of it. I’ve known a few mothers in my lifetime, but never one who could put the shame and guilt on her child like hers.”
“I’ve never heard you call a girl ‘poor,’” I said, not expecting Maureen to sound soft.
“Only another woman can understand the guilt a mother could cause her daughter.” She paused. “But I guess sons would know a thing or two about that, as well, when it comes to fathers.”
After I hung up, I stared at my phone again, but then I stuck it back in my pocket.
“Kelly, fancy seeing you here,” Father Flanagan said, walking up. “Some dinner and a drink, my lad? It might help to ease your sorrows. My treat.”
“I’ll leave the drinking to you tonight,” I said, squeezing his shoulder and then pushing him toward the doors. “Since you’re enjoying this so much.”
“Life wouldn’t be life without a little fun!” He wiggled his eyebrows at me.
Father Flanagan opened the door as a young guy came out. The guy’s hand was shoved in his pocket, his eyes averted. He didn’t even notice me standing there. I followed behind him, keeping a respectful distance, until we came to Sullivan’s delivery entrance. I stood with my back against the wall, watching as the guy hopped inside a truck.
Sal’s Fresh Vegetables was scribbled in faded red ink on the side.
The truck came alive with a grumble, shaking some, and then its lights came on. He put it in gear and took off. When he braked to watch for traffic, I stood behind the truck, memorizing the license plate numbers.
There was no doubt Sal’s Fresh Vegetables was a front of some kind, and it was worth looking into. I heard another grumble, and right as I turned to look, a truck came barreling toward me. Its brakes screeched right before they held, and the truck came to a full halt.
Another guy jumped out, leaving the door open. “What the fuck, man?” he yelled. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“You hit my leg,” I said, tapping at it. “I’m calling the police.” I acted like I was going for my phone.
“Hey, man!” He charged toward me, his arms open in a WTF gesture. “You’re not going to pin this—”
When he was close enough, I grabbed him by the collar of his t-shirt and pressed my gun to his temple as I shoved him toward the wall of Sullivan’s. “You have two breaths to decide if this gig is worth your life. If after two breaths you decide it’s not, you have one to tell me where you’re supposed to take this truck.”
He went to open his mouth.
“One.”
I heard the start of another engine, and his eyes flicked to the right for a second before he sucked in a huge gust of air and then told me what the fuck was up. He was given a key ahead of time, and told to come back to the restaurant after normal deliveries for final instructions. Then he spit out the address and time he just received. His code word was “leeks.”
“Good boy,” I said, patting his head. “Now run along. Not toward the restaurant, but home, wherever the fuck that might be. Because you know the devils in that room, and what they’ll do to you—you don’t want to know this one.”
As soon as he took off, I climbed inside of the truck, right as the other one came from behind. The horn sounded and I put my hand out of the window, signaling for him to give me a second. I made a call to Father Flanagan because I knew the guy was going to rat—better the devil you know than the one you don’t. I told the good Father to stop him from getting to Grady’s table.
It was against all that he’d vowed to hurt anyone, but he’d lay the guilt on heavy. He’d probably ask him if his soul was in trouble. It was the sort of thing that fucked with your mind even more if it was already in despair. Like a priest showing up to your hospital room right before surgery to read you your last rights—on accident.
If that didn’t work, he’d lock him in the closet. Even if the guy knew what was going on with the deliveries, his life would be spared, because I couldn’t kill him if Father Flanagan had a hand in his capture. The father and I had made a deal long ago about that.