Chapter Five
“I don’t have long, so I’ll make this quick, Mike.” Jonathan rolled his head, stretching his neck. He hadn’t gotten much sleep in the last few days between the increasing skirmishes with the Irish and keeping tabs on Claire. She’d be pissed if she knew he was still having her followed, but he didn’t care. He needed to know she was safe, even if she wanted nothing to do with him. Once everything had settled with the Irish, he’d make her see she belonged with him.
“Enrique is dead because you talked him into your little stunt. And Tommy is in the hospital still. Tell me again why I haven’t kicked you off my lands.”
“Aww, c’mon boss, you know how I feel about that. Ricky was like my little brother, man.” Mike crossed himself. “I slipped up, I was drinking and got carried away. You know how I get.”
“Stupidity on your part does not equal mercy on my part. What is so goddamned important that you needed this meeting?”
“There was a woman inside Pop’s store when we hit it. Enrique, he scared her off ’cuz he thought she looked all strung-out and shit. But she wasn’t.”
“Why are you so sure of that?”
Mike leaned forward excitedly. “She had on those hospital clothes, like nurses and doctors and shit wear. So I been looking when I’m there seein’ Tommy and I saw her. She works there. She couldn’t have been strung-out ’cuz they test the people there. So she ’members.” He looked proud of himself, as if he’d managed a Sherlockian bit of detective work.
Jonathan sighed. “Listen, I’ll talk to the clerk again, but he said the store was empty. And even if there was someone, nothing has come of it. Stop creating trouble where there isn’t any. We’ve got enough problems right now with the Irish.” He checked the time. The clerk would have started his shift almost an hour ago. Jonathan wanted to get this done and over with, if only to shut Mike the fuck up. “I’ll go to Pop’s tonight. In the meantime, I want you patrolling over on 117th Street. Go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Sending Mike over to police the border with the Irish was like throwing a hand grenade into a grease fire. Jonathan knew this full well. It was time to send a message. Guys like Mike had one good use, and being a hot-headed dick was Mike’s specialty.
And if Mike happened to get himself killed, it would suit Jonathan just fine.
Not that it mattered. Jonathan had other plans in the works to deal with the Irish and the heroin issue. He didn’t mind the pot dealing his guys did, or even the rampant prostitution that went on. But heroin was getting out of control, and turning rather deadly now that there was so much fentanyl involved. So now there was an anonymous source feeding information to the cops from inside the Celts, who in reality was a King. Every bit of info went through Jonathan first, and he decided what to tell the cops. If too much got out, O’Brien would get suspicious.
Of course, Jonathan also had to continue fighting on the ground to keep the game going. If he didn’t fight back, everyone would think that he’d gone soft, and would threaten his position. He certainly didn’t expect to live to a ripe old age given his career choice, but he wasn’t ready to go just yet. Mike was a very expendable pawn in Jonathan’s game.
Will appeared at the side of Jonathan’s desk.
“Are we walking?”
“Yes. I need some air.”
“Are you sure that’s safe, sir, given the current situation?”
“Probably not,” Jonathan sighed as he stood. “But right now, I don’t give a fuck. Besides, we have to make a few stops along the way. Let’s go.”
****
Steve’s hand went straight for the gun the moment Jonathan and Will stepped inside Pop’s nearly two hours later. Jonathan paused.
“Not looking for trouble, man. Just here to talk,” he said, arms open.
“We already talked.”
“I know. And I was happy to leave it alone.” Jonathan and Will stepped aside to let a customer exit. “Unfortunately, someone else wasn’t. So I need more information from you.”
“I told you everything.”
“I’d like to believe that, but I don’t think you did.” Jonathan glanced at Will, who nodded his head.
“We’re clear, sir.”
“One of my guys says there was a witness. Now, he’s a huge fuck-up. Normally I’d just ignore him and go on with life. But he won’t fucking drop it. He claims to have seen her working at the hospital.”
Steve’s hands, resting on the counter, turned white from how tightly he fisted them. Jonathan nodded his head.
“So he’s not lying.” He watched Steve’s eyes flick to Will, likely assessing his chances at taking one or both of them out before he himself was shot. “Look, you know who I am. And you know the changes I’ve made in how things run in South Side now. I don’t mean this woman any harm. Truly. If she hasn’t caused any trouble, I’m happy to let sleeping dogs lie. If you know who she is, I’d like to just keep an eye on her to shut my guy up.”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
Jonathan had to admire the set of brass balls on this guy. Not many people would give him so much shit knowing who he was.
“You never will trust me. It’s the nature of who you and I are. But I can point out to you that you’re still breathing, while one of my guys isn’t—rightfully so on your part—and another one will probably never walk again. And you’re still breathing free air. I see no reason to change those two facts.”
Steve crossed his arms, and Jonathan noticed the bottom of a tattoo showing below his sleeve. The part he could see were the words Semper Fidelis. No wonder he wasn’t afraid of Jonathan.
“One of my foster fathers had a saying,” Jonathan continued. “‘Death before Dishonor.’ I may have ended up back on the streets instead of making something of myself like he tried so hard for, but that saying stuck with me. I took it to heart. I give you that promise. Death before Dishonor. I will keep this woman safe, at all costs.”
By the time he’d finished speaking, Steve was nodding his head in agreement.
“I’ll hold you to that. If something happens to her, I’m coming for your head. She doesn’t deserve any shit from the likes of you. She’s in here a few nights a week while waiting for the bus. She doesn’t live around here. Cute little thing, curly blonde hair. Real funny, a bit of a smart-ass. I think her name is—”
“Claire,” Jonathan finished. Fear wrapped icy fingers around his heart and squeezed. He checked his watch. She should have gotten out by now. He’d ordered everyone indoors to avoid unnecessary casualties, but that didn’t mean everyone would have listened. Especially Mike, if he’d spotted her at the hospital earlier. “Son of a fuck!”
Steve’s face went from surprised to concerned, and he once again grasped the gun.
Jonathan turned to Will. “Find out where she is. Now. And him.”
“Already on it, sir,” he replied, phone to his ear.
Jonathan pointed to Steve.
“At all costs,” he repeated vehemently. “On my life.”