“Wit will be will be.”
Kieran lifts his draft. The red ale sloshes onto the table. “Shite, that line makes me miss yer mam. Nan hate us?”
“Aye. She hates yer uncle the most, though.”
“Sweetheart.” Kieran grabs the arm of the lass as she places my drink down. Most women would turn around and slug a guy. But his silly smile always penetrates their defenses. With one hand, he smooths his long hair. In the other, he holds up his pint. “Look, look.”
She grins. “Okay, Kieran. You’re still half full. But I’ll be back.”
“Aye, ye will keep sashaying that beautiful arse in my face. Bring him a drink, go back, get me a bevy, go back. I’m nae nugget. I know yer aim, sweetheart, and I got a big fecking tip for ye.” He leans up, fisting his cock.
She sways away.
Kieran turns back to me, slurring, “This is what I deserve, ye deserve. Feck, this is what Erika deserves. A bonny face, a tight arse.”
“So, ye’re saying Erika and I don’tdeserve each other and a fecking bairn, aye?”
His chilly ice chips for eyes narrow further. “Feck ye, Brody. I’m miserable thinking about the engagement party. Who’s yer best man, mate? Ye have a hunner bràthairs. Is one of those nuggets giving ye a bachelor party?”
“Kieran, how drunkare ye, mate? Too soon for a bachelorparty.”I take a pull from the crisp beer. I’ll not be admitting to my old mate that the bevvies are good here, neck and neck with Chevelle’s brew. Shite, I’ll not admit that Twigs has a way with beer at all.
“Have a fecking party every night until ye get yer baws snipped, mate.” Kieran pats my shoulder. “I had nae idea, not the faintest fecking idea. Hank tried to pull one over on ya, Brody.”
I deadpan, “How could ye?”
“Because,” he gestures with his hands, “the arsehole didn’t have the right to execute a bloody order—any bloody fecking order—without addressing Ewan or me. Boston was mine.”
I let him hem and haw about how one side of his clan keeps mum to the other. The chummy shite ain’t there, not like it is with my clan.
“I dealt with him, Brody. That’s how I learned ye were tricked into this engagement.” Kieran gulps his new beer. “Matter of fact, I came from—”
He pauses while I take my cellphone from my jacket pocket. “This is important.”
With a snort, Kieran lifts his drink.
“Hey, Justice,” I answer the phone, sliding out of the booth.
The detective, Nolan, grunts. “Safe to speak?”
“Now, it is.”
“I called Big Brody, nae answer. Nan, same.”
“Wit is it?”
“Someone placed a tip with LA County Sheriff’s Department. It almost flew under the radar,” he says. I recall how we almost had an issue in the past because he’s with the City Police Department. Each entity doesn’t consult with the other, kinda like Clan McFarland.
“Clean yer house, Brody.”
Heated poison shoots down my veins. Clean my house? My eyes find Kieran. The barbershop incident may not have had Ewan McFarland's name on it, but this will. In the past, Kieran and I’ve gotten together here, nae suspicion there. But with this call from Nolan, meeting here feels like a setup to get me out of the way. The McFarlands have made the mistake of their lives, going after our company. The Feds will probably be on us, depending on what the snitch said.
I hang up and ring James. “Trucks need cleaning, now.”
He edges out, “Ye– ye sure?”
Dead serious, I reply, “Just got the call, cousin.”
“Well, I’ll be fecking damned. Knox had his hours cut. He should be out on a local run. Blythe’s local too.”