Logan POV

We spent the day in a 4-D version of the book of who's who in Irish mob history.

Well, in New York anyway.

I guess we'll hit up the Boston chapter of that book tonight.

But for now, we had five dead Westies, all of whom were involved in, wink-wink nudge-nudge, the trash collection business.

And how is it that a couple of cops were welcomed into the underbelly of Hell's Kitchen?

Because I placed a quick call to Ryan Mullins.

Twenty minutes later, Carolyn and I shared the title of untouchable.

And maybe I should feel guilty about using my connections with mobsters during an investigation.

Maybe I should feel guilty that I even have these connections at all.

But I don't.

Because by four o'clock in the afternoon, we were heading into 1PP with enough dirt on Tony Puccio to get a search warrant.

"O'Farrell had the idea to expand on our territory. Are you with me, my boy?"

We were talking with Kevin Shaw, a top man in the Westies outfit. Whatever Mullins had said to the lackey who manned the bar at the hole-in-the-wall pub we were in, it had caused him to instantly seek out his boss, who in turn had welcomed us into his sanctuary.

When we mentioned the names of the dead, he was quick to give us the lowdown.

O'Farrell was the ring leader of the crew that was comprised of our other four victims.

"Sure," I agreed with a shrug. "So he went south."

"Aye. There's plenty of trash to be collected down there, to be sure."

"He didn't realize he was squeezing the Italians?"

"Who's been saying such rubbish? That's not what happened. 'Tis the other way around."

"You guys were there first," Carolyn said soothingly.

"Yes, ma'am. And minding our own business, to be sure."

I didn't point out that minding their own business probably meant charging small businesses a pretty penny in order to keep from being vandalized or frequented by unsavory looking characters who would be bad for business.

That's not what we were here to investigate.

"Okay, so how far south did you go?"

"West 14th , the last I heard."

"And when did the trouble start?"

"Devlin came to me a few weeks ago and said he had a run-in."

"Why'd he come to you? Where was O'Farrell?"

"Fluthered, no doubt. He had a bit of a weakness for the sauce."

I looked at him skeptically and he grinned broadly.

"I don't mean in that he drank it. Only that he couldn't hold it," he explained.

"So he got locked up at the local while his boy was getting reefed."

"Aye," he said with an approving nod, apparently appreciating my ability to speak the lingo. "No doubt with a slapper as well. He's not fit to run the outfit, but we didn't have a chance to oust him yet. Not long after, his boys started dropping off."

"What kind of run-in did Devlin have? Did he say?"

"He didn't talk specifics. He only mentioned the name Tony and he said he'd take care of it. I haven't seen the poor son of a bitch since."

"And the others? Did they report run-ins before they went missing, too?"

"Not to me, but I'll put the word out, to be sure. So you're saying this is the work of DiMarco?"

DiMarco is the sleaze ball who slithered into power after Massaro's demise.

"We're not sure," I said firmly. "So let us handle it, okay? We don't need an all-out war on our hands, especially when we're not sure yet what happened."

Although I was pretty sure.

Territory scuffles rarely end well, and considering I have five bodies with a hit signature found next door to a guy named Tony, then I'd say it's a safe bet.

But still…

"When you're sure, you'll be back," he stated knowingly. "And we'll have us a pint to justice, right, my boy?"

I agreed that I would, although I wasn't sure if I'd be able to follow through.

Am I even allowed to be acquainted with men who walk on the wrong side of the law?

I guess I need to figure that out, considering I may be related to one.

Because even though Carolyn made a good point about O'Connor possibly wanting me for something completely different, I've just got a gut feeling that it's not.

Something different, I mean.

For whatever reason, I really believe that he knows something about my real father.

And I'm starting to get a little nervous about it.

We got back to the squad room and made our official request for a search warrant.

We'd execute it first thing in the morning.

Then I made a quick call to John, who was giving us the use of his chopper tonight so that we could get up to Boston and back without killing ourselves or missing any time from work.

"John said we can leave any time," I told Carolyn. "Let me run to the men's room and then we can get out of here."

So I headed down the hall, and that's when I ran into Mary, who was on her way out of the conference room.

"Oh, I've got something for you," I told her as I turned around and went back to my desk.

"What is it?"

"Here," I said after reaching into my desk drawer.

"Southern Bride?" she asked loudly, looking at the magazine in disgust. "Are you kidding me?"

"I thought you might need some pointers," I replied casually, working really hard to hold back a smile.

What can I say? I can't resist teasing her.

"From this? Do you know how many lace-bearing animals were killed just for the photo shoots? No…you know what? This whole thing's off. Because you're either being serious, in which case my potential new brother-in-law is a complete yuppie-ish, superficial, pretentious, moronic flake or you're kidding, and that would just make you a jackass."

"Go with the jackass," Carolyn said as she came up behind Mary. "And you do know they don't get lace from animals, right?"

"So you're in on it, too, huh?" Mary said in annoyance, tossing the magazine into the trash.

"In on what? Buying you a magazine? Oh, the horror."

"Yeah, thanks, Carolyn. I thought you were going to be on my side in all of this. Somehow I doubt that when you got married you dressed up in a taffeta gown with a bunch of petticoats underneath."

Carolyn started laughing and so did I, although more because of the look on Mary's face than because of her words.

I'm not exactly sure what a petticoat is, but I do know that Carolyn didn't wear a bunch of them under her dress. The one she wore in Boston, I mean.

She didn't wear a dress when we got married for real, but I count the ceremony in Boston as our wedding, too, and that time, she barely wore anything at all under her dress.

I know.

I checked.

"Mary, relax," Carolyn said soothingly. "We're teasing you. You can wear Levis and boots if you want to."

"That's right," I agreed, feeling a little bad about how worked up my gift had gotten her. "The important thing to remember is…now we'll be related, so we can't hook up on the side anymore, okay?"

She finally laughed, and then she sat down on the edge of my desk.

"Sorry. I guess I'm wound up a little tight."

"No luck yet on the case? And where is everyone?"

She looked past me down the hall and said, "They'll be out any minute. And as for luck, it's coming in fits and starts. You?"

"It's amazing how quickly doors are opening for us. Or rather, for Mike," Carolyn said.

"What kind of doors?"

"The Irish kind," I said. "We're actually heading up to Boston as soon as we can get out of here."

"Don't let me hold you up. I'm going back to the hotel and I'm going to order room service, maybe soak in the tub, and then sleep for at least ten hours. And then in the morning, I'll come back here and start all over again. Unless…do you want me to come with you guys?"

"I wouldn't dream of coming in between you and your tub," I told her, then I looked at Carolyn and said, "Give me five minutes, okay, sweetheart?"

I left her alone with Mary and retraced my steps down the hall, only this time as I neared the conference room, the door opened and out came seven people instead of only one.

"Detective Logan," McInnis greeted. "How are things on the island?"

"Well, I don't have any new bodies today, so that's a good thing," I replied. "You?"

"No new bodies," Dunn answered with a nod. "Are you and your wife coming to Steve-O's?"

"Another debriefing?"

"A mini one," Lupo explained. "I'm going to get Mulder. He's got cabin fever. But I'm not sure who's coming."

"Not me," Bernard said. "Lauren will be here any minute, and then we're going to Pennsylvania."

"Not Mary either," Dunn offered. "I think this case has her a little overwhelmed. But I'm going. And McInnis, right?" she finished, looking at the other marshal.

"Yeah, I could use a drink."

"I've got a Skype date with my wife," Daniels said.

"And I'm going to Boston," I told them. "So I'll have to take a rain check, but tell Mulder I say hello."

Bobby caught my eye over top of most everyone else's heads and I tipped my head towards the restroom. He leaned down and whispered something to Alex and then followed me down the hall.

"Are you hitting up Steve-O's?" I asked him once we were in the men's room.

"No. I was thinking about taking a trip to Boston."

"You don't have to do that. You guys have your hands full."

"And we're done for the day," he pointed out. "So unless you tell me that we're just not invited, then we're going with you."

He stared at me like he was waiting for me to argue with him, and it suddenly hit me that he looks tired.

"John's chopper's at the heliport just waiting on us," I told him. "It'll be a nice flight up, and it'll give you a chance to tell me what's on your mind."

"On my mind? Nothing. I'm fine. You're the one going up to have a beer with Shane O'Connor."

"And you're the one in the middle of a joint Marshal-NYPD case that's already seen eight murders, one of whom was a marshal."

"They're trying to get names on us," he said after a minute. "On me and Alex. Lupo, Bernard…I'm not sure who else. I told Alex that I want us to move into a hotel tonight."

"Is she fighting you on it?"

"Not really, no. She doesn't agree with me, but she said she'd do it."

"You don't need to stay in a hotel. Just stay with us."

"I appreciate that, Mike, but we have no idea how long this is going to last."

"Which is exactly why you don't want to go to a hotel. It's fun for a night or two, but it gets old after a while."

"So does having house guests."

I rolled my eyes as I turned on the sink to wash my hands.

"Since when did you become a house guest? We're not discussing it. You two come up to Boston with us, and when we get back, we'll swing by your place and grab some things and then go back to our house."

I could tell he still wasn't sure, so I added, "Besides, you'll be doing me a favor. I'm a little worried about what I'm going to find in Boston, so it'll be nice to have you around if I need to talk."

He held my gaze in the mirror and then he smirked and said, "Did you really think I'd buy that line of crap?"

"What?" I asked innocently.

"That you'll need to talk? Please. You hardly ever want to talk and if you do, you talk to Carolyn. Not to mention the fact that we have phones."

I shrugged at him and he finally conceded.

"Fine. We'll have girl-talk over herbal tea and cookies."

Fifteen minutes later, we left 1PP and two hours after that, we were in a cab in Boston. Alex had called Johnny once the helicopter landed, but he asked us to give him another hour or two so instead of meeting with him first, we decided to go ahead and talk to O'Connor. The mob boss routinely worked from the back room of a pub called The Angry Sheep.

"I wonder why the sheep are angry," Alex commented as Bobby pulled open the door to the place.

"Maybe they were shaved a little too close?" I posed, and then all joking was set aside.

It was dark inside, and it smelled of cigars and whiskey and there was a stereotypical Irish melody playing lightly in the background.

I eased closer to Carolyn, and resisted the urge to slip my arm around her waist. I wanted to protect her, but doing a move like that would be silly, because it would block her from having access to her piece.

I figured Bobby was in the same quandary with Alex, and the four of us ended up standing abreast in the entryway of the dimly lit pub looking much like Wyatt Earp and his boys preparing to do battle on the streets of Tombstone.

"Does he know you're coming?" Bobby said to me under his breath as at least half a dozen rough looking men got up from their barstools.

"I wasn't specific," I replied, although it was blatantly clear now that maybe I should have.

"You girls lost?" one of the men called out derisively.

"Anyone else feeling a little deja vu?" Carolyn muttered.

And she was right.

This was just like the last time we were in Boston, and I'd bet money that if I made a move for my cell phone to call O'Connor, there'd be a dozen or more guns drawn in less than two seconds.

"We were invited by Shane O'Connor," I told the men.

And apparently that was pretty funny.

"Oh, to be sure now. Because Mr. O'Connor is always sending out invitations to the guard, don't you know."

"Go ask him," Alex said. "Tell him it's Mike Logan."

The men laughed some more, but as we continued to stand there staring at them, one man finally decided to turn and head towards a back office.

He was back in two minutes, and he muttered something to the bartender who then promptly set us up with four draft Guinness pints and led us to a table near the back.

"My apologies for my crew," he said quietly. "Mr. O'Connor will be joining you in a few minutes. Drinks are on the house."

"Okay, am I the only one a little freaked out by this Godfather treatment?" I asked as the room suddenly went back to the way it was before we disrupted the scene.

"Maybe he wants to thank us for helping with the case," Carolyn suggested. "I mean, we are trying to put away the Italians who killed off five Westies."

"If he wanted to thank us for that, he would've just called. This is different. He knows something."

I was as sure about that as I've ever been about anything in my life.

Now I just had to wait for O'Connor to come out and tell me exactly what that something is.

TBC...