CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Declan
“In our day, we’d beat the shit out of the assholes and make them think twice about stepping on a Casey’s toes.”
Ahh, the glorious wisdom of Uncle Joseph.
He and Jimmy were sitting across from me at their favorite neighborhood haunt, the Backroom. Aptly named, too, because it was decorated like some back storeroom that doubled as a gin joint.
They’d called me there that evening as I’d been on my way home from the office. Amelia was still at the hotel, and Finn was going to get her a ride home as soon as her prep shift was over, as I was no longer taking chances with her using public transportation or even rideshare apps anymore.
My uncles had gotten word of a few more dustups in the neighborhood and wanted to give me what they had — not really remembering, or choosing not to, the fact that I had Brennan as a fact-gatherer.
“The same chunky bastard that was with the James kid,” Jimmy picked the story up where his brother had left off, “knocked the owner of the pizza joint over on Atkins around. Nothing serious, but did some damage to the windows and scared the hell out of the guy.”
I sighed. It was Oregano’s, a family pizza joint that was operating out of my Caldwell Building. A nice family owned it and had spent the past five years building it up. I’d have to give Penny and her husband Butch a call to make sure they were okay. I also didn’t know why I hadn’t heard it sooner.
“When was this?”
“Last night,” Joseph supplied. “Right around closing. I talked to Butch, and he thought they were being robbed. But other than the assholes taking the tip jar off the counter, they just messed the joint up a little bit and talked some shit about you. Smacked Butch a couple times when he tried to scare them off too.”
Soon. This would hopefully be over really soon if everything went according to Brennan and my plan.
“Me and Jimmy would have gotten our old pipes from the basement if you needed us, you know,” Joseph said, shaking his fist in the air like some sort of commando. “You know we’re good for it. But you were pretty clear that you’re trying to be legitimate and that the old ways may not be what you want.”
The distaste at the word legitimate was so obvious, it was funny.
“Thanks, guys,” I said, taking a sip of the water in front of me. Both of them had made a huge fuss when I’d asked for that instead of a pint, but I wasn’t in the mood to drink. Not right now. Not when I needed my wits about me at all times.
“Any time, Duke,” Joseph said, clapping me on the back and using my childhood nickname. Nobody called me that anymore, and it felt good — a little nostalgic. My father had called me that from the time I was in diapers until his last words in the hospital.
“Any idea what you’re gonna do about this?” Jimmy asked. I knew they were harmless and just curious about how I was going to handle such blatant disrespect, but I also knew they had giant mouths. My plans could possibly end up as gossip fodder during the Tuesday night poker game at the senior center.
“I’m gonna nip it in the bud,” was all I said. It seemed to mollify them, as they nodded in approval. Knowing them, they were assuming that I was going to go home and find all the blunt objects in my condo and take to the streets with Brennan.
But, like I’d tried to explain to these two knuckleheads one hundred times, that wasn’t me. When you didn’t take care of things like this the right way, they became zombies. Rising from the dead and coming back to bite you in the ass when you least expected it.
“Sounds good, buddy boy,” Jimmy said. “You give us a ring if you need some muscle.”
The sixty plus year old balding Irishman with a pot belly flexed his jiggly turkey skin arm in pride, and it was all I could do not to laugh. Damn, but these guys meant well, and I was lucky to have them still.
“You two are the first ones I think of when I think of muscle, you know that right?” I was teasing them, but the two old codgers were practically beaming. It was like catching a glimpse of the young bruisers they’d been back in the day when helping my dad deal with rivalries from families like the Murphys and the Stewarts.
Back when I was young, the two of them had been scrappers — known around the neighborhood as being a couple of the best fighters, despite the fact that they were both around five-eight and one hundred and sixty pounds soaking wet.
Amelia had asked me a few times why I didn’t see them more often and the thought occurred to me that they were the last tie I had to the Casey line. I should do more to be part of their lives while I still had time.
It was on my to-do list and part of the reason I’d humored them and stopped by the bar on my way home instead of just telling them to give Brennan a call and tell him everything they knew.
“It’s been great seeing you two,” I said, standing up and laying down more than enough money to cover their drinks for the rest of the night. “I’ll be in touch if I hear anything interesting. You do the same, yeah?”
They gave me a half-pint salute, and I was on my way.
***
The next day, I was in my office going over a stack of profit numbers when my mother’s number lit up my cell phone.
“Declan,” she said, her voice watery and weak. She assumed this played on our emotions as her sons — that it made us crazy with worry about her fragile state. But for the most part, we all saw through it. “Claudia Vickers has been trying to get in touch with you, and she said you haven’t returned her calls or messages.”
Right. I’d completely forgotten the news anchor had been trying to reach me the past couple weeks. I never picked up when she called, and I didn’t bother reading her messages. She was back in town, in a high-profile spot at the biggest station in the market, and likely wanted some high-profile arm candy — me — to raise her brand status a little bit.
I saw through her intentions without needing to even speak with her, yet my mother was convinced I was ignoring my soul mate.
“Not interested,” I said blandly, hoping it was the end.
“Nonsense,” she shot back, never one to be cutoff. “This thing your brother says you have going with that Byrne girl is just a fling, darling. You know better. You are better. Claudia Vickers is much more suitable wife material than a blue-collar girl like Amelia.”
I hated Amelia’s name on my mother’s viper tongue, and it made my stomach turn to acid. I took a long second to breathe deep and let it out.
“Don’t speak about Amelia like that,” I said, short and simple. “I won’t tolerate it. And as far as Claudia, the answer is no. It was no a couple years ago when she wanted something long distance, and it’s no now. End of discussion.”
My mother’s dramatic sigh was loud and painfully obvious.
“I’m not letting you let her slip through your fingers, Declan,” she said, sounding a little psychotic if I was being perfectly honest. “You’ll have to meet with her and tell her yourself. I told her to meet you at your office at four this afternoon, and then you can see for yourself what you’re missing out on. If you still think there’s nothing there, which you won’t, you can tell her to her face. Stop being a coward.”
Her words made me angry — raging mad, really. Why couldn’t she respect my wishes or the woman I loved? But arguing with her was pointless because she simply refused to acknowledge another person’s point of view if she didn’t agree with it.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll tell her to her face at four today.”
The truth was, I had a meeting at three, and I was hoping that by four, I’d be headed home to Amelia. I didn’t owe Claudia Vickers, or my mother, a damn thing and they both could kiss my ass.
“Wonderful, darling,” my mother cooed. “You won’t regret it.”
I hung up before she could say anything else.
Two hours later, I was up and calling my driver, directing him to the district courthouse a few miles away. I sent a quick message to Amelia, letting her know where I was headed and telling her that I’d see her later.
In no time, I was passing through the security checkpoint on the lower level and meeting Brennan outside the District Attorney’s office.
Walking through the door, Brennan let the secretary know we had an appointment. Seconds later, my company and personal attorney walked through the door, and we were ready.
We walked through the maze of desks and a sea of admin support toward the back, where the assistant prosecutors had offices. As we turned a corner, we passed a small kitchen where Trevor Leonard was inside, dumping powdered creamer into an ugly Harley Davidson mug. We made eye contact, and I saw the flash of fear and anger in his eyes as he took in what was happening. He watched us walk past his own office, name on the door and everything, into the office of one of the D.A.’s higher-ups — a prosecutor named Daly Ford. The man happened to be one of Brennan’s former professors in college, a political science class he barely passed, and one of his college mentors.
I cast a glance over my shoulder at Trevor Leonard and smiled, stopping just shy of giving the bastard an antagonizing wink.
What we had on our hands was a gamble, the evidence we were presenting wasn’t exactly plentiful, but Brennan was hoping that it was enough to get an investigation of their own going. Some D.A.s might be inclined to sweep something like this under the rug, but the man that Trevor Leonard and Daly Ford worked for built a platform against corruption, and we were hoping the man was true to his word.
Inside Daly’s office, introductions were made and we all found our seats and got down to business.
My lawyer, Daniel Levine, got the ball rolling. He explained the background and where we were stood now.
“We’re not trying to accuse without cause,” he said carefully. “But we have reason to believe that the Duffy family is moving drugs through the city and using one of the assistants in this office to do so with less fear of being prosecuted.”
Levine had done his research. Names associated with the Duffys, including Jake, Bryan, and their father, Kevin, had plenty of arrests on record. But the number that actually went to trial? None so far.
It seemed like the police were doing their jobs and the detectives were putting together strong enough reports, but the state was just choosing not to prosecute.
Ford frowned as he looked through the dossier Levine had put together before glancing up at us. “You planning on doing anything anytime soon to put an end to this?”
“Depends on what you think we should do,” Brennan said. “If you think we’re on to something here, we’ll act however you need us to if this is something you’re willing to look into.”
Ford had himself a poker face and the ability to ride silence out to the point of uncomfortableness. Just when I was certain he was going to throw the papers back in my face, he nodded.
“Indeed,” he said. “Brennan, I’ll get with you in a couple days and tell you what I need from you. From the looks of it, it’s all pretty straightforward. Keep your heads down and avoid as much as possible. I’ll let you know what I think soon.”
Within forty-five minutes, we were done. The three of us walked from the office and made our way out into the foyer of the federal building and shook hands with Levine.
“Thanks for that,” I said to him. “Whatever you put together was convincing.”
“It’s a pretty convincing case,” he replied. “If Ford is as good as I’ve heard, this should be an interesting feather for his own cap, given that the sitting D.A. is pushing sixty and probably wants to retire soon.”
Good timing.
“Need a ride?” I asked Brennan, not sure how he got there.
He shook his head as we walked.
“I drove,” he said. “Got a hot date in an hour or so.”
“Oh yeah?” That was something.
“No,” he deadpanned. “I’m meeting Finn at the lounge and eating fried calamari tonight. Like always.”
“You need a life,” I muttered as we hit the elevator.
“And you need me,” he laughed. “We both can’t get what we want here, Casey. I’ll bide my time and make piles of money while I do.”
I hit a nice patch of traffic headed toward my house, so I called Clara at the office. “Any strange people show up this afternoon?”
“No, sir,” she answered. “Were you expecting anyone?”
“Not really, but my mother threatened to send an ex-girlfriend over there to try to convince me to get back together.” I snorted. “I just want to make sure she’s not haunting the lobby or anything.”
“So far, so good,” Clara said, and I wished her a good afternoon before hanging up.
Maybe my mother had been bluffing. Or maybe Claudia Vickers had seen reason.
And maybe Hell was going to freeze over, and trashcans would grant magical wishes.