Massacre

by Steven Henry

  “Several of my friends and associates have suffered recent misfortunes,” Evan said. “A number of lads of my acquaintance are deceased. I’d be grateful if you would share your information on this matter, Miss O’Reilly.”

  Erin took a deep breath. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t reveal case information to an organized-crime boss. But these circumstances weren’t normal. She started talking, choosing her words carefully.

  “My unit was called to a restaurant in Little Italy which had been the target of a hit. We discovered someone had shot up the place, then firebombed it, killing ten people: three restaurant workers, three representatives of a Colombian drug cartel, and four members of the Lucarelli family. At the time, we had no idea who’d done it. I now know the person behind the attack was Liam McIntyre. He wasn’t there in person; we all knew Liam, and he wasn’t a muscle guy.”

  “You got that right,” Mickey grunted. His henchman snickered.

  Evan turned his icy blue eyes on the two enforcers, who immediately shut up. Without a word, Evan returned his attention to Erin.

  “Liam had learned Marco Conti, AKA Marco the Mouth, was making a heroin deal with Diego Rojas, a representative of a Colombian cartel,” she went on. “Liam used three of his guys: Pat Maginty, Lonnie Burke, and Timothy Newton. He also employed an out-of-town shooter, Siobhan Finneran. It was a competent hit, not counting the collateral damage, but he made a serious mistake. Rojas’s three guys were inside, but Rojas himself wasn’t.

  “It’s funny,” she added. “Most bosses don’t like to drive themselves. But it saved Rojas’s life. He hadn’t gone in yet when the place got shot up. By the time he realized what was happening, his guys were dead, Irish gunmen were shooting up the place, it was on fire, and the NYPD was on scene. So he did the only sensible thing; he ran.

  “Liam had screwed the deal, but that didn’t get him anything. He wanted to do more than eliminate the competition. He wanted Rojas’s drugs. So he contacted Rojas and let him know he’d be willing to take the drugs off his hands. It was a sloppy deal to offer; Rojas wasn’t an idiot, and he figured Liam had been behind the attack. Rojas also knew his bosses back in Colombia weren’t going to be happy.

  “Rojas and Liam screwed each other. Rojas got a bead on Liam and started hunting him, but in the process, he got his drug shipment ripped off. Now he had no product. The only way he’d survive his own organization’s revenge was if he took Liam down.

  “I didn’t know any of this at the time. Liam helped me with a tipoff earlier this year.” Erin nodded to Mickey, who’d been present at that meeting. “So I figured he might know something about this situation. Carlyle set up a meeting for me. Unfortunately, Liam spooked, thinking I was after him, and ran out of the meet. Even more unfortunately, Rojas was waiting for him outside. We know how that came out.”

  Evan nodded, keeping his eyes on Erin. “So you went to Liam’s flat,” he prompted.

  “That’s where we found Rojas,” Erin agreed. “He shot it out and ran, but we grabbed him. He’s in custody.” She hoped that was still true. “From him, I learned about the other members of Liam’s squad. We started watching them, in case there was more trouble with the Colombians.”

  That was shading the truth a little, but Erin knew she had to look like she was looking out for the O’Malley family’s interests. She was supposed to be Carlyle’s contact in the NYPD. This was the delicate part.

  “Rojas managed to get the word out to some of his guys,” she went on. “We’re pretty sure there were four of them. They made their move earlier tonight. We weren’t quick enough to save Newton or Maginty, though we did get the guy who shot Maginty, but we got to Burke in time and put him in protective custody. He’s fine. I didn’t ask where he put the product; my job was to clear the homicide case. I talked to Carlyle about Siobhan, and he explained he had her safe for the moment.”

  “But a couple of Colombian lads were in my establishment,” Carlyle said. “It was a delicate situation. I’d no desire to engage in gunplay in my pub, with so many innocent lads, and so many of our own people, hanging about. Erin and I agreed on a plan to remove the Colombians, and to safeguard Miss Finneran in the process.”

  Here was the lie everything else hinged on. If Erin told the truth, that she’d been intending to arrest Siobhan and charge her with multiple murders, that was it. She’d be lucky to survive. She had to tell it Carlyle’s way, and make it convincing.

  She looked at Carlyle and tried to seem pleased with herself. “We arranged for Siobhan to run out the back, knowing the Colombians would follow her. When they got into the alley, the back door locked behind them and they were trapped. There’s an old hidden entrance to the Corner out back, from Prohibition days. Siobhan ducked through it as soon as my guys showed up. The Colombians tried to fight it out, and they got gunned down. The last Colombian was across the street, but Carlyle’s guy took care of him.”

  “What’s happened to my driver?” Carlyle asked.

  “I processed his release a couple hours ago,” she said. This was something else that would make her look useful to the O’Malleys. “He’s probably either back at the Corner, or at home. He’s fine. No charges.”

  Carlyle smiled a small but genuine smile. “That’s grand news.”

  “Siobhan had plenty of time to slip back into the Corner through the basement,” Erin concluded. “She walked right out the front door, hopped in a taxi, and got clean away. I don’t know where she is now, but I assume she’s getting out of town while the heat’s on.”

  Evan considered Erin for a long, uncomfortable moment. She made herself meet his eyes, never an easy thing to do.

  “So,” he said at last. “What’s to happen to Mr. Burke?”

  “It’s a tough situation,” she said. “He said some stupid things in front of other cops. He basically admitted to being in on the hit. But he didn’t say anything about any product, so there’ll be no drug charges. I don’t know what happened to Rojas’s stuff; I suppose it just got lost in the shuffle. I don’t know if he can get off at trial. He’ll need one hell of a good lawyer.”

  Evan nodded. “Still, he’s alive, and that’s more than can be said for the other lads. You and yours took good care of those cartel lads. And I thank you for looking after Miss Finneran. You’ve answered my questions, Miss O’Reilly. I understand you’ve had a long and trying night. I’ll leave you to your well-earned rest. Michael, Donald, Doyle, if you’ll come with me.”

  Evan turned and walked back to his car. Mickey and the other two goons followed. Mickey gave Erin a last look. It held a number of complicated emotions. Erin saw disappointment, anger, suspicion, and a certain dark respect. Then the Suburban’s engine rumbled to life and the O’Malley men were gone, except for Carlyle.

  “Erin,” he began.

  She didn’t even look at him. She opened the back of the Charger and got Rolf out. “Come on inside,” she said over her shoulder. “I’m not done with you yet.”

  Carlyle was talking almost before they were inside her apartment.

  “Evan picked me up on his way to see you. I’d no chance of warning you. He’s angry, and looking for someone to blame. You did a grand job, turning him aside.”

  Erin turned on him. “Did you plan this whole thing?”

  He stopped short. “What are you talking about?”

  “Did you set me up? It’s a simple question.”

  “Then it’s deserving of a simple answer. No.”

  “You didn’t tip off Siobhan?”

  “I texted her a warning about the Colombians and told her to go out the back. That’s all. Would you like to see my phone? The text history’s in it.”

  “Then how did she know about the back way into the Corner?”

  “This isn’t the first time she’s been here, Erin. She’d expressed an interest in the history of the place. I showed her around on her previous visit. To be honest, I’d forgotten she’d seen it. I’m a mite curious how you knew about it, though.
”

  “Rolf.”

  Carlyle smiled thinly and gave a respectful nod to the K-9. “Of course. I should have guessed. Hidden doors don’t fool a born tracker.”

  Rolf stared back at the Irishman and looked stern and proud of himself.

  “But you let her walk right out the door,” Erin said.

  “Aye. What exactly was I supposed to do? You saw the lads in the place. Any number of them would have been proud to tell Evan precisely what happened. If I’d interfered with Siobhan, even if I’d wanted to, word would have gotten back to him. Then how do you think this morning’s meeting would have gone?”

  “You wanted her to get away.”

  “Of course I did! I’ve made no secret of it, Erin. But I betrayed her. For you, and for us. Are you asking me to go on doing it, over and over?”

  To Erin’s shock, she saw tears shining in his eyes. His self-control was entirely gone. Instinctively, her anger draining out of her, she went to him and took his hands in hers.

  “And she knows it,” he went on quietly. A tear overflowed his eye and spilled down his cheek. “I saw it in her face as she went past. She knew I knew about you and the other coppers. I’ll never forget the look she gave me. God, Erin, the worst thing an Irishman can be is a traitor to his own family.”

  “Carlyle,” Erin said gently, “she’s not your daughter.”

  “I’ve always thought of her as mine.”

  “But she knows she’s not. She’s been using you.”

  “Aye, that’s what people do. They use one another. Even the ones they love. You used me tonight.”

  Erin felt her temper flare up, but the feeling subsided almost immediately. After all, he was right.

  “Yeah,” she said tiredly. “I guess so. Where’s Siobhan now?”

  “I’ve no idea. Gone from New York, I’d wager. Perhaps she’ll be back someday, but I doubt she’ll want to see me. I’ve lost her, Erin. She loved and trusted me, and I’ve lost her.”

  She put her arms around him and they held each other, wordlessly, taking what comfort they could from the contact.

  “I thought I’d lost you, too,” he added several moments later.

  “Not yet,” she said.

  “I’m sorry, Erin.”

  “Me, too. This one hit pretty close to home. I thought Evan’s guys were there to kill me.”

  “They might have been. It was a near thing. You’ve gotten good at this, darling.”

  “At what?”

  “Dancing on the edge of the shadows, living on the edge of the Life.”

  “It’s exhausting. How do you do it?”

  “One day at a time. But you’re right, darling.”

  “About what?”

  “It’s exhausting. You look like you’ve been through the wars.”

  “It’s been a long day.”

  He put a hand to her cheek and brushed back a strand of hair that had escaped from her ponytail. “It has, at that. I’ve an idea, darling.”

  She smiled, a little shakily. “You’ve always got some sort of plan.”

  He shook his head. “I’ve a house on lease in the Hamptons. It’s the off-season, but that merely means it won’t be as crowded. Would you care to come away with me for a few days, get your mind off all this urban unpleasantness?”

  “A vacation?”

  “Aye.”

  She thought about it. “That’s not a bad idea. I’ve got some days saved up. I’ll need to clear it with my boss, of course.”

  “And I with mine. But it might do us good, aye?”

  Erin looked at him. “How do you do it?” she asked again.

  “I told you, a day at a time.”

  “That’s not what I meant. How do you manage to be so…” Words failed her. She kissed him instead.

  “If you’re looking for answers, I’m not sure I’m the right lad for you,” he said. “But we can certainly explore some of the more interesting questions together.”

  “Something’s bothering me,” she said.

  “Only one thing? That’s not so terrible.”

  “I thought I knew how the Colombians were getting information from us. But the guy I thought it was didn’t know about Siobhan, not in time to send those guys to the bar. We’ve got at least one traitor, and I don’t know who it is.”

  “Trust is a delicate thing,” he said softly. “And you feel the lack once it’s gone.”

  “I was telling you the truth,” she said, looking him in the eye. “I do need to trust you. Don’t let me down.”

  “I’ll die before I betray you, Erin.” It would’ve been a cliché if he hadn’t so obviously meant it.

  “I don’t want you to die,” she said. “Thank God we got away with it this time. What happens next time?”

  “We’ll take tomorrow as it comes,” Carlyle said. “In the meantime, we’ve today to live. We’d best be about it. Look too far down the road, all you’ll see is its end.”

  “And that doesn’t bother you?”

  “Life is the journey, not the destination.”

  “You’re full of proverbs this morning.”

  “Near-death experiences make me philosophical.”

  “I’m too tired for philosophy,” Erin said. “Right now, I’m going to take a shower and fall into bed. You should probably do the same.”

  “Is that an offer?”

  “You’re as bad as Corky sometimes. All I’m offering right now is hot water and a warm place to lie down.”

  “That’s good enough for me. Given the choice, I’d not be anywhere else.”

  They shared Erin’s shower, then curled into each other’s arms. She’d told the truth; she was too tired to do more than fall asleep. But as she drifted off, she reflected how nice it was not to sleep alone. Rolf, sulking a little, curled up at the foot of the bed and glared at the man who’d taken his place of honor. He’d just have to get used to it, Erin thought. They all would.

  Here’s a sneak peek from Book 9: Flashback

  Coming Fall 2020

  Click here to get a reminder when it's out!

  They took 495 into Queens, passing Erin’s old stomping grounds, then worked their way around north Brooklyn to the Williamsburg Bridge. That got them onto the Lower East Side. They’d long since caught up with the infamous New York traffic and slowed their pace accordingly. Erin considered how the increase in cars and tall buildings made her feel like the city was getting a hold on her again. She didn’t care. Cut open one of her veins, she’d bleed one part NYPD blue blood, one part asphalt.

  By chance, just as their wheels touched pavement in Manhattan, Erin’s phone rang. She glanced down at it and saw Lieutenant Webb’s name on the caller ID.

  “He didn’t waste any time,” she said. She swiped the phone screen with her thumb. “O’Reilly.”

  “I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time, Detective,” Webb said.

  “Just on my way home, sir.”

  “Did you have a good few days off?”

  “Yes, sir.” She’d told him she was going up to the Hamptons, but had left out any mention of her host.

  “Good. Break’s over. I know you technically aren’t back on duty until tomorrow morning, but we’ve got a hot one that just landed in our laps. You good to jump right back in?”

  “With both feet, sir.”

  “Excellent. We’ve got a double homicide, probable home invasion on Warren Street. Apartment building. I’ll text you the address. Looks like someone shot a husband and wife. We’ve got uniforms on scene.”

  “Okay. I’ll be there as quick as I can.”

  “I’ll be there, with Neshenko.”

  “Got it. O’Reilly out.”

  She hung up and glanced at Carlyle. “Sorry. Vacation is definitely over.”

  He smiled. “Oh, it’s no trouble, darling. I’m glad of the time we’ve had. We’ll do it again sometime.”

  “I’ll switch cars,” she said. She’d left her Charger at a parking garage a couple of blocks from the
Barley Corner, just in case anyone was sniffing around her or Carlyle.

  “Grand. Shall I call you later?”

  “Better let me call you. I never know how long these things will run.”

  Erin pulled into the garage and parked alongside her beloved black Charger. She and Carlyle got out. He, always the gentleman, took her bags from the trunk of the Mercedes and handed them to her. She put her arms around him and gave him a quick kiss.

  “Thanks again,” she said.

  “I love you, darling,” he said.

  “Love you, too.” It was so natural and easy to say what had once been an earthshaking admission. Erin was amazed at how completely things could change. But then she was back in her old police rhythm, loading Rolf into his quick-release compartment, clipping her gold shield to her belt, and adjusting her Glock in its holster at her side. The Charger’s 24-valve V6 roared to life and Erin O’Reilly went back to work.

  Erin arrived on scene to the familiar sight of a pair of police cruisers and an ambulance on the street in front of the apartment. A uniformed officer at the door directed her to the fourth floor. She passed the paramedics on their way out, never a good sign. The door of Apartment 423 was open, voices spilling into the hall. A burnt smell, like overcooked steak, caught her nostrils. Rolf sniffed the air with interest. At least it didn’t smell like charred human flesh. Erin had smelled that before, and would be fine if she never smelled it again.

  She glanced at the door on the way in. Contrary to Hollywood, most burglars didn’t bother learning how to pick locks. They just kicked in a door, or smashed their way in with a sledgehammer or crowbar. This door showed no signs of damage. The lock and doorknob were intact.

  On her left was a small closet, everything hanging neatly in place. She saw coats, scarves, boots, and shoes lined up in tidy rows. On her right was the kitchen. Wisps of smoke trailed around the edges of the oven door. The smoke alarm was sitting on the counter, deactivated, batteries next to it. Food and utensils were scattered haphazardly, like someone had been interrupted in the middle of making dinner. A broad-bladed knife lay on the cutting board with some carrots half chopped.