[Chapter 10: Ruthless]
Duffy dropped them at their car with a promise that someone would touch base in the morning. Once home, Murphy went straight for the shower and found that Leah's superglue treatment had held surprisingly well. The two-inch bruise that surrounded it in the morning was mostly concealed under his dark hair, unlike Connor's gloriously obvious shiner.
The black eye turned more than a few heads at Dunkie's, where they stopped to pick up a peace offering. Normally, Murphy would have milked Connor's predicament for all it was worth, but thoughts of what he was going to say when he handed over Annie's album plagued him all the way through his maple bar. At five-to-nine, they were outside One-Eye'd Jake's, and Murphy still had no idea what to tell her.
Connor shaded his eyes against the glass. "No sign of the man. On the plus side, no sign of the little woman either." He scanned the cars parked along the street. "What's Annie driving these days?"
"Hell if I know, Con. We weren't chatting autos."
"Well, what were you chatting, then? You crashed out still wearing your wet towel last night, never told me the tale."
"There's nothing to tell. It was fine."
"Fine," Connor echoed, raising an eyebrow. "Annie was on the floor when I came back."
"Yeah, well. I have that effect."
"Bong water has that effect. We're mighty lucky they didn't send the K-9 units."
"We're lucky they didn't send anyone but Duffy," Murphy said seriously. "Leah didn't seem like she suspected anything, did she?"
Connor gave an uneasy shrug. "It was a bit odd—she was all right with me, but with Tom…I don't know. She doesn't like him."
"Well, she did lie to him, Con. With good intentions, but still—he probably makes her nervous as hell." Strange how lying does that to some people.
Connor turned from scanning the street to catch Murphy's eye, then look quickly away. "Come on," he said. "Let's check the back."
"Did you see the scabs on her wrists?" Connor asked as if needing to fill the sudden silence of the alley.
"Aye," Murphy said, allowing his brother to redirect the conversation from the lie—the betrayal—that was too sharp a sting to revisit so soon. He pushed it back, away, concentrating on balancing Jake's coffee on the donut box.
Connor walked ahead of him, a few steps more than necessary. "Leah's lucky they used cable ties on her, and not cuffs." He tried the back door with no luck. "Damn. Jake really ought to beef up his security," he said, rattling the loose doorknob. His eyes narrowed appraisingly and he ran his fingers along the doorjamb. "This lock is a joke."
"Don't even think about it."
Connor turned, hearing a challenge Murphy hadn't intended to voice. "No more calling the shots, remember? You're on the bench today." He took hold of the door knob again, but then, as if willed by a benevolent God, the door swung open and knocked Connor flat on his ass.
Jake's beefy frame filled the doorway, a steel baseball bat in one hand and a trash bag in the other.
Murphy swallowed a laugh. "'Mornin', Jake."
"Jesus Christ Almighty. I knew it couldn't be my worthless employees coming to work on time-I thought you were a couple of punks after my cash drawer." He tapped the bat against his thigh. "Just what are you couple of punks after?"
"We wanted to apologize for running off yesterday," Murphy said. "Thought we'd try to catch you early."
Connor struggled to his feet, glaring at Murphy. "Aye, we know you park the bike back here sometimes…"
"Not on trash day," Jake grunted, heaving the bag into the nearby dumpster. He glanced at the pink and orange box Murphy held. "Your halo's looking shiny this morning." He watched Connor dust himself off and then chuckled when he saw the eye. "Yours not so much, boy. Woman troubles?"
"Not mine," Connor said, with a pointed look at Murphy.
"Oh, Connor doesn't need a woman to find trouble." Murphy grinned. "He's self-sufficient that way."
"Speaking of troublesome women…" Connor began.
Jake laid the bat across Connor's chest. "Watch it, choirboy."
Connor offered him a cup of coffee and a winning smile. "What I meant to say was, will we also have the pleasure of your beautiful niece's charming company?"
Jake snorted. "She got called back for an overtime shift. Girl's going to kill herself working the way she does—there and here. She was ruthless with those photos albums this morning. Kept swearing under her breath about missing pictures."
Connor reached for a donut hole, smirking. Murphy closed the box on his hand.
"But, thanks to the ruthlessness," Jake went on, "my whole library's back in working order, so I'm thinking…" he smiled, opening the door. "It's about time we started on those sleeves."
"Sleeves, aye. Or…maybe something a bit simpler for now," Connor said, throwing Murphy a look as he followed Jake inside. "You know how my brother is when comes to picking designs."
"Only 'cause it's forever," Murphy said, taking a peek at the office as he passed. It was spotless. Annie must have moved the albums back up front after she finished.
In the lobby, Jake hooked his thumbs in his pockets, eyeing Murphy expectantly. "I know that look, boy. You have something in mind. Sketched it up yet?" He popped a donut hole in his mouth, sobering when Murphy didn't answer right away.
Jake swallowed, the sound of it audible in the silence.
"You hear about Rocco?" Murphy asked quietly.
Jake bowed his head, nodding slowly. "I'm sorry," he said, looking up after a moment. "He was a crazy son of a bitch, but—it was a damn shame what happened to him."
Murphy nodded. Connor was nodding too, the three of them bobbing like mute buoys until Jake plucked the nearest album from the neat line-up on the coffee table and checked its brief hand-written table of contents. He checked two more, then traded Murphy the album of religious designs for the box of donuts.
"Save us all some time and start with this one."
"Thanks, Jake. You're the best."
"Or else you wouldn't be here, right?"
"Damn straight," Connor said. "It's completely irrelevant that you refuse to take our money."
"That was years ago, MacManus. Times are hard, and you're not so young and pretty as you used to be."
"Sure, kick me when I'm down."
"Looks like someone else took care of that for me already."
Connor's eyes narrowed at Murphy. "Sucker punch. Came out of nowhere."
Jake laughed. "Shiner like that, and you never saw it coming? I'd get your eyes checked if I were you, boy."
"Once the swelling goes down," Murphy added.
"Fuck you both."
Murphy scratched an eyebrow. "Seriously, Jake. We can pay double, whatever you need."
"Oh, keep your damn cash. I'm not taking your rent money. I'd have to let you worthless bums sleep here." He tossed a book to Connor. "Categories are listed in the front. Give me a shout when you're ready to draw something up. I've got to make some phone calls."
"I've got Devils and Demons," Connor said, reading the spine. "Dear God, let this be it."
They went to work on the books, silent in their concentration, which made it impossible not to eavesdrop on Jake's calls. Apparently, their dear friend Franklin Hayes had yet to show up for work. Connor exchanged a glance with Murphy after Jake's third call.
As Jake dialed the fourth Zeke strolled in, cradling a black travel mug, looking hung-over but not terribly unhappy about it.
"Mornin', Z-man," Jake said. "Hey, you heard from Frankie lately?"
Zeke raised an eyebrow. "I hate to tell you this, man. Frankie hit the shit pretty hard last night. You can bet he'll be sleeping it off 'til at least noon."
"The hell he will," Jake muttered, hanging up and re-dialing. He wore a small smile when the other end picked up. "Hey there, Annie. I need you to do me a favor."
Murphy tried to return to his search, but it was clear that the twisting devil's tail would not be found amongst the crucifixes and crosses, most of which he'd seen the day before. Towards the back of the book he came across the photo of his own tattoo, the custom-designed Celtic cross that had pointed them to Jake's shop in the first place.
Murphy slipped the photo out of its sleeve.
"Please tell me you found it," Connor said, "'cause I've been back and forth through this thing twice already."
Murphy handed over the photo. "Not yet, but check this out. It's hardly even faded. Jake always said I had great skin."
"Too bad this isn't your skin. This is mine."
"What? How can you tell?"
"Well, for one thing, it's my left arm. Look at the wrist."
"Boney. Like a woman's. You're right, it's yours." Murphy flipped to the next page, but there was no matching photo. He tried the next, then went back through the entire section.
"Mine's not here."
"Maybe it's in the book you stole."
Murphy glanced at Jake, still on the phone at the counter. Had Annie mentioned the missing book to Jake? It might be less of a hassle to return it to Jake now, while she was out.
"No, and he's not answering Zeke's calls either," Jake was saying. "We've both got ten o'clocks or else I'd send Zeke out after the little kleptomaniac. Can you swing by and bang on his front door? Let me give you the address…"
Then again, there was no harm in the book mysteriously reappearing on its own.
"I would've seen it," Murphy told Connor quietly. "Besides, it was chronological, remember? If she had one, she'd have the other."
He flipped forward past the crosses, then slower through images of Jesus and the saints. The simple black and white icon of Mary sat alone on her page. As before, though two tattoos had been inked, only one photo remained in the collection.
He took it out and studied it closely for the small white scar that would only appear on his own neck, thanks to a run-in with a barbed wire fence when he was ten. There was no scar. It was Connor again.
"Damn, Murph, this is starting to look personal. What exactly did you say to her last night?"
Behind the counter, Zeke smirked.
Jake crossed the room and flipped the OPEN sign, looking up at the roman-numeral clock with a sigh. "Come on, kid," he mumbled to himself. "Can't you drag your lazy ass in on time, for once in your life?"
On a whim, Murphy picked up the book with font samples. Halfway through the Latin lettering he found both the Veritas and the Aequitas snapshots.
"See, there I am," he told Connor. "It's not personal."
"What's not personal?" Jake wanted to know.
Zeke chimed in, "Murphy here wants to know why he's been dropped from the hall of fame."
Connor pointed out where the missing photos should have been and the laugh lines deepened in Jake's face.
"I told you she was ruthless this morning," Jake said. "Condense and simplify, that's what she said when she filled the trash can with duplicates. If you drew the short straw—well, I suppose it could be just a coincidence."
Zeke bit his studded lip. Jake and Connor grinned openly at that particular likelihood.
"Duplicates," Murphy repeated, ignoring them.
"Well, sure. How many pictures of skulls and crossbones do I need? Or four-leaf clovers? Or tramp-stamp butterflies? Do you know I had twenty-seven identical Red Sox logos? Once she laid it all out for me, I tell you it was almost embarrassing."
"So both our hand tats are here because they're not the same," Connor said, his smile beginning to fade.
"But if a design was identical," Murphy continued, heart sinking, "if it was inked more than once, she ditched all the copies." And since she knew which book Murphy had taken, she'd know which ones to keep. And which to throw away.
The squeal and rumble of the garbage truck carried up the hallway, and Murphy met Connor's eyes.
Springing up, they sprinted down the hall and crashed into the alley together, only to rear backwards when the truck's mechanical arm dropped the empty dumpster inches from the door.
"Shit!"
The truck barreled on and Connor raced after it. "Hold on, wait up!" he shouted, but the driver paused only long enough at the corner to give Connor the finger.
Jake and Zeke came down the hall behind them. "What, in the name of all that's fucking holy, is going on?" Jake asked.
Connor shuffled back up the alley. "Fuck," Murphy could hear him mutter. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
Murphy groaned. If he'd kept his shit together yesterday, he might have found the right photo before she threw it away. Now they had nothing.
Jake stepped out beside him. "I want to know what the hell is going on," he said quietly. "And don't try to tell me it's about your ego because I damn well know you better than that. You're after something. If it's Annie-you can forget about it. If it's something else, then I suggest you start talking, cause I ain't got a lot of patience for bullshit."
Murphy took a breath, wishing that for once he anything but bullshit to offer. "It's true we're looking for a design," he said. "One of yours. Something I've seen before."
Just then the front door bell jingled and a black-haired girl strutted in, sunlight bouncing off an earful of silver hoops, presumably Zeke's ten o'clock. With a smile on his studded lips, he sauntered off to greet her.
Jake waited. Connor, whose jaw was tightly clenched, gave Murphy an infinitesimal head shake.
The door jingled again and two guys in UMass sweatshirts stepped inside. "Damn," Jake muttered. A moment later the phone rang.
"Jake?" Zeke called.
Jake let out a low growl. "I swear to God, if I wasn't desperate for business…If I turn my back are you going to run out on me again?"
Connor looked doubtful but Murphy made the promise for them both, "We'll wait."
"Good. Then do me a favor and make yourselves useful. Apparently I'm going to be shorthanded today."
Murphy prodded Connor to follow him back to the lobby.
"You want to ask him?" Connor hissed while Jake took the college boys aside to his workroom. "He's done hundreds, maybe even thousands of tats since the one we're looking for. What are the chances he remembers this one?"
"But there is a chance – if he even recalls the slightest detail about the guy he gave it to-"
"No, Murph." Connor switched on the radio, letting CCR blast for a few pointed moments before lowering the volume. "We already talked about this."
"Do you see another option?" The phone was still ringing. Connor was closer, but he didn't seem to notice.
"Getting another friend involved is not an option."
"He won't be involved-"
"MacManus!" Jake thundered from behind the black curtain.
Connor snatched the receiver, "One-Eyed Jake's….Well, g'mornin' Annie, what's the…whoa, slow down…Can he call you back? He's…all right, okay, jeez. I'll get him."
"What is it?" Murphy asked.
Connor pulled Jake's curtain aside. "Something's up, and it's nothing good."
Jake already had on latex gloves and he pulled one off to pick up the phone. "Annie, hon, I'm right in the middle of…what? Jesus Christ-are you sure?" He winced and held the phone an inch further from his ear. "Sorry, I just can't believe..."
He took off his glasses and ran a hand over his face, then realized the glove was still on his hand and ripped it off.
Murphy leaned in, trying futilely to make out what Annie was saying.
"Was he alone?" Jake asked. "You want me to come down? Are the cops there yet?"
Murphy froze. Connor looked at him.
"All right, babe, all right. No, I'm fine. I'll be here. You tell them I'll be here and you just do what you got to do…I'm sorry, hon."
In slow motion, he hung up the receiver. "Holy fucking shit." He looked at Connor and Murphy, then across the room to where Zeke and the girl were watching them. At the look on Jake's face, Zeke excused himself and strode over to lean on the counter opposite Murphy.
"What is it?"
"You're going to want to sit down, kid." There was only one stool at the counter, which Jake already occupied, but nobody bothered to point this out.
Zeke crossed his ink-covered arms and waited, his pierced brows knitted together.
"You know I asked Annie to swing by Frankie's place," Jake began. "Guess she about beat down the door knocking, but he never did answer, so she tried the knob and it wasn't locked…" He took a breath, then the words spilled out hard and fast. "He was in his bedroom, on the floor—he'd been shot. He's dead."
.
.