CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EMMETT

 

24 Hours Before

I ENTERED AN Irish pub, where the leader of the Black Bloods said he would meet me. The barman looked up from drying a large glass; the pub was empty. Bar stools ran the full length of an old and impressive bar. The rest of the floor was separated with booths, plenty of hiding places. I didn’t think the leader, who liked to be called Silver, would kill me, but others might. The bar was dark and gloomy, with shadows cast everywhere. It was then I noticed that the bar had no windows at all.

The barman nodded at me, his face gruff, and his stomach swelling over his jeans’ belt. He returned to drying his glass. The 9mm in my jacket gave me a little sense of calm, but everything else about this setup felt wrong. I sat at a high, round table that was positioned close to the main door and beside the wall, where I could protect my back, and waited.

A man entered through a back door that held a dartboard. He entered alone, smiling. I could see now why he was called Silver. His long mane of jet-black hair had one chunk of silver in it. His features were Chinese. He flexed his hands, covered in fingerless leather gloves that matched his leather pants. “Mr. Harrington.” He smiled wide, his eyes nearly disappearing completely.

I shook his outstretched hand. “Silver, thanks for meeting me,” I said as he let me go and jumped up on the stool across from me.

“Freddie, two large ones.” He raised a thumb of his small fist as he spoke, and Freddie moved quickly and got us our drinks. I got down to the task at hand.

“I am delivering a shipment for Mr. Kirill and I just wanted to meet you first, before we did business.” Freddie dropped the pints of muck in front of us. Silver drank nearly half before Freddie had even left the table. I didn’t touch mine.

“So, pleasure before business? Smart man.” He ran his hand along his beard, his face set in a permanent, unnerving smile.

Silver emptied his beer and ordered another while looking at my full one. “I’m more of a top-shelf man,” I said.

“Name it.”

“Hennessy brandy would be fine,” I told him. Freddie didn’t fail, and I drank the glass down. Refusing a drink in this situation would be stupid.

“Leave the bottle, Freddie,” Silver said before lighting up a cigarette. I took the outstretched cigarette that Silver offered, and this seemed to please him. “My father only recently handed me over the business.” He took a deep drag before flicking the ashes on the ground. “Honestly, I didn’t want it, seen too much bad blood. But us sons must listen to our fathers.” He smiled, raising his glass clicking it against the bottle of brandy. My cue to refill. So, I did. “How’s yours?” he asked. I could see it, he knew we weren’t speaking. The only questions I had were how he could have known, and who told him. But before I could answer, the door opened.

“I’m good, Silver.” I knew he was coming. I had asked him to, but seeing my father walk through the door had me chucking down my drink. I didn’t want him to see any reaction from me. Inside was a different story. The only satisfaction to this was Silver’s paling face; he got over his shock and smiled.

“And the devil walked into a bar,” he said.

When I had worked for my father, if anyone had referred to him as the Devil, which most did, I wouldn’t let it stand. But now, being older and wiser, and away from him, I knew they were right. He was the Devil, and he deserved the title. My father and Silver embraced like they really were old friends. I stiffened as my father’s hand squeezed my shoulder. I wanted to break it, but I needed to make it look real. So, I did nothing. I wasn’t known for my affection.

“My son,” my father said, looking me dead in the eye. The glee I saw made me regret asking him for help. I knew—eventually—it was going to cost me. But I had no one else to turn to, and I was a resourceful man.

“Thanks for coming,” I said as he released me and sat down.

Silver smiled and nodded at me. “You sneaky dog, you,” he said it in a joking manner, but I could hear the underlying threat.

My father shifted, and I placed my hand on his arm, surprising him. “He’s right. I didn’t tell him you were coming.”

“I think a little more respect in the future would be nice,” Silver said. I was ready to nod and play nice, but my father wasn’t.

“You should be the one showing respect, Silver. I think you know what happens to people who aren’t.”

Silver raised both his hands. “Respect works both ways, Devil. I’m just saying.”

“And I’m just saying, don’t ever talk to my son like that again. You’re a piece of shit that I tolerate for your father's sake.” Silver let out a humorless laugh, the lighter now sat in his hand as he flipped it between his forefinger and thumb.

“Everyone needs to relax.” I directed this to my father, who really didn’t seem to give a shit how this was going, and that alone worried me. “So, we will meet at the Yproc docks, four pm,” I said to Silver, who briefly stopped playing with the lighter.

“One of my men will contact one of yours.” He stood, ready to leave. I thought this would go much smoother, and my heart sank as my father stood, deliberately blocking Silver. I stayed seated, my hand close to my gun in case I needed it.

“No need to have someone contact us, Silver. You will be there.” My father smiled; it was empty. People often said I had his eyes and smile. I really hoped I didn’t. They always seemed soulless.

“Sure thing, Devil.” Silver was definitely new to the game. His disrespect might be let go here, but other leaders wouldn’t tolerate it. Silver walked past my father, the barman was still drying the same glass, his eyes downcast, but he was listening. Who was he listening for? I wondered as I eyed him.

My thoughts shattered as a single gunshot had me reaching for my own gun. I turned as my father fired for the second time, the glass smashed as the barman hit the ground behind the bar. A pool of blood grew around Silver’s head.

“A head shot? Are you out of your mind?” My father didn’t even blink at my tone. “What have you done?” This time I grabbed him, but he shoved me off.

“He isn’t fit to lead.” He still held his gun, pointing it at Silver’s body.

“We needed him, I asked for your help. This is putting me deep in it.” Closing my eyes briefly, I fought with my monster who rattled the bars of his cage.

My eyes opened as my father’s hand weighted heavily on my shoulder. “Stop worrying, son. It will work itself out. His father should have never gone into retirement. This way he has to come back out."

“Yeah, I get that. But for what? To find out who killed his son?” I shrugged off my father’s arm and walked to the bar, leaning over it. I wanted to make sure the barman really was dead. Blood gurgled from his mouth as he fought for his life, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, then he just stopped, went still. Dead.

“Can you get one of your men to do clean-up?” My father asked me, as if we were having a casual conversation about the weather.

I leaned back over the bar to find my father putting on his black leather gloves. “What are you going to tell Silver’s father?” I asked, and was rewarded with a smile.

“That the barman shot him, and I shot the barman. Did you see how he was listening? That means he was working for someone. It wasn’t me. Was it you?”

“No, it wasn’t. I’ll get Matthew on clean-up,” I said, pulling out my phone.

 

“His father will hunt down whoever hired the barman.” My father looked happy with himself. I dialed Matthew’s number.

“And when he finds out the barman was only here to listen, not kill him, what then?” I asked as Matthew’s phone rang. My father pulled a gun out of his pocket and fired three bullets around the main door.

“Emmett, are you okay?” The worry in Matthews’s voice sounded sincere. Anger rose inside me, but I dowsed it.

“Fine. I need you to come to O’Flatterties, for a clean-up."

“On my way,” Matthew said, not missing a beat.

“My father’s here,” I said before hanging up.

The man in question smiled at me. “I get to see my old pal, Matthew.” He moved behind the bar. I knew he was placing the gun in the barman’s hand.

“You can’t touch him,” I warned as I watched Silver’s blood run into the cracks of the large slabbed tiles.

“Tomorrow, the extra protection will be placed on your people, so they can leave the compound.” I looked at my father now. He hadn’t said anything about not touching Matthew, and I was worried. I swallowed. The price of all this was steep, and I wondered yet again, was it too steep? He narrowed his eyes at me. “You will hold up your end, son. I would hate to have to kill you.”

 

The door to the pub opened and Matthew arrived, his eyes darting from me to my father. Mercifully, he didn’t hesitate, but nodded at me and silently got to work.  “Yeah, I will,” I said as my father searched my face, and I shut it down.

He smiled. “You are becoming more like me each day, son.” His words were giving life to my deepest fear. I didn’t want to be my father’s son.