Page 15 of Blood in the Water
“But it’s not a good starting point,” Will added. “We already tried it once, and we’re still tied up in the bureau’s red tape.”
Christophe nodded his agreement.
“It’s too soon to take out Seamus.” Nolan was almost surprised to hear himself say it. He had no love for Seamus O’Brien, not with what he was doing to Bridget, but while he’d beaten the shit out of more men than he could count, murder was something else. Something to be undertaken seriously, only after all the ramifications had been considered.
“I agree,” Christophe said. “It’s a last resort given O’Brien’s background.”
He didn’t have to spell it out: there was a chance that killing Seamus would bring more former IRA operatives out of the woodwork.
“So that leaves us with the men on the street, undermining Seamus’s control over them,” Nolan said. “Works for me.”
“Will you approach them directly?” Christophe asked.
“Are you fecking crazy?” Will asked. “Jaysus. Are you trying to get us killed?”
“Will’s right,” Nolan said. “We need an opener, a gesture that conveys the possibility of another way without leaving us with our balls hanging out.”
“Any thoughts?” Christophe asked.
Nolan leaned back in his chair. “I thought that was your department. I’m strategy. You’re resources. Right?”
The corners of Christophe’s mouth turned up in a smile. “Let me see what I can do.”
6
Bridget watched from the bar as Rachel made her way back from the bathroom, stopping at one of the tables to flirt with a group of guys Bridget remembered from school.
She’d never been happier to get Rachel’s text asking if she wanted to meet at The Chipp after work. She’d spent the day poring through immigration law, trying to find something in a past ruling that might help her with Jorge’s case, a task that had only been moderately successful in helping her forget about Nolan’s warning the day before.
Things are only going to get more dangerous…
It had been a relief to meet Rachel at The Chipp, a local bar frequented by those who didn’t want to risk wading into Seamus’s territory at the Cat. Sitting in the dimly lit interior, old linoleum underfoot, the old-fashioned Christmas lights that had been up around the mirror behind the bar as long as Bridget could remember, she could almost believe her life wasn’t going to shit.
A raucous round of laughter erupted from the table by the jukebox. Rachel was really turning it on, grinning and laughing and bending down to give the guys a flash of cleavage,even though Bridget knew there wasn’t a chance in hell Rachel was going to end up with a Southie boy. By the time she walked away, they were begging her to stay, clinging onto her hand like little boys trying to hold on to their favorite puppy.
Bridget shook her head as Rachel slid onto the bar stool next to her. “Why do you torture them like that?”
“Oh, come on!” She gave a toss of her dark waves. “They love it and you know it."
Bridget laughed. “They’d love it more if you had the inclination to follow through.”
“Bite your tongue. I’ve worked too hard to get out of here to end up with one of those local yokels.” She leaned over the bar. “Another beer, Der?”
Derry, owner and bartender at The Chipp, gave her a nod and started toward them “You too, Bridge?”
“No thanks.”
He nodded and proceeded to fill a fresh glass for Rachel. “There you go, love.”
“Have I told you how much I love you, Derry?” Rachel took a sip of the beer and licked the foam off her lips. “Because I really, really love you.”
“Psh!” He grinned, his lined face suddenly ten years younger. “Stop it, lass, or I’ll have to call your father.” He looked at Bridget. “Keep this one in line, will you?”
“It’s a losing battle, Der,” Bridget said.
Derry chuckled and moved to the other end of the bar. Bridget had known him since she was a kid, had seen him at mass like everyone else in the neighborhood, Rachel too. Southie was like that, a web of families interconnected through decades and sometimes generations, some forged in America, others dating back to Ireland.
But the neighborhood was changing. Youngprofessionals who couldn’t afford Boston proper were moving into the neighborhood with increasing frequency, renovating the old row houses with custom kitchens and walk-in showers, jacking up housing prices and putting bars like The Chipp out of business as they favored upscale establishments with craft beer and trivia nights.