“Yeah.” Martin’s voice boomed through the speaker. Thumping bass sounded in the background.
“Martin, come upstairs to Rica’s.” He tapped the screen a few times and brought the cell to his ear. “
Krank
, move the car to the alley exit and meet me at Rica’s.” Kieran tossed the phone on the mattress. “This”--he rose from the bed--“is an easy fix.”
“Says you.” Weariness swept through her. She slumped against the headboard, and her hair tugged her scalp. Rica bent forward and pulled her braids free. She glanced up and Kieran was gone. “Hey.”
“Rest.” His words drifted to her from the living room. Sleep claimed her as she snuggled down under the heavy duvet and curled her arm around the pillow.
Banging sent her sitting straight up. She looked around for the source of the noise echoing through the room. The music coming up through the floor was louder. She rubbed her eyes, groaning as she eased her legs free of the covers and over the edge of the mattress. She glanced at the phone on the nightstand. Three A.M. She’d been asleep for hours, but it only felt like minutes. Gingerly, she rose and long fingers of pain walked down her leg. Keeping close to the wall, she moved toward the voices coming from the kitchen. Martin stood close to the entrance.
“Martin, you have no idea how disappointed I am in you.” Kieran circled the shorter man.
“I got into a bit of trouble. I was going to make good but I lost again.” A deep pink flush colored Martin’s cheeks, and the sweat peppering his face shined under the florescent ceiling lights.
“Gambling? This bullshit is because you can’t control your damn habits?” Kieran pressed the gun under his enforcer’s chin. “I told you before, you pay for your fuck-ups. I would shoot you now but then I would have to listen to Rica whine about bloodstains.”
She leaned on the jamb and peered at the men. “In this case, I wouldn’t say a word since both of us would be scrubbing floors.”
“Pretty girl, I don’t do floors or windows.” The guys gazed up at her. Kieran laughed. “I’ll get Shannon to send one of his girls over from his whore house, Basic, to clean up and pay her double her time.”
“Problem solved then.” Rica nodded; shrugging was out of the question.
“I’ll pay it back-k-k,” Martin sobbed.
“He has been with you since forever. Maybe you could let him off with a warning.” She pressed her lips together and looked away.
“Will you be responsible for this jerk wad?” Kieran tapped his fingers on the surface of the kitchen table. “If this shit happens again will you be the one to kill him?” He pointed his weapon at Martin.
“Pussy boy just needs the right motivation.” She hobbled to Kieran and covered his hand with her own, aiming the weapon. “I mean, if you kill him how can he pay you back?” She urged his arm down and slipped her finger through the trigger guard, pressing the trigger.
The bullet ripped through Martin’s knee. His yowls quickly turned to whimpers as he dropped to the floor with his leg extended.
Kieran wrapped an arm around Rica’s waist, keeping her steady. She stared up at him and rubbed her face against his jaw. A few days’ beard growth prickled her skin.
“This is why I can never get enough of you,” he murmured into her hair. Kieran raised his arm. “Fire away, my pretty girl.”
The mechanism gave way easily under the pressure, and another round barreled through the muzzle, finding its target in Martin’s other knee. He collapsed, rocking on the floor like a turtle stuck on its back.
“Your debt is paid, Martin. If I ever think for a minute you are cheating me again… You forfeit your life.” Kieran released her hand, dipped and picked up Rica. “You can thank Rica for your reprieve. See me when you’re healed.” He marched her back into the bedroom and set her on the bed. “
Krank
is in the hallway. We’ll get Martin out of the apartment. I’m meeting with
Conall
later. Get some sleep. I will check on you tomorrow.” The brackets around his mouth seemed deeper.
She watched him leave. There was a downward slope to his shoulders. Kieran had to be exhausted. Damn Roscoe. If she knew where to find him she’d bury his silly ass herself. “Hang in there, babe. After this a motherfucker will have to go through me to get to you,” she whispered.
Two weeks later
The Panama City airport bustled outside. It took a little over an hour to get through customs, and when they stepped through the automatic doors and away from the air conditioning both the heat and the crowds were oppressive. People moved in close, invading his space ad he clutched the top of his attaché. As a reformed child pickpocket he knew the groups surrounding him had to harbor a few of them.
Kieran had only brought his briefcase with him. He didn’t need luggage since there were no plans to stay longer than a day. Sunlight blazed down, warming his shoulders through the thin cotton shirt. Kieran dropped his head, enjoying the heat on his neck. Esteban hailed a cab, speaking broken Spanish to the driver. He, Esteban and Goo piled into the taxi.
“Police station—no--umm, bank.” Esteban glanced back at Kieran.
He nodded in agreement.
Kieran and his crew had separated at the Boston airport with
Krank
escorting
Derrica
to Costa Rica while Kieran and the rest of his guys came to Panama. A few keystrokes and Goo located his old employee in San
Miguelito
, a town right outside the city. Roscoe was sloppy, almost like he wanted to get caught with blatant use of credit cards. The paper trail was so obvious Goo complained about being offended and wasted talents. When Roscoe’s destination was determined Kieran had Esteban on the phone making connections and freely sharing cash for information. Money was a great equalizer and the local government and authorities were open to donations.
His elderly friend should have been picked up and detained by the local police for illegal entry into South America. Their excuse for arriving into the country was to check on Roscoe and help him file the necessary documents to get back into the states. That’s what they would claim if asked, at least for the time being. When they got home Goo would erase any signs that they ever left Boston, and Kieran was supposedly on vacation in Costa Rica so it was all good.
The driver pulled up to the curb. Kieran and Goo exited the vehicle, leaving
Estaban
to hold it for them. Kieran opened several bank accounts in several Caribbean Islands and South American countries in
Derrica’s
name months ago and had been steadily funneling funds into them. He hadn’t thought he would be using one of them so soon. For a mere twenty-seven thousand dollars, he was going to end Roscoe’s life. The amount wouldn’t make a dent in the money sitting in the account.
The bank was massive with columns and brass inlays. Guards paced the multiple sets of doors and the interior was airy with granite and wood pieces. He stopped at the information desk and slid free the papers he’d brought with him, presenting them to the bank officer.
The middle-aged woman scanned the sheet and spoke in heavily accented English. “Follow me, please.”
Their footsteps were muffled on the carpet as the followed the lady through a maze of desks on the far side of the room. Goo maintained a few feet between them and stood at the entrance of the corner office where Kieran was offered a seat. He withdrew sixty--two thousand from the account, ten large in fun money for each member of his crew and an extra five grand for him. Once he visited Roscoe he was immediately flying out to meet Rica. The transaction took forty-five minutes and he was back in the auto and on his way to San
Miguelito
.
There was very little open expanse between Panama City and the small town. It was more like the views shifted from apartment buildings that reminded him of tenements to homes and finally to large estates before becoming small one- and two-story structures. The jail was a Spanish-style two-story with arches and wrought iron accents. Esteban made arrangements for the driver to wait, slipping him a couple hundreds.
They entered the police station and there were only two officers in the front. Esteban ambled up to them and started a conversation. Their discussion was in rapid-fire mixed Spanish. The policemen nodded. One picked up a set of keys and motioned with a wave of his hand to be followed before ambling down the narrow hall. The guy stopped. Kieran and his men turned to face the wall of bars. Roscoe stood in the center cell.
“You found me sooner than I expected.” The old man yawned. He gazed at them through bloodshot eyes. His hair was matted and puffiness made his lids appear to be bulging. “I thought I did a better job at covering my tracks.”
Goo snorted.
“I warned you I was coming.” Gazing at a man he once counted as a friend, Kieran kept tight control of his tone. His anger bled into his voice.
“You do keep your promises.” Roscoe’s chuckle morphed into a coughing bout.
“My woman, Roscoe. You handed Rica over to animals. Surely you knew I wouldn’t let that slide?” Kieran leaned into the metal bars.
“I knew you wouldn’t.” The elderly guy had aged in the few weeks he’d been on the run. His jowls hung under his neck. “Counted on it, actually.” He exhaled deeply. “I’m already dying. Damn dick cancer makes my nuts look like grapefruit. So you’re doing me a favor.”
“Prostate cancer?” Kieran cocked a brow. “You expect me to feel sorry for you? That’s where you fucked up.”
Another guard marched down the hall with a thick rope swinging around his arm.
Roscoe shuffled closer and leaned forward, pressing his face against the bars.
Kieran glanced at Esteban. “Make sure the guard understands I want the bastard suffer.” He returned his focus to Roscoe. “Rica took a beating you will pay for.”
The first police officer twisted a key in the lock. The steel door squealed as it swung open.
Kieran moved close and whispered, “My mother was too fucking good for any of you. Tell Danny Boy I said hello when you get to hell.” He faced Esteban and Goo. “Be my witness that the fucker swings. Enjoy the sights--I got a plane to catch. See you in a week.” He strolled down the hall and through the open area to the car.
***
“How’s the weather in Boston?” Rica’s sultry voice carried through the earpiece. Waves sounded in the background. She must be on the beach and he wasn’t enjoying the view with her.
“Today’s forecast. Bloodshed with a chance of death.” His aggravation would only be satisfied by killing someone, namely his da.
Kieran was on his way to Panama City’s airport when he got the call from
Conall
that they’d located Paddy. He purchased a new ticket back to Boston and its chilly weather, hopping on the first flight available. God, he wished every motherfucker in his way would die so he could spend a few sweet days romping in the sand with Rica.
“Wish you were here.” Her tone faded in and out. “You can come once you take care of everything.”
“You’ll wake up and find me next to you. Get off the phone, pretty girl. Daddy’s got to handle some business.”
“See you in a few days.”
Kieran disconnected the call and tapped the screen, scrolling through his contacts.
Fionn
answered on the first ring. “What?”
What the hell was his brother’s problem? It wasn’t like
he
had to leave a beautiful piece of ass alone at a five-star resort in a new fucking bikini. “
Conall
said the old bastard has been found.”
“Yes and no.” Frustration tainted his brother’s voice.
“What the fuck does that mean?” Kiera sank into the town car’s plush backseat.
“We found one of his hiding places but the asshole is gone.”
Fionn
exhaled deeply. “We got our people searching for him. I don’t think he left Boston.”
“His decrepit ass can’t hide forever.” They had wiped out the people loyal to him. Claimed his territories. The old man was living on borrowed time. “Meet me at Irish. I’ll contact Shannon and
Conall
.” He ended the call.
***
The brothers lined up--
Conall
,
Fionn
, Kieran, Shannon. It had taken a few months, but once they located the old man it was a simple case of hunting him down. In the end, the bastard never left South Boston. All the wrongs perpetrated against them came down to that moment.
Paddy gazed up at them, defiance and hate clear in his bright green eyes. Gone was his crew--there was no one left to protect him. The layers he’d built over the years as a shield disintegrated. Dead men were the only testament left to their
da’s
crumbling empire. A warning that the O’Shea brothers now controlled the area. It was time for a new era.
Their father straightened, squaring his shoulders. His coat hung off a gaunt frame. The once large man was a mere shell of himself. Slowly, each brother raised his arm. Their guns varied from a thirty-eight to a 9-millimeter and a couple three-eighties. Paddy met the gaze of each man, his sons. A wistful smile lifted the corners of Paddy’s mouth. He raised his arms out from his body. They pulled the triggers, riddling his body with bullets.
The End