by Raen Smith
“He’s been hanging around The Blarney Stone, which has some old history and ties back to Boston. The word is that he’s only going to be in town for the next two days, if that. Apparently he has some business here, which is hard to believe. Who has business in Blackwell?” Jerry shook his head. “Anyway, he’s got three guys with him at all times. They’re younger, maybe in their late twenties. Two big guys, one smaller. They pack heavy.”
“Any chance at getting him alone?” Liam asked.
“Doubt it,” he replied. “Guys like him don’t go it alone.”
“Even in Blackwell?”
“Even here. He’s keeping a low profile so I don’t think the FBI knows he’s here yet. And to be honest, once they get tipped off, I think he’ll be gone. We’re going to have one shot at this guy, and that’s it. I’ve got the names of my guys…” Jerry dug into his jacket pocket.
“I don’t need it yet,” Liam said, holding out his hand to stop him. “Give me one more day.”
“You don’t have one more day. You have today. Get your guys together and scope out the bar. You need a plan. A careful, well-executed plan to take a guy like this down,” Jerry said. “You can’t go in there and expect to take him down like any of the addicts around here. God, kid.”
Liam turned toward Jerry, studying his flushed face and hard eyes. He’d never seen Jerry get so wound up before and it made him wonder what Jerry was in it for. Sure, the money was great, but shit, Jerry drove a Pontiac and lived in a thirty-old ranch on the outside of Blackwell by himself. Liam knew Jerry could afford more. Hell, he probably had a stockpile of cash somewhere. “Jerry, why do you want me to do this job so bad?”
“I told you last night, kid. You’re the best one for the job,” Jerry replied, running a hand through his hair.
“Jerry, why do you want me to do this job?” Liam pressed again.
“Because you’re the best one for the job,” he repeated. “I don’t trust the other guys like I trust you.”
“That’s it?” Liam asked with skepticism. He knew there was more to it. There had to be.
“That’s it. But I need you to get a team…” Jerry started.
“What do you know about Jack Davis?” Liam interrupted.
“Never heard of the guy,” he replied matter-of-fact, shaking his head. “Why, what’s it to you?”
Liam stared at Jerry, knowing he was hiding something. He could see it in his eyes. That’s where secrets were always buried, in the eyes.
“I found out he was my biological father,” Liam replied. “He died a couple days ago. Had Alzheimer’s. That’s how I met Charla. She was his in-home caregiver. She delivered a note from him.”
“She must have a heart of gold,” Jerry replied.
“Oh, yeah?” Liam asked.
“Can’t be easy caring for someone with Alzheimer’s. I hear it’s a tough disease. Really strips everything from you,” Jerry replied, wringing his hands together. “Get a team together, kid.”
“What are you not telling me, Jerry?” Liam leaned in closer to him. “If there’s something I need to know about Jack or anything else before I take down Mickey and his crew, you should tell me.”
Liam caught a glimpse of relief laced with sadness in Jerry’s eyes. Jerry looked at him a bit longer and finally hit his hand on Liam’s leg. “There’s nothing you should know, kid. The less you know, the better. Trust me, there are some things in life that you just shouldn’t know.”
“What is it? Did you know my father?” Liam asked again.
Jerry shook his head. “Kid, I ain’t gonna talk about it now. Like I said, you’re better off not knowing for now. Either you do the job or not.”
Liam was silent. Jerry wasn’t going to talk, not now anyway, and Liam had a lot of work to do to convince Ronan to come out with him to hunt down Mickey. If they did it right, they would only need the two of them. Who better to trust than Irish blood? Whatever secrets Jerry was hiding, they’d have to wait until he was ready. “I’ll do the job under one condition.”
“What’s that?” Jerry sighed and folded his arms across his chest. “You know I’m too old for this shit.”
“You tell me everything I want to know once I get Mickey McGrath.”
“Deal.”
***
The overhanging trees cast a shadow on Charla’s car. She exhaled and grabbed the bag of groceries on the passenger floor. Dotti was notorious for eating nothing but Cheetos and drinking mojitos for days on end. At least she was getting some nutritional value through the orange juice, Charla thought. After Dotti moved to Blackwell, Charla started bringing Dotti groceries about once a month. She’d leaved them on the porch without ringing the doorbell or leaving a note. But a few months ago, the bag Charla had left the last time was still sitting on the porch. The bag was soaked through and the produce rotting. Charla had found Dotti inside, passed out on the couch. Charla had marched back out with the groceries and hadn’t returned since.
Until today. Charla was surprised to actually see Dotti’s red Cavalier in the driveway, which meant Dotti hadn’t been kicked out by the landlord. She somehow snaked her way into holding onto the place, just like she always did. Dotti could convince almost anyone of anything, except for Charla. It only took her fifteen years to smart up on her mother’s antics. Still somehow, there was a shred of hope Charla still harbored for Dotti. If she could find the right facility to help her or find the right man to have a positive influence on her, Dotti might dig herself out of this hole. Charla knew the wishful thinking was a cold shot in hell, but nonetheless, it was still there.
She walked up the steps of the porch and set the bag of groceries down next to the door. Then she dug into her back pocket and retrieved the card for Marian. She set the card on top of the apples and turned to go when she heard a muffled sob from inside the house. Her eyes darted to the open window next to the door. She peered in to see Dotti sitting on the couch, sobbing into her hands.
Charla exhaled and looked back at her car waiting in the shaded driveway. She knew better than to walk into the mess that was Dotti. She should get back in the car, head to Jack’s to pick up some clothes, and then head to the gym to meet Jill. She knew this, but instead, she bent down and picked up the groceries. She listened to the sobs a second longer and then put her hand on the door knob and turned slowly.
“It’s me,” Charla called as she opened the door. Dotti continued to sob, not lifting her head from her hands. The place was a disaster like usual. Charla looked past the empty bottles and clothes in the living room to the garbage on the counter in the kitchen. She called out again, struggling to use the word to address Dotti. “Hey, Mom, it’s me.”
Dotti’s head suddenly picked up and a look of shock registered on her face. Thick black streaks lined her cheeks, but she didn’t bother to wipe them away. Instead, she let out a raspy sound, “Charla, what are you doing here?”
“Brought you some groceries,” she said casually as she stepped over a box to get to the kitchen. She swiped the counter with her arm, clearing a spot for the bag. Then she grabbed Marian’s card and slid it into her back pocket. Her hands reached for the groceries out of habit, but she quickly realized she had no place to put away the food. She slid the bag further on the counter instead, nearly tipping over an almost empty bottle of orange juice. She sighed and turned back to the living room.
Dotti muttered a sound Charla could have sworn was thanks. But Charla quickly dismissed that idea consider she’d never heard the word come from Dotti’s lips before. Charla stood next to the couch, debating whether or not she should hand her the card and leave without another word. It would save them both from the strained conversation they were sure to have.
But Dotti opened her mouth before Charla could hand her the card. “Bob left me,” she wailed. She put her face back in her hands again.
All Charla could think was who the hell is Bob? She didn’t bother guessing what kind of flavor Bob was. She knew he was one of the latest sc
um of the earth addicts who took her money or took her alcohol or took her sanity or all of the above. Dotti rotated through men like Charla changed her underwear.
Charla rolled her eyes and dug in her heels. “It’s all right, Dotti. You’re going to be fine. He was an asshole anyway.”
“Why do they always do this to me? Why do they treat me like a doormat?” she sobbed.
Charla exhaled and walked toward the couch. She sat down gently, unsure of what disease she’d somehow contract by just sitting down. “If you’d stop acting like a doormat, maybe they’d stop treating you like one.”
Charla’s words hung in the air. She’d tried every approach with Dotti before. Empathy, tough love, and brutal honesty. Nothing ever seemed to get through, but Charla was too fed up with all the bullshit to be nice to Dotti. The black streaks appeared again, and Charla was braced to get an earful.
“So, I’m a doormat, huh?” Dotti asked quietly.
Charla paused for a second in shock, then she cleared her throat and jumped in. “Yeah, you’re a doormat. You let these guys walk all over you. They come in here and trash your place and take advantage of you. You’re better than that. You deserve more.”
“You think so?” Dotti’s eyes were filled with an innocence Charla had never seen before. She wondered how it could be the same woman she’d seen yesterday.
“Yeah, I think so,” Charla replied, putting her hand on Dotti’s bony knee. She was in desperate need of the groceries she’d brought over and maybe even an IV drip. Charla briefly considered bringing her to the hospital, but she knew how that would ultimately turn out. A screaming and kicking fit that would bring them both shame. “You’re a strong woman who is capable of whatever you put your mind to.”
“You’re just saying that,” Dotti rasped, finally wiping away a few tears. Charla didn’t know what was causing this sudden change of heart, and she figured it could flip in a heartbeat so she dug her hand into her back pocket for the card. She knew this was another last ditch effort, but if she didn’t keep trying, Charla knew she’d get a call one day to bury Dotti.
She handed her the card. “It’s a free facility on Seventh Street. A friend recommended the facility. Ask for Marian. Apparently, she’s the best in town. She’ll help you get the resources you need.”
Charla stood up, expecting to hear a lash of swear words and complaints, but Dotti said instead, “You know, I just can’t seem to get over Peter. I can’t seem to get myself on track. I feel like I let him die.”
Charla closed her eyes, thinking of his lifeless body in the living room of the apple wallpaper apartment. She opened them, feeling an anger rise in her chest. “Peter was an abusive asshole. He ruined your life. He ruined my life. I couldn’t be happier he died because it gave you a shot at turning things around. It wasn’t your fault so don’t ever say you let him die. ”
Charla spun around to look Dotti in the eyes. It was coming, and nothing was going to stop it. “For the record, no fifteen-year-old should ever go through what I did. I never should have found a lifeless man I was supposed to call my father in the middle of the living room. And you know what? When I found him, I waited a couple minutes to call the ambulance. I watched his face turn blue before I helped him. If anyone has a claim to letting that man die, it’s me, and I’m proud of it. That man deserved to rot in hell.”
Dotti’s face drained of color, and her mouth slacked open. She sat in shock, unable to speak.
“Call the number on the card, Mom,” Charla said, pointing her finger at Dotti’s shaking hand. “This is your last shot. Turn your fucking life around otherwise you’ll end up just like him.”
Then Charla spun on her heels and headed toward the door, calling over her shoulder, “And you’re welcome for the groceries.”
Chapter 10
The Blarney Stone stood quiet in the morning hours, the windows black on the inside. Light traffic passed by the bar like any other day, the residents of Blackwell oblivious to the fact that a dangerous criminal lurked in their town. Mickey McGrath was more than dangerous. He was on the FBI’s most wanted list for drug smuggling and homicide. He was suspected of murdering a man with ties to the Italian mafia ten years ago. Liam had no doubt Mickey had done more than the FBI charged. There was always more with guys like him. And someone at The Blarney Stone was turning a blind eye and letting him come here to do business. Even Blackwell, Illinois, was within the mafia’s reach.
Liam sunk lower into his seat, surveying the surrounding buildings. The Copper Leaf Hotel was directly across from the bar. It would be the perfect place to set up shop tonight. He picked up the picture of Mickey from the envelope. The alley between The Blarney Stone and Cleo’s was just as Jerry described it. Taking down Mickey tonight was his best shot at getting him, but he needed help. He grabbed his phone and quickly found the number he was looking for.
“What the fuck you want?” Ronan answered.
“Top o’ the morning to you, too” Liam replied with a smile. He could hear a soft buzzing in the background. “You with a client?”
“Not if it’s important,” he replied.
“It’s important,” Liam said, looking back down at the picture of Mickey.
“Fucking better be,” he said. His voice distanced as he said, “I’ll be right back.”
“Want to make fifty grand tonight?” Liam asked.
“Who wouldn’t? What time and where?”
Liam laughed. “That was easier than I thought it’d be.”
“Money talks, big bro, money talks,” Ronan said.
“You a good shot?”
“Hell yeah, I’ve got a .22 and .44.”
“I have to ask you a question before I can trust you on this run,” Liam said, hesitating at first. He didn’t know how to approach the topic of Ronan’s background. Liam was guessing he would either release a mouthful of fucks or hang up.
“Well, what is it?” Ronan asked.
“Can I trust you?”
“Sure, why the fuck not?”
“I know you were locked up,” Liam replied, looking in his rearview mirror. A black Buick pulled up a few car-lengths away.
“Where you hear that?” Ronan asked.
“The truth? Some guy by the name of Rich Horton. I picked him up yesterday morning,” Liam said.
“Rich fucking Horton. That guy,” Ronan said. “Yeah, I was in county for a month. Not proud of it. It ain’t gonna happen again.”
“That’s all I needed to hear.” Liam watched two men get out of the Buick. He glanced at the driver first, assessing his medium build and blue shirt. He looked like an average guy. Then Liam looked at the passenger rounding the front of the car. He recognized the slicked red hair immediately. “Fuck.”
“What?” Ronan asked.
Liam glanced back down at the picture in his hands. There was no mistaking the man now crossing the street. It was him. Mickey McGrath.
“I’ll text you the details about tonight later.” Liam hung up and tossed the phone on the passenger seat with the picture. He didn’t anticipate seeing Mickey this morning and definitely didn’t anticipate the possibility of taking him in now. He didn’t have his van, but Mickey only had one guy with him. He was smaller than Liam by at least fifty pounds.
He flicked open the glove compartment and pulled out his spare handcuffs and .9 millimeter. It wasn’t his first choice of weapon, but it was his back-up, and it would be enough to take Mickey down. He double-checked the rounds and reached for the door. He watched as both men disappeared through the front door of The Blarney Stone.
As he was about to open the door, his phone blared on the passenger seat. He looked down to see Charla’s name flash across the screen.
“Fuck.” He let go of the door handle and grabbed the phone.
***
It took five minutes for Charla to let her white knuckle grip on the wheel to loosen. As soon as she did, she let out a scream that turned the head of the man sitting in the driver’s seat of a sedan
idling next to her at the stoplight. She laughed and waved before drumming on the wheel. The man shook his head and smiled before taking off when the light turned green.
A weight she’d been harboring for almost ten years had been lifted from her shoulders. Adrenaline coursed through her body as she drove to Jack’s cottage. Saying the words aloud to Dotti was more freeing than she ever anticipated. She’d never thought about telling her, but in that moment, it felt right. She couldn’t hold onto it any longer, and maybe, just maybe, the harsh reality would give Dotti the courage to move on. For once, Charla felt like she could move on. She was released from the horrible secret that tied her down. No more lies. No more secrets. No more deception.
Liam’s need to find his family and discover the truth about Jack had stirred an urge in her to move past everything that had been weighing her down. It was time to move on and start a new life. Without Rex, without the guilt of her stepfather’s death, and without the weight of an alcoholic mother. She wouldn’t let these things define her anymore.
She pulled into the driveway and parked alongside the front steps of the cottage. She’d be in and out in no time, just like Liam asked. She slammed the door and scoped out the cottage. It looked completely undisturbed and tranquil, just like she had left it. She slid her key into the front door and walked in, looking around the living room. The ratty burgundy couch was still there along with Jack’s recliner. The coffee tables were stacked on top of each other. She’d made good progress yesterday, and she wanted nothing more than to finish what she’d started. She calculated the boxes inside the dining room. It would only take a few more trips to get rid of everything. Her bedroom furniture and belongings in her room were the only things that would take some time to pack.
She gazed out the patio door at the shimmering lake as the bright sun shone against it. A group of tiny waves fluttered on the surface as a duck and its ducklings paddled in the water.
“Damn, I’m going to miss this,” Charla whispered, folding her arms across her chest. She sighed, giving the lake one last look before heading to her bedroom. She opened her closet, grabbed a duffel bag, and threw it on the bed. She pulled Liam’s shirt over her head and tossed it into the bag. She grabbed another t-shirt and threw it on before sliding her laptop into the bag. As she stood in front of her closet, chastising herself again for her lack of wardrobe, a small creak sounded from inside the house. She paused for a second, then ignored it and continued to add items from her drawer. Liam said it would only be a few days, but she grabbed a week’s worth of clothes. After a few minutes, she assessed the stack of shirts, shorts and underwear before zipping the duffel half shut. Her eyes caught the baseball bat resting against her nightstand as she leaned over the bed.