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Uncle Sean purposely had me take this precise route as I was to be on lookout for any Doyles, keeping dick on us. The coast was clear.
He laughs, appearing amused. “Sorry ’bout that. But we had to keep it low key.”
“No worries. So what’s the plan?” I ask, keeping my cool.
“The lorry should be here in”—he peers down at his gold watch—“four and a half minutes.”
“And then what? You were a little vague on the details.”
“Ach, bucko, why’re ye askin’ so many questions? Anyone would think ya were nervous.”
Something is different about Liam. His usual cockiness is replaced with urgency. Something is wrong.
“Nope, what would I have to be nervous about?” I ask, watching Liam closely.
He reaches into his pocket, while I’m ready to reach for my gun. But when he lights a cigarette, I tell myself to calm the fuck down.
Taking his time, he shrugs. “Don’t know…maybe ’cause yer not who ye say y’are.”
Fuck…
The van door opens and out steps a man who is about to change the course of everything.
Here stands Brody Doyle—the fucker who was involved with Ma and could be my father. When I see him, I’m instantly hit with the air of authority all men in power hold. Connor’s is almost suffocating, but Brody’s is different.
Unlike Connor, Brody is a chameleon. He draws people in with a fake smile, a pleasant demeanor, but I know these are just tricks he’s mastered to lure in his prey. He’s tall, in good shape, I can see why Mum may have fallen for his charms. I look for any similarities between us, but I refuse to believe that I’m his son.
“Hello, son.”
Does he mean that term literally?
These are just tricks men like him play. I know better. I need to get it together.
“What’s up?” I casually say with a wave. The lorry will be here soon. I just need to stall them until then.
“Nice to finally meet ya.” His accent is smooth, refined.
He offers his hand, and the moment we shake, rage overtakes me.
“You too. You’re Liam’s father? I recognize your voice,” I say, playing coy. But we both know he didn’t come up the Lagan in a bubble.
“I admire yer tenacity, lad, but let’s stop the bullshit.”
“I’m sorry?”
Four minutes…
Brody smiles, but there is nothing pleasant about the gesture. “I know you, do I not?”
“Nope. Don’t think so,” I reply, not disguising my annoyance.
Brody examines me. I wonder what he sees. “We’ve got a lot to talk about. But I cannot do that with ye lying to me. I can hardly call ye Mike when that’s not your name.”
“Who do you think I am then?” I pose, as I want to uncover how much he actually knows.
Liam’s footsteps announce he is getting closer and closer to me.
“I don’t think, lad, I know yer a Kelly. Puck Kelly. I know yer the one who killed my brother and my son. I know ye were the one who painted their faces like ya paint yers. They were at fault for trustin’ ya. They knew better. So does Liam.”
