Do Not Go Gentle

by James W. Jorgensen

“Even after her fee and taxes?”

  Eileen nodded, wiping away tears. “Aye, but it’s only Maggie’s cut we have to give up. Since you paid the premium each month for the long-term disability insurance, it’s not taxable.”

  “Seriously?” Jamie asked.

  “If the Boston PD had paid the premiums, your benefits would be taxable, but since it was taken out of your paycheck, it’s tax free.”

  “Damn. I always hated those deductions.”

  “Not so much now, hunh?”

  “Indeed. Will it be enough to put back the insurance money we had to use?”

  “More than. We’ll be able to dig our way out of the hole we’re in and start rebuilding our lives.”

  After looking in wonder at each other for several seconds, Eileen said, “Go get your stinky arse in the shower, man. You take far less time to get ready than I do, and I need you out of my way if we’re going to the Rose.” They made their way upstairs amidst the music of their daughters’ preparations.

  * * * *

  Saturday morning dawned bright and warmer, much to everyone’s relief. Jamie and Eileen sat at the dining room table, both regretting the extent to which they had celebrated at the Black Rose the previous evening. Jamie had called his parents and siblings with the great news, so they had been joined at the Rose by Frank and Nuala and Jamie’s brothers and sisters. Jamie had lost the argument with Frank over the check. Even though it had been Jamie’s idea to celebrate and Jamie’s invitation, Frank insisted, and none of the Griffin children said no to their Da.

  They were finishing their second cups of coffee when Riona crept down the stairs to her parents. “How bad are your heads?” she asked in a quiet voice.

  “Bad enough that you get major brownie points for being so soft,” Jamie said with a smile. “Not so bad that you’d have been skinned alive if you hadn’t.”

  “Good.” She whirled on her heel and marched to get some breakfast.

  “So what’s next, my love?” Eileen looked over her coffee cup—it was a look Jamie knew well.

  “Well, you’re the money manager, dear heart.”

  “Don’t sham me, boyo,” Eileen warned. “You know damn well what I mean. Not only do we have your settlement, but we’ll be getting our share of the reward money from Cal’s family.”

  Jamie sighed. “I don’t know, love. We get to rebuild your business and get on with our lives.”

  “What does that mean for you, Jamie?” Eileen took his hand in hers. “You can’t just sit here day in, day out with the dog.”

  “True—he’d probably wind up biting me ass to have the place to himself again.”

  Eileen laughed, but maintained her meaningful look.

  “Okay, I just don’t know for sure what I can do.”

  “Fine,” Eileen allowed, “but you worked well with Louie and the twins.”

  Jamie made a wry face at his wife. “Yeah, I wondered how long until you’d bring that up.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Me? A private investigator? You know my opinion of PIs.”

  “Aye, and I know you’re not going to be able to work any job that requires you to be available on a set schedule. You never know day-to-day whether you’ll even be able to get out of bed, love.”

  “The thought has crossed my mind. I have to admit, but even PI work requires a pretty regular commitment of time and energy.”

  “True, but that’s where Louie and the twins come in.”

  Jamie looked thoughtfully at his coffee. “I’m not sure they’d be interested,” he said. “Especially the twins. I don’t know how Darcy is going to handle losing her eye.”

  Eileen nodded in reluctant agreement. “Mayhaps, but if I know those two young women, her injury won’t take the wind out of her sails for long. They might surprise you.”

  No one said anything for a long time. Brigid and Caitlin stumbled blearily downstairs and joined them. Finally, Jamie drained his last cup of coffee and said, “Well, I’m going to call Louie and see if he’d like to join me in visiting Darcelle at the hospital.”

  “I think that’s a grand idea,” Eileen said with a tiny smile on her face.

  “Hush, woman. I know you’ll take all the credit for this idea if it comes to pass, but you don’t have to gloat about it. It’s unladylike.”

  Jamie retreated from the shouts and abuse as quickly as he could and went upstairs to get ready to head into Boston.

  * * * *

  As they made their way to Darcelle Lopes’ room at Mass General, Jamie turned to Louie Lombardi and stopped him by placing a hand on his arm. “Listen, Louie, I’m not sure what we’re walking into here.”

  “Whaddya mean, Mick?”

  “I mean Daphné said her sister was doing better physically, but you’ve seen guys hurt bad like this before. You never know how they’re going to take it.”

  “True,” Louie said as they resumed walking.

  They had already stopped talking just before they had found Darcelle’s room, but after they entered, Jamie and Louie stared in dumbfounded silence. “Hey, Unc,” Darcelle called out in a cheery voice. “Hey, Big Ugly.”

  It wasn’t Darcelle’s tone of voice that stopped the two men dead in their tracks. Nor was it entirely the happy expression on Darcelle’s face, sporting a black eye patch with a skull and crossbones over her right eye. It was more the happy expression and identical black eye patch over Daphné’s right eye that left them speechless. “Well, hello,” Jamie finally managed.

  “You still can’t tell us apart, Unc.” Darcelle said with a loud laugh.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Daphné said, switching her eye patch to her left eye.

  Darcelle stuck out her tongue. Daphné switched the patch back to her right eye.

  “Good you’re taking this so well,” Louie said. “I seen guys destroyed by injuries like yours.”

  “Yeah, well, then they were just wimps,” Darcelle insisted.

  “Apparently.” Louie wasn’t sure what to say next.

  Jamie came to his rescue. “Your mother tells me they were able to save part of your eye?”

  “Yeah,” Darcelle said, growing serious. “I guess I actually got lucky, if you can call it that. They tell me there are two surgical procedures in cases like this—enucleation and evisceration.”

  “Ouch,” Louie said.

  “I know, right,” Daphné agreed. “Turns out, evisceration is the better of the two procedures.”

  “Doesn’t sound like it,” Jamie said.

  “Nah, it doesn’t,” Darcelle continued, “but enucleation removes the entire eye, while evisceration just removes the stuff inside the eye, leaving the sclera, muscles, and optic nerve.”

  “Um, dat prolly comes under the category of too much information,” Louie said.

  “Aw, is the big, bad gansta man queasy?” Louie glared at Darcelle, but did not say anything as she continued. “So after they get done scooping out the damaged crap, they put in something called an orbital implant.”

  “Yeah, Dar-dar’s got coral in her head now.”

  Darcelle threw a plastic cup at her twin, who easily ducked out of the way. “It’s made from sea coral, dumb-butt. Anyway, after about six to eight weeks, I’ll get an artificial eye and because they were able to eviscerate, they say that I’ll be able to move my artificial eye just like my real eye.”

  “Unless she winds up with some wild tiger-eye or cats-eye, the artificial eye will look just like her real eye.”

  “Tiger eye?” Louie asked. “Do I want to know?”

  “No,” Darcelle glared at her sister. “Daff keeps insisting they’re going to make a mistake and put in some tiger or cat eye.”

  Daphné shrugged. “Who knows? If I bribe the right people—”

  They stared at each other for several seconds, and then Darcelle shook her head. “And so, I have to wear an eye patch until then, and Daffy Duck there insisted on two eye patches, which she immediately decorated for us.”


  “Hey. I didn’t hear any complaints from you.”

  A moment of silent affection passed between the two, and then Darcelle looked back at Jamie and Louie. “So, thank you for coming, gentlemen. I’m really doing fine.”

  “Good,” Jamie said, “but this isn’t just a social visit.” He sat heavily in a visitor’s chair. Daphné jumped up out of the other chair so Louie could sit.

  “It isn’t?”

  “No, young lady, it isn’t.” The twins looked at each other, but kept further questions to themselves. “I have two items of business to discuss with you.”

  “Yeah, and the second is a real fucking strano item, lemme tell you.”

  “As I was saying,” Jamie continued. “Item the first is the reward money.”

  “Yeah, I was wondering about that,” Darcelle said.

  “Cal’s family has contacted me and presented me with a check in the amount of $50,000.”

  “Woo-hoo,” Daphné shouted.

  “Alright.” Then Darcelle got a sly look on her face. “How much does that leave the rest of you after I get compensated for my eye?”

  Louie growled, but Jamie just reached into his jacket pocket and brought out three checks. “As we agreed,” he said, emphasizing each word, “everyone’s share is $12,500.” He handed each of them a check. “Not bad, eh?”

  Darcelle waved her check at her eye patch. “Coulda been better, Unc.”

  Jamie winced. “Understand. I’m sorry, honey.”

  Reaching out, Darcelle grabbed Jamie’s hand. “Hey. I knew what I was getting myself into. The way I look at it, I got off okay—better than Riordan.”

  After squeezing her hand for a moment, Jamie nodded. “Okay, then. That leads me to my second item of business.”

  “Pazzesco,” Louie muttered.

  “Keep your damned opinions to yourself,” Jamie retorted.

  “Okay, let’s have it,” Daphné said, “before Chuckles there ruins the surprise.”

  “Well, your Aunt Eileen’s as much to blame for this idea as me,” Jamie continued. “I wanted to talk to the three of you about maybe working together again in the future.”

  “Working together again?” Darcelle asked, carefully sounding out each word.

  “Yeah, well, it didn’t work too badly this time and since neither Louie nor I have jobs—”

  “You leave me outta this, Mick” Louie protested. “This is all his big idea.”

  Daphné and Darcelle looked at each other for several seconds without speaking. Then Daphné looked at Jamie and asked, “You mean like some kind of detectives?”

  “No,” Jamie said with a wince. “Detectives are police officers. I mean like some kind of private investigators.”

  “Out-fucking-standing idea,” Louie snorted. “I don’t think anyone’s gonna be lining up to give me a PI’s license.”

  “Well, you were never convicted of anything above a misdemeanor, right?” Jamie asked.

  “Convicted, no, but I think they probably got standards that rule out guys like me.”

  “Yeah,” Jamie admitted, “but not guys like me, and if I form my own agency, I can hire whomever I want.”

  “Hire?” Darcelle asked.

  “Well, Louie’s right—the state limits applicants for a PI license to former cops or federal investigators and people who have certifications from three ‘reputable citizens of the commonwealth.’

  “See? Let’s me out on both counts,” Louie said.

  “For a PI license, yes, but not for working for a licensed PI.”

  “You’d become a private investigator?” Darcelle asked.

  Jamie made a disgusted face. “Not my first career choice, but if I had three people like you to rely on, I could probably make a go of it. Louie could be the office manager, and the two of you could handle most of the field work.”

  Darcelle laughed loud and long enough to cause a nurse to stick her head in to check on them. “Sorry. Sorry,” she gasped. “I can just see Louie taking shorthand and making coffee.” This got Daphné to laughing, and it was several minutes before the two subsided.

  “Are you quite finished?” Jamie said. “I told Louie I could use him as an office manager, not an administrative assistant.”

  “Yeah, and office manager means I’d be the boss.”

  “As if,” Darcelle said with a chuckle.

  “No one would be the boss but me,” Jamie interjected. “It would be my agency—Griffin and Associates.”

  “So we’d be associates?” Daphné asked with narrowed eyes.

  “Unless you want to take some of that reward money and invest it, share the expenses as well as the profits,” Jamie replied evenly.

  The twins looked at each other, and then they looked at Louie. Then all three looked at Jamie. No one said anything for a few minutes, so Jamie continued. “Well, no decisions need to be made right now. Especially,” he said, patting Darcelle on the leg as he stood, “since you still have some recovery time still ahead of you, young lady.”

  “True,” Darcelle replied, “but I gotta admit—there’s a certain appeal to running around investigating shit. We’d get to use our guns, too, right?”

  Jamie laughed. “Sometimes. More often, it’d be long hours spent cars on stakeouts and very few gunfights like we the one we just had.”

  “Yeah, remember how much fun you had on our stakeouts?” Daphné asked innocently.

  Darcelle scowled and stuck her tongue out at her twin.

  Jamie laughed. “Well, we’ve got time. Plus, Alvise here isn’t doing handstands about the idea.”

  “Yeah, but I ain’t done handstands since I was ten years old,” Louie replied. At Jamie’s look of surprise, he went on. “I ain’t sayin’ yes, but I ain’t sayin’ no yet, either. Some days, I get tired of havin’ nuthin’ to talk to but my damned birds.”

  “Boy, does that explain a lot,” Darcelle said in a loud stage whisper.

  Louie made a rude gesture as Jamie escorted him from the room. “Get well soon, Darcelle,” Jamie said, “and both of you—think about it.”

  After Jamie and Louie had left, the twins did more than think about it—they talked about it long into the night.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “You’re fulla shit, Griffin,” Louie growled. “You ain’t got no goddamned straight.”

  Jamie shrugged. “It’ll cost you five bucks to find out, Lombardi.”

  It was the following Friday. While it was actually the second Friday of January, the monthly poker game had been delayed one week due to the New Year’s Day events and the immediate aftermath. Timmy and Cal were glaring absences, but Louie had joined the group. In addition to the three regular Griffin brothers, Frank Griffin played this month. In fact, he was hosting the game. Ruarc O’Riley, Bob Sullivan, and Eileen’s father, Ed Kelly, rounded out the group, after dropping Ruth off at Jamie’s house. Nuala had wisely escaped the stench of cigars and aroma of Jameson’s that filled the house and fled to Jamie’s house with Eileen and the two younger girls. Brigid was back at Notre Dame. Jamie had invited the twins to the game, but Daphné said that despite her brave front, Darcelle was still a little too self-conscious about the eye patch for playing poker, so they had joined the hen party at Jamie’s house instead.

  “Shit or get offa da pot, Louie.” Kelly, a retired engineer from the MTBA, was a New York born Irish-Catholic who could drink, smoke, and swear with the best of them.

  “Keep your pants, on, Kelly,” Louie replied, slowly spreading his cards in his huge, gnarled hands.

  Frank looked at his sons through the haze of the Stradivarius Churchills he sprung for in honor of the first game he hosted in years. Paddy, Jamie, Johnny, and Conán were carrying on an easy banter. Sully caught Frank’s eye and nodded. While the shitstorm from the aftermath of the Raisin Killer case was still in full force, it felt good to have the case wrapped up, even if the task force was likely to drag on for several months. Frank hadn’t admitted it to anyone, not even himself, but it
also felt good to be back on good terms with his second son. While the Griffin men often argued, it rarely lasted, and the discord of the past months had unsettled Frank. “Man, if organized crime took this long to do stuff, we’d have it made,” Frank said, piling on to the good-natured shit Louie was taking.

  “Call, okay, you dumb Irish testa di cazzos?”

  “Hey,” Ruarc shot back. “Who you callin’ a dickhead, you stupid Wop?”

  Louie looked back in surprise. “Sumbitch. I didn’t think any of you Micks knew God’s language.”

  “Whaddya mean?” Paddy Griffin said with a smirk. “Several of us speak Gaelic.”

  Jamie looked around the room and felt warm satisfaction flood through him. The evening had been great so far, spending time with his Da, his father-in-law, his brothers, and friends.

  Before coming to the game, Louie and the twins had arrived at Jamie’s house for a brief conference before the “menfolk” walked to Frank Griffin’s house. It might still be January, but the weather had taken a patented unpredictable New England U-turn into unseasonably warm weather, melting all the snow and ice and making for comfortable days. Consequently, the four had held their meeting on the front porch, with the fading warmth of the setting sun streaming to their sides, the shadow of the porch casting a preview of the evening cold over them.

  “So, Mick,” Louie had begun. “The three of us been talkin’ over your proposition.”

  “Yeah?” Jamie had replied.

  “Yeah,” Darcelle replied. “You apparently think quite a lot of yourself for your name to be the only one on the masthead.”

  “Nope,” Jamie replied. “I put that name out there as an idea, especially if I’m the only investor.”

  “Who says you’re gonna be the only investor?” Louie asked.

  “Yeah, what if we want a piece of the action?” Daphné demanded.

  “Then I guess we’d have to come up with another name,” Jamie said. “Any ideas?”

  “Well, we arm-wrestled on our way over and I won—” Louie began.

  “In your dreams, old man,” Darcelle interrupted.

  “As we discussed on the way over,” Daphné continued. “If we’re going to be equal partners in this venture, then the name has to reflect that.”