Liam: Branded Brothers (24 page)

Charla turned back to the piece of paper. “There’s some
writing on here. It’s faded, but it looks like it says
Thanks
something
with a smiley face.”

“Antonio,” Jerry finished. “Thanks Antonio. That was the
name of the guy Mickey accused of murdering Jimmy. Antonio was found two days
later floating face down in Charles river. I can only guess someone from the
Irish crew was responsible. They never found out who did it though. There’s
that retribution thing again. Caused a huge rift between the two groups, or at
least that’s what I read. Boston was never the same after that.”

“Jimmy Bourke’s body was found seven blocks from there,” Paul
said, holding up his phone. “In a back alley.”

“The Italian side of town,” Jerry added.

“That’s the proof,” Charla whispered.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Jerry said. “It puts Antonio in
the location where Jimmy was murdered. If anything, it’s the opposite. It’s
further proof he could have done it.”

“Not if he was eating while the murder happened,” Charla
said. “This has to be it. Why else would Jack keep this?”

“Why would he be in the Italian part of the city anyway?” Paul
asked, leaning against the door frame.

“Unless he suspected something,” Charla finished, looking
over at Jerry.

Jerry slowly shook his head and took the receipt in his
hand. “I don’t know. It seems like a stretch.”

“I agree,” Charla replied. “But there was something the man
at the cabin wanted and bad. Bad enough he wanted to know where I brought all
Jack’s stuff.”

“But he’s dead. It’s been over twenty years,” Paul said. “No
one is going to dig up that stuff anymore.”

“Except for the mafia,” Jerry said. “They are the only ones
that care. It’s about the legacy -”

BANG.

A loud thud resounded from the back of the apartment. Jerry’s
hand shot to his holster as he stood up in one smooth movement. He pulled out
the gun and held it steady in front of him. “Stay here. I’ll go check it out.”

“You sure you don’t want me to come with? I can get a gun
from Liam’s safe…” Paul motioned his head toward the black box next to Liam’s
bed.

“Not a chance in hell,” Jerry replied without missing a
beat. “Just stay here. I’m sure it wasn’t anything.”

He crept down the hall and vanished into the kitchen.

“What time is it?” Charla whispered.

“A couple minutes before nine,” he whispered back, sliding
through his screens on his phone. “I’m sure they’ll call in a little bit to
tell us they got him. See right here?” He pointed to a pinpoint on a map. “This
is where Liam is. I’m tracking his phone and this tells me he’s right by the
bar. I’m sure they’re waiting for the right second to get him.”

“I hope so,” Charla whispered.

“Let me see this.” Paul took the receipt from her hand and snapped
a picture. “Put it back in the frame.” He handed it back to her, his eyes
steady on her. She could see the nervousness in his face. She guessed she
didn’t look much better. “In case.”

“In case,” she repeated, tucking the paper back into its
original spot and placing the cardboard over it. She carefully folded the tabs
back and then crept up to open the top drawer of his dresser. She tucked it
under Liam’s clothes and shut the drawer. “Nothing’s going to happen here. It
can’t, right? With all those people in the bar below us, they wouldn’t think of
coming here. There’s no way they could get -”

BANG.

The sound of Liam’s kitchen door shutting echoed through the
apartment making both Charla and Paul jump. She shot him a sideways glance,
wondering how he could be so different than his brothers.

“Jesus,” Paul whispered. “I’m jumpy as hell.”

The sound of footsteps followed. They were soft at first and
then a clattering echoed in their ears.

“A kitchen chair,” she whispered. She shot off the bed and
ran to the door, shutting and locking it quietly. The sound of a struggle and
grunts followed.

“Fuck me,” Paul said, appearing next to her. He hit the
keypad on his phone and dialed nine. Charla’s hand stopped him.

“Just wait a sec,” she said, putting her ear to the door.
“You don’t know if Jerry’s getting the best of him.”

The struggle and grunting stopped.

“I don’t hear anything,” she whispered.

“Charla, I’m not screwing around anymore,” Paul whispered
back, holding up his phone. “I’m not about to get murdered in this bedroom.
We’re talking about the mafia for fuck’s sake, Charla. I’m just a nerd from
Blackwell. I sit in front of computer and develop crap people pay a shit ton of
money for. I’m not cut out for this shit. Fuck excitement.”

“Fine,” she whispered back.

“Charla,” a man’s voice called through the door. He sounded
close, on the other side of the door. She stepped back, recognizing the voice
from earlier. Fear coursed through her. “Remember me, Charla? I hope you’re not
calling the police because we made a promise. I don’t break promises.”

She grabbed Paul’s phone and ended his call before he could
finish dialing.

“It’s him,” she whispered.

“Fuck,” Paul whispered back. He held up his phone again and
slid through the screen.

She grabbed his hand and violently shook her head.

“Liam,” Paul mouthed, quickly tapping through the screens to
send a text message.

“Charla,” the man said again as the door handle jiggled from
the other side. He tapped the wood lightly with three slow knocks. “Open up.”

She wasn’t going to let this bastard in. She stepped away
from the door slowly and made her way around the bed to the safe. She motioned Paul
over.

“Charla,” the man warned, his voice dropping a level lower.
“Don’t make me do this the hard way. I know you have what I’m looking for.”

He banged on the door three times again, hard and fast. “I’ll
fucking break this door down.”

Her hand shook as she swung open the safe to reveal a loaded
gun just as Liam had left it.
Emergency only
, he had warned them both as
he showed them how to take off the safety.

“This is a fucking emergency,” she whispered as she grabbed
it and flicked off the safety. She pointed it at the door, her hands shaking as
the man pounded on the door.

“Loosen your arms,” Paul whispered Liam’s instructions,
pushing gently on her forearms.

“You want to do it?” She hissed back. The pounding at the
door grew louder and more violent.

“Fuck it,” Paul said, moving behind her. “What if he shoots
through the door?”

“Maybe I should first,” Charla whispered, placing her finger
gently on the trigger.

“You don’t know if he has Jerry,” Paul warned in her ear
before he rolled across the bed and leaned against the wall closest to the
door. He motioned her over with quick wave of his hand as the pounding on the
door suddenly stopped.

The dull thud of music and voices from the bar below filled
the room as Charla maneuvered herself across the bed and next to Paul against
the wall. Just as she took aim at the door, a sudden BANG echoed through the
room.

Before she could release her finger on the trigger, a black
figure appeared and pulled her arms up in one fluid motion. The gun exploded in
her hands, the pop ringing in her ears as a bullet shot through the ceiling.
She winced as a pain radiated in her gut, her body crumbling beneath the man’s
boot. Her hands immediately released the gun, the heavy metal clanking against
the floor. She doubled over in pain.

Paul lunged forward, reaching for the gun when a boot
stepped on his hand. He fell to the ground, wincing as he tried to move his
hand beneath the boot, but the man dug his heel down. “OW,” Paul yelled.

“Don’t fucking move,” the man barked as he picked up Liam’s
gun. He held two guns in his hands now, pointing one at Paul and the other at
Charla. He shook his head when he realized they couldn’t move even if they
wanted to. She was still doubled over in pain and Paul was pinned to the
ground. He let out a low laborious breath before talking again. “If you don’t
want me to blow your heads off, you’ll do what I tell you, understand?”

“Yeah,” Paul said quickly. “Whatever you want.”

Charla nodded, trying to straighten her body. She looked up
to see the man from the cottage staring back at her with his green eyes, his
face completely exposed now. His face was smooth except for a small scar
slashed in his eyebrow. His jaw was thick, his muscles taut beneath his fair
skin. He had thick black hair that matched his clothes. Her eyes caught a
silver chain around his neck that disappeared into this tight black shirt. His
lip twitched up as she studied him.

He took step toward her and brushed the gun against her
cheek in a slow, sweeping motion. She held her breath and flinched. “On the
bed,” he barked, motioning them over with the guns. He walked over to the safe
and looked in, somehow missing the bag. “Any more guns?”

Charla and Paul both shook their heads.

“Phones on the bed,” he ordered. They obliged, setting their
phones out in front of them. “Anyone else in the apartment?”

“No,” Charla said, looking out the door for any sign of
Jerry.

“He’s in the kitchen,” the man said, surveying the room. He
set Liam’s gun on the dresser and started opening the drawers.

His head perked up just in time to see Charla and Paul
exchange looks of panic. Charla was sure she hadn’t heard a gunshot. She looked
at the gun in the man’s hand, recognizing the long cylinder attachment she’d
seen in movies.
A silencer.
She swallowed hard, her chest tightening.

The man looked down at the gun and then back at Charla. “Don’t
worry your pretty little head. He’s just passed out. The old ones go down
pretty easy.”

She breathed a sigh of relief and watched as he flung open
each drawer and dug through Liam’s clothes.

“Where is it?” He turned around to face them, pointing the
gun back and forth between them. “Who should I take out first?”

“In the safe,” Paul said. “The bag’s in the safe.”

The man’s eyes narrowed before he walked to the safe and
reached in to retrieve the bag. He held it up. “This? You think this is what
I’m looking for?”

He tossed it on the bed and pointed the gun at Paul. “Open
it.”

“It’s all there,” Paul said as he unzipped the bag. “And I
can get you more if you need it. I can match this… ”

The man lowered the gun and cocked his head. “You can match
this?”

“Yeah, I need a day or two,” Paul said, pulling the stacks
of cash out of the bag and holding them up.

The man took a stack in his hand and turned it over,
inspecting it closely. Then a loud rumble erupted from his mouth. “I don’t have
a day or two.”

“I could get it faster,” Paul rushed, reaching for his
phone. “I need to make a few phone calls.”

“Don’t move,” the man interrupted as he tossed the stack on
the bed. He pulled the bag open and examined the contents, filtering through
the stacks. “That’s it. That’s all there is?”

“It’s all there,” Charla added. “All 250 grand.”

“You lied,” he said, pointing the gun back at her. “We had a
deal.”

“I didn’t know about the money until a few hours ago. I had
no idea what you were looking for this morning,” she stuttered. “I didn’t lie.
I had no idea. You have to believe me.”

“I’m not looking for money,” he said. “Tell me where it is.”

A rise of panic welled in her chest as she forced herself to
keep a steady and cool face. “I don’t know - ”

“You do know,” he said, leaning over to press the barrel
into her forehead. She gasped, trying to keep her eyes open.

“I don’t know - ”

“Charla, I’m losing my patience,” he barked. “Mickey’s not
going to be so forgiving.”

“In the drawer,” she breathed. “The top one.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Charla,” he said, his eyes piercing her
as he leaned in closer. The silver chain hung loose beneath his shirt.

“I’m not,” she whispered.

He finally released the barrel and stepped back.

“Fuck,” Paul muttered under his breath as he grabbed
Charla’s hand. The man fished through the top drawer until his hand suddenly
stopped. He slowly pulled out the framed picture of Jack and Helen. He gazed at
it momentarily before holding it up.

“This? You sure this is what I’m looking for?”

“I think so.” She nodded her head slowly.

“Either you think or you know,” he said, leaning in to her
again. His chain loosened around his neck and a silver medallion popped out of
his shirt. She narrowed her eyes to focus on the small circular shape.

BANG, BANG, BANG. The sudden knock erupted at the back door.
The muffled sound of a woman’s voice followed. “LIAM?”

The man looked back at her with a questioning look. “Who is
it?”

“Gina,” she replied. “She’s the bartender downstairs. She
must have heard the shot…” She looked up at the ceiling to see the hole the
bullet had left in the plaster overhead. “Your medallion…”

“Shut the fuck up,” he warned, pointing the gun at her
again. “This is what you’re going to do. We’re going to walk into the kitchen,
and you tell her everything is fine. You don’t open the door. Tell her Liam
will be back soon and will check in with her. Make any mention of any trouble,
and I shoot bullets through all of your heads. Understand?”

“Yeah,” Paul and Charla both replied. Paul squeezed her hand
before letting it go.

“Walk,” the man ordered as they climbed off the bed. Charla
led them through the hall as he followed with the barrel pointed against the
middle of Paul’s back.

“Stop,” he whispered just as Charla saw Jerry’s still body
in the middle of the kitchen. A single streak of blood ran down the side of his
face, near his eye. The vision brought back to her step-father lying in the
middle of the living room. But this was different. Jerry didn’t deserve to die.
She started to reach out to him, but a hand grabbed her arm and swung her back.