City on Fire (Danny Ryan, #1)(29)

She knows.



Two hours later, Danny and Jimmy sit in the basement of Jimmy’s mom’s house down on Friendship Street. She’s out at her bingo night.

They’re freaked.

Freaked fucking out.

The only good thing, the only good thing, is that Paulie Moretti is going to pull through. The bullet didn’t strike the femoral artery or bone, but the peace is kaput, and Pasco Ferri has no choice now but to let the dogs loose. He’s been personally insulted, shown up, and blood has been spilled. Now they’re all in the shit, big time.

Danny does the odds in his head. They have ten, maybe fifteen guys who can be counted on in a fight; the Morettis have at least twice that number. The Irish have no resources outside Dogtown to call on; the Morettis can bring in shooters from other Mafia families. The Irish have a few councilmen from the Tenth and some of the police; the Morettis have the mayor, a handful of state legislators, and a bunch of cops, including two detectives from Homicide—O’Neill and Viola.

The money battle is lopsided: the Irish have the longshoremen’s union, the docks, and some small gambling and loan-sharking; the Morettis have the Teamsters, the construction unions, the vending machines, cigarettes and alcohol, major gambling, major money on the street, strip clubs and prostitution.

That’s the problem with a war: you have the challenge of trying to stay alive and at the same time make a living. Hard, when you’re being hunted, to go out and make your collections, or make a score, or even get back and forth from work. You need a bankroll, a war chest, to last you while you bunker up and fight it out, and not many of the Dogtown Irish—Danny included—have a lot in the savings account.

Jimmy stares at Danny.

“What do you want me to do?” Danny asks.

“Liam’s a worthless little prick,” Jimmy says. “You know it and I know it.”

“He’s my wife’s brother, for Chrissakes,” Danny says. “I’ve known him since he was a kid. I made him fucking peanut butter and banana sandwiches.”

“Danny . . .”

“What.”

“Do you know where he is?” Jimmy asks.

Danny nods.

“I’ll come with you,” Jimmy says.

Danny shakes his head. “No. I’ll take care of it myself.”



They have Liam stored all the way up in Lincoln, some old house out in the country, down the end of a dirt road.

Danny stops for some White Castles on the way up there.

He drives up to the house. Gets out of the car and knocks on the door. “Liam, it’s me, Danny. I brought you some food.”

He hears movement inside, then the door opens a crack. The safety chain is on, and Liam peeks through the opening, slides the chain off and lets him in.

The place is a dump. Old carpet, musty smell. Not what Liam’s used to, Danny thinks, probably not what Pam expected when she married the prince. Liam sits back on an old sofa, watching TV. Danny hands him the white paper bag of burgers.

“Hey, thanks,” Liam says.

“They’re cold, but—”

“They’re still good,” Liam says. “You want one?”

“Wouldn’t mind.” Danny sits down on the couch. “What’s on?”

“Some horror movie,” Liam says. “Take your coat off and stay awhile.”

“Where’s Pam?” Danny asks.

“Zonked out in the bedroom,” Liam says. “Valium.”

Can he see it in my eyes? Danny wonders. Hear my heart pounding? Know I won’t take my jacket off because a .38 is in the pocket? Probably not, Liam’s too self-absorbed to notice anyone else’s shit.

“You don’t have, like, a Coke or something?” Danny asks. “Ginger ale?”

“Go in the kitchen and look,” Liam says.

Danny gets up and goes into the kitchen, finds a Coke in the fridge, comes back into the living room and stands behind Liam, who seems absorbed with the horror movie.

This is the time, Danny thinks. Right now.

He grabs the gun inside his right jacket pocket and takes it out. Eases the hammer back, hopes that Liam don’t hear the click.

He don’t. He’s devouring the fucking hamburger, laughing at the cheesy monster that’s crossing the screen toward the little fake Japanese city. Not a care in the world, Liam. It’s his fucking universe and the rest of us are just renting space.

Danny holds the gun low, behind the back of the couch where Liam can’t see it if he turns around. “Hey, Liam?”

“Yeah?”

“You remember catechism?”

“How could I fucking forget?”

“Yeah, well, I was trying to remember the Act of Contrition. Jimmy and I had a bet and I couldn’t remember it.”

“Child’s play,” Liam says, his eyes not leaving the screen. “Oh my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee—”

Do it now. To hell with his immortal soul, do it now.

“And I do detest all my sins—”

Danny lifts the pistol.

“Not because I fear hell, but because—”

Then he hears the toilet flush, the old plumbing whine.

Pam’s awake.

Danny hears water running. She’s washing her hands.