The Untouchables

by J. J. McAvoy

  “At least he had a ring, Declan.”

  “You’re never going to let me live that down…”

  “Well, if it isn’t the Callahan Clan?” called out Old Man Doyle, and just like that, the music cut, the sea of drunks parted, and his men stalked around us, like vultures to their prey. Blowing smoke out of his nose, his old eyes glanced over Mel in disgust. “And this Italian cunt too.”

  His men laughed, and one by one all other bystanders, at least the ones with even the slightest mental capacity, retreated into their homes.

  “You should lay off the pipe, old man. You don’t have very many brain-cells left,” Mel hissed, breaking free of me completely to stand on her own.

  Using his cane, he stepped forward once more. “In my day, wenches like you kept their mouths zipped and legs opened. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  Her hand twitched in the direction of her gun, skillfully hidden at the back of her bra. Stepping forward, I forced myself in between them, my father and Declan were beside me within seconds.

  “Nice hat, Doyle.” I smirked at the old cloth top hat that sat on his gray head. “What the hell do you want?”

  Placing his pipe in his mouth once more, he sucked in deeply and blew the smoke into our faces. “You met the Briars. In fact, it has come to my attention you nearly killed one. Your week is over, and it’s best if your family returns to the depths of Hell from which you came.”

  “Or what?” I asked, grabbing the pipe from his mouth. “What will you do if my family and I decide to spend a few more days, maybe even months, here?”

  His nostrils flared and I could almost hear his bones crack and pop as he tried to stand up straight.

  “You’re playing with fire, young man.” He spat at my feet. The moment he did, a crowd of men slowly came around us. Even the stupid fucker that I had shot through the foot held his gun pointedly at our side.

  “We’re from hell, remember?” Mel replied, her eyes scanning over each black rifle. “When you’re born of fire, it can’t hurt you.”

  “So young, so foolish,” he said dangerously as he slowly pulled out a photo from his jacket pocket. “You think you can come to our country and walk on water? Think you’re untouchable? Folks are gunnin’ for you while you’re gunnin’ folks down. All it takes is one, before others step up against you. Go home. Get your filth out of my country because you won’t make it another night here.”

  Turning towards my father, he simply laughed at me, shaking his head at the fool in front of us. My mother being my mother looked bored and annoyed, clenching her gift in her hand.

  Glancing down at my wife, she just nodded. Before he could even blink, my fist collided with the side of Doyle’s wrinkled face. His top hat flew from his head, rolling onto my feet. Pulling the gun from its holster, I grasped hold of his collar and stuck the barrel in his eye.

  “Cousin, is this fool trying to blackmail me?” I sneered, digging in deeper into his eye.

  Declan frowned, the same expression on his face as our mother. “I believe so. I wonder if he knows he has no men to back up his threats.”

  With his one free eye, he glanced around at the men he thought supported him. The man who I shot earlier limped over, grabbing Doyle’s top hat and handed it over to Mel.

  “Where’s your fucking loyalty?” he yelled, struggling under me.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Mel replied, dusting off his hat before placing it on her head. “With us.”

  Pulling his face closer to mine, I held his throat tightly. “You’re shit out of luck.”

  “One day…” he struggled to speak.

  “Spare me the sanctimonious bullshit, Doyle. I’ve heard it all before. Ireland does not need you. This town does not need you, and when your blood splatters over its streets, it will be the rain and nothing else that washes it away.”

  “Liam,” my mother called, stepping forward. “It’s Sunday.”

  Staring at my watch in anger, I pulled my gun from his eye before smacking his cheeks softly.

  “How lucky you are, Old Man Doyle.”

  Rising from the ground, I fought the urge to kick the living shit out of him; old man or not, he had threatened the wrong family. Pushing himself off the ground, he dusted himself off, glancing around at us all before backing away slowly. The very few men still loyal to him helped him into his truck at the end of the street before taking off.

  The only proof that there was ever a festival taking place throughout the streets were the lights that dangled in the winds, the scattered bottles on the sidewalks that were still dripping with rum, and the abandoned instruments that only moments earlier were alive with music.

  “All we need is a tumbleweed blowing in the wind,” Coraline joked, from within Declan’s embrace.

  Something was off about those two.

  “Somebody play for us before I forget it’s Sunday!” I bellowed, forcing what looked like Dylan, Monte, and Jinx to the stage.

  Taking my wife’s hand in mine, I pulled her towards the music.

  “Who did you kill?” she asked as we danced.

  “You said you didn’t want to know about this.”

  Her lips tightened into a straight line. I wondered for how much longer she could handle being in the dark. Sighing deeply, she glanced around at the new men—the men who had conveniently jumped sides, the men without loyalty—and it was like I could read her thoughts.

  “We don’t kill on Sundays,” I reminded her.

  “We don’t,” she replied, “but others at our disposal never made such a commitment.”

  Grabbing the top hat from her head, I placed it on my own. “Poor Old Man Doyle.”

  “Not just him, all of them. We don’t need new people and I sure as hell don’t trust men who would so easily betray their own.”

  Precisely.

  “What shall we do?” I asked, twirling her around quickly.

  “It’s Sunday, Liam. We follow examples from the Bible on Sundays. And I distinctly remember a passage about slaying men in their sleep. All that alcohol should be kicking in soon. Irish or not, you people need sleep.” She grinned, wrapping her hands around my neck.

  “So it is written, so it shall be done,” I said as the music ended. Breaking apart, we stood and applauded in the empty streets of Killeshin.

  “Declan,” she whispered, leaning over to him. “Gather the men—our men—and kill them all, I don’t care how. We leave at sunrise; I believe Liam has gotten all he needs.”

  They would learn, all of them. Here in Ireland, back in the States, and all across the globe.

  This wasn’t a game. This was our fucking family, and nothing trumped family.

  TWENTY

  “What is a king to a God? What is God to a king?”

  —J.J McAvoy

  DECLAN

  Shoving my knife into my boot, I pulled open our trunk and sifted through Coraline’s clothes in order to find my new guns.

  “I thought we didn’t kill on Sundays?” she asked me, gathering up our things around the room.

  “Melody and Liam don’t. I’m not sure why. It is as though they really believe God appreciates it,” I muttered as I loaded bullets.

  Laughing, she came over and wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed my cheek. “You speak for God now?”

  Rolling my eyes at her, I grabbed my silencers. “No, but a murder at 11:59 p.m. and one at midnight is still murder.”

  “It never bothers you?” she whispered into my ear.

  I didn’t answer; I just loaded.

  “Declan.”

  “No, Coraline, it has never bothered me. It never will bother me. I want us to be safe,” I replied, looking into her eyes. “I enjoy knowing that our family is safe, I enjoy being a reason why our family is feared.”

  She simply nodded. “Can I come?”

  “You know the answer to that.”

  “Declan, I said I may be pregnant. I can fire a gun. I’m good. You know it.” She groaned, releasing her ho
ld on me. I missed her touch.

  Rising to my feet, I kissed her, as I grabbed her thighs to lift her up and press her against the wall.

  “We can have this fight after we get you to a doctor, G.I Jane.” Dropping her, she scowled but it disappeared when my lips met hers.

  “Go cut off someone’s finger.”

  “I’ll make you a necklace.” I laughed as her face bunched up in horror. Gathering my jacket, I walked out the door to find Monte already waiting for me at the top of the stairs.

  “Do they know?” I asked as we descended. It had been no less than four hours since Liam gave the order. We were out numbered, obviously, but that didn’t matter if they were too hung-over to fight. Heading out the backdoor, I met Dylan and Fedel, along with Gavin and Kieran; six to thirteen wasn’t that bad. Both of them had been with us for years, but worked mostly in the streets, keeping an ear out for any dealers who might be skimming us—or worse, talking—then they came to me. I didn’t trust them enough to allow them to spend too much time with either Mel or Liam.

  “All they know is that we’re hurting some people,” Monte replied.

  Nodding, I looked them over quickly before pulling out my gun. “The men who pulled out guns on the Bosses, they don’t get to see the light of morning. Kill them quietly. If anyone gets in your way, dispose of them as well. Any questions?”

  None of them spoke, two pulled out knives, and others guns before leaving. I watched them retreating into the dimming darkness like monsters from the depths of hell.

  Breathing in the wet grass and the fresh air, I looked up at Shamus’ home to find Coraline staring down at me. She winked before closing the window.

  Stalking forward like the monsters before me, I couldn’t help but think about what a lucky man I was, how revered our family was, and I couldn’t wait to share that greatness with any child we had. Walking forward against the howling winds, I stared at the flame shining through the window of Old Man Doyle’s home. It was the only thing that really made his home stand out from the rest of the broken down buildings. When we were kids and Liam, Neal, and I would come visit Shamus, and we would always find him here; smoking and drinking himself into a coma with a deck of cards in front of him.

  No matter how hard Liam had tried to sit in that room with us, he couldn’t. The smoke hurt his lungs so badly he would have to leave. Shamus would tell him to stop lingering where he didn’t belong, and Old Man Doyle laughed each time, telling Neal and I how we needed to teach our brother how to be a man.

  “Liam is never going to amount to anything, boys. It’s a sad fact that sometimes not all men are not created equal, sometimes the weak fight and then die off.”

  Neither of them knew it, but I saw Liam at only twelve years old, standing at the door. He had gone out just to take a breath and came back to prove himself. With a haunted look in his eyes, I watched a part of him die. Through the fog of smoke, he met my gaze and I knew he would never forget. He walked out the door, pretending he was never there to begin with.

  “I was expecting Liam.” Old Man Doyle sat across the poker table with a cigar in his mouth and his pistol on the table.

  Walking forward, I took a seat at the table. “This is below my brother’s pay grade.”

  “And not yours?” he snickered, dealing out cards for me.

  “I’m doing this as a gift to my cousin, no payment required,” I replied, grabbing the cards.

  Laughing, he shook his head. “Who would have thought that the little mutt would become all this?”

  Staring at the Royal Flush in my hands, I simply shook my head.

  “I did,” I said, showing my hand. He stared at it for a moment before reaching for his gun. But before he lifted his hand, I put a bullet into the side of his face. His body crashed onto the floor and his blood flowed towards me like wine on the surface of marble, forcing me to rest my legs on the card-riddled table. Grabbing his cigar, I smoked the rest just as my phone rang.

  “Yes, Neal?”

  “Tell me you’re having a shittier time than I am.” He sighed into the phone.

  “No can do. I just won a poker game and I have a pretty good cigar in my hands. Life here is good.” I smirked, looking down at the old man.

  “Well, fuckiedy-do-da-day, then. Can you please tell me who the hell this Roy bitch is? I just got word that he’s got high-end snow-cones for sale.”

  “High end snow-cones? Where did someone like him get that much smack?”

  “I don’t really give a fuck. We’re still trying to figure out who put a bullet in President Monroe.” I had almost forgotten about that.

  “Deal with the presidential shit. I’ll let Mel and Liam know about Roy. We’re heading home in a few hours, then you can hand back the crown.”

  “Heavy is my head,” he replied.

  “Neal, was that a Shakespearean reference? When did you learn to read?” I laughed.

  “Fuck you!” he said, before hanging up.

  “Love you too, cousin,” I said to no one. Rising from my chair, I walked towards the window and blew out the lone candle.

  “Goodbye, Granduncle. Tell Grandfather I said hello.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  “Being powerful is like being a lady… if you have to tell people you are, you aren’t.”

  —Margaret Thatcher

  MELODY

  Drumming my fingers on the table, I scrolled through the polls appearing on my phone.

  “I’m going to kill your brother, Liam. I swear it.” How hard was it to make people like you?

  Taking my phone from me, he tucked it into his front pocket and leaned into his chair before flipping through his book. “Political polls don’t mean shit. There’s no point in worrying about it. Once we land, we’ll fix this, seeing as how my brother can’t find his balls.”

  “He quoted Shakespeare earlier this morning.” Declan laughed, buttering his toast in the aisle over.

  “Seriously?” Coraline grinned, stealing his breakfast before he had a chance to reap the spoils of his work.

  “Can you all stop acting as if my son is brain-dead? Neal’s talents are far greater than his flaws.” Evelyn frowned, as she drank her coffee. Sedric said nothing as he adjusted his glasses and continued to read through the paper.

  “Of course, mother…”

  “Anyway!” I snapped, trying to get back on topic. “I told him to even the playing field, and yet, here we are, buried under a mountain of shit. This stupid bitch should be grieving over her husband, not running in his place! No one reacts to assassinations correctly anymore.”

  Laughing, Liam shook his head at me, but before he could speak, Jinx’s voice came through the intercom, “Sir, Ma’am, we will be arriving at Chicago International Airport in ten.”

  Sighing, I leaned back to buckle my seatbelt. Looking down, I found my stomach hanging over my waist.

  When had I gotten so big?

  Glancing up, I noticed not only Liam, but Coraline and Evelyn staring at it too.

  “Declan, did you contact Roy about the sno-cones?” I asked, trying not to bring any more attention to my stomach.

  “Sno-cones?” Sedric asked, folding his paper down to stare at us. “How much?”

  “Eight mil,” I answered. “It’s a lot, but we want to make sure it’s pure.”

  “If it is, where did a low level dealer like Roy get pure cocaine?” Liam asked, staring me in the eye.

  I read them for a moment, tensing as I got what he was implying. “You think it’s a setup.”

  “How often do you come across pure smack like he’s selling?” He had a point.

  Cracking my neck, I thought about that for a moment. “I warned him the night we took out Chuck.”

  “Sadly, stupidity is a force to be reckoned with.”

  “Do you trust him?” Coraline asked, almost too innocently.

  “I trust no one.” Pausing, I stared at Liam. “I trust no one, but the family. What should we do?”

  “Declan and I
will go,” Sedric stated as the plane began its descent.

  “And I’ll wait nearby to watch.” Because if Roy was stupid enough to set us up only weeks after I had warned him, I wanted to kill him myself.

  “Too many family members in one place. If this is a setup, the police will be there,” Declan added, apparently pissed off already.

  “The President was just assassinated,” Evelyn reminded us, holding onto her seat as the tires met the strip below us. “Do you really think they would do a sting operation now?”

  She also had point. But there were too many criminals in on this plan, and Liam and I needed to think.

  “We’ve arrived,” Jinx stated.

  Liam simply rolled his eyes as he got out of his seat. “Thank you, Captain…”

  “Liam.”

  “What? He is a captain, correct?” Liam replied, his smile slick, eyes glinting with something darker.

  “That wasn’t what you were going to say and you know it,” I whispered before walking past him.

  Sedric held the door open for Evelyn and I. Taking my hand into hers, she walked me down the stairs like an infant needing assistance. Glancing back at Liam, he mouthed, “Be nice.” Sighing, I held onto her as we walked.

  At the bottom Olivia and Neal stood in front of our cars, dressed in all white. Even Adriana stood in a white pantsuit.

  “Welcome back.” Olivia smiled, pulling me into a hug. “The city hasn’t been the same without you.”

  She’s touching me.

  “You can let go now, Olivia. People may start to believe you’re genuine,” I said, as I freed myself from her bony arms.

  Her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared, but she smiled anyways, proving my point. Neal stepped forward, preparing to give me a hug as well, but I pulled back and allowed Evelyn to accept it in my place. He played it off, kissing Evelyn on the cheek.

  “Is there a reason why you’re all dressed in white?” I asked them.

  Neal nodded. “Senator Colemen is having a memorial and charity dinner this evening for both parties. He asked all those attending to wear white as a call for peace, hope, and perseverance in this dark time,” he recited.