[Chapter 26: Peace Offerings]
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Sleep eluded Murphy—big surprise. He finally quit trying when the sky got light. They hit the early Mass, and then the Yolk for breakfast, and then back at the apartment, they flipped a coin to decide who would call Smecker.
Murphy won the honors, but Smecker didn't pick up. He settled onto the couch, leaving a vague message that if the agent didn't already know why he was calling, he'd find out soon enough. Then he closed his tired eyes, just for a moment until Smecker called back.
When he opened them, the light was different, and he could hear the metallic clicks and scrapes of Connor disassembling weapons in the dining room.
"Did Smecker call back?" Murphy asked.
"Nah, I'm sure he could hear the bad news in your voice. He's got enough brains to assume the worst. He'll call when they find the body—which they haven't yet, or they'd be showing it on Noticiero Telemundo."
The TV was still on. Murphy turned the volume down and called Smecker again, not leaving a message when it went to voicemail.
He tried Seamus Callaghan next. Murphy was dying to try out his latest score, but they'd never needed .45 caliber rounds until now—he hoped the other Irishman would be open for business tonight.
"Maybe he'll let you exchange the purse pistol for store credit," Connor said when Murphy finished leaving yet another vague message and joined him at the table, adding the phone to their growing collection.
Connor had an old grease-stained towel spread across the table, and Murphy dragged it closer. He picked up the .45 and examined it carefully, not wanting to lose any parts when he disassembled the new handgun for the first time. There was hardly any wear to speak of; even the magazine was still shiny and smooth. Murphy doubted Bobby Vigoda had ever fired it.
"How much do you think Seamus knows about Mancini's gun-running operations?"
Connor dabbed oil on a rag, frowning thoughtfully. "Hard to say. They've both been around for years, but Mancini kept a lower profile when Yakavetta was in charge."
"Mancini's got a lot of friends."
"Everyone's got friends. Seamus has friends – besides us."
"Who do you think Seamus knows?"
They were both contemplating this when Annie's cell phone rang. Connor checked the display. "Jake's," he read, "You want me to answer it?"
Murphy snatched it away, turning his back while Connor snickered.
There was always a chance it was Jake, or Zeke. "Hello?"
"Murphy?"
But not a very good chance. "Hello, Ann."
"I'm sorry, I hope I didn't wake you."
Murphy squinted at the clock. "It's four in the afternoon."
"Right. Of course." She sounded like she was still hung-over. "So, the reason I'm calling-"
"You want your phone back."
"Yeah. Sad, but I'm getting a little lonely without it. I can come by your place if you're going to be there."
"You can't come here," he said too quickly. Their usual mess was nothing compared to the armory on the table. "I mean, it would be inconvenient. For you. I'll bring it to your place. Where are you living these days?"
"Oh, Murphy, you're so sweet. But you don't have to do that. I don't mind coming down."
Huh? In what universe did Annie think he was sweet? Murphy removed the phone from his ear and looked at it. It did say Jake's. And it did sound like Annie's voice. Connor was watching him, the slide in his hands forgotten.
Murphy turned away from his brother, lowering his voice slightly. "Ann, it's no trouble. What's your address?"
"Well, if you're sure it's not too much trouble, you can bring it to the shop."
"All right," he said, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Give me half an hour."
"Thank you so much, Murphy. I really, really appreciate it."
What on earth was going on with her? There must be customers around.
"It's all right, Ann. I meant to leave it for you at Leah's, so…it's the least I can do."
She thanked him twice more before he hung up.
Connor stared at him. "It's the least you can do?"
"After we bailed on her yesterday?" Murphy slipped the phone in his pocket. "Yeah. I think it is." Odd that Annie hadn't brought up the bailing. Very odd.
He started down the hall, but the tone of Connor's voice stopped him: "Just so long as you're keeping your eyes on the prize, Murph."
An all too familiar heat ignited. Murphy kept walking, calling over his shoulder, "Con, we're returning her cell phone. It's not ThreatCon Alpha."
They walked out to the car and Connor handed him the keys. "Here. Why don't you drive, and I'll run inside and give Annie the phone?"
Murphy left the keys dangling. "I'm not allowed behind the wheel anymore, remember? I'm reckless."
Connor got in the passenger side and reached across, starting up the car for him. "A casualty of war. All's forgiven."
"Damn, with a straight face and everything! You're really serious this time. Okay, let me guess: Annie's pregnant. No, wait, that wouldn't work. She was pregnant, and now she's got a wee little three-year-old, looks just like me, and she's after me for child support."
Connor didn't smile. "That's not as funny as you think it is."
"You're right, it's really not. But what else could you possibly not be telling me?"
Connor was either wise enough not to answer, or else he really was keeping secrets again. He buckled his seatbelt, and then began drumming his fingers impatiently.
Murphy swallowed a curse. Fine, no problem, he could play this game, too.
They spent the drive discussing where to pick up dinner, and his stomach was growling by the time he pulled up to the curb at Jake's and cut the engine.
"You can leave it running," Connor said. "It'll just take a sec."
"That it will. And you can either tag along and watch me, or you can keep your ass right here in the car. Either way. Won't hurt my feelings."
Connor's face soured. "Her phone's in your front pocket, isn't it?"
"Yep. And I think these jeans shrank in the wash. They're awfully tight."
Connor frowned thoughtfully, not yet ready to throw in the towel. It was impressive—but mostly irritating-how far he was willing to take this. "You know you'll be sucked into the black hole. You'll need me to pull you out."
Murphy got out, slamming his door and tossing his brother the keys. Connor was grasping at straws—but on the other hand, he might be right.
"I'm right, Murph—you know I am."
"Well, don't start pulling unless I give you the signal."
"Which is?"
"I'll walk out the door."
Connor rolled his eyes. "I'm keeping the keys."
"So, I'll say, 'Hey Con, time to hit the road,' and then I'll walk out the fucking door, and then you can take the fucking keys and start the fucking car. Got it?" He stepped inside, nodding hello to Zeke behind the counter. Zeke's response was a half-second slow, his smile a notch below friendly, and Murphy groaned inwardly.
"Christ," Connor swore quietly. "We should save time and just get I'm Sorry tattooed on our foreheads."
"Don't say that too loud," Murphy warned, catching sight of Annie working over the light box. "If Jake wouldn't do it, I know someone who would."
"Let's get this over with. I'll go grovel to Zeke while you return the stolen property, again. I'm giving you five minutes, starting now."
"Are you going to remember the signal? I can write it down if you want."
"Wait, was it this signal?" Connor kept the single-digit salute low as he started in Zeke's direction.
There were two twenty-somethings decorating Jake's couches and Connor smiled at them as he passed, leaving them giggling in his wake. Jake's curtain was pulled half-closed, and his tattoo gun buzzed intermittently in the background, over the radio.
Murphy meandered over to where Annie sat at the light box, her dark hair twisted up with a pencil again, her sweatshirt sleeves pushed up to the elbow. She was concentrating, and hadn't noticed his arrival. He watched her draw, holding his breath as if trying not to spook a wild animal. Her fingers seemed thinner than he remembered, her wrists more delicate, moving quickly, deftly across the paper.
She sat back for a moment, then switched off the light box. She stood, wincing suddenly as she straightened. One hand hovered protectively over her midsection and she continued more slowly. Guilt flooded him like a river. She saw him, and flashed a smile that brightened the whole storefront.
"Murphy! Thanks so much for coming down. Hold on a sec while I give this to a customer."
The customer was obviously impressed, and thanked her about a dozen times before Annie finally extracted herself, beckoning Murphy over to her work area.
If he didn't know better, he'd think she was genuinely happy to see him. It felt a bit like he'd landed in the Twilight Zone. "Looks like business is picking up," he said, hoping it was a safe topic.
"A little. We got some good exposure at the funeral."
Right. No such thing as a safe topic. "Yeah, sorry about leaving like that…"
Annie waited a beat, but when it was clear Murphy had nothing more to add, she shrugged amiably. "No worries. I'm sure it was important, whatever it was."
Her eyes bored into him, and he ducked to dig in his pocket, hating that he'd been utterly trounced inside of thirty seconds. Where was the sarcasm, the inescapable guilt trip? At least the guilt was familiar. Guilt he could handle. He practically held an advanced degree. She was literally killing him with this kindness. Well, maybe not literally, but something close to it. He pulled out her phone, also unloading a fortune cookie left over from the night before, and laid both on the counter between them, setting the plastic wrapped cookie neatly on top.
Annie scooped up the cookie with a cry of delight. "You shouldn't have."
"Well, I couldn't find any mandarin oranges. This was the next best thing."
"You know," she said with a coy smile, "you wouldn't have to bring these peace offerings if you would just stop pissing me off."
"It's not a peace offering, it's an investment. If your lucky numbers are in there, I'll expect my full share of the take."
She raised an eyebrow. "I suppose I could reimburse you the cost of the cookie." She broke it open and read the little white paper.
"The answer to your problem will soon be obvious to you."
"Hmm." Murphy followed her mock-serious gaze as it swept around her in search of this obvious answer. Across the shop, Connor's eyes met Murphy's, a frown line creasing his forehead.
A cell phone chirped—the sound of their voicemail alert. Connor pulled their phone from his pocket, made some excuse to Zeke, and took the call outside.
Annie's phone was still sitting on the counter. "Oh, here it is," she said. "The answer to my problem!"
"You missed a few calls," Murphy said as she opened it. "Mostly from Beckman."
"You could have answered it, and told him you had my phone."
"I was respecting your privacy."
"Oh. Right. How many calls?"
"Seven. Three voicemails. Couple of texts. He's mighty persistent."
"Some people are," she said. "And don't give me that look. Josh and I have a lot of things in common. We have…similar goals."
The sound of his name made Murphy's teeth grind. "You don't have to explain anything to me."
"Well, I thought if I started, maybe you'd join in." Something flickered in her eyes, an infinitesimal slip in her friendly façade.
Murphy's senses went on alert. "You want me to explain myself."
"Of course not." She said, regaining her excess cheeriness, and beginning to gather up loose drawings scattered around the light box. "That is, I am a little curious about why I got ditched yesterday…" She stuck the pages into a rack of colored folders, beaming at him. "But since I can pretty much guess what kind of answer I'll get, I figure, why bother asking?"
The 200-Watt smile was at complete odds with her words. Outside the window, Connor paced on the sidewalk, the cell phone still at his ear.
"I'm sorry I missed the service," Murphy said, sticking his thumbs in his pockets. He swallowed, resisting the bitter taste of yet another lie on his tongue. "Look, the truth is…"
She raised an eyebrow.
He moved closer, lowering his voice. "Connor had some bad sausage for breakfast, and after the Mass, and all the driving…it was kind of an emergency."
Annie's upper lip curled. "Please, say no more."
They both glanced through the glass at Connor, who happened to look up at that moment. His eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"Believe me, you had a better time with Mama Del."
"I don't know. We spent a full hour discussing her planter's warts."
Murphy cringed. "That is one of her favorite topics."
"Well, once I let slip that I'm a medic, she started taking off her shoes to show me." Annie shifted away from him slightly as Connor came back inside to join them. "Luckily, I was rescued just in time."
"Rescued by whom?" Connor asked innocently.
Annie tucked a stray hair behind her ear, her cheeks coloring. "Uh, J—Detective Beckman, actually."
Murphy gritted his teeth. That was probably when she'd asked him out.
"Gosh, he's one swell guy," Connor said. "Did he make any progress yesterday? Find any murderers roaming the cemetery?"
Murphy gave him a back off look, but Connor only smiled, as if to say, I'm just making conversation! It was the same smile that usually came right after last call, and right before Doc hollered for them to take it outside.
Annie's back stiffened, but her smile remained in place. "No murderers that I'm aware of. Now, Murphy-"
"Are you sure?" Connor asked. Her face reddened with the interruption. "What about after the funeral? Maybe after hours? I know how Beckman likes to take his work home with him."
Murphy could see Annie's jaw muscle flex, though she never let go of the smile. "If Detective Beckman finds any murderers, Connor, I'm sure I'll be the first to know."
"I'm sure you will."
Behind him, Jake's workroom curtain peeked open. "Annabelle – would you grab me some more paper towels?"
Annie turned on her heel, disappearing down the hall to the office, and Connor started punching buttons on the phone. "You need to listen to this message from Callaghan."
"First you need to tell me what the hell that was all about."
Connor raised an eyebrow.
Murphy raised one back.
Connor closed the phone. "Fuck it, Murph…" He rubbed his fingers over his lips. "There is something I haven't told you."
"Oh? Fucking shock me some more."
Connor sighed. "Don't get mad, all right?"
Murphy's stomach turned, like he was headed for a drop-off and had no way to stop it. "Too late."
Connor ran a hand through his hair. "Look, the thing is…" He glanced down the hallway, keeping his voice low. "I saw her last night, with Beckman. Remember on the drive home, when we saw those flashing lights outside Lucky's? The two of them were standing on the corner together…holding hands."
Connor waited for a reaction, but the sudden weight on Murphy's chest seemed to be having an effect on his throat as well. Finally he managed a "So?"
"Holding hands like a fucking happy couple, Murph, not like law enforcement and…EMS. So now, why's she in here flirting with you like you're her fucking prom date?"
Murphy didn't like the question, and he doubted he'd like the answer any more. Annie's footfalls echoed up the hallway.
"Are you sure it was-"
"Yes, I'm sure it was them!" Connor hissed. "For Christ's sake, Murph, do you think I would tell you if I wasn't fucking sure?"
Murphy stared unseeing at the plywood countertop, his head buzzing. He took a breath, and then carefully boxed up the fire inside of him, tightly and compactly. His pulse pounded, but when he slipped his hands in his pockets it was slow and easy. All under control.
"She's a single woman, Con," he said calmly. "We already knew she asked him out for coffee. If it turned into a proper date—it's none of my business."
Connor straightened. "Fine," he said evenly. "But even Smecker thinks Beckman's a threat—and not just to us. If he's got Annie wrapped up in his agenda somehow…"
Murphy nodded, accepting Connor's point, and the point he hadn't made as well: that Annie might very well have her own agenda, and there was no way of knowing how Murphy and Connor fit into it. Still, the thought of Annie being used against him—the thought of Annie being used for anything—ignited something else in him that wasn't as easy to contain.
Annie hovered in the lobby, straightening magazines, telling Zeke to keep his shoes off the couch.
"So, what's this message?" he asked Connor.
Connor frowned and cued up the voicemail, then handed the phone to Murphy. Seamus's thick Irish brogue blared at full volume.
"Jesus Christ," Murphy swore, trying to find the speakerphone button that Connor must have accidentally pushed.
"Afternoon, lads. Sorry to do this to you, but I have to push back our ten o'clock meetin' time. Business has been…a bit crazy." He gave an odd laugh. "The bar's still open to you any time, o' course. I'll get back to you next week. You know what they say: anocht, anocht."
Murphy found the button to shut off the speaker just as the message ended.
Tonight, tonight? What was that supposed to mean?
He hit the button to repeat the message. "Ten o'clock?" he asked Connor.
Connor shook his head. They'd never made an appointment.
Murphy looked at his brother, a chill seeping into his bones. This wasn't the way Seamus Callaghan did business. Something was wrong.
"Anocht," Connor said, echoing their friend's troubling Gaelic. They'd check it out tonight. "I'm going to try him again, see if I can't get him to pick up." He sounded doubtful.
As soon as the shop door swung shut, Annie asked, "A friend from home?"
Amazing how a simple scrap of information could change the way Murphy's ears picked up her tone. Five minutes ago it was cheery. Now it was suspect. "Well, you heard his accent," he said.
"Do I know him?"
"I don't think so," Murphy looked at her, wanting to ask how many Irishmen she happened to know. "How are you feeling, Ann?" he asked instead. "Did you get a chance to take it easy last night?"
"I did, thanks." She crossed her arms carefully over her chest. "I am a little sore," she added with a small smile. "And a little…sorry. Actually a lot sorry." She looked up at him, her expression open, her eyes repentant—Jesus Christ, he was not falling for this.
She folded her hands in front of her on the counter, neatly. Nervously.
He scratched an eyebrow, glad he was the only MacManus watching this show.
"I…I shouldn't have said that stuff about Roc, about you and Connor." The words rushed out of her quickly, so quickly that it took a moment to process.
Something heavy dropped inside him. He didn't want to believe Annie could fake something like this.
She took a deep breath. "I didn't mean it the way it sounded."
There was something not quite complete about her apology, which was what convinced him it was real. "It's all right," he heard himself say. "I can't blame you for how you feel." I can't blame you for wanting justice, for feeling like every day Roc's murderer walks free is another day you failed him as a friend.
God, if only he could tell her! That it was already done. That they'd already dropped the bastard's soul into hell, and a few more besides.
"Annie-" Murphy stopped at the sound of giggling; the girls from the couches had come over to schedule appointments. He waited while Annie penciled them in, wondering if he should leave now and cut his losses. Praying Connor didn't come back in to get him.
"Did you get your ribs checked out?" he asked when the girls left.
She nodded, closing the appointment calendar. "A lot of bruising on the bones, but no fractures."
"Feels about the same, in my experience. Annie…" He waited until she looked at him, which seemed surprisingly hard for her to do. "I'm sorry, too. The uh, collision – I didn't think we'd get hurt."
She shrugged. "It's not so bad as long as I don't bend or twist."
"Or laugh."
"Or sneeze or cough, or run. Or, you know, breathe." They both smiled. "How's your head?" she asked, spying the fresh scab above his eyebrow. "That looks new. That wasn't from the crash?"
Murphy frowned. Why was she always asking questions she knew he wasn't going to answer?
The silence stretched out.
"Another fire hydrant?"
"Something like that." He tapped the toe of his boot against the counter, feeling whatever had just passed between them dissolve into nothing. "So, six to eight weeks for the ribs?"
Annie drew a pencil from the jar by the light box, rolling it slowly between her fingers. "Yep. Then I'll be back in shape for another high speed chase." She glanced at Connor, who was leaning against the window, smoking a cigarette. "Oh, yeah," she added, biting on the end of the pencil. "Remember that license plate?"
Murphy's heart tripped on itself. That license plate?
"I did see the whole thing. I was just being a bitch because I was so mad at you."
He forced a chuckle, rubbing his neck as it began to sweat. "I thought you were being a bitch because you were gettin' sick."
"You were driving like a maniac!"
"You were langered off your arse."
"YES. Also that." She huffed a sigh and started to write, and Murphy's heart sank. She'd memorized the number. Something she never would have managed to do drunk, in a speeding vehicle, had he not goaded her into it. Now it was ingrained in her brain—while even as they stood here, someone might be calling it in, reporting the abandoned beater Cutlass with the decomposing Mafioso inside.
Then he remembered something else: that she'd threatened to have Beckman run it. She could have given it to him last night.
Annie said something about lucky numbers, but he couldn't hear it over the alarms and sirens blaring in his mind.
"Here," she said, offering him the scrap of paper. "My peace offering."
He held up a hand, refusing. "Don't worry about it, Ann. It's a dead issue." Eh.
"But you wrecked your car for this." She pushed the paper at him, poking him with it. "You broke my ribs for this."
"Bruised." Her nostrils flared and he backed up a step. "Listen, I gotta run. Tell Jake I said sorry about yesterday."
Annie crumpled the paper. "Tell him yourself."
Murphy glanced across the lobby. The gun was still buzzing behind Jake's curtain; that conversation could wait for another day. Annie glared at him, her jaw set. "Fine," he said, and strode to the door, passing Zeke on the couch. "See you around, man."
"Later, Murphy," Zeke said.
He heard the LTD growl to life outside.
"Murphy, wait." Annie's shoes squeaked on the tile.
He sighed, closing his eyes, but not taking his hand off the door handle. He'd had enough of this rollercoaster for one day.
"I'm sorry." She was right next to him.
"I don't know what you want from me, Annie."
"Just one more minute." Like an idiot, he met her eyes. "Please?" He watched in slow motion as she took his hand, lifting it from the door, tugging him gently back the way he'd come. Her skin was incredibly warm against his. He looked down at their joined hands, and Beckman invaded his thoughts like a virus. Was this how it had begun last night? Or had the detective made the first move? He didn't know which was worse.
"There's something I want to show you," she said. He let her lead him back to the counter, where she hesitated, looking at their joined hands briefly before letting go to take a red folder from the rack by the light box.
"It's not finished yet," she said, "and I didn't know exactly what you had in mind, but after you came in that day, I…sort of threw something together." She still hadn't opened the folder. Gently, he pulled it from her fingers and opened it. There was a single white page inside, with a design in the center that he'd never seen before. And yet, he knew immediately what it was.
Inside his chest, his heart flipped over.
"It's for Roc, isn't it?"
Annie bit her lip. "It's not finished yet."
"What are these letters here, Latin? I don't recognize it."
"It's just gibberish, placeholders. I figured you and Connor would want to write the words."
Murphy rubbed his fingers over his mouth.
"If you don't like it, it's totally not a big deal."
"How long have you been working on this?"
"Like I said, it's just something I threw together." She tried to take the page back, but he turned away, out of her reach, studying the details, the careful shading, the balance and the symmetry. He knew exactly what Roc would say: Fucking bad-ass shit, man.
"You didn't have to do this."
She reached for the page again, and this time he let her have it. She quickly slipped it back in the folder. "Listen, it's just one idea, so don't feel obligated to-"
"It's perfect, Ann." He caught her hand before she could put the folder back in the rack, feeling the damp of sweat on her palm. "Can I have it, to show Con?"
She nodded, biting her lip again.
Without thinking, he cupped her jaw with his free hand, smoothing his thumb over where her teeth pressed into her lip. Her skin was feverishly warm, and he could feel the pulse in her neck drumming beneath his fingertips.
A throat cleared. The buzz of Jake's tattoo gun carried faintly to his ears. Then Connor's voice cut through, dropping the guillotine of reality: "Hey, Murph. Time to hit the road."
Annie jumped, tucking invisible stray hairs behind both ears. "Okay," she said loudly. "Thanks again for bringing my phone."
Connor stood at the door, stone-faced. Zeke looked on with an ear-to-pierced-ear grin.
Murphy flexed his burning fingers, not sure of anything except that he wasn't leaving here without that red folder. "Thank you for this, Ann."
"You're welcome," she whispered. "You guys be careful out there."
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A/N: It's great to see some new readers out there! Remember your feedback is welcome any time... (and may even get you faster updates…just sayin'.)