The Untouchables(126)

—Isaiah Berlin





LIAM

I needed to see my son. I hated being away from him for so long. It had only been two hours, but a lot can happen in that short amount of time…like your wife could be kidnapped from her hospital room. I had to make it fucking clear that this was not the time for people to be plotting against me in Italian restaurants. In fact, there was never a fucking time for that shit. Declan opened the door for me and the wind blew harshly around us. I knew he was ready to back me up, but I neither needed nor wanted him to.

“Declan, wait out back in case someone decides to run,” I told him before walking in.

Just as I thought; the place was packed, and when I entered the hostess froze. She must have been the one who answered the phone earlier. Without a word, she pointed to the double doors that led to the kitchen.

“Clear this place out, now,” I said. She gave a quick nod as she followed me.

Some of them seemed to get it, and abandoned their meals and threw their bills onto their tables before exiting.

“Excuse me, you can’t be in here, Sir,” a young boy yelled, lifting his hands from the dishwater. The chef came over quickly, smacking him over the head and nodding towards the last pair of double doors. On the ground was a man choking for air, spitting up blood. The three men dressed in black suits and shiny shoes jumped at my entrance, guns pointed and ready in my direction.

Lifting my wrist, I glanced at my watch.

“Go ahead,” I said. “Pull the trigger.”

I could see it in their eyes that they really wanted to kill me but were physically incapable of doing so. The guns fell from their hands and I simply walked over to the empty chair the now dead man had knocked over. Stepping over him and lifting his cards, I leaned back.

“It’s a pity,” I said. “I was hoping the pancuronium bromide wouldn’t have kicked in so soon. I told her to put it in your drinks after an hour, she seemed a bit eager.” Throwing a pair of threes into the center of the poker table, I looked into all of their dark eyes. “It’s getting harder to find good help these day. Your friend here might have had a bad reaction.”

“You poisoned us,” one of them said.

“No, I paralyzed you so that we can all have this conversation. Who the fuck do you think I am?” Taking a gun from the table, I shot the fucker in the gut. I watched as the blood pooled into his shirt and bled onto his tie before he rolled to the ground.

“I don’t fucking understand,” I said. “The point of my and Melody’s marriage was to stop the bloodshed between my people and yours. Yet, here I am.”

The oldest man with his hair slicked back grimaced as much as the drug would allow.

“Stop acting,” he said. “We know you killed her. You fucking Irish can’t ever be trusted.”

Something in me snapped, and before he took a breath, I stood. Taking the chair I had just been sitting in, I broke it against his face. It collapsed as I hammered the broken pieces into his body as he lay helplessly on the floor, screaming but incapable of doing anything else.

“You don’t fucking know shit!” I roared down at him, as my blood boiled over. My hands were shaking with so much rage that what was left of the chair slipped out of my grasp. But I didn’t stop; I lifted my foot and slammed it into his head.

“You aren’t shit,” I said. “You are the scum on the bottom of my feet. Not fucking worthy to wipe my ass. How fucking dare you accuse me!”

CRACK.

His face tore open and I could see bits of his brain pouring out. Wiping the blood off my face, I turned to the two sitting at the table. The man I shot was still taking deep breaths while the other stared wide-eyed at the old man, trying his best take in what just happened.

“You all disgust me. You came to my wedding, promised loyalty to my wife, and by relation to me as well. Yet, here you are, like roaches in a dark room plotting against me. You all hurt me, and when I hurt, so does everyone else.”

“Callahan, what were we supposed to think?” one of them asked.

“You aren’t supposed to think!” Grabbing him by his neck, I glared into his eyes. “I fucking think. Melody fucking thinks, you don’t.”

“I—”

“You’re lucky I’ve already shot this one.” I pointed to the bleeding man in his chair. “Which means you get to live. You are going to be my little messenger. After the drugs wear off, you’re going to tell every last fucking man, woman and child what happened here. Until I am dead—and only when I’m dead—am I out of this game. Until then, I fucking own you. Are we clear?”

His face was void of all emotion, but he nodded. Taking the gun, I held it at his kneecap before pulling the trigger. He wouldn’t feel it that much, but it would hurt like a bitch in a few hours.