Crush(90)

Frank stood up and walked over to the sink in the corner of the room. He opened the pine cabinet beneath it and rummaged around for a bit before he pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. He raised the bottle. “Anyone else need a drink?”

Logan gave a shake of his head and leaned back on the wooden chair. I worried it might not withstand the pressure and tried not to wince.

“I’ll take one,” Declan said.

“Me too,” I chimed in. I wasn’t a drinker, but thinking about Clementine in possible perpetual danger drove me to want one.

With a quiet thump, Logan brought his chair upright and leaned forward. “You okay?” he whispered so only I could hear. It was as if he was thinking the exact same thing I was and also didn’t like what that meant.

I nodded and put my hand on his knee. Just touching him made me feel so much better.

Frank continued to rummage around.

The room waited in quiet anticipation.

Logan placed his hand over mine, as if in reassurance that he’d make everything okay. The sentiment touched me. What we had together was so real, at times I had a hard time believing it. With Logan in my life, I knew what Charlie and I once shared wasn’t real love at all because real love doesn’t fall apart when someone is broken. Real love toughs it out . . . no matter what. Besides, according to Logan I wasn’t the least bit broken, and I chose to believe him.

The liquid poured easily into the glasses Frank found above the sink and went down even easier. Logan’s touch had already started to settle my nerves and this finished the deal.

Frank, on the other hand, downed one, then another glass. When he finished, he looked toward Logan, who seemed to have switched gears and suddenly gained patience. A slight trickle of perspiration broke on Frank’s forehead. “It’s not Mickey. I’m almost certain of that.”

Logan looked perplexed. “What do you know, Frank? What makes you say that?”

He gulped another sip. “This is dangerous information. What I’m about to tell you has to remain in this room. Promise me it won’t get out.”

Logan raised his right hand. “I promise. I swear on my own life.” He glanced around and Miles and Declan did the same, and then his eyes landed on mine. I didn’t raise my hand. I didn’t have to; he knew I’d never do anything that would hurt him.

Frank’s words sputtered out. “He’d never run a gang once run by Paddy Flannigan. Never. Besides, he wouldn’t have any trusted members. No one would work for him.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Everyone knows his wife died because of him. He broke code and didn’t protect his family. No one would work for a man like that.”

“What really happened, Frank?”

“His wife took a bullet meant for Paddy.”

Everyone’s eyes widened to the size of saucers.

Logan twisted in his seat and his right foot was tapping furiously on the floor. “Are you certain about that?”

Frank nodded. “It happened right here, in my pub, in front of me.”

“Who pulled the trigger?”

His response was an empty, “Mickey.”

What?

I felt like the room was spinning. All the air was sucked from my lungs. I think I gasped. A chill went down my spine and I suddenly felt very cold. Mickey and Rose were Clementine’s grandparents, and learning details of their tainted past made those knots in my stomach tighten even more.

Logan moved closer to me and the gesture warmed me instantly. I couldn’t believe how much I needed him.

“What happened, Frank?” he asked, with a softness in his voice that surprised me.

Frank squeezed his eyes closed. “It was 1989, just after the New Year. The weather was miserable and the pub was empty, so I sent the bartender home. I’d thought about closing early, but my wife had just left me and the thought of going home to an empty bed wasn’t appealing. In walked Paddy and he ordered his usual. He came in a lot back then. I used to joke with him that I was his therapist and was going to start charging. He and his wife were having trouble and I was no stranger to that.”

Logan narrowed his eyes in concentration. “So you and Patrick Flannigan were friends?”

The hollow laugh that escaped Frank’s throat sent chills through me. “Friends. That would be a stretch of the word. I did what I had to in order to stay on his good side. Molly’s was between Blue Hill and Dorchester Heights turf but hadn’t been claimed by either. That was enough to make me his best friend if he wanted me to be.”

“You were afraid he was going to make you pay for protection?” Declan asked.

He nodded. “Fuck yeah, I was. Listen, things had changed by then. The Irish Mob was no longer about the cause; the IRA had long been forgotten. Like now, it was about profit, but it was also about pride. I was lucky I hadn’t been forced to pay for protection like everyone else around me. I didn’t care whose friend I had to be; I just wanted to keep it that way.”

Declan raised a hand. “I’m not judging. My old man paid right up until the day Patrick Flannigan turned his back on everything Dorchester Heights for his shiny new Blue Hill Gang. That’s the only reason we were able to save enough to expand our business.”

Sympathetic looks passed between the men.

Logan squirmed a little, knowing he was the catalyst behind the merge, but in this case, it turned out to have had a positive impact on at least one family. “Go on, Frank. What happened next?”