Eleven

Flynn

The element of surprise was on my side as I stood outside Sean’s apartment. With any luck, I’d catch him in the middle of something nefarious, or I’d be able to clear him completely. Either way, not giving him advanced warning that I was coming had been a good idea.

I knocked once, then announced it was me before knocking again.

“Hold on, man,” his voice called from inside. “Gimme a minute.”

I heard him shuffling around, knocking shit over in order to get to the door. The sound of beer bottles hitting the floor and other unidentifiable thumps could be heard through the door. He pulled the door open only for the security chain prevented him from opening it all the way.

“Oh sorry, forgot about that,” he mumbled, closing the door momentarily.

I heard the sound of metal scraping and then it rattling against the door as he removed the chain from its confines. Opening the door wide, he stood there scrubbing his hand over his face, his eyes bloodshot and hazy. I scanned him over, taking note of his appearance: a pair of red and white striped boxer shorts and his hair messed up a bit. He looked like he’d just woken up and needed a few more hours to sleep. Smelled like it, too.

“Could you put some clothes on? I don’t want to see your pasty white ass,” I said.

Sean laughed. “Sure thing. I just didn’t want to keep you waiting. Come on in, Flynn.”

I entered the cluttered house, stepping around piles of clothes and other crap on the floor. Sean lived in a studio apartment meaning his entire place was literally one room—and a small one at that.

“The price of living downtown,” he said, noticing the way I looked around his place. “But I live above a really good Chinese takeout place, so it’s worth it.”

“You ever bring girls here, Sean?”

“Sometimes.” He shrugged, grabbing a black t-shirt with a Jameson Irish Whiskey logo on the front off the floor. He gave it a quick sniff and—apparently not finding it too offensive— slipped it over his head. “But I clean up well when I do.”

“I sure as hell hope so. This place is an instant mood killer,” I said, walking over to his living area. I damn near stepped in a pizza box. “For fuck’s sake, you’re a filthy bastard. Have a little pride in yourself, man.”

“Oh, that was tonight’s dinner, I was just gonna throw that away,” he said, rushing over and picking up the box.

He’d put on a pair of dark colored jeans with holes in the knees then moved quickly, grabbing the pizza box off the floor and stuffing it into an already overfilled trash can. Papers and cans littered the floor around the can and I just shook my head. This kid was a bloody pig.

I looked down at the loveseat before deciding to chance it and have a seat. There didn’t seem to be anything overly objectionable on the cushions that I could see. I just made a mental note to throw my clothes in the washer when I got home. Or perhaps, straight into the incinerator.

On the television screen was some sort of video game filled with explosions and men in armor running about. It was still running without him.

“IrishBloke, you there? We need you, man,” a voice called from the television.

“Let me just tell the guys I have to step away for a bit,” he said, standing in front of me and grabbing a headset device that sat on top of the gaming console.

I never understood the appeal of video games. If I wanted to experience violence and death, all I had to do was step out my front door. I had enough of that shite around me already. It was in the air all day, every day. Video games were a waste of time. But millions of people devoted hours and hours to their games, so what did I know?

Sean put on the headset and spoke to the guys on the television, letting them know he’d be back later, before powering off the X-Box and turning toward me with a stupid bloody grin on his face.

“Sorry, some mates and I were just doing a little online gaming,” he said.

I shrugged. “We all have our hobbies.”

“So, what brings you over, Flynn?” he asked, a slightly nervous tremor in his voice as he ran a hand through his reddish-brown hair.

As I sat there saying nothing, I could see that he was nervous and his tension was growing. I wasn’t the type to make house calls leisurely. If I wanted to socialize, it was over a Guinness or some smooth Irish Whiskey. So if I showed up on your doorstep, it was a safe assumption that the shite had hit the fan.

“Sit down, Sean. We need to talk,” I said.

His face colored and I saw the nervousness in him ratchet up. Way up. Sean pulled a stool over from the bar area I assumed was a kitchen and sat down. He looked at me with eyes that had widened slightly and licked his lips.

“What about, Flynn? Is something wrong?”

“Not exactly, Sean,” I said.

I could feel the gun resting on my hip, tucked away in its holster. It was heavy but familiar and even a comfortable weight. One I’d gotten used to over the years, and it was there if I needed it. But hopefully, things wouldn’t break that way. Sean was just a stupid kid. But a rat? I wasn’t convinced. Not yet, anyway.

“What is it, Flynn? Something with the syndicate?”

He seemed genuinely lost as if he had no idea what had happened or why I was there asking him questions. Was this just an act? Sean had never struck me as the best liar, and he often said the wrong thing at the wrong time. He was a good kid, but he was often clueless. I had trouble believing that his guile was calculated and premeditated. But then, maybe I was just trying to find any reason to not believe he’d be a snitch. I silently reminded myself that I had to remain open-minded and accept any possible answer in order to get to the bottom of this.

“I’m going to be blunt and honest with you, Sean. The Russians believe we have a snitch,” I said, watching his face closely as I said those words, looking for any tick or tell in his features. His eyes grew large and afraid, he was shocked—or at least looked it. “And I don’t need to tell you how bad that would be for us, now do I?”

“No, no you don’t,” he said quietly, licking his lips again as he stared at me, almost as if he was afraid to say too much. Or too little. “Who do you–who do you think it is?”

I shrugged. “I honestly don’t know yet. That’s why I’m here.”

“Why? Because you think I might know something?”

Again, I shrugged non-committally. I didn’t say anything else. I glared at him and waited for him to respond. Sometimes silence was your best friend. Sometimes the guilty implicated themselves when you gave them time to do so.

When Sean didn’t reply, I asked, “Do you?”

“Fuck, man,” he said, standing up and pacing the room. “I don’t know shit. I promise you, Flynn. No one has said a word to me about working with the cops. You know I’d tell you if they did—”

I wanted to believe him, I did. But he was freaking out. He paced the room, back and forth like a caged lion, and every time he went toward the door, I feared he might run. I stood up and walked over to him, grabbing him by the shoulders. His eyes were wide, almost frantic, and beads of sweat dotted his brow.

“Snap out of it, Sean,” I said, shaking him a bit so he’d stop mumbling. Now he was acting weird. A little too weird for my liking. “Snap the fuck out of it. This is serious shite, and if you know anything or if you’ve talked to the cops–I need to know!”

He looked up at me, almost like he was surprised to see me standing there. “You think I fucking snitched? What kind of person do you think I am? I may be a lot of things, but I’m no fucking rat, Flynn.”

He struggled against my grip, trying to break free from my grasp. I had no other choice but to push him up against the wall and pin him there. I leaned in closer and narrowed my eyes, trying to convey just how serious this shit was.

“Listen, Sean, if you don’t tell me the fuckin’ truth, you’re gonna be in a lot of pain, you hear me? The brothers, they don’t care much for snitches, and they won’t make your death short and sweet. Oh no, you may be our brother, but if we have any doubt, your death would be far more excruciating than some common enemy.” I growled, my voice dripping with anger.

“We wouldn’t just shoot you and throw your body into the fucking river, man. That’s for punks and trash. If you’re a fucking rat, we make sure you regret your choices in life first. We damn well know exactly how to break a man. How to make him scream and tell us everything he fucking knows. Is that what we need to do to you, Sean? Do we have to make you scream to get you to talk to us, eh?”

“What’s it matter, Flynn?” Sean said, tears streaming down his cheeks. “What the fuck does it matter? I’m dead no matter what I do or say. You lot already have your minds made up, it seems.”

“We haven’t made up our minds about anything yet. Are ya telling me you’re guilty, Sean?”

“Did Colin tell you about me?” Sean asked, his voice growing desperate. “Is that who it was?”

His question took me by surprise. “What’s it matter who brought your name up, eh?”

“It doesn’t,” he said, his voice defeated, sounding almost as if he’d given up on life altogether. “Nothing much matters. If they say I’m a snitch, I’m a snitch. Nothing’s ever gonna wash that stain off, man. Just fucking kill me now and be done with it. Flynn, don’t make me suffer.”

Sean reached for my gun, but I grabbed his hand, gripping it firmly. “Don’t you fuckin’ think about it, Sean,” I said. “I don’t want to kill you, but I will if you make me.”

“I’m a dead man walking, ain’t I? No matter what I do, I’m dead.”

I wasn’t an evil man—devious and wicked, but not genuinely evil. I did what was necessary to protect what was mine. My brothers—the men who gave their loyalty for the O’Brien syndicate—they were family. I protected what was mine without any hindrance to the consequences. But when it was the loyalty of a brother in question, we required proof before a decision was made against their betrayal. If they were found guilty of their indiscretions without a shadow of a doubt, then I was the judge, the jury, and the motherfuckin’ executioner.

“Just like my brother,” Sean cried. “You’re gonna kill me just like my brother. I already know it, so just get on with it then.”

“Neil was different,” I said. “Neil was a traitor.”

“That’s what they said, isn’t it? So it must be true. Neil was a traitor just like me,” Sean said, wiping his eyes. “So kill me now, Flynn. Don’t let the brothers get ahold of me, please. Just end it now.”

I considered Sean briefly. Something about the unabashed way he pleaded for his life caught me off guard. I wasn’t sure if I believed him, or if I was furious that one of my own men would pussy out and beg for a swift death, rather than takin’ what was due to him.

I looked into his eyes, my hand hovering over the butt of the gun in my holster. Everything in me told me not to do it, that Sean wasn’t the snitch. But I was undecided. I just didn’t know if I could trust my instincts–or him.