to pretend he didn’t know exactly what she meant. “Funny how?”
“Funny like you wanted to ask him for a raise,” she said with a grin. “I’m sure he loves you, but it might be a little early for that. And I doubt your boyfriend would approve of you doing anything drastic to accomplish the goal.”
“I didn’t say anything, sweetie. That was your dirty imagination filling in blanks.” She turned and headed for the kitchen, her laughter trailing after her.
She was right. He had sex on the brain. She was also wrong, because the implication had been loud and clear. He also had no need for a raise. His first paycheck, for just one week of work, had been more than enough to pay for everything he needed and then some. He had saved most of it on the assumption that eventually the band was going to have a rainy day and need a new guitar or car, or whatever. You never knew when something big was going to happen.
He watched Keegan for another minute, then went back to work. He kept thinking about that open office door. Alex figured he wouldn’t keep it that way if he wanted to be left alone.
When his shift ended, he clocked out and took off his apron, hanging it over his shoulder. Instead of leaving, he headed for Keegan’s office.
He didn’t know if Keegan would give him answers, and he didn’t think that he was entitled to Keegan’s story, but he had to at least ask. He would never know if he didn’t try.
Keegan was sitting at his desk looking at the computer when Alex approached. He looked up when Alex tentatively knocked on the door frame, and gave a bright smile.
“Hey, Alex.” He motioned to a cushy chair across from his desk. “Have a seat.”
Alex swallowed hard, slunk forward, and sat on the very edge of the chair. He kind of felt like he didn’t deserve the comfort of the cushy chair. He’d been wondering about whether Keegan was some kind of lying, murdering drug kingpin, though the man hadn’t given him any reason to think so other than being named Keegan Quinn.
“Is everything okay?” Keegan asked. He looked genuinely concerned, and Alex didn’t know what to do with that. “You look like you’re about to tell me the place burned down when I wasn’t looking. You’re not quitting on me or something, are you?”
Alex stifled a hysterical laugh, and shook his head. “It’s, um, about my dad.”
Keegan’s eyes went distant for a moment, before he nodded and stood. Walking over to the door, he closed and locked it.
Alex’s heart sped up, but he didn’t let himself react outwardly. It wasn’t a big deal. Keegan just didn’t want to be interrupted while they spoke. Or while he killed Alex and dumped his body in the trash out back.
“I kinda wondered if you were ever gonna ask. I was sorry to hear about his death,” Keegan said, still standing behind Alex and making him nervous. “He was a good man.”
That, at least, was something Alex could talk about with conviction. “He was. He was a good father, too.”
His father hadn’t been an affectionate man. He’d been a workaholic who expected a lot of his wife and son. He’d never been cruel, though, and he had always supported Alex. Affection and emotional support were different, and Alex’s father had always given the latter.
Keegan went back to his chair behind the desk and sat down, looking more relaxed than he had seconds before. “Glad to hear you say it. I always thought he would be. He talked about you all the time. Alex is at the top of his class, Alex won an award in science class — it was like, every day. Hell, I kinda felt like I knew you.”
A stinging sensation rose behind Alex’s eyes, and he blinked repeatedly to clear it. “Thanks. That’s nice to hear.”
“But it’s not why you wanted to talk,” Keegan said.
“He worked for your father?”
“Just once,” Keegan said. His eyes re-focused far away, somewhere behind Alex’s shoulder. “It was for me. There was a shootout. I was there. A little boy died. Seven years old.”
“And your father hired mine to defend you?” he asked.
Keegan didn’t look back at Alex, but he nodded again. “He believed it when my dad said I didn’t do it. So he defended me. Treated me like a person, too, even when the newspapers were calling me Kid-Killer Quinn. They fucking made a cute little title for me. Used to talk about my life and my car and my clothes during the trial, like it was all just something to gossip about and not a goddamn tragedy.”
Alex noted that Keegan hadn’t said he was innocent. He also wasn’t acting like a guilty man so much as a man who felt guilty. He gave Keegan a half smile. “You didn’t kill him.”
Keegan’s eyes finally focused back on Alex, and he looked surprised. “That’s what he said. And with that same look on his face. Damn, you look just like him.”
“Thank you,” Alex said. “And it’s obvious. Dad told me once that the best way to find a guilty man was to find a man who didn’t feel guilty.”
A smiled crossed Keegan’s lips, but it wasn’t a nice one. It looked more like self-hatred than amusement. “I didn’t shoot the kid myself. But if I hadn’t been there, nobody would’ve.”
There wasn’t much Alex could say to that. He hadn’t been there, and he didn’t know what had happened. “So my dad defended you. And that was it?” It seemed odd, the notion that a single defense could have painted his father’s legacy so thoroughly that people who knew nothing about him considered him a mob lawyer.
Keegan let his head fall back against his chair’s headrest. “Yeah. Fucked him over pretty good. Everyone thought I did it. Didn’t matter that he proved I didn’t. They saw Brendan Quinn’s son and a crime, and got pissed at the idea that I got away with murder. The easy person to blame was the lawyer who got me off.”
“I’m sure he didn’t regret it,” Alex told him. “I’m not saying he would have told me about it if he had, but—”
“I know,” Keegan agreed. “He wasn’t that kind of guy. You want to know the worst part about people blaming him?”
That was an intriguing question. “What?”
“What he asked my dad for, in exchange for defending me.” The unhappy smile was back on his face. “The deal gone south. It was guns, you know? We used to do a lot of business in guns on the south side. Your dad wasn’t dumb. He didn’t think I killed that kid, but he knew what we were. So he said that if my dad wanted me defended, he’d stop running guns in the city.”
Alex blinked again. Keegan was saying that his father had extorted a mobster. “Seriously? And your dad did it?”
Keegan’s self-deprecating smile turned into a real one. “Sure did. I mean, he was losing guys to the bratva left and right, so getting out was the smart thing to do. But he did it. And as far as I know, he stuck with it even after your dad passed.”
“That’s incredible. My dad,” he broke off, taking a few deep, calming breaths. “My dad stopped someone from bringing guns into Chicago?”
“Like I said, he was a good man. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like he stopped the gun trade. We were never the major player here in town. But less guns on the street is always a good thing.” Keegan leaned back in his chair, sighing. “I’ve never told anybody that before. It feels good.”
It was good. Alex had believed his mother, but it was good to hear it corroborated by someone else. He was still curious, though. “You said as far as you know. You don’t know for sure if he really quit?”
Keegan shook his head. “I think he did. Dad’s a man of his word. But I left the business the day that kid died. Don’t even own a gun. Isn’t that funny? An ex-mobster who doesn’t sleep with a gun under his pillow?”
“It’s not like your father is going to leave you unprotected,” Alex pointed out. “He’s probably got someone watching you.”
Keegan snorted. “That makes two of us.” Then he froze. “Shit. Didn’t mean to say that.”
Alex felt himself go still.
Liam, just happening to be in a bar an hour from his apartment on the night of the mugging. Liam, always around when Alex was working, or available when Alex wanted to see him. Liam, openly telling Alex that he was lying about everything.
He shook his head, trying to deny where logic was leading him. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“That your dad
protected me, so mine wanted to protect you?” Keegan asked.
Damn. It was a valid point. Alex sat back and thought about it before asking for a confirmation of what he was already sure he knew. “Liam is watching me for your dad?”
Keegan leaned forward to close the space. “You don’t seem as pissed off as I would have thought.”
Alex scrubbed his hands over his face. “Don’t I? I feel like I’m pretty pissed. I knew he was lying, but this is . . . . What the hell do I do with this?”
“If it helps, I don’t think it’s what he wants. He really likes you. And I think he’s a good guy. He’s just in a shitty situation.” Keegan Quinn was giving him a sympathetic look. An honest businessman whose reputation was always going to be ‘Kid-Killer Quinn’ felt sorry for him. Nausea roiled in his belly.
Alex nodded, feeling numb. He had so much to think about. He was going to kick Liam’s ass. Then maybe kiss him. And definitely tell him off.
Once again, though, he was back to the previous night’s internal debate. Even if he could live with Liam stalking him on Brendan Quinn’s orders, and he didn’t know if he could, how could he reconcile supporting someone who probably killed people for a living? What kind of person was Liam, and what kind of person did that make Alex?
He sighed, and stood to leave. “Thank you for talking to me, Keegan. I really appreciate it. I guess I’ve got a lot to think about.”
Keegan nodded, standing as well and crossing to the door to unlock it. He held it open. “Anytime, Alex. I mean it. Anything you need. My dad isn’t the only one who owes your family.”
“You don’t—”
“That’s my call,” Keegan said, dropping his hand from the door and putting it on Alex’s shoulder. “It’s not about you. It’s about my guilt complex. At least, that’s what my therapist says.” He rolled his eyes. “But she keeps saying I’m a good person, so what the hell does she know?”