Irish crowd. “You get a guilty verdict for that wop bastard, Tony Sappresi, you can eat free in South Boston for the rest of your life. Give that son of a bitch a one-way ticket to the federal pen and you can write your own check in this city. You’ve a hankerin’ for City Hall, or just to be a hero in Washington, it’s yours.”
“That didn’t work out so well for John Connolly,” Daniel said, referring to the FBI agent who’d used Irish mob boss Whitey Bulger as an informant back in the ’80s. Not such a bad plan, if not for Connolly’s looking the other way while Whitey broke every city, state, and federal law on the books, then tipping him off before he could be arrested. Whitey had never been caught; Connolly hadn’t fared so well.
“You want to think about your future, Pierce. Boston’ll be a cold city for someone dense enough to piss off the Mafia and the mob, too. My boys’re lookin’ kindly on you at the moment, seein’ as you’re removin’ a thorn from our side—”
“Your boys? You must be talking about the handful of thugs who steal cars and terrorize little old ladies for you, because there’s no way the mob families will line up behind one leader. Too many egos.”
Flynn held his gaze a moment, then laughed. “Things change, Boyo. You’d best keep that in mind.” He glanced over at Patrice, smile gone, the sparkle in his Irish blue eyes turned to a hard glitter. “Your friend is waitin’ for you.”
“Still no love lost, I see.” Patrice’s maiden name was Flynn; Joe was her uncle. And Bobby, her brother, had been the reason Daniel had almost died seven years before.
Patrice had lined up on the side of law and order, not taking an active enough part to testify against her own brother, but trying to make amends for the fact that it was Bobby’s bullets that had narrowly missed Daniel’s heart and shattered the bone in his left thigh. It might as well have been Patrice who’d shot him, she took it that personally.
Any other family would have modeled their behavior after hers. Patrice’s family labeled her a traitor.
Daniel hadn’t been any happier to have her hovering over him day and night. He’d been in pain all of the time, and pissed off about everything. It had been awkward to have a constant reminder of the unwanted detour his life was taking. It had been even worse the day word came down that Bobby Flynn had died, victim of a jailhouse execution, less than two years into a life stretch. By then, Daniel had given up trying to kick Patrice Hanlon out of his life. By then, she’d become the closest thing he had to a friend.
It still didn’t sit easy on Daniel, but he couldn’t avoid the label—and it was better than the one Patrice wanted.
“She’s got balls showing up here, I’ll give her that,” Joe said. “Best watch who you socialize with, Counselor.”
“I’ll take that as a threat.”
Joe measured him for a moment, then boomed out another laugh and walked away, slapping backs, shaking hands, looking for all the world like a man running for office.
Judging by what he’d said, he was, but there wouldn’t be campaign speeches and polls in this kind of election, and anyone stupid enough to vote “no” wouldn’t live to fill out a ballot. If Flynn was successful in uniting the Irish mob, God help the city of Boston.
“Who was that?” Vivi wanted to know.
Daniel let his head drop to his chest. “Just when I managed to forget you were here.”
“It looked like he was threatening you,” she said, still in one-track-mind mode.
“And you’re wondering if he tried to have me killed the other night.”
“It crossed my mind.”
“Joe Flynn doesn’t want me dead. As long as I’m prosecuting Tony Sappresi, this is probably the safest place I can be in the city.”
She didn’t look convinced, and she wasn’t getting his point.
“So you can go home. Unless you want to answer some questions.”
She rolled her eyes. “Are we back to
“That didn’t work out so well for John Connolly,” Daniel said, referring to the FBI agent who’d used Irish mob boss Whitey Bulger as an informant back in the ’80s. Not such a bad plan, if not for Connolly’s looking the other way while Whitey broke every city, state, and federal law on the books, then tipping him off before he could be arrested. Whitey had never been caught; Connolly hadn’t fared so well.
“You want to think about your future, Pierce. Boston’ll be a cold city for someone dense enough to piss off the Mafia and the mob, too. My boys’re lookin’ kindly on you at the moment, seein’ as you’re removin’ a thorn from our side—”
“Your boys? You must be talking about the handful of thugs who steal cars and terrorize little old ladies for you, because there’s no way the mob families will line up behind one leader. Too many egos.”
Flynn held his gaze a moment, then laughed. “Things change, Boyo. You’d best keep that in mind.” He glanced over at Patrice, smile gone, the sparkle in his Irish blue eyes turned to a hard glitter. “Your friend is waitin’ for you.”
“Still no love lost, I see.” Patrice’s maiden name was Flynn; Joe was her uncle. And Bobby, her brother, had been the reason Daniel had almost died seven years before.
Patrice had lined up on the side of law and order, not taking an active enough part to testify against her own brother, but trying to make amends for the fact that it was Bobby’s bullets that had narrowly missed Daniel’s heart and shattered the bone in his left thigh. It might as well have been Patrice who’d shot him, she took it that personally.
Any other family would have modeled their behavior after hers. Patrice’s family labeled her a traitor.
Daniel hadn’t been any happier to have her hovering over him day and night. He’d been in pain all of the time, and pissed off about everything. It had been awkward to have a constant reminder of the unwanted detour his life was taking. It had been even worse the day word came down that Bobby Flynn had died, victim of a jailhouse execution, less than two years into a life stretch. By then, Daniel had given up trying to kick Patrice Hanlon out of his life. By then, she’d become the closest thing he had to a friend.
It still didn’t sit easy on Daniel, but he couldn’t avoid the label—and it was better than the one Patrice wanted.
“She’s got balls showing up here, I’ll give her that,” Joe said. “Best watch who you socialize with, Counselor.”
“I’ll take that as a threat.”
Joe measured him for a moment, then boomed out another laugh and walked away, slapping backs, shaking hands, looking for all the world like a man running for office.
Judging by what he’d said, he was, but there wouldn’t be campaign speeches and polls in this kind of election, and anyone stupid enough to vote “no” wouldn’t live to fill out a ballot. If Flynn was successful in uniting the Irish mob, God help the city of Boston.
“Who was that?” Vivi wanted to know.
Daniel let his head drop to his chest. “Just when I managed to forget you were here.”
“It looked like he was threatening you,” she said, still in one-track-mind mode.
“And you’re wondering if he tried to have me killed the other night.”
“It crossed my mind.”
“Joe Flynn doesn’t want me dead. As long as I’m prosecuting Tony Sappresi, this is probably the safest place I can be in the city.”
She didn’t look convinced, and she wasn’t getting his point.
“So you can go home. Unless you want to answer some questions.”
She rolled her eyes. “Are we back to
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