Chasing River
Page 46
“A minute ago. He’s takin’ a piss but he’ll be out soon, if you need him.”
He scratches his temple, the only sign that he’s irritated. “How about the other one?”
“Aengus?” I shrug. “He was here two nights ago.”
“What for?”
The glasses clatter as I stack them noisily. “To have a pint.”
Duffy slides his cup out without a word, signaling a top-up. As much as I’d like to tell him to fuck off, that would be a bad idea. So I grab the coffeepot and fill him up.
“Did he talk to anyone?”
“He talked to lots of people. You know Aengus, always so social.” Rowen, stepping out from the back just now, hears me and snorts.
“Give me some examples of people he talked to, River.”
“I can’t recall. It was a Saturday night. You know what those are like around here.” I carry the emptied dish tray over to its special spot, where we load it with the dirty glasses and send them back for washing. Hoping this guy takes the hint that I’m not going to snitch on my brother, no matter how big of a bastard he is. “But you should track him down and ask him yourself.”
“I’m asking you.” He wipes at the light sheen of sweat across his forehead with a cloth. “We got an anonymous tip that Aengus was meeting with Jimmy Conlon here.”
“Really . . .”
“We have an arrest warrant out for Jimmy.”
“Then it wouldn’t make much sense for him to show up here, now would it? He’d likely go to ground.”
“You would think. Especially seeing as we’re not the only ones who want him. Word is Beznick’s put a hit out on him.”
“They must really want him dead then.”
“What about you, Rowen?” Duffy shifts his questioning. “Did you see Jimmy Conlon in here on Saturday night?”
“Who?”
“Jimmy Conlon,” Duffy repeats.
“Sorry. Never met the fella,” Rowen offers. Smart kid. He’s not lying. He has never officially met Jimmy.
Duffy’s shrewd gaze lands on me. He’s losing patience. Good. Maybe he’ll leave us the fuck alone. “We got an anonymous tip that Aengus was behind the bomb in St. Stephen’s Green.”
I catch a flash in a mirror—Rowen’s head whipping around— but I ignore it, leveling Duffy with an even stare. I have a pretty good poker face, even when my insides are about to explode. “That’s a serious accusation.” As much as I should be shocked that the gardai have heard, I’m not. Some of the guys around Jimmy, including Aengus, have too much arrogance and not enough intelligence. They get drunk in pubs and boast, and the wrong person’s always listening.
“It is.” He nods, watching me closely. “Carries a sentence of at least fifteen years if we can prove it. And I will prove it, if it’s true.” He delivers the warning with a light voice, though his mood is anything but light. I know Duffy’s history. He lost his uncle and father to a bombing in Belfast in the ’90s. He’s been especially interested in dismantling all forms of IRA—both those who fight for a free Ireland and those who fight for the fight—since he put on a uniform.
“Well, you’ll have to ask Aengus about that. I’m sure he’ll tell you the truth.”
His upper lip twitches. “I was wondering if you know anything about it, seeing as you two are so close.”
Of course it would appear that way. I visited him regularly, more than anyone else. “We haven’t been close in years. And no, I don’t. Sorry.”
“That’s good.” He pauses, adjusting his cap. “Because if I find out you’re lying about knowing something, I’ll put you behind bars with him.” His stool scrapes against the floor as he stands. “Oh, and we also just heard that Beznick’s men may be after Aengus now too. Pass the message along to your brother, will ya?”
“Wait. What?” Rowen snaps, no longer pretending not to listen. “What does that mean?”
“It means that Aengus has done something to piss off the wrong people.”
“Ya need to do something to protect him, then. Isn’t that what the gardai’s for? Protecting people?”
“Didn’t ya hear? Gardai won’t be risking our lives for criminal organizations. We’ll no longer provide protection for known offenders because of these street wars they get themselves into. We’re only interested in protecting the innocent.” His dull blue eyes land on mine again. “I’m just letting ya know so ya can be watchful. And perhaps share information with me, River. I gather ya don’t want to be seeing the inside of Portlaoise anytime soon.”
The arse saunters out the front door of Delaney’s. I watch him, gritting my teeth. Coming into Delaney’s, in broad daylight, and threatening me, trying to get me to turn on my own blood?
Rowen closes the distance in three quick steps. “This isn’t nothing, River. What the hell has Aengus gotten himself into?”
I sigh. I’m so tired of this. And it’s never going to end. “Check the kegs before the rush.” There’s no way Rowen is getting pulled into this mess.
I slide my phone out of my pocket and head to the back, where I can deliver the warning to Aengus in private.
Fear gripping my guts tight.
I can’t go to prison.
Again.
TWENTY
Amber
I brought my grandmother’s diamond stud earrings for a special occasion. They’ve sat, nestled in their cushioned case and tucked away with my valuables, for a month now. Today, I’m putting them on.
Because every day between now and Sunday is special. And I’m already sure that I don’t want to leave.
I check the clock. It’s twenty minutes to six. A text from River said he was just showering and then would be over. I’ve basically been counting down the hours since this morning, killing time at the Glasnevin Cemetery and St. Patrick’s Cathedral, my mind and emotions happily drowning in all thoughts River.
I’ve taken extra time getting myself ready. My hair is set in perfect curls, my mascara brushed on thick and smooth, my face contoured in just the right way. The canary-yellow halter dress I brought looks great against my tanned skin, even if it’s not ideal for Dublin’s crisp evening temperatures. My denim jacket will solve that problem, as well as the issue of my bruises, still visible on my right bicep and shoulder.
My cowboy boots—not a smart choice with limited space in my suitcase, but a requirement—finish the outfit perfectly.
I glance in the hallway mirror and smile. I want to steal his breath the second he sees me. I want River still thinking about me when I’m no longer here.
I want him to suggest that I stay.
The doorbell rings, and a rush of nerves and excitement erupts in my stomach.
I throw open the door.
The tall, lanky officer from the Green stands on my front porch, his smile polite and professional, but killing my excitement all the same. “Miss Welles. I’m Garda Duffy, if you remember.”
“Of course. How are you?” What are you doing here? His vehicle sits in the street behind him, his partner in the driver’s seat.
Duffy gestures inside, and it’s then that I notice the tan folder tucked under his arm. “May I come in?”
He scratches his temple, the only sign that he’s irritated. “How about the other one?”
“Aengus?” I shrug. “He was here two nights ago.”
“What for?”
The glasses clatter as I stack them noisily. “To have a pint.”
Duffy slides his cup out without a word, signaling a top-up. As much as I’d like to tell him to fuck off, that would be a bad idea. So I grab the coffeepot and fill him up.
“Did he talk to anyone?”
“He talked to lots of people. You know Aengus, always so social.” Rowen, stepping out from the back just now, hears me and snorts.
“Give me some examples of people he talked to, River.”
“I can’t recall. It was a Saturday night. You know what those are like around here.” I carry the emptied dish tray over to its special spot, where we load it with the dirty glasses and send them back for washing. Hoping this guy takes the hint that I’m not going to snitch on my brother, no matter how big of a bastard he is. “But you should track him down and ask him yourself.”
“I’m asking you.” He wipes at the light sheen of sweat across his forehead with a cloth. “We got an anonymous tip that Aengus was meeting with Jimmy Conlon here.”
“Really . . .”
“We have an arrest warrant out for Jimmy.”
“Then it wouldn’t make much sense for him to show up here, now would it? He’d likely go to ground.”
“You would think. Especially seeing as we’re not the only ones who want him. Word is Beznick’s put a hit out on him.”
“They must really want him dead then.”
“What about you, Rowen?” Duffy shifts his questioning. “Did you see Jimmy Conlon in here on Saturday night?”
“Who?”
“Jimmy Conlon,” Duffy repeats.
“Sorry. Never met the fella,” Rowen offers. Smart kid. He’s not lying. He has never officially met Jimmy.
Duffy’s shrewd gaze lands on me. He’s losing patience. Good. Maybe he’ll leave us the fuck alone. “We got an anonymous tip that Aengus was behind the bomb in St. Stephen’s Green.”
I catch a flash in a mirror—Rowen’s head whipping around— but I ignore it, leveling Duffy with an even stare. I have a pretty good poker face, even when my insides are about to explode. “That’s a serious accusation.” As much as I should be shocked that the gardai have heard, I’m not. Some of the guys around Jimmy, including Aengus, have too much arrogance and not enough intelligence. They get drunk in pubs and boast, and the wrong person’s always listening.
“It is.” He nods, watching me closely. “Carries a sentence of at least fifteen years if we can prove it. And I will prove it, if it’s true.” He delivers the warning with a light voice, though his mood is anything but light. I know Duffy’s history. He lost his uncle and father to a bombing in Belfast in the ’90s. He’s been especially interested in dismantling all forms of IRA—both those who fight for a free Ireland and those who fight for the fight—since he put on a uniform.
“Well, you’ll have to ask Aengus about that. I’m sure he’ll tell you the truth.”
His upper lip twitches. “I was wondering if you know anything about it, seeing as you two are so close.”
Of course it would appear that way. I visited him regularly, more than anyone else. “We haven’t been close in years. And no, I don’t. Sorry.”
“That’s good.” He pauses, adjusting his cap. “Because if I find out you’re lying about knowing something, I’ll put you behind bars with him.” His stool scrapes against the floor as he stands. “Oh, and we also just heard that Beznick’s men may be after Aengus now too. Pass the message along to your brother, will ya?”
“Wait. What?” Rowen snaps, no longer pretending not to listen. “What does that mean?”
“It means that Aengus has done something to piss off the wrong people.”
“Ya need to do something to protect him, then. Isn’t that what the gardai’s for? Protecting people?”
“Didn’t ya hear? Gardai won’t be risking our lives for criminal organizations. We’ll no longer provide protection for known offenders because of these street wars they get themselves into. We’re only interested in protecting the innocent.” His dull blue eyes land on mine again. “I’m just letting ya know so ya can be watchful. And perhaps share information with me, River. I gather ya don’t want to be seeing the inside of Portlaoise anytime soon.”
The arse saunters out the front door of Delaney’s. I watch him, gritting my teeth. Coming into Delaney’s, in broad daylight, and threatening me, trying to get me to turn on my own blood?
Rowen closes the distance in three quick steps. “This isn’t nothing, River. What the hell has Aengus gotten himself into?”
I sigh. I’m so tired of this. And it’s never going to end. “Check the kegs before the rush.” There’s no way Rowen is getting pulled into this mess.
I slide my phone out of my pocket and head to the back, where I can deliver the warning to Aengus in private.
Fear gripping my guts tight.
I can’t go to prison.
Again.
TWENTY
Amber
I brought my grandmother’s diamond stud earrings for a special occasion. They’ve sat, nestled in their cushioned case and tucked away with my valuables, for a month now. Today, I’m putting them on.
Because every day between now and Sunday is special. And I’m already sure that I don’t want to leave.
I check the clock. It’s twenty minutes to six. A text from River said he was just showering and then would be over. I’ve basically been counting down the hours since this morning, killing time at the Glasnevin Cemetery and St. Patrick’s Cathedral, my mind and emotions happily drowning in all thoughts River.
I’ve taken extra time getting myself ready. My hair is set in perfect curls, my mascara brushed on thick and smooth, my face contoured in just the right way. The canary-yellow halter dress I brought looks great against my tanned skin, even if it’s not ideal for Dublin’s crisp evening temperatures. My denim jacket will solve that problem, as well as the issue of my bruises, still visible on my right bicep and shoulder.
My cowboy boots—not a smart choice with limited space in my suitcase, but a requirement—finish the outfit perfectly.
I glance in the hallway mirror and smile. I want to steal his breath the second he sees me. I want River still thinking about me when I’m no longer here.
I want him to suggest that I stay.
The doorbell rings, and a rush of nerves and excitement erupts in my stomach.
I throw open the door.
The tall, lanky officer from the Green stands on my front porch, his smile polite and professional, but killing my excitement all the same. “Miss Welles. I’m Garda Duffy, if you remember.”
“Of course. How are you?” What are you doing here? His vehicle sits in the street behind him, his partner in the driver’s seat.
Duffy gestures inside, and it’s then that I notice the tan folder tucked under his arm. “May I come in?”
