City on Fire (Danny Ryan, #1)(30)

Jamming the gun back in his pocket, Danny says, “Hey, Liam, I better go.”

“You just got here.”

Pam comes in the room.

“I’m going to give you guys a little privacy,” Danny says.

“Privacy is what we’ve got,” Pam answers. “We got plenty of privacy, don’t we, Liam?”

Danny goes back to his car.

He don’t think he could have done it anyway.



Danny drives back to Dogtown, can only find a parking spot three blocks from the house, and has the heebie-jeebies as he walks.

This is what it’s going to be like, he thinks, for the rest of my short fucking life. Looking over my shoulder, hearing sounds that ain’t there, scared of what’s around every corner.

He hears a car coming slowly up behind him and forces himself not to run. Jams his hands inside his jacket pocket and feels for the .38. Grips it hard, then lets himself have a glance over his shoulder.

It’s a cop car.

Not a black-and-white, but an unmarked Crown Vic that the plainclothes guys use. It pulls up beside him and the front passenger window rolls down. Danny half expects a blast of bullets—his heart is in his freakin’ throat and he feels like he might piss his pants, but O’Neill says, “Take it easy. While you’re at it, take your hands out of your pockets for me, okay?”

Danny can see past him to where Viola sits behind the wheel.

“It’s okay,” O’Neill says. “Someone just wants a word with you.”

Danny carefully takes his hands from his pockets. O’Neill gets out, pats him down and takes the piece from him. “I’ll give it back after you have your conversation.”

He opens the rear door and Danny gets in.

Peter Moretti sits there.

Danny tries to get out but the door is locked. The two cops stand out on the sidewalk and grab a smoke.

“I just finished visiting my brother in the hospital,” Peter says.

“How’s he doing?”

“He got a fucking bullet hole through his leg,” Peter says, his temper flaring. He takes a breath and says, “But he’s going to be okay.”

“That’s good.”

“Fucking A, that’s good,” Peter says. “Listen, Danny, I wanted to have a word with you, tell you that we got no beef with the Ryans. We already know you had nothing to do with the disgraceful action that occurred this afternoon.”

“Peter, the Murphys didn’t—”

Peter holds up his hand. “Don’t even bother. That train has left the station. There is no possibility of a peace with the Murphys, even if they dangle that little piece of shit motherfucker from the flagpole at the statehouse. What I came to tell you is the Ryan faction can sit this one out. The Murphys put you in a very difficult position; you have every right, on the basis of that, to opt out of this war.”

Pasco made him come, Danny thinks, on his friendship with my old man. But it’s also a smart move. Peter knows that if the “Ryan faction” sits on its hands, he’s deprived the Murphys of me, Jimmy Mac, Ned Egan, and maybe a couple of other potential shooters. And Bernie Hughes, who was one of Marty’s guys before the fall. He’ll stick with the Ryans, and Peter knows that.

“What have the Murphys ever done for you?” Peter asks. “Hell, they took your old man’s part of the business and they throw you some scraps from the table. Treat you like the redheaded stepchild.”

That’s all true, Danny thinks.

“I’m not asking you to go against them,” Peter says. “I know you wouldn’t do that and I respect you for it. But if you just sit this out, when it’s over . . . and you know how it’s going to end, you’re not a stupid person . . . we’d be prepared to restore to you what is rightfully yours. Your father would get the respect he deserves; you would be the boss.”

“Has Pasco—”

“He signed off on this, of course,” Peter answers. “But you need to know that he’s going down to Florida, he’s really going to retire this time. I’m the new boss of the family. Paul will be my underboss.”

So Dogtown’s done anyway, Danny thinks. With Pasco out of the way, the Morettis will take what they want and use this whole Liam mess as their excuse. The ship’s going down, it’s just a question if I want to go down with it.

Peter Moretti is tossing me a big life preserver.

“Don’t give me your answer now,” Peter says. “Think about it, get back to me. You can approach O’Neill or Viola there.”

“Okay.”

“But don’t take too much time,” Peter says. He nods to the cops outside and O’Neill opens the door. Danny starts to get out. Peter reaches over, touches his hand and says, “Danny, I want you to know that we have nothing but respect and affection for you and your father. Please give him my personal regards.”

“Sure.”

“Good night, Danny. I look forward to hearing from you.”

“Good night.”

Danny walks home, gets out of his clothes and slips into bed beside his wife.

She’s warm under the blankets.

“I’m late,” Terri murmurs.

Danny thinks she’s half-asleep. “You mean I’m late.”