Boston Cream

CHAPTER 12

Sean Daggett and Kieran Clarke were having drinks in leather chairs facing each other across a glass coffee table. Something Kieran had found, a smooth Irish whiskey called Redbreast they were having over ice, one cube each.

“Tell me about McCudden and Walsh,” Sean said. “Are they total fuck-ups or can they not catch a break? First they lose the Jew they’re supposed to grab, now they get beaten up by Canadians. One of them a girl. That makes them 0 for 2.”

Kieran was Sean’s oldest friend from Russell Street, and his best friend left. He had the size Sean lacked, a little over six-two and 20 pounds heavier than when he’d played football-call it 240 now, but still all brick, no mortar. “Walsh says they got suckered. Says the guy rammed them in an alley.”

“What does McCudden say?”

“He ain’t talking yet. Still doped up. Took two pretty good shots.”

“From a Canadian.”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus,” Sean said, shaking his head. “What have I been saying since I started this, Kieran? What’s the one thing I repeated over and fucking over?”

“We need the right guys …”

“Thank you. The right guys. Not a lot of guys. I don’t need an army. Just pros. That’s all I need to get on top of this thing and stay there is solid pros. No showboats. Strong silent types. Last names don’t count, where you came from don’t count. Look at the Italians, they’re all softies coasting on family names. Classic third-generation business failures. But we Irish, Kieran, we’ve got the same fierce genes we always had, we’re still bred for the street in our little packs. We’re still fucking desperate. I know the right guys are out there.”

“They are. McCudden and Walsh are exceptions.”

“No,” Sean said, “they’re examples. Bad luck, trouble, they brought it all. Take care of it, man.”

“Got it.”

“And I want them found.”

“Any particular message?”

“They didn’t talk, so leave their tongues alone.”

“Okay.”

“What says fuck-up best?” Sean asked.

“Two in the head?”

“A classic,” Sean said. “Nice call. Now about these Canadians, what do we know?”

“I’m told they’re PIs from Toronto.”

“And they take out two guys from Southie? Christ. We got names?”

“Jonah Geller and Jenn Raudsepp.”

“What kind of names are those?”

“Raudsepp, who knows. Swedish? She’s tall and blonde, Walsh said.”

“And Jonah Geller?”

“Sounds Jewish to me.”

“Another Jew? What am I, surrounded all of a sudden? Is it National Hebe Week?”

“My mother used to say one of them’s a cheat, two makes a con.”

“Where they’re staying?”

“The Sam Adams.”

“Who have they talked to?”

“The Brookline cops.”

“Who know dick. Who else?”

“They been to the hospital a couple of times. And Geller went out to Somerville.”

“Somerville? Fuck. I’ll show them Somerville. Show them my fucking garage.”

“You serious? You want me to pick them up?”

Sean thought for a moment, swirling around the ice in his drink, and said, “Not yet. We still have our wandering Jew out there. If these PIs are so good they can take out two of our guys, no sweat, maybe they’ll find him for us.”

“We got eyes on them.”

“Good. One last thing now, then I’m out of here. I want to sleep at home with my wife tonight. I spoke to the congressman in the Eighth District, McConnell. He’s all set.”

“He met your price?”

“They all meet my price.”

“Jesus, half a mil. And you don’t leave the house.”

“That’s the beauty of it. The other guy, the Greek. Is he confirmed?”

“He’s in.”

“He’s sure?”

“He’s sure.”

“He can’t not show.”

“He’ll show. He’s eager. He’s a degenerate fucking gambler, needs money like we need air.”

“I told you this thing was going to pan out.”

“You did.”

“We’ll clear over five million the first year. We got no competition, controllable expenses. Very little risk across the board.”

“You did it, pal.”

“I’m not fishing for compliments. I’m saying no more fuck-ups. I want Walsh and McCudden gone. And as soon as these PIs find their fellow Jew, I want them gone. No one left standing.”

“And if they don’t find him?”

“Kill them.”

“Any message there?”

“No. Just make them disappear.”

“Same way as the others?”

“Sure,” Sean said. “Go with what you know.”