There was a sign to the left of the wall and, above the hallway, was a brass sign that said, Private, Club Members Only. So there was some sort of club? Interesting.
“Miss Mosely?”
She heard the deep voice and turned to see a tall, thin man with a white bar towel in his hands. Not the first bartender she’d seen with the shamrock vest on. He eyed her over and smiled.
“Yes. I’m here to see Mr. Foley.”
“Of course.” He stared at her a moment too long.
She smoothed her hands along the slim-fitting navy blue dress she wore, and he seemed to pick up on her discomfort from him staring.
“I’m sorry, the name is Pat. I’m one of Mr. Foley’s bartenders as well as assistant manager.”
“Oh, nice to meet you.” She reached her hand out. He wiped it on the towel he held, then took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the top as he held her gaze.
“You’re a beauty, ya sure are,” he stated, and the sudden thick, Irish accent came out of nowhere. She squinted. That was strange.
“Come along with me. Mr. Foley’s been expecting ya.” He released her hand and brought her toward the hallway that said, Private, Club Members Only above it.
He knocked three times then two more before the door opened. She wondered if it were a coded knock and didn’t know why she had that feeling until the door opened. Before her eyes a whole other bar and lounge area appeared, and it had multiple men at the bar and a few women serving drinks, dressed in tight, short black skirts and skimpy tank tops with clovers on them.
All eyes suddenly went to her when one tall, wide-shouldered, good-looking redhead came out from the end of the bar and looked her over. “Don’t tell me that you’re the artist,” he said in an even thicker Irish brogue than Pat had.
“Yes, sir, this is Miss. Mosely.” Pat gave a wink when she looked back at him.
“This is the boss, Mr. Foley himself.”
Pat then walked away as Mr. Foley smiled wide, completely looked her over, and then licked his lips.
“I’ll have to thank me friend Brian for this one. It was he who organized this meeting and his idea of having a real artist do the mural. My goodness you’re a sight, lassie. Come on in. Can I get ya a drink?” He slid his arm around her waist and brought her toward the bar.
“Oh no thank you, Mr. Foley. I’m quite fine. I’m on a bit of a tight schedule today. Mr. Soyer mentioned you were looking for an artist.”
“Yes, yes, of course. So sorry, I’m sure someone as talented and professional as you are has a bit of a crazy schedule. Everyone wanting to snag you up and hire ya for work,” he said, lifting his lip in a grin and giving her a wink while also looking over her body. He was a flirt and then some, and he slid his arm around her waist and guided her back toward the doorway.
“Let’s walk into the main area. It’s a bare wall that I want to get done up special.” He guided her from the private room and back down the hallway to the main area. Sure enough, the site that her bare canvas would be was the one wall with the picture of the robust man on it.
“Ah, me grandfather, Riley Patrick Foley the second. A real prick of a bastard, but he got shit done,” he said, and she chuckled. “I’d like to have a portrait of him done in the center, not even as large as this framed picture here, but still show respect to him, ya know what I mean? Like maybe some details of Ireland and County Cork, where he grew up before coming to America and establishing this bar. I want realistic, not bullshit. Charlie told Brian that you’re amazing.”
“I appreciate that. I brought along this portfolio for you to take a look at. There are some samples of my work. I could also send you some copies of other portraits of people I have done.”
He opened the book and took a seat. “Please join me.” He waved to the bar. Pat brought over two mugs of dark beer.
“Oh, I’m okay,” she said, thinking it was kind of early for beer.
“Don’t be silly. We need to drink on this and be sure you’re right for the job. Look at the wall and tell me what you think. What your plan of action might be.” He turned toward the wall, giving a wave of his hand as if encasing the blank scene and waiting for her to instantly come up with ideas.
He was a character, but she got a good feeling about him, and she stared at the wall and the portrait. It didn’t hurt that the man was six feet two, muscular, good looking, and had one sexy Irish brogue and a look of danger about him, despite the smiles.
She then squinted at him.
“Tell me about your grandfather. About what he loved most about County Cork.”
He lifted the mug of beer as he squinted at her. She raised hers, and they tapped them then took sips.
For the next hour Mitchim told her about his family, about County Cork, Ireland, and his favorite places there. He talked about the family of mostly males and how they were rebels and men who seemed to enjoy fighting, battling things out, and danger. He was quite charismatic, and her mind began to whirl with ideas for this wall and what might make Mitchim very happy.
“So when can ya start?” he asked, eying over her chest and then her face.
“Well, what works for you and closing this part of the bar off?” she asked.
He squinted.
“Oh no, we aren’t closing off the bar. We’re going to watch you in action.”
“What?” she asked, eyes wide.
“I can’t lose the business. Too many people rely on the bar being open. I was hoping we could just rope off this area for you to work in, and then each day when you’re finished, you cover it up.”
She was shocked and a little unsure about this. People watching her paint?
“I heard that you’re very talented. Surely you can do your thing under these circumstances. My patrons mean the world to me, so their happiness, input, and satisfaction is important.”
“It’s definitely something I’ve never done before, but I suppose I could handle that. I do need a bit of space though.”
“Whatever you need. I’ll pay you well, too. How long do you think you’ll need?”
“Well, let me come up with some ideas for you, Mr. Foley, and then present them to you and we can start from there.”
“It’s Mitchim, honey.” He winked at her then raised the mug of beer again, and they took sips.
From there Pat came over to join them and started telling some stories of his trip to Ireland. She couldn’t help but laugh. They were quite the characters there, and something told her she was definitely going to have a memorable experience with this job.
An hour later, as she got into her car and headed out of the parking lot, her cell phone rang. She clicked the button to answer the call on her Bluetooth.
“Hey, girl, what are you up to?” Brazille asked her.
“Not too much, just heading back to work.”
“I checked out that boutique just now in Ausberry we talked about, and you are going to love it. They have the sexiest little dresses and a lot in that wine color you like so much.”
“That’s great. I’ll have to stop in there. Right now I need to get back to work. I had an appointment at a place outside of Cadenville.”
“Cadenville? That’s like an hour from your job,” Brazille said to her.
“Yes, I know, it’s a bit of a hike, but I’m actually glad I went to check it out. There’s a guy who wants to hire me to paint a mural in his business. A full wall that will take at least two weeks to complete.”
“That’s great. The more exposure of your talent the better, right?” Brazille asked.
“That’s exactly what I’m thinking. Plus, his restaurant and pub is three blocks from the Saggamore Gallery. Someone from there is bound to go to the restaurant or the bar.”
“Great thinking. I can’t wait to check this out. You be sure to let me know when it’s complete, oh, and Talia, Merica and the crew. They’ll all want to check it out.”
“Hey, do me a favor and don’t tell anyone about this. I would rather I
invite them to a gallery to see my work, not something done on a wall in an Irish pub.”
“Hey, what you’re doing is pretty damn awesome. An Irish pub sounds cool to me. And good-looking Irish guys with brogues has to be positive background to get you in the right frame of mind.”
Thylane chuckled. “Definitely good-looking men and thick brogues.”
“Hot, I may have to stop by and bring you coffee or something.”
“Bring it on over. That’s if I get the job. I need to come up with some ideas.”
“You will. You’re great at this. That painting there will remain there for years. Hundreds of people will see it, comment on it, photograph it, and I’m certain it will come out amazing. You’re really talented. I hate keeping this secret.”
“Well, you have to. I didn’t want anyone to know about it. You would have remained in the dark, too, if you hadn’t been with me at the mall when Oscar was there and asked about upcoming shows.”
Brazille chuckled. “Oh, yeah, I remember your face. Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. Even though I still wonder how you know a man like Oscar. He did not seem like the artistic type at all. More like a bouncer.”
Thylane chuckled. “Well, he is in the security business and knew some old acquaintances of mine, so your analysis wasn’t so far off. Only a friend though.”
“He was pretty good looking. Oh well. So are you going to come hang out this weekend with us?”
“I hope to on Saturday. It depends on how my sketching goes for ideas for the project. He wants me to start Monday even without seeing my ideas.”
“Well, don’t complain. He could be a pain and want to over analyze everything and turn this into months of work.”
“True. So I guess I’ll call you Thursday to find out the plans for the weekend. Have a good week.”
“You, too, Thylane.”
As Thylane headed back to the office, she thought about Foley’s, the décor, the vibe throughout the place, as well as Foley’s love for Ireland and County Cork. She would start researching there and see what landmarks or types of scenery were there and then see if she could come up with something amazing like Mitchim Foley wanted. Perhaps a scene of the countryside and water or a pub in the back that was supposed to look like Foley’s Restaurant and Pub? She wondered as thoughts began to form in her head and excitement, too. She would email him some of her ideas, and he would then decide. He was going to pay her a hundred dollars an hour. She would work no more than five hours a day, and she needed to think of something to help her get over any shyness of painting with an audience.
She smiled as she drove along. This was going to be a lot of fun. Painting was what she loved to do. Perhaps this was a step toward reaching her dream after all. She chuckled. She was going to have to say thank you to Charlie. She shook her head. Oh, brother, was he going to be smug about this.
* * * *
“You crazy bastard, what the fuck are ya doing making deals with that asshole Yorkshire?” Oscar Shay asked Brian Orvin over the phone.
“It’s business, Oscar. Don’t you need to worry about my meetings and deals when you’ve got plenty of your own worries,” Brian replied in that Irish brogue of his.
Oscar exhaled. He had done plenty of jobs over the years for the U.S. government, and now this private security detail, to know enough about domestic terrorism. It was easy to fall into doing illegal jobs for insane money, but he knew enough to stay clear of Yorkshire. A handful of friends from the military over the years had wound up dead because of the guy and being part of his liberation army.
“Bullshit I don’t have any worries. I keep my head down, get my jobs done, and I don’t go getting involved in international bullshit. You need to watch your ass,” Oscar told him.
“No need to worry. I’m a pawn in this situation. A grunt really but one getting paid enough to satisfy my rates. He pays. In time and fully, so just calm your worries. I’ll be in and out of this job within a week. All it entails is information. In fact, you could have gotten money and done this one no problem,” Brian said.
“Watch your ass. This is the only warning I’m giving you, Brian.”
“Yeah, yeah, Oscar. So when we going to hit up the bar for a few? I hear that Foley’s got some great action these days. Could use me a little lassie to keep me warm at night.”
Oscar chuckled. “You never go for the single ones, Brian. Ya always wind up in a fistfight hitting on a taken woman.”
“Hey, if a man don’t keep a close eye and hand on his piece of ass, then it’s his own fault she strays.”
Oscar chuckled.
“Yeah, that kind of thinking will get you to your grave faster than you think.”
“Faster than any dealings with Yorkshire,” Brian replied, but Oscar felt uneasy.
He didn’t like Yorkshire one bit and knew the man was dirty. His buddies Logan and Connor had died because of Yorkshire and his dealings with Merritt Hopper. It made Oscar wonder about the guy who owned the company Oscar did security for.
“Whatever, so when do you want to meet up?”
“Wednesday. I’ll be done seeing this job through. Just making sure the target shows up. See you around five.”
“Sounds good. Take care of yourself and watch your ass.”
“Ahhh, it isn’t my ass I like to watch. It’s the lassies.”
Oscar chuckled and ended the call. He leaned back in his chair and looked at the computer screen. This was not a good situation at all. The feds and local authorities had their eyes on Yorkshire and anyone associated with him but had come up with nothing. The man never did any dirty work himself, but he was connected to some gruesome acts, both in the United States and in Ireland. Oscar had come across a few of these cases coming in to provide security for men being threatened by associates of Yorkshire. No one really knew who backed him money-wise, considering Yorkshire wasn’t exactly a businessman, but he had money. Lots of it. Oscar had gotten to play both sides over the years, but more recently, as Yorkshire became more and more violent, now killing government agents and even local law enforcement, he was starting to hate the guy and wanted him caught or, even better, killed. So he gathered his information, the inside evidence, pictures, surveillance videos, and even four confirmed locations of where the man hid out. That way if he ever needed to assist the right people in stopping Yorkshire, he would have exactly what they needed to end his legacy.
Some investigators drew the conclusion that Yorkshire got his money from supporters, militants unhappy with certain laws and regulations. Considering that a lot of underground dealings provided untraceable money for their transactions, Yorkshire definitely had someone powerful in his corner. Oscar wondered who, but he was certain he wasn’t the only curious man. He kept on top of anything having to do with Yorkshire for one reason and one reason only. He was somehow related to Logan and Connor, Thylane’s cousin Lauren’s dead fiancés. Men who set out to kill her, and Thylane, over business between their fathers and Yorkshire. Somehow Thylane killed both men, but no one knew that except for Oscar. They kept it a secret hoping to keep Thylane safe. Logan and Connor, despite being American soldiers, held allegiance to an underground group once associated with the IRA. These men put those soldiers to shame.
Oscar exhaled and then started working on his current assignment. He thought about Thylane, her beauty, her sweetness, and he had concerns. He would continue to keep eyes on her and protect her from afar. She hadn’t deserved any of what happened to her and certainly not to be forced to kill two men in order to save herself, her cousin, and father. He took a deep breath and exhaled. His point of interest to do surveillance on for this special operations unit he was now part of was his own friend Brian Orvin, whom he’d just tried to warn off from engaging in activities with Yorkshire. He didn’t seem to take the advice, and that was Brian’s own choice. He wanted money, and he lived a fast-paced, expensive life that was becoming dangerous. Oscar felt badly that he was part of this investigation and would more tha
n likely go down for his crimes, including admitting over the phone to negotiating a deal with Yorkshire. It wasn’t so easy working undercover like this and friending evil criminals that he ultimately would take down, but that was what made his abilities so special. He worked every angle, lived his secret life, and silently assisted in taking down terrorists by outsmarting them and the idiots that helped them.
His other interest, which he was now monitoring fully, was Franco McCann. Once a member of the IRA, now a scab for anyone looking to get information and pay for it. His decision to help Yorkshire if he met him and did what he said would unfortunately mean his arrest or, worse, his death. Franco hadn’t a clue that Oscar and this special operations unit had him on their radar and ready to take down.
All very complicated considering the recent chatter about an undercover operation on its way. Whomever the feds and law enforcement sent in would more than likely end up dead just like the others. Yorkshire always identified agents and cops. He exhaled. Another funeral, another small article in the paper about the loss of a military life, and all for nothing more than an added kill for Yorkshire.
Chapter Two
What was great about Repose and Sons of Justice was that people, friends, didn’t ask questions when a team or one or some of its members were missing. It was pretty self-explanatory that Finlin was involved in an assignment. He had been gone for a few days now. Rusty tipped back his pint of Guinness, finishing off the dark-brewed beer and placing it back down onto the coaster on the bar. It was Saturday night, and the Filling Station was as busy as ever. A local country music band was playing, people were kicking it up on the dance floor, and he felt the light hand go to his shoulder and ease up to his neck. A glance to the left and there stood Cindy Lane. A woman who’d attempted to break into his and the team’s house with the intention to screw them even after they stopped her from taking advantage of Stack when he passed out from being drunk.
Sons of Justice 6: A Painter Walks into an Irish Pub (Siren Publishing LoveXtreme Forever) Page 3