Family Honor

Chapter 29

I was sitting with Bucko Meehan again, but this time Richie was with me. We were in a place off Rutherford Avenue which claimed that its steak tips were world-famous. Bucko was eating some. Richie and I were having coffee.

“Are they really world-famous?” I said.

Bucko drank some beer.

“They’re great,” he said. “You oughta try some.”

“Not today.”

“How’s the family?” Bucko said to Richie.

“Fine,” Richie said.

“Your father?”

Richie nodded.

“Your uncle?”

“Actually I got, as you know, five uncles,” Richie said. “All of them are fine.”

“Good,” Bucko said, “good to hear that.”

“My uncle Ernie was asking about you the other day,” Richie said.

“He was? What?”

“Asking what I thought of you.”

“Why’s he want to know?”

Richie shrugged.

“You know Ernie,” Richie said. “Doesn’t talk a lot about things. Just asked my opinion of you.”

“What’d you say?”

“Said I didn’t have much opinion. Mostly just heard that you had talked to Sunny and hadn’t been helpful.”

“Sunny? Her?” Bucko nodded at me.

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t know she was a friend of yours, Richie.”

“Now you do,” Richie said.

I never knew how Richie got so much menace into things he said. He was very still, as he nearly always was. His voice was quiet. His face was calm.

“She was with a cop, Rich.”

“Un huh.”

“I was willing to help,” Bucko said. “I just didn’t have any answers.”

“Un huh.”

Bucko looked at me. I smiled adorably. Like Meg Ryan.

“I was wondering if you had any idea how Terry Nee ended up at my door with a gun?” I said.

“Like I told you...”

“Bucko,” Richie said.

“Honest to God, Richie, I don’t have a fucking clue.”

“Bucko,” Richie said.

“I don’t.”

“Think of it as me asking you, Buck.”

“I unnerstan’ that, Richie, but I don’t.”

“Think of what I’m going to have to tell my Uncle Ernie when he asks about you.”

“If I knew why Ernie was asking...” Bucko said.

Richie was quiet. I did my Meg Ryan smile again. Bucko had stopped eating his steak tips. A waitress came by and freshened our coffee cups. I added Equal and milk to mine. Richie added cream and sugar to his.

“Think about it this way,” Richie said. “I’m asking you who sent Terry Nee to try and kill my wife.”

“Your wife?”

“Ex,” I said.

“Terry kicked my dog, too,” Richie said. “And naturally I want to know how that came about. And I know Terry was with you.”

“I didn’t send him, Richie, I swear to Christ.”

“I’m sure you didn’t, Bucks, but you might have lent him to somebody and I’m going to find out who.”

“She’s ex anyway, ain’t she?” Bucko said. “Didn’t she just say that?”

Richie leaned across the table and put his hand on Bucko’s forearm.

“She’s family,” Richie said. “As much as my father and my uncles and my brothers and me.”

Richie didn’t seem to be squeezing, but Bucko didn’t seem able to get his arm away.

“You lent Terry Nee to somebody, didn’t you?” Richie said softly.

Bucko was silent. I knew what was going on. He was trying to decide who he wanted mad at him. Richie’s family, or the man who’d sent Terry Nee. He looked around the restaurant.

“Your word, you don’t tell him where you got it?” Bucko said.

The devil who has hold of your forearm is better than the devil who’s not around.

“My word,” Richie said.

“Me too,” I said.

“Cathal Kragan,” Bucko said.

I looked at Richie. Richie shrugged.

“Who’s Cathal Kragan,” I said.

“Guy,” Bucko said.

I opened my mouth. Richie shook his head so briefly that I was sure only I had seen him. We waited.

“He represents some people,” Bucko said. “I don’t know who they are. But I see him around and I owe him a favor and he says he needs a little scuffle work done, nothing heavy, couple broads. And I say I can put him in touch with Terry and he says fine and so I do.”

Bucko sat back as if he’d just said three Hail Marys and made a good Act of Contrition.

“Where do we find Cathal?” Richie said.

“He’s around,” Bucko said. “You know?”

“Can you get in touch with him?” I said.

Bucko shook his head.

“You know who he works for?” I said.

Bucko shook his head.

“But you’re scared of them?”

“Don’t know nothing about them,” Bucko said. “I’m scared of Cathal.”

“What’s he look like?” I said.

“Thick,” Bucko said. “Like me, a little shorter, gray hair. Got hands like a stonemason. Funny voice.”

“Funny how?”

“I don’t know exactly. It’s real deep.”

Richie took his hand off Bucko’s forearm.

“My Uncle Ernie will be glad to hear you were helpful,” Richie said.

“Give him my best,” Bucko said. “Your father, too.”

“Sure,” Richie said.

We stood. Richie dropped a hundred-dollar bill on the table.

“No, no, Richie,” Bucko said. “I got it.”

Richie took my arm and we walked away without answering.

“You ever hear of Cathal Kragan?” I said in the car.

“Nope.”

We were crossing the Charlestown Bridge.

“What kind of name is Cathal?” I said.

“Irish,” Richie said. “There was a guy during the troubles named Cathal Brugha.”

“How do you know that?” I said.

“I read a book.”

“Well,” I said. “Good for you.”

And we laughed together as we passed the Fleet Center and Richie turned right onto Causeway Street.