by Megyn Ward
Fuck it. It’s just money, right?
She hopped up onto the bar and dug the wad of cash out of the pocket of her jeans and held it up like an offering. “Forget about ‘em,” she shouted, snagging everyone’s attention while they slipped out the door. “Next round’s on me.”
3
SHE SPENT THE NEXT hour shoveling ice into to glasses and measuring pours. The Celtics won, which did as much for pacifying the crowd as the promise of free booze. After a few celebratory rounds, the crowd began to thin. A couple of hundred melted away until all that was left were a couple of dozen diehards.
One of them was Thad. He sat at the end of the bar, keeping half an eye on Quinn while he threw a round of darts with Ian and Thomas, his pet cops. Correction—they were Robbie’s pets but being Robbie’s son gave Quinn bragging rights.
Despite the way things looked, she knew Thad wasn’t waiting for Quinn—it was the other way around. Whatever Thad came here to do, he hadn’t done it yet and the two of them couldn’t leave until he did.
Making up her mind, Maeve grabbed a bottle of Jameson and a couple of rocks glasses and made her way toward him. Setting one of the glasses in front of
him, she measured out a couple of fingers for each of them. Lifting her glass, she clinked it against the rim of the shot she’d poured him before tossing it back. She could feel his eyes on her throat, the weight of them making her feel edgy and exposed.
Just get it over with.
His gaze crawled up her neck, settling on her chin. “Robbie sent—”
“How much?”
“Maeve.” Thad shook his head, speaking to her shoulder this time. “It’s not that simple.”
She sighed. With him, it never was. He’d never be one for yanking the band-aid. “How much, Thad?” She demanded it this time, his reluctance to put the number into words adding apprehension to her tone. “You know you can’t leave until you tell me, so just—”
“Enough,” Thad said, having the good grace to look a little sick to his stomach. “Enough that Robbie sent me here to get you.”
Enough.
Maeve let out a long, slow breath. With her mother, there was no such thing.
She could still remember coming home from school to a hastily written note—one kind of lie or another about grocery shopping or lunch with a friend. Her mother didn’t have friends and she didn’t grocery shop. What she had was an addiction. What her mother did was gamble.
Those notes meant she was on her own. Would be for days—sometimes weeks. Until she was making soup
out of hot water and leftover condiment packets and she was spending her lunch hour in the library to hide the fact that she didn’t have lunch money. Until her teachers started whispering about calling social services. That’s when Uncle Dan would show up, seemingly out of the blue. Hey, kiddo, I was on my way to grab slice—you wanna walk with me?
He’d been a uniform back them—patrolling the neighborhood on foot. He’d hold her hand while they walked the block, the afternoon sun glinting off his shiny BPD badge. He’d buy her a slice of cheese plus a whole pie to go. They’d stand outside the shop while they waited for it, eating their pizza while people passed by, smiling and waving as they went.
Those were the times she was proud to be a McKinnon.
“Robbie wants to see you,” Thad said, drawing her attention. He’d said it to her ear this time, raising his chin just a bit to look at her through the curtain of thick dark lashes that veiled his eyes. “Said you can work it off.”
Hearing him say it, she felt nauseous and relieved all at once. Relieved that Robbie was willing to give her a way out but sick at what she’d have to do to pull her mom clear of the mess she’d made of things. Again.
“Okay, I’ll come after I close.” She poured herself another double.
“No,” Thad said, gaze nailed to her chin. “Robbie says now.”
She didn’t say anything, didn’t argue or try to stall.
Robbie said now—that’s when you came. Nodding, she reached around and untied her apron, tucking it under the bar. She downed the shot, wanted another but knew it was a bad idea. She’d need her wits about her if she was going to deal with Robbie.
“Alright then, let’s get on with it,” she said. Thad stood, waited for her to come out from behind the bar. She didn’t get far.
“Where you goin’, Maevie?” Uncle Dan said and she turned to see him standing between her and the pass thru.
She didn’t answer. “She owes again,” she said instead, the words hanging heavily between them.
Her uncle swiped a hand over his mouth, smothering the curse that erupted from it. “I can’t keep letting you do this, Maevie.” He shook his head, mind made up. “I just can’t.”
The words were small and carried softly enough to prickle at the corners of her eyes. “There’s no other way.”
“There’s got to be.” He knew the truth when he heard it and it had him clenching his jaw, too stubborn to admit it. “I’ll talk to Craig, maybe—”
Craig Flanagan was her uncle’s best friend. Had been since they were kids. “Whatever pull he had with Robbie dried up years ago.” She smiled. “It’s gonna be fine. I’ll be back in time to help you close—promise,” she said with what she hoped was a reassuring smile.
He didn’t smile back. “Let’s see it,” he said, changing the subject. “Come on—whatever it is, give it over.” He
wagged his fingers at her when she hesitated. “I saw you reaching when that little prick made his grab at you earlier.”
Maeve did as she was told, reaching into her back pocket to pull out the pair of knuckle weights she had
tucked away. She usually kept them out of sight and reach, tucked into the top of her battered cowboy boots, but something about the way Spray Tan looked at her had her slipping them into her back pocket while he and his sidekick had been pounding tequila shots.
She watched as her uncle slipped his fingers through the holes. They were too small, stopping just before the second bend. “Where’d you get ‘em?” he said, looking at her like he already knew she’d lie.
“I found them,” she answered back, evading his question by not telling him where. The sound he made in the back of his throat told her she hadn’t managed to evade anything. He knew where she’d found them. Who they belonged to. They both did.
“You know you’re carrying about fifty felonies in your back pocket,” he said to her, opening his hand and flipping it over to give them a good look. They were old. Scraped and pitted, the edges worn smooth, the flats stained dark by time and blood. “Maybe more.”
“What are you gonna do—arrest me?” The second the questions left her mouth she practically lurched forward, trying to chase it down. Reel it back in. Of course he wasn’t going to arrest her. He couldn’t arrest anyone. Her uncle wasn’t a cop anymore. Hadn’t been for a long time
“I’m sorry,” she said, reaching out to grab him before he turned away from her, but he beat her to it, closing his hand around her wrist, turning it to bare her palm. He slipped the knuckle weights from his fingers, letting them slide into her open hand before closing her fingers around them.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Maevie.” His hand tightened around hers for a moment before he turned on Thad, jabbing a finger at him across the bar. “If somethin’ happens to her, I’m coming for you. You hear me, boy?”
Thad nodded. “I’ll bring her back safe. You have my word.”
Dan let out a sharp bark of laughter, letting Thad know exactly what he thought of his word. He turned back to her and clamped his hands down on her shoulders. “If you need me—” He didn’t finish. Probably because he knew no matter how bad things got, she’d never made the call. She never did.
“See you soon,” she said before standing on tiptoes to give him a kiss on his cheek. She came around the bar, passed Thad and kept going—intent on doing what must be done.
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