by David DeLee
“Damn.” Flanagan sucked down the last of his drink with a large, loud gulp. “But you wanna know something, boy-o? I’ll give you an even bigger picture. A guy like LaSala’s not going to go quietly into that good night. Kwon taking over—like you say, if he can pull it off—even with the financial might this’ll give him.” He shook his head. “You thought the New York families howled when I tried to take over? This’ll kick off a gang war like Boston ain’t seen in forty years. If ever.”
“We’re not going to let that happen,” McMurphy said.
“Yeah, how you gonna stop it?”
“With your help,” McMurphy said.
Flanagan pointed at his own chest and arched a bushy red eyebrow. “My help?”
Kayla was no less surprised than the crime boss.
“This ought to be rich,” Flanagan said. “Why should I help you?”
“Because I think I’ve got a way to get Kwon and LaSala out of the picture forever.”
“Without burning down half the city? How?”
“Leave that to me for now,” McMurphy said. “All you’ve got to do is let us go.”
Flanagan said, “What’s in it for me?”
“Besides Kwon and LaSala out of your hair?” McMurphy asked, surprised that wasn’t enough. “Just everything you ever wanted.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“To be in charge of the entire organized crime syndicate in Boston and Rhode Island. Your chance to finally run the whole show. Be the undisputed capo dei capi of New England.”
“Boss of bosses, bah,” Flanagan said. “That’s LaSala-speak.” But his smile suggested he liked the idea.
McMurphy swept Kayla toward the door. “Stay by the phone, Paddy. Be ready for my call.”
“Don’t think there still won’t be consequences for what you did at. Family or not, that sort of action can’t go unanswered.”
“I’d expect nothing less from you, old man. In the meantime, sit tight.” McMurphy pulled the door open. Paddy waved Dennis and his automatic weapon away.
Before he left, McMurphy said, “And stop calling me boy-o. I hate that.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
After being driven back to the Boston Wharf by Dennis and a frantic ride north to Hampton Beach, McMurphy and Kayla burst through the front door of the Keel Haul. It was almost noon.
They stopped short seeing Bannon and Tara sitting at the bar eating scrambled eggs, hash browns, and rye toast, drinking steaming hot mugs of coffee. Bannon’s plate additionally included three stripes of bacon and two sausage links. The smell of fresh coffee was strong and alluring.
The pair had changed out of their formal wear and looked showered and surprisingly fresh for having been up all night. Bannon wore a pair of blue jeans and a white, long sleeve Polo shirt while Tara had on a gray rugby shirt with a three button placket and a small L.L. Bean logo, white jeans, and gray Uggs.
Eating like nothing was wrong.
McMurphy removed his sunglasses. He carried the backpack full of Kwon’s stolen stuff over one shoulder. “We went to the docks.”
“We were worried sick,” Kayla said. “Are you both all right?”
“Where have you two been?” Bannon asked.
“Forget us. How’d you get away?” McMurphy asked, noting Bannon’s bruised jaw. The result of a pistol whipping, if ever he saw one. “Kwon didn’t just let you go.”
“Polar plunge,” Bannon said, like that explained everything and without elaborating.
Tara glared at him. “And gunfire and exploding lifeboats. A good time was had by none.”
McMurphy plopped down on a barstool, dropped the backpack to the floor, and rejected Bannon’s offer of coffee, passing it over to Kayla, and opting for a Sam Adams lager instead.
Tara went to the kitchen and returned with two steaming hot plates of eggs, sausage, hash browns, and toast. She put the plates down and they both dug in like they hadn’t eaten in a week. McMurphy washing it down with big gulps of lager beer.
“You gonna tell us where you’ve been?” Bannon asked.
Kayla recounted their ambush at the dock and between the two of them they went into detail describing their encounter with Jimmy Flanagan, McMurphy’s father.
“The head of the Irish mob, Paddy Flanagan, is your father?” Tara said.
“They prefer gang,” McMurphy said.
“Why didn’t you ever tell us?” Tara asked.
“Dad’s a mob boss. Responsible for more misery and chaos and loss of life than I can imagine. Not exactly the sort of thing you brag about to your friends?”
“He says to the woman whose brother tried to annihilate forty thousand people in Yankee Stadium and commit the greatest mass casualty terror attack in the history of mankind.” She put a hand on his slumped shoulder.
“Good point. Family suck.” McMurphy held out his empty mug.
Bannon filled it with more beer from the tap. His friend was hurting, much more than the big man let on. He knew what it had taken for McMurphy to break away form his old man, from all he’d ever known growing up the son of a mobster in Southie.
As Tara comforted him, Bannon thought about family. His parents had died before he was four. He had no memories of them. He had no brothers or sisters. He grew up bouncing from one foster home to the next, never long enough to develop any familial attachments, like some did.
He couldn’t help but wonder; was one better off with a family that disappoints or not having one at all? In the end, he realized family wasn’t about blood. It was about something more.
“All right,” Bannon said. “What’s our next step?”
“Before we go there,” McMurphy said, “We’ve got another problem to deal with.”
“Don’t we always,” Tara said, clearing the empty plates from the bar.
When she got back, McMurphy dumped the contents of the backpack out on the bar.
It was everything he’d managed to steal from Kwon’s safe before getting chased off the Bakuto—and nearly getting killed in the process.
On the drive up from Boston, with Kayla driving, McMurphy had used a screwdriver to rip open the strong boxes he’d scooped out of Kwon’s safe. He’d emptied everything back into the backpack, too worried about Bannon and Tara at the time to go through the contents in detail.
Except for one thing.
Bannon pushed the items around on the bar. Cash. Bonds. Legal papers. Some jewelry. He spent a few minutes examining the flintlock pistol. Not a replica, it was an authentic Queen Anne pistol. Popular during her reign, the defining feature was a lock plate forged in one piece with the breech and the trigger plate. Though the weapons ranged in size, this one was just seven inches long; a coat pocket pistol. And in mint condition, he noted admiringly, putting the flintlock back down on the bar.
He looked up at McMurphy. “No flash drive?”
McMurphy nodded. “No flash drive.”
“Flanagan didn’t get it?”
“Nope,” McMurphy said. “We locked up the backpack in my Hummer before we were ambush. It must not have been in the safe.”
“Then all that,” Tara said, “was for nothing?”
Bannon shrugged. “We managed to piss off the third biggest crime boss in Boston. He’ll probably make it his mission now to see our heads on spikes. That’s not nothing.”
“Funny,” Tara said, clearly not amused.
“If the flash drive wasn’t in that safe,” McMurphy said. “I’m betting Kwon doesn’t have it. Not yet.”
“Maybe Palmer’s stashed it somewhere,” Kayla said.
“If so, Kwon’s probably torturing the poor guy right now to find out where it is,” McMurphy said.
Bannon agreed, imagining what that meant, and getting sick thinking about it. “If that’s the case, there’s no telling how long Palmer can keep his secret.” Bannon dumped the rest of his coffee into the sink under the bar. “We need to come at this a different way.”
With a hopeful expression, McMurphy said
, “Does that mean you have a plan.”
“No. Not yet,” Bannon admitted reluctantly. “But if we can’t find the flash drive, then we need to find Billy Palmer.”
McMurphy said, “After playing our hand on the Bakuto, Kwon’s going to figure out what we were after. He’ll go to ground until he gets what he needs from Palmer. Be harder to find than a drop of water in the Sahara.”
Bannon looked around the group, hoping one of them had an idea because he was fresh out. They looked back at him without offering anything. Blank stares.
Kayla sipped her coffee.
McMurphy finished his beer.
Almost absently, Tara said, “I might have another way to get at Kwon.”
When she didn’t immediately elaborate, McMurphy said, “Want to share with the rest of the class?”
She nodded. “Kwon gave me his whole life story while we were on the deck waiting for the gaming tables to get up to speed. Something he said…” Tara let the thought drop. “Let me make a few phone calls.” She stood up. “I’ll need to go into Boston.”
“Of course,” Bannon said. “Whatever you need.”
“I could use Kayla’s help.” Tara glanced over at her friend. “If you’re up for a road trip.”
Kayla jumped off the barstool, all smiles. Unlike the others in the group, she maintained a fulltime position, working as support staff for the Coast Guard JAG office, assigned to First Division, stationed out of Boston, Mass. As such, she did a lot of work for them behind the scenes, but didn’t get to be as involved in their field work as often as she’d like.
“Absolutely. Can we swing by my place to change first? Maybe take a shower?” She was in the same clothes for the past day and a half.
“Sure,” Tara said. “That’ll give me a chance to make my calls.”
They headed for the door.
Before they left, Bannon called out. “Report in as soon as you find anything.”
Tara waved her phone over her head.
“If you get a lead on Palmer,” he yelled louder as they pushed open the door, “call me. I don’t want you two starting the gang war we’re trying to prevent.”
Tara looked at Kayla. “Should we be offended?”
“Probably,” she said with a smile.
“And don’t get yourselves killed,” Bannon cautioned, “or worse.”
Kayla paused with her back to the open door. Bright sunlight knifed through the Keel Haul from outside, bringing with it a cold breeze. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep her out of trouble.”
Tara passed her, slipping on a pair of Ray Ban. “I don’t need anyone to keep me out of trouble.”
“Yes, you do,” McMurphy shouted.
The Keel Haul door banged shut. The outside sunlight cut off like a switch had been thrown, plunging the bar into its darkness once more.
McMurphy looked at Bannon. “You know it’s dangerous unleashing the two of them on the world.”
Bannon nodded. “Desperate times.”
“You also know if they find anything, they’re going in guns and knives blazing.”
Bannon sighed. “A better than even bet.” He gave McMurphy a curious look. “Can knives blaze?”
“In Blades’ hands, damn straight they can.”
“Good point.” Bannon exchanged his empty coffee mug for a beer, joining McMurphy in another drink. “So, what was it like, seeing your dad after all these years?”
McMurphy sipped his beer. “He threatened to kill me, so nothing’s changed.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Nope.” He changed subjects. “I’ve been thinking about what Paddy told me about this drug deal LaSala’s scheming. A shipment of drugs that size, coming in from South America. The only way that’s happening is through the docks.”
“You know anyone that can help us out with that?”
“I might.” McMurphy finished his beer and stood up. “You want to come with?”
“You go ahead. I’m going to see Meredith Palmer. Give her an update on what we know.”
“Which ain’t much.”
“And,” Bannon added, “see if she’s got some idea where her son would hide this flash drive of his. If we can find it before Kwon, our original plan is still viable. Use it to bargain for Palmer’s life. And maybe stop a gang war before it starts.”
“And if we don’t?” McMurphy asked.
“Brace for impact.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
After McMurphy left the Keel Haul, Bannon straightened up around the bar and put a call into his backup bartender, Ken, a young man who’d served two tours in Afghanistan with the 1st Marine Division, 1st Combat Engineer Battalion before returning home to New Hampshire.
With Tara busy in Boston, he asked Ken to cover the afternoon and evening shift. The young man was happy to do so, used to Bannon’s frequent, last-minute schedule changes.
Bannon closed the place up and drove to Amherst, a quint New England town a half hour northwest of Hampton Beach. Meredith Palmer lived in a small development near Baboosic Lake, a two hundred acre fresh water lake that in the winter was often used for ice fishing, hockey, skating, and snowmobiling. Thick woods and boulders the size of Volkswagens line the winding road into the development. He passed a fenced-in pool and clubhouse on his right before reaching Meredith Palmer’s home, the third of four small but attractive houses around a grassy island with a park bench.
He spotted a Hampton police car parked in the driveway. Damn the timing.
He knew he’d have to deal with the Hampton police chief at some point, come clear about working for Meredith Palmer, but he hadn’t wanted to do it yet. Now it seemed, he had no choice.
Singleton and Meredith Palmer were standing on the front porch, talking. She had on a blue cardigan sweater and her hands wrapped around her body, bracing against the chilly afternoon.
The cop spotted Bannon’s truck as he past the clubhouse, giving Bannon no choice but to turn into the driveway and parked next to his cruiser. Singleton frowned before returning his attention to Meredith.
While Bannon didn’t want to jeopardize his good relationship with the cop, hurt feelings and bruised egos weren’t worth a young man’s life or denying help to a woman in pain. Bannon and his team had the skills and ability to help her, to help Billy Palmer. If that pissed Singleton off, that was a tradeoff Bannon was willing to make.
He got out of the truck and approached the front porch. “Chief, good to see you.” He nodded politely. “Mrs. Palmer.”
“Is it?” Singleton said, his tone frosty. “Bet it’s a surprise, too.”
“Not at all. To tell you the truth, I’m glad you’re here,” Bannon lied. “It saves me a trip to come see you.”
Bannon climbed the low front steps and the two men shook hands.
“Uh huh. What brings you here, Bannon?”
“I wanted see how Mrs. Palmer was getting along.” Bannon turned his attention to Palmer’s mother. He held her hand in both of his. “How are you doing, Meredith?”
“On pins and damn needles. Do you have news? Any information?”
Singleton narrowed his eyes as he shot Bannon a look. “Why would he have…” His mouth dropped open. “You hired him. To investigate.”
“It’s not reflection on you, Chief,” Meredith said. “Or the job you’re doing. I appreciate—”
“Let’s talk inside,” Bannon said. “It’s cold out here. Would that be all right, Mrs. Palmer?”
“Yes. Yes, of course.” She waved a hand toward the front door, which hung slightly ajar.
She pushed the door open and they went in. Bannon and Singleton followed.
Inside, the house was warm, immaculate, and pleasantly decorated. Scented candles fragranced the air with the smell of fresh pine. It made Bannon think of Christmas.
After closing the front door, she led them into the living room which was small, but sunny and bright. Bannon noticed several framed photographs around the room of Billy at various ages; on a bl
anket at the beach, on Santa’s lap, in a little league uniform, in cap and gown for his graduation.
“Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee? Tea? Something stronger?”
“No. I’m fine,” Bannon said. “Thank you. Chief?”
“No. I’m good. I’m anxious to hear what Bannon’s got to say.”
“Yes, Mr. Bannon. Please. Have you found Billy? Is he…okay?”
Mrs.…Meredith, I happy to tell you, at this point, we have every reason to believe Billy is alive.”
Meredith let out a huge sigh of relief. She touched a hand to her throat, and closed her eyes. “Oh, thank God.”
She dropped down on the sofa, fighting back tears, but for a change, happy ones. “Where is he? When can I see him?”
Singleton jumped in with questions, too. “How do you know this, Bannon? What have you learned?”
Bannon held up his hands, palms outward to both of them. “There’s a lot to go into, to tell you about. And while we believe Billy is alive, he’s not out of the woods. We haven’t found him. Not yet.”
The worried look returned to Meredith’s eyes. “But he’s okay? You said…”
“There’s no easy way to say this. Billy is being held captive. He’s still in a lot of trouble, in a lot of danger.”
“Captive? By who?” Her eyes watered.
He didn’t want to frighten her more than she already was. “The situation is developing rapidly, but what’s important is, we have every reason to believe he’s okay.”
“You keep saying we,” Singleton said. “Who’s we?”
“I have a small team of people working on this with me.” He left it at that.
Singleton glared at him. “What happened to not monkeying around in my case?” His deep tone communicated both agitation and disappointment.
That last part bothered Bannon the most. “We can talk about that later, Chief. For now, I’d like to ask Meredith a few questions, if that’s all right?”
Singleton paused, clearly not happy but nodded.
“What do you want to know?” she asked.
“The people holding your son, they want something he has. Something they haven’t found yet.”
