Blow - Kim Karr Page 0,58
devil in them. “Yeah, that’s him. He’s an attorney.”
“Is he anything like his old man?”
“He has dark hair.” I smiled.
“You know what I mean, smart-ass.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know either of them, but in what way do you mean?”
“Devout Catholic. Never misses a Sunday Mass or a confession. Carries a rosary with him too. In fact, if I recall correctly, he had a delinquent son he shipped off to Ireland at a young age to prepare for seminary school years ago. That’s what a fanatic he was.”
“To each his own I guess, but like I said, I don’t know the father or the son. I do, however, think this son is a douche, but a devout Catholic, that I doubt.”
Gramps raised his brows. “You say,” he grinned, “this douche is claiming he isn’t involved with the drug ring at all?”
“That’s what he told Pop, but I’m not so sure.”
Gramps shook his head. “I’m with you. Not sure I’d believe him.”
The tiredness in the back of my eyes faded at the realization I might be right. “Why do you say that?”
Shifting on the bed, he brought his large frame to the head and settled back. “I can’t say, really. It’s a feeling based on what I know of his old man. When Mickey O’Shea was a teenager, he was a small-timer hoping to hit it big. Always doing stupid things. I warned your father to stay away from him in school. And it was a good thing I did. At nineteen, just after he got married, Mickey did a five-year stretch for hijacking a fleet of trucks. His first big job and he gets caught right out of the gate. Fucking idiot. When he got out, he started up his own gang with Patrick Flannigan as his number two. Some shit went down with his wife, and after that the gang folded. Lucky for him, his mother had passed and he took over her flower shop. I have to say, I was surprised that he gave up on making his fortune on the wrong side of the law and settled for domestic life.”
“So he dropped out just like that?”
He shrugged. “As far as I know. Then his wife was killed in some gang-related incident and honestly, I haven’t heard much about him since. But if the young O’Shea is anything like his old man was, he’s a dreamer hoping to hit it big the easy way.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so, Gramps. O’Shea seems to be doing well on his own. I asked around and he’s thinking of running for District Attorney next year.”
“Doesn’t mean it isn’t him.”
“He claims it was his wife who set up the drug ring with his friends.”
“Well, talk to her.”
“Can’t. She disappeared three months ago and from what I can piece together, no one knows where she is.”
“And you’re in love with her?”
“No, Gramps. I told you, I haven’t met his wife.”
His eyes narrowed on me. “I’m old, not senile. I’m not talking about the wife and you know it. I’m talking about the one that looks like Emily.”
Cringing, I paced around the room. “Gramps, I only told you that about Emily so you’d understand where my concern was coming from. I’m not in love at all. But last night someone slashed his sister-in-law’s tire and then later tried to break into Elle’s place.”
“And how much longer are you going to pretend that look on your face isn’t what I thought it was when we first started this discussion?”
I shook my head, getting a little aggravated with his misdirected focus. “Give it a rest, old man. I’ve already told you, there’s nothing there.”
He stared at me, his mood contemplative. “I’ll let it go for now, but only because there are more important things to focus on. Was she hurt? Were there any messages left?”
I leaned against the wall. “No, she wasn’t hurt. I’m not sure about any messages.”
His wheels were spinning. “Then it wasn’t Patrick or his prick son, for that matter. The one thing you can count on is that they are lowlife scum. If it had been them, there would have been no doubt it was.”
I sighed. “Yeah, that’s what I think. Which is why I think there’s time to get Elle and her family out of this.”
The hardness was back in his features. “Come over here, sit down, and listen to me.”
By the time I slid the chair over and sat, I was all worked up again.
Gramps leaned forward with that