--------
"They weren't my friends!" He took a deep breath and let it out before continuing. "Just a couple guys at the bar. Saw you with that girl."
"Evangelyne!"
"Keep your goddamn voice down! They told me what was bein' planned."
I advanced on him. "Who? Who was it? Bidwell one?"
He didn't budge, except to bunch his right hand into a fist. "You ain't gettin' names, boy. All you're gettin' is what I'm tellin' you. They wanted to me to understand it was nothin' personal against me or my family."
Ain't gonna hurt you much.
Just put you in your place.
Bidwell. Fucking Bidwell. Working with Lon. Bidwell saw me cripple Matty and did his gossipy bit. You see him, again, let me know. That kind of thing.
"So I made a deal with 'em," Uncle Sean snarled. "Warned 'em 'bout your heart. Didn't want you left there to get found in the morning. Get it in all the goddamn papers."
"You give over some of my pills?"
"Just to be safe."
"You fuckin' helped them!"
"I kept 'em on a leash."
"I still near died."
"I know. They did go too far with their end of it, but there's nothin' I can do about that, now." He rose. "Sometimes you gotta make hard choices and hurt people in order to protect those you care for. So I'm sayin' up front, I'm not sorry 'bout any of this. It's half your own damn fault."
I couldn't keep the sneer from my voice as I said, "Isn't that always how it is, with a coward?"
He stood there, for a moment, tensed enough to hit me, again, and I made myself ready for it. Instead he sighed and said, "You're movin' back here."
"Are you bloody mad? Why should I?"
"We'll put you in the room upstairs. I want you here the next time those Fed bastards come snoopin' 'round. An' you'll tell 'em who you are. Brennan. McGabbhinn. I'll give you a bio to repeat."
At that I snarled, yanked off my shirt and turned to show him the marks on my back. Even in the soft light you could see the scars. The words hissed from me. "And how about I show them this?"
"You won't."
I turned back to him. "You so sure?"
He nodded. "'Cause you know as well as me, they won't care. It's somethin' for the local cops to handle."
He remained a block of nothing in the kitchen light.
I felt like I was floating. "I don't understand," I said, soft and breathless. "What good does me staying here do?"
"Told you. I want this shit over Brendan or Brennan settled. I want my business back to where it was 'fore you came. With the ABC off my neck and no more shit from Washington. I'm gonna have David Landau make you fully legal. Get you a green card and social security number. Till it's all done, you'll be workin' at The Colonel's. Paid normal, with taxes out. Path to citizenship. Whatever. Everything legal. Helps to have a Jew lawyer who knows people who can do favors for you. And it'll all get done under your new name."
I snarled, "My name is Brendan Kinsella."
He shook his head. "It's now believed he died in that explosion an' was buried, nice an' quiet. Couldn't have a Catholic body show up in a bombin' aimed at a Protestant group. Especially one with connections to the IRA. Brit's'd have a field day, in the papers. Great propaganda tool. "So you are Brennan McGabbhinn, now. Born in Letterkenny. Relatives in Dublin took you in after an accident that killed your father. Decapitated him. Seein' it sent you off your head and exacerbated a heart condition. 'Cause of my charity work for Ireland, the Church asked if I'd sponsor you here. Get some specialized treatment for a sick boy who went a little crazy.
"Your disappearance was part of this illness. Maybe. Something to that effect. And it was thanks to complications in your illness that you wound up over-stayin' your visa. It's a medical visa, so that's easier to get corrected. It'll mean some fines and court costs, but it's doable."
My brain went into automatic. "Then you already have a passport for me--"
"Expired. Gonna have to work you up a new one. It may mean goin' before a judge, makin' nice with the State Department, a few political donations. But I can get it settled. If you're here. Available for them to talk to whenever they want."
"You're wanting too much. I-I-I won't do it. I'll leave this fucking city."
His voice grew soft and like ice. "I seem to recall Brendan had a younger brother. Nice kid, I hear. Smart. Goin' to college in Belfast. Got married to a sweet girl. Mai loved tellin' us all about it. But just imagine--a Catholic boy in a Protestant town? Name linked to an IRA offshoot? These days?"
I actually felt ice spread throughout me, and had to fight to keep my voice level. "You wouldn't."
He said nothing.
"But it--it's Rhuari. He's done nothing to you."
Now he advanced on me, both fists ready and reminding me so much of Da I actually expected him to punch me--and I just knew if he did I'd lose any sense of control and tear into him and wind up dead, or worse.
"Listen up, you little shit," he growled, his voice barely audible. "You been nothin' but a disruption since you came here. Bringin' that fag into my house. Attackin' a cop at my bar, over his slut of a wife. Chasin' 'round with a black girl for all my neighbors to see. I got the IRS auditin' me over money sent to NORAID. I spent more in lawyers in the last four years than my whole life. I want it stopped. Now. An' if that means me bein' a motherfuckin' asshole to do it, then I will be a motherfuckin' asshole. Family or no family.
"But once I know for sure that it's all done, you can do what you want, go where you want, even move to fuckin' Canada. I know your sister'd like that. Fact is, so would I. So think about it. Brennan. Choice is yours. Make the right one."
Then he stepped back, gave himself a shake, and went upstairs.
No comments:
Post a Comment