by Raen Smith
“Yeah.” Declan looked at the picture one last time before tossing it in Paul’s lap. He zipped the bag and took the handle.
“That’s it?” Paul asked.
“Yeah,” he repeated, this time looking annoyed. “Jerry will be fine. He’ll wake up in a couple of hours.”
“And what about Mickey?” Charla asked.
“What about him?” Declan threw the bag over his shoulder.
“Don’t you work for him?” Charla asked. “He’ll be looking for the money, the receipt….you.”
“I don’t give a fuck about Mickey McGrath. He lied to me about who killed Jimmy Bourke. I’ll be long gone before I have to think twice about him.” Declan leaned in toward them both, looking at Paul first and then at Charla. His eyes steadied on her, his lip curling up. “And you won’t call the police because if you do, you know what will happen…I keep my promises, Charla Taylor.”
Then he turned to Paul. “My mother always said that neither of us were good enough for Frank. He left us both for Helen and the family he started with her. Looks like it wasn’t much of a family anyway.”
He straightened back up and started to walk toward the kitchen. “Well, so long you two. Good luck.”
“Good luck?” Charla called to him, standing up. “That’s it? Good luck?”
He shook his head and kept walking.
“How did you know Jack died?” Charla began to follow him toward the kitchen. Paul hesitated at first and then scrambled off the couch to meet her stride.
Declan stopped but didn’t turn around. He lowered the bag so it hung by his knees. “I received a letter. I assume you sent it.”
Charla’s stomach knotted in confusion. She didn’t remember sending any letters addressed to him, although Jack had given her a stack of envelopes to mail a day before he died. He had left himself a note to send the letters when his end was nearing. She closed her eyes, trying to remember the names and addresses. Boston. There had been one with Boston as the destination. Her face fell as the realization struck that she had essentially called the mafia to them. The letter was the reason Declan and Mickey knew Jack was dead. She had sent it.
“No,” she whispered, turning toward Paul. He put his arm around her and pulled her in.
“My mother was a waitress at Legends Diner. When she received the letter about his death, she told me what Frank had told her the night before he disappeared. She served Antonio that night. And my mom believed Frank, but I wasn’t sure so I came here to find out for myself. Guess she was right.” He walked toward the kitchen, stepping over Jerry to open the door.
“Declan,” a man’s voice said. “Were you going somewhere?”
“Yeah, I was going to call you,” Declan said, standing in the doorway. He shifted the bag to his other hand.
“Are you going to offer to let me in?” The man replied with a stillness to his voice that sent shivers down Charla’s spine. She craned her neck to see Mickey walk through the door as Declan held it open. A man wearing a black shirt followed him in.
“Shit,” Paul said, pulling Charla in tighter.
Mickey looked down at Jerry’s body and then stepped over him with little effort. He moved as if he owned Liam’s apartment. He set his eyes on Charla and Paul who were backing slowly into the living room. “What do we have here?”
They stopped near the couch, both realizing that there was no way out. Mickey would gun them down in a blink of an eye if they turned to run for the fire escape on the side of the building.
“Charla Taylor, sir. She was Frank’s caregiver for the past few years,” Declan replied. The other man in the black stood behind Declan with a gun in his hand. “And her friend.”
Charla glanced at Declan, trying to hide the surprise that he didn’t name Paul as Brody, Jack’s son.
“What’s your name?” Mickey asked Paul.
“Paul Smith, sir,” he replied, curling tighter his hand around Charla’s shoulder.
Mickey gave Paul a hard stare, studying him closely before talking again. “Declan, I assume the money is in the bag. Is it all accounted for?”
“250k,” he replied, holding up the bag.
“Good,” Mickey said, moving his eyes to Charla. “That money has been a long time coming. I never let old debts die. I presume you were close to Frank.”
“I took care of him for three years,” Charla said, swallowing hard. “But Jack was a private man and then senile in his last years.”
“Is that so?” He cocked his head and looked down at the coffee table. He bent down and picked up the framed picture Paul had left there. “Ah, Frank and Helen. Such a good looking couple, don’t you think?”
He held up the picture to Charla and Paul and then turned it back to himself. “It’s too bad he had to cross us like he did. I didn’t expect something like that out of him. No one did.”
Charla held her breath, knowing Mickey would put a bullet through her head if she defended Jack. Maybe he would anyway. Both Charla and Paul were a liability now. And like Jerry said, the mafia doesn’t play well with liabilities. There was no way Charla and Paul were going to get out of this alive.
“Bad things happen when you least expect them. Am I right?” He looked at the picture one last time before smashing it down on the table, shattering the glass.
A small movement in the kitchen flashed in the corner of Charla’s eye. She quickly glanced at the kitchen to catch another movement.
Liam and Ronan.
She steadied her eyes on Mickey. He slowly reached back and pulled out a gun. He aimed it at Charla’s head. “But maybe you were expecting this.”
Charla winced, waiting for her world to turn black. She wanted to call out to Liam, but it was too late. She would never see him again. She would never feel his soft touch against her skin. She would never feel his arms holding her close. The sound of a gun firing made her flinch, but she didn’t feel pain. She still stood huddled next to Paul. She popped her eyes open to see bodies flying at each other. Ronan was rolling around on the floor with Mickey’s henchmen as Liam stormed the living room.
“Get down,” Paul muttered as he threw her onto the couch. She covered her head at the sound of another shot and the table crumbling beneath the weight of two men. She peeked out to see Declan on top of Mickey, punching him in the face. Then she saw Liam’s shoe step on Mickey’s hand, making him drop the gun onto the floor. Charla tucked her head back down and listened to the struggle for a few seconds longer until it quieted.
She popped her head back up to see Declan sitting on top of Mickey as Liam cuffed him. She heard another clank from the other side of the room as Ronan cuffed his henchmen. Declan moved off Mickey and then Liam pulled him up by the handcuffs. Liam hesitated, unsure about Declan as he straightened and stood next to Mickey.
“You fuck.” Mickey spit on Declan.
“Fuck you.” Declan wiped the spit off his shirt and then dug his hand into his pocket. “You fucking lied to me about Frank. Here’s proof that he didn’t kill Jimmy Bourke. You fucking did.”
“And Helen too,” Ronan added from the other side of the room, holding the henchmen.
Mickey let out a maniacal laugh, low and steady as he stared at Declan. “You got me, I killed them both. You poor bastard. Never good enough for your father. He was a coward anyway, ran away from his family. He deserved to watch Helen die. It’s just too bad I didn’t get to him before he withered away.”
Declan wound up and punched Mickey in the face.
“Come on,” Liam said, pulling Mickey back. “I have to get him to the station in one piece.”
“I’ll fucking kill him,” Declan said, pulling out his gun and pressing it into his forehead.
“Go ahead,” Mickey said, laughing again. “It’d be better than going to prison.”
“Don’t do it,” Liam said, pulling back Mickey again. “I’ll give you my share of the reward. Thirty grand.”
“I wouldn’t give him the pleasure of ending it now,” Declan
said as he pulled the gun back.
“Good,” Liam said, finally looking at Charla on the couch. “You okay?”
“Yeah, we’re fine,” Charla said as she sat up next to Paul.
“Is this the guy from the cottage?” Liam nodded toward Declan.
“Yeah,” Charla hesitated.
Liam shot a menacing look at Declan. “Where do you think you fucking get off -”
“I’m Declan, your step-brother,” he said, holding out his hand. He dropped it when Liam refused to meet his. “I was just about to leave.”
“This is so fucking endearing,” Mickey said.
Liam knocked Mickey on the side of his head. “Shut up.”
He turned toward Declan. “I can’t let you go after what you did to Charla.”
Declan turned toward Charla. “I’m sorry. I really am. My mom said Frank never would have murdered Jimmy Bourke, but I didn’t believe her until I saw the proof.”
“And you did,” she said softly. “But you threatened to put me in the river.”
“Mafia shit.” Declan shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry about that.”
“He’s blood, let him go,” Paul said. “Plus, he let us live when he probably shouldn’t have and helped take down this bastard.”
“I’ll cut you a deal,” Liam said, turning to Declan. “Help us get these guys tied up and into the van. And then we’ll talk.”
“Deal,” Declan said, reaching out to meet Liam’s outstretched hand.
“Now let’s get this bastard out of here,” Liam said, shoving Mickey forward with force over the broken table.
“Are you okay?” Charla asked as Liam pushed past her. “Your eye is cut pretty bad, you’re going to need stitches…”
“I’m fine,” Liam said, nodding his head toward the kitchen. “How’s Jerry?”
Charla rushed forward past him and knelt down beside Jerry in the kitchen. She checked his pulse and listened to his chest. He was breathing, but it was shallow. She grabbed a kitchen towel, soaked it with cool water, and pressed it against his wound on his head. The bleeding had stopped for the most part, but a small pool of blood had formed around his head.
“What do you need?” Paul asked, bending down beside her.
“To get him to a hospital,” Charla said, looking at the time. He’d been out for more than thirty minutes. “Call an ambulance.”
“And call Sheriff Sullivan and tell him I’m bringing Mickey McGrath in. My phone is in my back pocket,” Liam said as he pushed Mickey into the kitchen. “He’ll want to make a few calls before I bring him in.”
Ronan laughed as he pushed his man forward. Declan followed with his gun drawn.
Charla slid her hand in his pocket to retrieve the phone and handed it to Paul.
“Can you cut audio?” Liam asked.
Paul looked down at the phone to see a recording with a run-time of seven minutes and counting. He tapped the phone and smiled at Liam. “Hell, yeah. I can cut audio.”
“Make sure it’s good. Sullivan will want to hear that right away. Get this asshole convicted for killing Helen and Jimmy Bourke.”
“Got it.” Paul disappeared into the living room.
“Charla, make sure everything is okay downstairs with Gina. Tell her to close early. The ambulance will be here soon. Plus, the police will want to know what happened here, and I don’t want anyone around for that,” Liam said as Declan moved forward to open the door. Liam let Ronan and his man through first. “The van’s in the alley. We should be able to make it down without anyone seeing us.”
“Okay,” she said, nodding and turning back to Jerry to hold the towel on his head. Jerry’s eyes began to peel open. He blinked slowly once, and then twice. She breathed a sigh of relief as he moaned.
“Charla, you okay?” Liam asked, stopping just before the door.
“I’m okay.” She forced a smile before turning back to Jerry. “Meet me at the hospital after you drop him off. You’re really going to need stitches.”
Liam grinned back. “By the way, you call the police?”
“No, why?” She looked up with a blank look.
“They showed up at The Blarney Stone just when we were leaving,” he replied.
“It was me.” Paul appeared in the kitchen with Liam’s cell phone by his ear. He pulled it away and said softly. “You always have to have a back-up. Always. Anonymous tip sent in a few minutes before nine. In case.”
“How…” Charla’s voice trailed off as she shook her head in disbelief.
“Thanks, man,” Liam said, nodding his head at Paul. The youngest brother beamed proudly before moving the phone back up to his mouth.
“Mickey McGrath, like I said.” He shook his head in annoyance. “Yeah, I fucking know who he is. He’s coming to your station.”
Liam laughed and then roughly pushed Mickey forward. “Get moving, bastard.”
They stumbled down the stairs, Mickey trying to break free from Liam’s grip. The sound of a loud thud and resulting moan echoed into the kitchen. Charla held her breath, ready to spring up to check the stairs.
Then Declan’s voice sounded. “Don’t fuck with me, Mickey.”
She turned back to Jerry. “Don’t move. You were knocked out, but I want to make sure you don’t have any spinal injuries.”
He groaned and put his hand up to his head. “My goddamn head.”
“I know,” she said, giving Liam one last look before they disappeared down the stairs. “I know.”
“Did they get him?” Jerry asked with a groggy voice.
“They got him,” she replied as Paul walked back into the kitchen.
“The ambulance is on its way,” Paul said. “And you should have heard the words coming out of Sheriff Sullivan’s mouth. He didn’t believe me at first.”
“I bet he didn’t, kid,” Jerry mumbled.
“Call me Brody,” he replied.
“Brody?” Charla shot him an incredulous look.
“Yeah, why not,” Brody said. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since I got my mom to admit that was my real name. I was born with it, so why not? Plus, I like Brody better than Paul. Sounds tougher.”
Charla shook her head and wrung out the bloody towel in the sink.
“Brody, Paul, whatever, you can cancel that ambulance. I’m fine.” Jerry moved to sit up, but Charla gently pushed him back down.
“You’re not twenty anymore,” she said. “We’ve got to get you checked out.”
Jerry groaned. “You’re lucky I don’t have any fight in me.”
“You’re lucky you’re not dead,” Brody said.
“We’re all lucky we’re not dead,” she replied.
“Agreed.” Jerry closed his eyes.
“I’m going to head downstairs to talk to Gina. You got this?” she asked. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Got it.” Brody took the wet towel and bent down by Jerry again who groaned at the sight of him.
Charla walked down the stairs, thankful for each step she took. The last twelve hours were absolutely hell, but it was all coming to a close. Mickey would be gone and out of their lives for good, locked up in prison for more consecutive life-terms than she could imagine. As for Declan, she wasn’t sure what to think.
She got to the landing and turned the corner to head into the bar, almost running right into Gina.
“Jesus, Charla. Is everything okay?” Gina sputtered. “What the hell is going on?”
“You don’t want to know,” she replied, turning back to the alley to see the open door and the back of the van. “Everything is going to be fine though. Liam’s back and wants you to close the bar early.”
“What am I supposed to say?” Gina said. “I’ve got leagues going on. There’s about fifty people in there.”
“I don’t know. Tell them you’re sick or something, and there’s no one else to cover,” Charla said, looking over Gina’s shoulder to make sure no one was coming. “There’s going to be an ambulance and police here soon.
Liam doesn’t want anyone here.”
“Charla, what the hell happened?” Gina asked, craning her neck toward the alley. The men’s voices carried into the hallway.
“I’ll let Liam explain that one when he gets back, but for now, just get everyone out, okay?” Charla grabbed Gina’s shoulders lightly and looked her in the eyes. “If you want to keep your job, trust me.”
“Got it.” Gina turned and disappeared through the bar door.
Charla turned to the open door to the alley, peeking out to see Liam, Ronan and Declan standing at the back of the van.
“I can’t go back,” Declan said. “Word will get out that I betrayed Mickey. I’ll catch hell for that.”
“You can testify against him. I’m sure they’ll offer you a great deal for information to use against Mickey or anyone else. You can go into the witness protection program,” Liam said.
“I’m not going into the witness protection program. I’ve heard how things end with that, and it ain’t good,” Declan replied.
Ronan leaned his hand against the van. “Then take the fucking money. We’re blood. The money is yours just as much as it is ours.”
“What?” Liam and Declan both asked at the same time.
“Take the fucking money and get the hell out of here. Start a new life just like Jack did,” Ronan said. “You got anybody back in Boston? A girl or anything?”
“No,” Declan said. “Just my mom.”
“She’ll understand,” Ronan said. “She’ll have to understand. Take the money. We’ll get money from bringing these guys in, and I’ll make that baby bro of ours cough some our way. Sounds like he shits money.”
“I can’t do that -” Declan started, shaking his head.
“You will,” Liam said. “And you’re going to get the number of Jerry’s guy. His cleaner. He’ll take care of you just like he did with Jack.”
“I can’t after everything I did,” Declan said, his voice sounding remorseful. “With Charla and Paul or Brody, whatever the fuck that kid’s name is.”
“It’s Brody,” Charla said, stepping forward. All three men turned toward her in surprise. “And you’re going to take the money and get the hell out of here. Just promise me that you’ll stay clean. Keep your head out of this mafia shit for good. Can you promise me that?”