Blow(26)

I didn’t know O’Shea, but I could see his arrogance a mile away and I knew if he didn’t lose it, he was going to get someone killed. “What do you think Patrick will settle for?”

“It’s possible O’Shea knows who the big supplier is and plans to spill it to Patrick when the time comes.”

My eyes widened. “Would that be enough to satisfy Patrick?”

“In the short term, maybe. It depends on who it is and what O’Shea knows about him.”

My head was spinning.

When Patrick declared O’Shea’s payday, all the cards would be on the table, but until then, we could only speculate.

Putting all the unknowns aside for now, I focused on the known. “Someone slashed her tire.” I didn’t have to clarify who the her was. After what happened earlier, I was certain he knew.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure it was slashed. I saw it.”

“Logan, you don’t know it was Patrick or Tommy who did it.”

With a shake of my head, I admitted, “It would be a huge coincidence if it wasn’t.”

“Listen, son, I have to say, I don’t think Patrick knows about her.”

I looked up. “What did Patrick say to you when he finally showed tonight?”

“Not that much.”

“Then what was the summons for?”

My father sat beside me. “Just flexing his control. Nothing out of the ordinary. He wanted to know how my visit with O’Shea went so he could plan his next move. Nothing we couldn’t have taken care of over the phone.”

“Did he ask about the girl?”

My old man shook his head. “Like I said, O’Shea’s wife has been missing for three months. Whoever that woman is that was in his office tonight, she couldn’t have been her. O’Shea wouldn’t be that stupid to have her walking around in the open when he knows she’s wanted by the Blue Hill Gang. That girl must have been a nanny or girlfriend.”

I recoiled at the word girlfriend and couldn’t stop the jealousy that spiked in my veins. “She’s not his wife,” I said flatly, trying to pull my shit together.

My father scrubbed his jaw. “That’s what I thought. Like I said, he’s not that stupid.”

“She’s not the nanny or girlfriend, either.”

His eyes narrowed on me. “Logan.”

“Look, she has nothing to do with this. I want her left alone.”

“You don’t know she’s not involved.”

He was right, I didn’t—but my gut told me she was an innocent. I ran a frustrated hand through my hair. “If you thought she was his wife, what’s to prevent Patrick from thinking the same thing?”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too.”

“Who is she, Logan?”

“His wife’s sister. She’s new in town.”

“And you know this information how?”

Confessing, I answered, “I ran into her.”

He narrowed his eyes once again. “You ran into her?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“And you don’t think she’s involved?” he snapped.

For once, I stayed calm. “No, I don’t think she is. What makes you think Patrick doesn’t know about her?”

My father shrugged. “I stayed clear of mentioning her and Patrick didn’t say jack about her. Just mentioned the missing wife. Asked if she’d been found and if O’Shea said anything about her.”

Clearly, my interest had been evident. “What did you tell him?”

He drew himself up. “I told him the wife hadn’t been located as far as I knew and that O’Shea was still claiming to know nothing about her disappearance. But Logan, Patrick already knew about the baby girl.”

“Do you think he has someone besides you on O’Shea?”

He looked out the window. “It’s possible, but baby news is easy to find out.”

“If he does have someone on O’Shea, maybe he’s following anyone close to him and that’s who slashed her tire?”

He pulled the curtains closed. “Like I said, it’s possible, or maybe some punk on the street did it and you’re overreacting.”

I was done with that conversation. I knew I wasn’t overreacting. “Maybe. Did Patrick say anything else tonight that mattered?”

With a deep sigh, he told me, “He declared the payday.”

“What? When?”

“He’s giving O’Shea until next Friday. Seven days. If he doesn’t have the money, the drugs, and his wife by then, I’m to deliver a message.”

Troubled, I squeezed the frozen bag with my fingers. “What’s the message?”

A weighted silence fell between us.

“Pop, tell me,” I said softly.

Shifting his eyes toward the closed curtains seemed to make it easier for him to speak. “He’ll let me know.”

“Cocksucker,” I muttered.

The television was still on and my father stared at it. “I want you to go back to New York and stay there. I’m fine. I can handle the client load and I can handle Patrick.”

I leaned forward and put my elbows on my knees. “I can’t do that.”