‘So what is the main reason?’
‘The Irish rule Boston, son. We always have, and we always will. Like the fucking Italians before them, the Russians have no fucking business being here. I thought I’d be happy up in my luxury penthouse looking out over Seaport, out of the dirt, the grime. But you know what?’
I raised an eyebrow.
‘I like the dirt and the grime,’ he said. ‘It’s who I am. It’s who we are.’
I’d heard enough.
I stood, hobbled over to the large picture window that looked out over downtown Boston.
‘Come on over,’ I said, waving the pistol in his direction. ‘Come and take a look at your city.’
He rose to his feet and crossed the blood-stained rug to join me at the window. He looked out across the rooftops and took in a deep breath. ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘that’s my city. My city. I helped build it, and now I’m going to help build it some more. And while we build the skyscrapers above, I’ll also control the streets below.’ He turned to face me. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘let’s talk about that money. How much are you after? Hell, you’ve earned a lot more than a thousand dollars, that’s for sure.’
‘There’s a problem,’ I said.
‘A problem with money?’ Quinn said with a laugh. ‘Trust me son, that’s a problem I don’t have.’
‘No,’ I said, ‘there’s a problem with your plan.’
‘Really?’ he said with a puzzled look. ‘If there is, I don’t see it.’
Suddenly, without warning, I grabbed hold of his suit lapels and rammed him backwards into the glass picture window, the whole thing shattering around him, his back striking the metal railings outside. ‘The problem, you sonofabitch,’ I shouted as I forced him back over the railings, body half inside, half out into open space, one hundred and twenty feet above street level, ‘is that you have to be alive to appreciate it!’
And with that, I pushed hard and then let go; watched the shock, surprise, fear and sheer panic in his eyes as he reached the tipping point, lost his balance on the railing, and fell.
I watched Mickey Quinn fall nine floors to the plaza below, screaming all the way until he hit street level and became nothing more than a broken, bloody smear on the concrete.
There was silence for a time, and then – when the passersby realized what had just happened, right in front of them – screams erupted in the streets that could be heard even up in the mayor’s office.
I came back inside, breathing hard. I was out of shape, and my shoulder was in agony.
But my mission was finally complete.
A week after my visit to the mayor’s office, Kane was out of hospital and back in the loving fold of his family. Which basically consisted of just me; but a family was a family, and Kane seemed happy to be back. Probably not as happy as I was to have him back, though; that dog was one in a million.
The mayor had been found with two dead Irish hoodlums in his office, and one pitched straight out of his window; questions were being asked, especially when it transpired that the body pulled out of the sidewalk was Mickey Quinn, a notorious crime boss and the mayor’s cousin.
An investigation was opened into recent goings-on, and it was fair to assume that the Old Harbor project would be going on the back-burner for a bit, especially as how ‘someone’ had leaked a shit-load of evidence to media about the connections between Russian and Irish gangs, the Boston police department, the city government, and Mondial Holdings, Inc. The FBI were getting involved, and there was a warrant out for Chet Elkins’ arrest. He’d skipped town, but I was sure he’d be found before long.
The whole thing was a national scandal, and played across the media almost twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.
My own role in the proceedings was mercifully subdued; I was just lumped in with the Irish mob, which I was perfectly happy with. There was no description, and I hadn’t been linked to a dog either. There was a vague photo-fit of my description doing the rounds, but it was so generic it could pretty much have been anyone.
I’d moved out of Christine’s, forever grateful for her help. I left her with fifty thousand dollars in cash – money that I’d ‘liberated’ from Martin O’Hare’s private office safe – and I only hoped it was enough. I had the feeling that she liked me, that she wanted me to stay; but that wasn’t the sort of man I was. With my strength building back up, I knew it was time to move on; she may have wanted something more, but the money would have to do.
I sat on the couch, back in my own rented apartment, my backpack packed up and ready by my feet as I paged through a map, my mind very much on how Mickey Quinn had tracked me. Alright, he hadn’t known exactly where I was, or where I was headed, but he was close enough; and that was too close for comfort.
I wanted to be random.
Completely random.
‘Kane,’ I said, showing him the map, ‘where do you want to go next, buddy?’
Kane looked at the map for a moment, then crashed one big paw down on the page.
I looked at the location and ruffled the fur on his head. ‘You sure?’ I asked, and he reacted with a low growl. ‘Okay, okay,’ I said, standing and pulling the pack onto my back. ‘Let’s go.’
And together, Kane and I left the apartment and limped slowly, painfully, off down the street.
I could only imagine what was going to happen to us next.
THE END
. . . but Colt Ryder will return in a new adventure, out late 2016!!!
Read more from J.T. Brannan -
MARK COLE SERIES:
SEVEN DAY HERO
STOP AT NOTHING
WHATEVER THE COST
BEYOND ALL LIMITS
NEVER SAY DIE
PLEDGE OF HONOR
COLT RYDER SERIES:
THE THOUSAND DOLLAR MAN
THE THOUSAND DOLLAR HUNT
THE THOUSAND DOLLAR ESCAPE
STANDALONE NOVELS:
ORIGIN
EXTINCTION
THE THOUSAND DOLLAR CONTRACT: Colt Ryder Is Back In His Most Explosive Adventure Yet! Page 16