Patriots & Tyrants

by Ian Graham

  Declan smiled as he heard O'Rourke's voice. "Alright, Richie you're dealin' this game — where the hell you goin', Boyle?"

  "To get Kelly."

  "Screw him. We'll deal him in when he gets back."

  A scraping sound filled the room as chairs pulled up to a poker table. Declan listened intently, focusing on each individual voice and trying to discern how many people were in the room. After waiting a full round, he was sure there were four men; Boyle, Reid, O'Rourke and Sheehan.

  As the round ended, O'Rourke said, "Go and get that idiot and tell him to get in here. He's been out there for ten minutes. How the hell long does it take to smoke anyways?"

  A chair scraped across the floor and Declan assumed it was Boyle standing to head for the door. Drawing the Glock from his belt, he stood up and opened the door, entering with the gun leveled in the direction he'd heard the voices coming from.

  Inside the room was barren, a ramshackle desk, a filthy sofa and a dormitory-sized refrigerator were the only furniture. The card table stood in a far corner and papers littered the floor near the desk.

  "Jesus!" Boyle said with a shocked look as he stopped, seeing the raised pistol. The other men at the table looked up suddenly as if they hadn't realized what was happening.

  Shooting his right leg forward in a sharp kick, Declan caught Boyle in the stomach with the heel of his boot causing the man to double over. With Boyle's face exposed as he gasped for air, Declan brought his right knee up across the bridge of the man's nose, knocking him backwards onto the floor.

  Sean Reid stood from the table knocking his wooden chair over. Declan aimed the Glock center mass. "All of you keep your hands on the table where I can see them," he said with an icy calm being no stranger to violence. Reid slowly raised his hands, his eyes on the barrel of the Glock that was pointed at his chest.

  "You must be really hard up robbin' a poker game boy!" Sheehan cried, his eyes darting between the nearly unconscious Boyle and the barrel of the pistol.

  O'Rourke let out a low laugh and sat back in his chair as if he was relaxing to watch a football game. "Oh he ain't here to rob us, Richie. He's the hero here to try and stop the bad guys, ain't you boyo?"

  Sheehan looked confused for a moment. "Some kind of vigilante?" he asked looking at the Revenge's captain.

  "No, no. Reid says he caught wind of our deal with Hashemi a few weeks ago in Provincetown and he's been trying to figure out a way to stop it ever since. He even had that poor fat guy spyin' for him."

  "The deckhand?"

  "Yeah, him. I sent Reid out with some boys to take care of 'em both but it seems I underestimated our friend here. He even managed to save fatty. I figured after what happened in Southie the cops would pick them up trying to leave the area. You know," O'Rourke continued turning his attention back to Declan. "I'm actually impressed. Maybe 1 should promote you and bust Reid here down to deck swab."

  Reid shifted uncomfortably. "He'd be dead if it wasn't for the police showing up. They got McLeish and his cousin as it was, what was I supposed to do?"

  "How 'bout your damn job! If you'd of gone in there at night like I thought you were going to do things would've turned out different. Instead you tried it in broad daylight like a complete ape!"

  Reid lowered his eyes to the table and grumbled, "I didn't have a choice. The fat guy didn't know where he lived."

  "Enough!" Declan said. "I want to know where and when the hit is on Abaddon Kafni."

  O'Rourke laughed. "Not a snowball's chance in hell, boyo."

  Declan pulled the trigger and a bullet flew past the captain's head tearing loose a piece of the plywood wall. O'Rourke jerked forward in his chair and nearly fell out.

  "Look," Declan said. "I only need one of you to talk. The other three are expendable. So which one's going to sing and which three are getting a bullet?"

  The men sat silently, their hands flat on the table and their eyes darting back and forth at each other.

  "You want to know? I'll tell you!" O'Rourke shouted, throwing his hands in the air. "It's tonight! You're too late! By the time you even get there the Jew and his entourage will be long since dead! He's got eight heavily armed men heading his way and he doesn't stand a chance!"

  Using O'Rourke's temper as a distraction Sean Reid moved his hands quickly to the table and flipped it upwards as he drew his own pistol, firing rapidly as he brought the weapon up. Sheehan screamed in pain and fell from his chair as one of the bullets hit him in the knee. Declan jumped back towards the room's entrance, bullets exploding across the floor and the wall as he ducked from the room. Reid continued to fire through the wall causing pinholes of light to pierce the darkness outside of the room. Declan hit the floor and pulled himself towards the balcony. The warehouse grew silent again as Reid's magazine emptied. Hearing a hollow thud in the room as the empty magazine hit the floor, Declan knew Reid was reloading. He stood from the dust covered floor and backed himself into a small opening created by a steel H support beam. With his Glock at the ready, he waited for Reid or anyone else to exit the room.

  "We can stand here all night!" O'Rourke yelled from inside. "We've got all the time in the world unlike the Jew!"

  Declan didn't know if O'Rourke had been bluffing about the assassination being that night or not. With three other men in the room, he simply hadn't been able to pay enough direct attention to the smuggler to know if the man was lying. If he was, than Declan had nowhere to be either, but if he'd been telling the truth, every minute that ticked by meant Abaddon Kafni and his family were getting closer to being slaughtered.

  After considering his options and deciding the only card he had left to play was the fact that he was outside and O'Rourke was stuck inside, Declan moved to where Cameron Kelly was laying, still unconscious. Searching the goon's pockets for the Zippo lighter, he removed it and walked towards the stairway. Once he was at the door to the stairwell he took a quick glance around looking for any exits from the third floor that would allow O'Rourke to escape. Seeing none, he jumped down the steps three at a time making as much noise as possible and reentered the second floor taking cover among the stacks of crates.

  Keeping his eyes on the balcony that over looked the second floor, he moved deftly between the Revenge's cargo looking for a shipment that had been unloaded just a few days prior. Inside the cargo crate had been a pallet full of blank paper used to create counterfeit US currency that had come from one of O'Rourke's connections in Columbia. While the paper itself wasn't worth a lot in comparison to the many other items O'Rourke and his mob connections shipped and stored, Declan had a plan that would make it invaluable.

  Spotting the crate he was looking for in a far corner, he looked between it and the third floor balcony several times. In order to get to the crate he would have to leave his view of the balcony and would have to risk Sean Reid slipping past him. He raised the Glock and fired twice, hitting the crate and opening a large hole in the side. Rushing over to it, he laid the pistol aside and brought his knee to his chest as he drew back to kick. With a loud crack the rough boards of the crate began to splinter. Gripping the splintered board with both hands, Declan tore it away and reached inside. He broke the pallet's plastic wrapping with his hands and pulled several stacks of unprinted bills loose, tossing them onto the wooden floor. Fishing Kelly's Zippo lighter from his pocket, he opened it causing a flame to appear. He grabbed a single stack of bills from within the crate and lit the end on fire before tossing it like a hand grenade over his head and onto the top of the crates stacked along the walls of the warehouse. With the building having been constructed well over a century ago, he knew the wooden floors and walls were dried out. The fire would spread quickly. Lighting several more stacks and tossing them in various directions, he stuffed several bundles into his pockets and retrieved the pistol.

  "He's lightin' the place up!" a shout came from above. "The bastard's gonna burn the building down around us!"

  White smoke from the various fires began to fill the
air and flames appeared, spreading rapidly through the cargo. Declan moved back between the crates and looked up to the third floor without exposing himself. Withdrawing two more stacks of bills from his pocket, he lit them and threw them onto the third floor in the area of O'Rourke's poker room. He listened as more shouts came from the room on the third floor.

  "Reid, you're goin' out first! If that bastard shows himself, you blow him away!" O'Rourke ordered.

  "There ain't no way he's still inside. This place is goin' up fast!" Boyle said.

  "We need to get moving!" Sheehan yelled over the others.

  Like Declan, the men upstairs knew the fire would spread rapidly and that they only had a matter of minutes before the infrastructure around them began to collapse. Keeping his eyes on the staircase leading to the third floor, Declan watched as Sean Reid appeared, button hooking around the doorway and searching for any threats. From his vantage point, he had a perfect shot but chose not to take it. If he did, the other three behind Reid would scatter and he didn't have time to chase them down. He needed them all in one place.

  Behind Reid, a woozy looking Boyle carried the wounded Sheehan down the stairs. O'Rourke brought up the rear, his fleshy girth moving slower than the rest of his body and catching up with an involuntary jiggle. As the men arrived on the second floor landing, Declan moved from his hiding spot and rounded the corner, confronting them. Reid raised his pistol to fire, but he was too late. Declan squeezed the trigger of his Glock twice and both of the man's kneecaps opened up. The red haired first mate collapsed onto the floor screaming and Declan kicked away his pistol as it fell loose on the floor.

  "Christ! You're insane!" Boyle yelled as he stood there holding up Sheehan.

  "Both of you are free to go. Get moving." Declan said.

  O'Rourke's eyes darted nervously between Declan and Reid who lay on the floor doing his best to hold both of his knees. "Don't you leave me Boyle!" the Revenge's captain said harshly as he stood on the last step before the second floor landing. "I'll make sure you never work in this town again!"

  Boyle looked between Declan and O'Rourke. Sheehan spoke, "You can make more working for me than you ever did with him. Let's go." Boyle save O'Rourke a last look as he moved away supporting the hobbled Sheehan by the shoulder.

  "Boyle! Ethan! Don't you leave me! We've been friends for twenty years!"

  "Sorry, Cap." Boyle said, ignoring the pleas and continuing down the stairs to the first floor of the warehouse. A short time later Sheehan's Mercedes started up and the garage door lifted creating an escape for the smoke that was filling the room. The thick haze moved towards the new exit.

  "Looks like it's just us now," Declan said as he moved to grab O'Rourke by the shoulder as the heavyset man tried to turn and go back up the stairs. He pulled the captain off the stairs by his shirt and pushed him across the landing where he nearly tripped on his fallen first mate. After righting himself and putting his arms out to keep his balance, O'Rourke slowly started backing away. Declan advanced towards him menacingly.

  "Sheehan knows! Sheehan knows it all!" the captain stammered. "You've got the wrong guy! I don't know anything!"

  O'Rourke's face twisted with desperate emotion as Declan continued to advance, his pistol held at his side and his face blank.

  "Boyle followed the Jew! Kafni — Boyle followed Kafni! He gave his location to Hashemi — not me! I just ship and store things!" the captain yelled continuing to back away.

  Declan reached the spot where Sean Reid lay bleeding. Without even a glance downwards, he fired the Glock, killing Reid with a shot to the head.

  "Oh Jesus! C'mon! There's got to be something you want," O'Rourke screamed. "Money! I've got money! Drugs too! I can't tell you where they are! They'll kill me!"

  Declan moved past Reid's body, staying silent.

  O'Rourke stopped backing away as he met with a wall of crates. Smoke had filled the open warehouse with a haze of gray. The sound of burning wood popping echoed and ash rained down from the third floor joists as they began to burn. Declan raised his pistol as he stepped closer.

  "Alright, Alright! Kafni's on Revere Street in Beacon Hill! He's at a restaurant called La Jetee on the corner of West Cedar! He's rented the whole place for the night for his son's Bar Mitzvah! The damn Chechen is in charge! They're going to raid the building and kill everyone in it!"

  Declan looked coldly at O'Rourke, studying the man for any signs that he was lying as he advanced forward and pressed the barrel of the suppressor to the captain's forehead. O'Rourke began to cry audibly. "Oh c'mon. I told you. I told you," he sobbed.

  "Thank you." Declan said as he pulled the gun away and turned to leave.

  O'Rourke slowly opened his eyes. Watching as Declan walked away, he asked, "What are you some kind of cop, some kind of soldier?"

  "Something else," Declan said over his shoulder as he descended the stairs to the first floor and vanished into a cloud of smoke.

  Chapter Six

  The engine of O'Rourke's Lotus Espirit roared to life as Declan turned over the ignition. Shifting through the gears and pressing the accelerator, he held on tight to the sensitive steering wheel as the vehicle lurched forward. The wide-bodied racing tires screamed over the smooth, dusty concrete of the warehouse floor towards the open garage. Declan pulled the steering wheel sharply, skidding onto Kennedy Avenue and driving north. As he exited the industrial dock area veering wildly through a rotary onto Northern Avenue, he passed several ambulances and fire trucks heading the opposite direction, undoubtedly responding to the warehouse fire a few blocks back. Three car lengths behind the emergency crew two police cars with lights and sirens blaring tore up the road. Declan stomped on the accelerator and nearly lost control of the Lotus as he passed them hoping to attract their attention. Righting himself in the lane and watching the rear view mirror, he pounded his fist lightly on the steering wheel. Damn he thought as neither of the officers turned around. If he had any chance of stopping the hit on Kafni he was going to need all the help he could get.

  Driving over Boston Harbor on the Seaport Bridge, he entered the downtown area and continued north. With high rises flying by he down shifted the braying engine at the intersection of State Street and made a sharp left, skidding out. The area's many shoppers and pedestrians looked up from their companions, clearly alarmed at the high rate of speed the black sports car was traveling. Declan shifted the vehicle back up to the highest gear filling the air with the smell of burning rubber. His objective was to attract as much attention as possible and to arrive in Beacon Hill towing a squadron of police cruisers closely behind. His working theory was that if the assassins heard and saw the presence of the police, maybe they'd back off their planned assault and flee the area.

  How he was going to get away from the police once he attracted them was something he had yet to work out as he down shifted again and slid right onto Cambridge Street cutting off a row of traffic. Tearing upward through the gears again, he entered Beacon Hill. Here among the tree lined streets, Boston's elite lived. Congressman, senators, doctors and lawyers called the three and four story brick condominiums home. Narrow one way streets crisscrossed each other with curved wrought iron streetlamps that looked like torches hanging over head, creating a 19th century ambiance. Even among the high end automobiles parked along each side of the street the roar of the Lotus's engine attracted the attention of anyone within earshot of it. Down shifting again, Declan turned onto Grove Street followed by a quick turn onto Phillips Avenue. He'd yet to attract the attention he was looking for. On any other night, Boston would be filled with police officers but now, when he actually wanted their attention, there wasn't a peeler in sight.

  He pulled the Lotus to a stop at the intersection of Phillips and West Cedar, a block north of where O'Rourke said the hit was to take place. Having failed to bring along any police, Declan knew he was on his own. Turning the wheel sharply, he pulled into the middle of West Cedar and stopped. The gull wing door of the Lotus made a p
neumatic hiss as it opened. Declan turned off the engine and removed the key from the ignition. Stepping out of the car, he closed the door and activated the alarm before throwing the keys across the street and into a drainage grate. Pulling the Clock pistol from its holster on his belt, he struck the driver's door glass with the grip until it broke, chunks of greenish glass raining onto the street. The vehicle's emergency flashers and headlights lit up and the horn sounded. That ought to attract some attention he thought as he moved south along the cobblestone sidewalks.

  Chapter Seven

  9:07 p.m. Eastern US Time

  Corner of Revere Street & West Cedar — La Jetee Restaurant

  Boston, Massachusetts

  Abaddon Kafni looked at each of the six faces staring towards the head of the table where he was seated. The faces of his wife and five children beamed at him with expectation. Today was the day his oldest son, David, turned thirteen. Today David became a man in the eyes of Jewish law.

  Standing, Kafni drew his wiry frame up to his full height and cleared his throat. He was a man of average height with a Mediterranean complexion, dark hair that receded to the back of his head and a set of soft brown eyes that communicated a compassionate and educated world view. Looking towards his son, who was seated at the opposite end of the table, he said, "David, you have made me proud since the day I first heard your cries fill our house and today my pride in you continues, entering a new arena. Today you become a man."

  Kafni looked around the deserted restaurant momentarily overcome with emotion. His family was seated in the center of La Jetee at a rectangular table meant for eight to ten guests though there were only six of them. Tables for two and four guests, covered with luxurious looking white tablecloths, surrounded them in the dining room. Two double doors at the rear of the room led to a kitchen where the kindly owners. The Perliere Family, were busy preparing a special meal for the Kafni family. The Perlieres were French Jews who had immigrated to Israel in the 1980's and had become close friends before moving to America. Now, with the Kafni family's own migration to the United States, the Perlieres had become their most fervent supporters and had agreed to open their restaurant on a night in which it would normally be closed in order to allow the Kafni's to celebrate in peace and security. At the front door, a lone figure in a suit stood looking through the hand blown glass windows of the nearly two hundred year old federal house.