12 Rounds (10 page)

Connie shoved the window of coke aside and folded his arms on top of his oak desk. “Sniffing?” He leaned back in his black leather reclining chair, forefinger and thumb on his chin. “And have you been sniffing too?”

Aidan nodded. “They haven’t got anything. But I do think it would be a smart idea to pull some of the runners back. Just for now. Until the feds ease up.”

That would be if they ever eased up.

Connie pondered the idea, but then again he like his money. And if he pulled the runners back from the streets they worked then he wouldn’t see green for a while.

There was a constant turf war that had been going on on the streets for some time  now between the Italians and Puerto Ricans. Connie knew the minute he pulled his guys back would be the day one of the rivals would try and take over his turf. “I think I’ll keep the runners out there. If they’re stupid enough to get themselves arrested, that’s their own damn fault.” Aidan nodded again. To Connie, most of the members of the brotherhood were disposable. Like a piece of plastic being tossed into a wastebasket or trash bag on the curb. If one of his runners got locked up, or worse  wound up dead, he knew it would only be a matter of time before he found a quick replacement.

Connie’s eyes shifted to the clock hanging on the wall. The boy-o was fifteen minutes late. He could hear a few muffled, excited voices bleed through his closed door and he knew that Sean had arrived. The members of the brotherhood looked up to him. Respected him. Connie knew as the years passed just how right he had been in going to the boy after his mother died. He was a natural  leader. And eventually he’d take the organization to the next level.

With that, the leader of the Braithreachas Don Saol stood, grabbed the cocain from the edge of his desk, and walked to the door of his office. Aidan caught him by the arm before he made his exit. “Boss?”

Connie’s eyes bored into the emerald isles of Aidan’s eyes. “Yes, Aidan.”

Aidan scanned his face, a hard edge in his eyes. “Something tells me that the feds might be here because there’s a rat in our midst.”

Connie smiled. He had thought of this too. It wouldn’t be the first time. He patted Aidan’s forearm and said, “Aidan, you know what we do with rats.” Aidan gave him a slight nod then pressed his lips into a straight line.

Yes, everyone knew what Connor Doyle did with rats if he caught them. And sadly, catching rats didn’t involve putting them back in their cages.

Chapter Thirteen

~Sean~

The first time I attended a sit down, I was eight years old.

I walked in with my da and sadly, I was the only Reilly man to walk out.

Except I wasn’t a man yet, and even though I didn’t see him die I always suspected that Connie had something to do with it. I remember mentioning it to Ma and she replied with, “Don’t you go accusing anybody of anything Sean Patrick Reilly when you don’t have proof.”

There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t think of that day. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t remember hearing the echo of a gunshot and then Aidan telling me my da had to go away before bringing me home.

When Aidan delivered me to the doorstep one thing I’ll never forget is the look on my Ma’s face when Adian whispered something into her ear. She was hurt. She felt betrayed that Da had kept his life in the brotherhood a secret from her. And I’m sure if she knew he was taking me to a sit down she would have intervened somehow. That was one of the downsides of the living in the US when the rest of your family was back in Ireland. My Ma didn’t like daycare and we had a sitter for the nights my parents went out together, but other than that either Ma or Da took turns watching us. Ma had to take Teagan to dance lessons the day Da brought me to the sit down.

Sometimes I ask myself why he brought me in the first place? That’s no place for a small child, then again, he couldn’t leave me in the car. Especially in this part of the city. Or maybe he didn’t intend on staying long. To this day, I wish I knew what his motives were.

As I walk into the empty warehouse, I’m greeted by Murph first with a hard clap on the back. “How was training bro?” His deep, booming voice echoes through the open space as we walk toward an area where there is a half circle of brown metal folding chairs.

“You know,” I say.“Same old. Same old. Shadow boxing. Jumping rope. Running. Sparring.” I glance around the open room. Concrete walls. Concrete floors. I’ve always wondered how many former members of the brotherhood are encasted in the cement walls and floors.

There’s a cluster of men in the right corner of the room and as Murph and I move farther in I hear a plethura of
hey’s
  and
what up’s
.  Kyle Barber, a new recruit like Murph, with chin length dirty blonde hair and a thin stature  strolls over to me with a confident swagger and slaps me a high five. “Hey Right Hook,” he pulls me in for a short, half-hug, “how’s that smokin hot sister of yours? You talk to her lately?”

“Barber, you go so much as a hundred feet near my sister and I’ll cut your dick off,” I say with all seriousness.

“Easy man.” He raises his arms and backs up. “I was just bustin your balls.”

There are three kinds of women in a man s life that you never fuck with; His mother. His sister or sisters. Or his girl. Now my Ma has been deceased seven years. God rest her soul. I don’t have a girl and I’m not sure if I ever will so we can cross that off the list. But I do have a sister.

And nobody fucks around with Tee.

Nobody.

Unless they have a death wish.

I’m greeted by the rest of the members of the brotherhood. Mo a guy in his mid 60’s who has been in the Braithreachas since before Connie joined up pats my shoulder before taking a seat. He handles all the finances for tax purposes. Point blank, aside from the drug trafficking, Connie owns a lot of shit. Of course he never fills us in on exactly what he owns, but he never had to specify for me to know he’s loaded.

Next I’m greeted by Big Sam, a   bald guy who is about the same height as Murph, but nearly double him in girth. Connie uses him for detailing and security things. If I saw someone Big Sam’s size coming at me, hell I might be a little terrified too. That is if I was lacking a weapon.

Lastly, Papa Jay, the oldest member of the brotherhood, almost seventy, gives  me a pat on the back and a heart warming smile. He’s like the grandfather to us all and the brains behind everything. He’s one of the founding members of the Braithreachas.

 There are three more newbies lingering on my far right, but I’ve never met them. Since I’ve started boxing my involvement with all things brotherhood have been less frequent. I don’t bother introducing myself to them either. I know from experience that newbies don’t usually last very long in the Braithreachas Don Saol.

My eyes find Papa Jay as he takes a seat across from me. I’ve always wondered why he  never took over the reign of the organization after the last leader bit the dust, but I’ve never asked. I’ve been around him since I was a kid and I figured if he ever wanted me to know that bit of information, he’d tell me.

Finally Connie and Aidan emerge from the back room and Connie’s eyes immediately zone in on me. “You’re late, boy-o.”

I stare at the square plate of glass he’s holding for a second then my eyes climb back up to his face. “I couldn’t help it,” I tell him, taking a seat. “I had training and it ran over.”

Connie’s eyes cut into me and narrow for a second. I know this is his way of giving me some kind of warning, so I say nothing in return. “Welcome brothers!” Connie announces, his arms raised, his eyes scanning the room. “Before we get started I’ve got some product for you all to sample. Even better blow than what we’ve been selling on the streets before.” Connie hands the glass with the already cut white lines to Big Sam. Big Sam puts his nose to the white line on the end, inhales deeply then passes the glass over.

The rest of the brothers follow suit and when glass finally reaches me, I pass it along without doing my line. Look, it’s not like I’m staright-laced or anything. Hell, me and Mary Jane danced together in high school.

Almost every day.

But I’ve never been too keen on blow and how it makes you feel. Fuck, I’m high on life. I don’t need the added stimulant.

Connie eyes me warily. “Boy-o, aren’t you going to sample the new product?” If my skin was glass, I swear Connie’s eyes would cut right through it.

I glance around the group and every one  is fucking with their noses, either pinching them or sticking their fingers up their nostrils. A few guys have some white residue on their fingers and rub into their gums. “Nah, Connie.” I wave him off with a simple hand gesture. “I’m good. Joe has really been on my ass lately.” But that’s only part of the truth. The other part is even though I’ve sampled the new product a few times in the past I never really wanted to. At least now I have an excuse as to why I can’t.

Much to my surprise, Connie starts clapping and then he laughs, “That’s right, we wouldn’t want to corrupt The Pride of Cleveland!” The rest of the group joins in with his laughter and I scowl. Even Murph is laughing and when Connie turns his head I elbow the big buffoon  in the gut.

What I’d really like to say is
go ahead and laugh mother fuckers
, but I’m the one who’ll be laughing in the end.

Laughing all the way to the fucking bank.

“Jokes aside,” Connie continues. “We’ve got bigger problems on our hands.” Loud chatter errupts through the room.

“It’s those God damned Italians again ain’t it?” Mo grunts and folds his arms across his chest. “Those assholes don’t know the meaning of covered turf.”

Every ethnicity seems to have their own agenda or organization. The Italians and Irish have had a turf war in these parts for decades. We try to regulate when we get the Italians trying to sell their shitty blow to our customers, but sometimes we lose a few customers. One customer lost is one too many in Connie’s eyes.

“Sadly,” Connie says. “The Italians are the least of our problems.” He pauses briefly to clear his throat. “We’ve been outed gentlemen. There’s a rat among us.”        Every man in the room eyes one another suspiciously. Then Big Sam speaks up, “How can you be sure?”

“The feds are back in town. We’ve seen em around.”

“But that doesn’t mean anything,” Kyle adds. “They could be here for the Italians for all we know.”

“True,” Connie notes. “Good point, boy-o, but I do know that the only times the feds come sniffing around is when they’ve been given a tip off. So if I weed out the Italians that means someone in this organization is responsible for that tip off.”

My eyes sweep over each face in the room one more time and I think about what’s going to happen to that rat when Connie catches him.

When the sit down concludes Connie strolls over to me and pulls me aside, “Boy-o, can I speak with you for a minute?”

“Sure Uncle Connie.” I only call him Uncle Connie when the rest of the guys aren’t around. He has this thing about me calling him that in front of everyone. He thinks it’s disrespectful, and undermines his authority as the king-pin of the brotherhood.

He walks to the right corner of the room and I follow. When I’m at his side he faces me, his bright green eyes burn into mine. “Something going on with you, boy-o? You’ve been acting distant lately.”

He studies me closely and it makes me nervous. Even though this man says he considers me family, I’ve come to learn that he considers no one to be his real family and we’re all just pawns in his deadly game of
let’s see who can make Connor Doyle the most money.
“I’ve just got a lot on my mind,” I say quickly. “You know, with my upcoming fight and everything.” On top of that I got this press thing at the mall in a few hours that I completely forgot about.

He’s quiet for a moment and when Connie is quiet it puts me on edge. When I’ve seen him like this in the past it’s usually right before he puts a bullet into someone’s head. But he only pats my shoulder, “I see.” He’s quiet again. Then he grips my shoulder hard.

Too hard for it to be friendly.

Not hard enough for it to be threatening.

Just enough to send a message.

“I just want to remind you that you took an oath boy-o and that your loyalties with this brotherhood should be a priority.”

In other words, this is you first and only warning.

Fuck with me again or fuck up again…

And I’ll end you.

Chapter Fourteen

~Hadlee~

I stand outside my place of employment with Lara.

The mall is busy today and several crowds of people pass us. Noisy chatter fills up the wide corridor along with the sound of plastic shopping bags crinkling. “So I'm finished before you tonight how is that going to work?” My car has been in the shop for what feels like decades and on top of that I don't like to go outside at night by myself. I feel bad that Lara has been my chauffeur for the last month, but every time I ask her she seems to be okay about it.

Lara purses her lips. “I'm closing by myself tonight, so just come down when you're finished.”

“All right. See you in about four hours,” I groan as I look over my shoulder at the people in line for their caffeine fix.

Lara laughs and starts backing away. “I'm not jealous of you right now at all.”

“Ha.Ha.”

“Hey!” she shouts before turning in the opposite direction. “The sports store across from me is having some kind of sale or something, so it might be a little crazy.”

“Thanks for the warning!” I shout. Lara turns her back to me and waves before disappearing into the sea of shoppers. I stare down the line of customers and think about running the opposite direction. Damn it. I wish I didn't need the extra money so much. 

I enter the break room at work to find my manager, Ryan, mumbling incoherently, hands on his hips, pacing back and forth. He catches sight of me and dashes toward me, taking me by the hands. “Oh thank God you're early,” he says. “Have you seen it out there? It’s a damn war zone!”