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“Ya tink he’s gonna believe ya after ya lied to his face the other night,” Finnegan asked, laughing. “How is he gonna believe a lying little boy over his oldest friend and the Clover’s first Warlord? Nah, lad. Ya can scream it fer all I care.” He reached out and tussled Issac’s hair. “No one is gonna believe ya, Issac. May as well be a good boy fer me and don’t cause any mischief.”
It was such a familiar touch, the hand in his hair, how it pressed and twisted to make a mess of the curls. If Issac closed his eyes he could be a little boy again being teased by his uncle who laughed when he whined about his hair tangling, instead of tied to a chair in front of his parents’ murderer. “Damn you,” he whimpered. He couldn’t pretend. Everything that had ever gone wrong in his life was caused by the man in front of him and he would not pretend, no matter how much it hurt.
“Yer too old for cryin’, haven’t I told ya before,” he said, his thumbs roughly wiping under Issac’s eye. “No matter how hard yer day is, ya gotta be tougher than that.”
“I hate you,” Issac breathed, dropping his eyes to the ground.
“Ya don’t mean that,” Finnegan told him, standing up and rustling his hair again. “But I’ll forgive ya for it. That’s what family does after all. Forgive each other. And you’ve always been my favorite nephew.”
Issac said nothing. Felinus will be here soon, he told himself. His head dropped forward even though it made it harder to breathe. Felinus will come for me and he’ll kill anyone who gets in his way. He could say the words, but he couldn’t make himself believe it. He had stopped trusting other people years ago; no matter how much he had opened up to Felinus, it had only been a week that they had known each other. Why would the Cat stick his neck out for someone like him? If anyone was coming it was going to be the Russians, and there was no guarantee that they wouldn’t simply kill everyone in the pub, himself included.
Finnegan pulled out his phone when the speaker crackled to life. Out in the pub the drinking music that always played cut off suddenly. A guitar riff replaced it on both speakers.
“Who fucking touched the radio,” someone roared from the other room. “Tommy?”
“It wasn’t me, I swear,” the teenager shouted back.
“Good evening, everyone,” Snake’s voice said as the guitar faded away. Issac felt his heart race as he looked at the speaker. “Thank you for joining us for this very special program.”
“The fuck is this,” another man said from the pub room.
“My name is Snake, and I’m here to give this important news bulletin to one Finnegan Ian O’Riley and all the Clovers currently with him.”
Someone ran down the hall and Jake opened the door. “Finnegan, what’s going on?”
“Shut it,” Finnegan breathed, his eyes on the speaker.
“We have gotten word that open season on O’Riley and his men has been issued at this time,” Snake’s voice continued, actually sounding like a radio news reporter, “and that all other Clovers and clans have been ordered to stand down and hunker in as Russian and Italian hunting parties are allowed in the Irish Ring.”
Jake’s eyes went wide and his hand shot into his pocket to pull out his phone as Snake continued.
“The Italian Cat has stated that if O’Riley and his crew want to see sunrise, he will give them this one single chance to do so. Issac Maus is to be freed immediately and allowed to walk out alone to him. Doing this will spare you from his wrath.”
Finnegan scoffed. “Mercy from the Cat,” he sneered, glancing at Issac. “He must be softer than people say.”
“This is not a mercy,” Snake said and Finnegan’s eyes snapped back to the speaker. “Releasing Issac will only end the Cat’s hunting for the evening. You might be able to use the time after cutting Issac free to fuck off yourselves and go hide in a different hole from the Russians, who are none too pleased with you for shooting at Little Volkov and hurting his friend. I don’t really know how effective they are at hunting down rats in the sewers,” he said the last bit with scorn, “but I’m sure someone there wants to take the chance. Do the right thing. Release our little mouse.”
“Finnegan,” Jake said, looking from the speaker to Issac to the Irishman. “What do we do?” He held up his phone, a large “X” with a younger picture of Finnegan on the screen. “They’re right about the open season on you. We need-”
“Ya need,” Finnegan snapped, glaring at the younger man, “to shut up and make sure everyone is armed. No one is leaving! They are probably broadcasting this to every hangout-”
Snake suddenly rattled off an address, and Jake paled as Finnegan’s neck and face went red. Issac recognized the street name, the one he walked so often with his Dad on the way to the pub after school. “O’Hare knows what you did, O’Riley,” he said, his voice lowering dangerously. “He’s requested that the Cat do whatever he wants with you so long as he makes it hurt. You have til the end of the song to let Issac go or we will make you regret every moment of the last fifteen years since you betrayed them both.” Another rock song started playing so loud that the speakers crackled in the main room with the effort.
“Fin-”
“Get everyone armed,” Finnegan ordered.
“What about Tom-”
“Him, too! It’s about time for him to earn his Clover anyway.” He shoved the man hard in the chest when he didn’t move. “NOW!”
Jake stumbled back but didn’t fall, and quickly started to shout orders as he moved towards the front.
Finnegan took a deep breath and removed the gun from its holster. “Where’s the tracker, lad?”
Issac said nothing, his heart racing as a smile grew on his face. Felinus was coming. Felinus was going to kill Finnegan and, by the sounds of it, it wasn’t going to be a quick death. Felinus was coming.
His former uncle spun on the spot and stormed over to Issac, pressing the barrel of the gun against his forehead. “Ya smug little twat,” he snapped. “Was this yer plan this entire time?”
