Chapter 1
Paul Smecker glanced at his watch. 7:45 AM. Sunday morning. He should be in bed asleep right now, not sitting in this little mom-and-pop diner drinking bad coffee and waiting for a surly Irishman to show up and tell him whatever it was that couldn't wait until a work day. An ancient waitress that he had decided had probably come with the building appeared at his table with a coffee pot.
"Freshen your cup, dear?" she asked through bad dentures, waving the pot at him dangerously.
"Sure, thank you," he said, leaning back slightly to avoid any caffeinated fall-out.
"Are you sure you don't want something to eat, honey?" she asked for at least the third time. These old grandmother types, always trying to feed somebody.
"I'm fine, thank you," Smecker said, with another glance at his watch. Judging by the appearance of the cook that just walked by, his decision to skip the food seemed like a wise one, if only for sanitation purposes. The old waitress wandered away muttering something about 'starving themselves for beauty…' and Smecker dumped more sugar and cream into his cup.
Finally, just before 8:00, the annoying little bell on the door jingled and Smecker's "appointment" entered the diner. He stood and shook the older man's hand when he arrived at the table.
"Well, Papa Mac, to what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?" Smecker said with a smile. Even though he had been kept waiting and the hour was somewhat obnoxious, he was glad to the eldest MacManus. He didn't get a chance to see any of the Saints much anymore, since they became so high profile after the Yakavetta trial, so when one of them made contact with him every once in a while, he was relieved. He knew that if any of them had been killed he'd hear about it on the news or at least through the grapevine at work, but he still liked to catch up with the boys and their father when he had the chance. He felt a special connection with them. After all, he had dressed as a woman for them. Not the first time he'd done that, but definitely one of the more interesting.
"Well Paul," the Irishman said, sitting down, "I came to thank ye, and to say goodbye."
"Goodbye?" Smecker said, surprised.
"Aye, I'm headin' home. It's been too long. Back to me homeland, me wife and me favorite pub," he said with a hint of a smile.
"Back to the old Emerald Isle, eh?" Smecker said in a casual tone that he didn't really feel. He believed in the Saints' mission wholeheartedly and somehow, he figured there weren't a lot of mobsters and drug dealers that needed delivering in their small Irish hometown.
"Aye, but before I left I wanted to tell ye thanks, fer helpin' me boys and me. Some of our best jobs, we could'nt've done without yer tips."
"Well, it's been a pleasure, I suppose," Smecker laughed, "When are you all leaving?"
"Oh, we're not all goin', just me. The boys decided they weren't done just yet," the older man answered. He showed no emotion about it and Smecker couldn't tell if he agreed with their decision or not. Still, Smecker felt a little relieved that it all wasn't over yet.
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a sealed envelope.
"Well, in that case, give this to the boys for me, will you?"
The older man nodded, taking the envelope and rising from the table.
"So long, Paul, and keep safe," he said.
As the man formerly known as Il Duce exited the diner, Smecker sighed and wondered if he'd had too much coffee to be able to go back to sleep.