“Well, when you put it like that...”
“That’s exactly how I’m putting it. I ain’t about to be fucked in the ass by these bastards. If anyone’s doing the fucking, it’s me. We’re going to get them right where we want them, turn them on their heads, and bury them upright. Fuckers think they can mess with us? They can think again.”
For a second, I didn’t reply, just let the silence hover, before I said, “Might have some leads on a couple more rats.”
“Damn. I keep hoping that’s the last of them, and we flush out some more.” He sighed. “How did you hear about these?”
“Caroline Dunbar.”
He grunted. “At least she’s keeping to her end of the deal.”
I snorted. “What? The ‘tell us everything or you die’ deal?”
“Yeah,” was his gruff reply, but he laughed a little. “That sounds about right. Good thing too. Don’t mind getting into shit, but prefer to leave the federales alone if I can. When they turn up dead, it always causes such a fucking stink.”
“What happens when a bunch of pigs get together to mourn another pig’s death, I guess.”
“True, true.” He sighed again. “You got it under control or need some input?”
“I can manage. If I can’t, I’ll bring Declan and Eoghan into it.”
“Okay.” Da hummed. “I understandwhythey turned. What concerns me is preventing it in the days ahead.”
Reaching into the cup holder where I had a pack of money mints, I popped a couple in my mouth, unable to believe I was about to make the suggestion at the forefront of my mind: “How about acéilidh? That’s a good excuse for all the ranks to mingle. Shore up ties while maybe seeing if anyone is on edge? Acting suspiciously, you know?”
Thecéilidhwas a traditional Gaelic dance. I hated the fucking things. The music, with all the bodhráns and the fiddles, was a migraine waiting to happen. I chomped down on the mints at the prospect.
“Thanksgivingisapproaching,” he mused, his voice introspective. “Might be a good idea.”
“I have them sometimes,” I said wryly, popping a couple more mints into my mouth. “Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow night, Da.”
“That you will, Bren. You’re a good boy, son. Thank you for all you’re doing.”
Though I was about to choke on his gratitude, because he’d never thanked me once for the shit I did in his name, I didn’t have the chance to reply before he cut off.
Peering up at the sky then glancing down at the ground, I saw that pigs weren’t flying and hell hadn’t frozen over, which meant Da had thanked me for something without Armageddon breathing down his neck.
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, and for the first time in my life, I said the Lord’s Prayer without being instructed to by Father fucking Doyle.
If Da was thankingme… of all people, well, I didn’t know what to think.