June 2002
When Jimmy agreed to meet with an underboss of the Irish mob from Boston, he wasn't expecting much. Four months ago his contact to military-grade weapons in the United States had been court-martialed and subsequently sentenced to a few dozen years in prison. That meant Jimmy was out of a product that he could buy for five-figures, sell for six, and make a pretty profit off.
Sean Rourke was first generation Irish-American, who sought desperately for some sort of connection to the motherland, as well as the IRA. He had managed to catch Jimmy's attention, claiming he would sell the same automatic rifles at a better cost and half the risk. Jimmy had dealt with his type far too many times in the past to know it was too good to be true—Sean was a wannabe volunteer who had no idea how the True Army worked. Nonetheless, when Sean suggested a long weekend in Malta with the mistresses to discuss a possible distribution deal, Jimmy jumped on it.
On a yacht, in the Mediterranean Sea just off Malta's coast, Sean had the unfortunate pleasure of sitting across the table of Jimmy and Catherine. If Sean would have done his homework, he would have known that Catherine was more than Jimmy's twenty-one-year-old mistress; she was also his ferocious comrade. She knew Jimmy was being insulted by Sean's proposal, but she remained calm, collected, and focused. Jimmy equated Catherine to a stealthy lioness. Patiently waiting to pounce and protect the cause. Placing her fruity, frozen cocktail on the table, Catherine leaned forward in her chair, completely ignoring the tight squeeze Jimmy was giving to her thigh.
"We won't settle fer more than cost, plus three-percent fer the first year. Then, we can renegotiate if all goes well. Yer askin' us 'ta pay twenty-percent above cost, on top of another six-percent. We can't afford that in addition 'ta all the overhead. Besides, I know fer a fact that we can get the M16's, at cost, elsewhere."
Even though her eyes were shaded behind oversized sunglasses, Jimmy knew there was a storm of indignation turning her radiant blue orbs dark when Sean broke out into a fit of laughter. Catherine kept forbearing, unaware that she said something funny.
Sean's temperament quickly changed to irritated. "I know for a fuckin' fact you won't find anyone to sell an M16 for under sixteen-grand; I'm trying to stay in competition. The war in the Middle East has driven up the costs on all US military equipment. Listen, you self-righteous Mick, I also know you don't have a single fucking source in the States, so where do you think you'll get it cheaper? Libya? Afghanistan? Do yourself a favor sweetheart, and go sit pretty somewhere while the men handle business."
"Tóg go bog é," take it easy, Jimmy quietly warned Catherine as he took a sip of his vodka. He nudged his head, "Go."
Bitterly scorned, Catherine stood from her chair. Looking down at Jimmy, she grabbed the hem of her yellow cotton sundress and pulled it over her head to reveal a tiny black bikini that left little to the imagination. Catherine made sure Sean saw the scars that freckled her body.
Swiping her drink off the table, Catherine told Sean to kiss her ass as she walked to the bow of the yacht to lay out in the sun. "Póg mo thóin."
The salty Mediterranean breeze in her hair, Catherine plopped down on her towel and began applying thick layers of sunscreen to her milky, Irish skin. From the outside, it looked as though no one was home, but internally, she was stewing. In the last four years, Catherine had managed to build her esteemed reputation through blood, sweat, and tears. She worked harder than even Jimmy at times, and she was grateful he never once took credit for her accomplishments. From building trusted relationships within the IRA, and around the world, when Catherine was at the table, she had respect.
It was a tough pill to swallow, Jimmy sending her away, but she, without a shadow of a doubt, knew he would take care of it. Everyone inside Belfast and out was well aware that Fiona's reign was over; Catherine had taken the crown as Jimmy's queen. And God help anyone who disrespected the queen.
Less than an hour later, Jimmy joined Catherine on the bow. He sat down beside her, looking out into the vast Sea, wishing the weather in Belfast could be ninety and sunny. Hair sun-bleached and skin slightly burnt, Catherine wasn't in a hurry to get back to Northern Ireland either.
Propping herself up on her elbows, she shamelessly gawked her hunky man. She grew insanely jealous of Jimmy's sun-kissed skin.
"What was the final offer?" She inquired.
Jimmy lit a cigar, throwing an arm over the rail. He shrugged, "told 'im 'ta go fuck 'imself."
"What happened?"
"I've seen his type too many times," he blew out a cloud of smoke, "their perception of the Army is a wee bit romanticized an' have no intention on actually makin' it work wit' us."
"James O'Phelan," Catherine scolded, pushing her sunglasses into her hair. "Ya never intended 'ta make a deal wit' 'im, did ya?"
Again, he only shrugged. Catherine maneuvered on to her knees so she could wrap her arms around his neck. One of his arms snaked around her sides, holding her close to him.
"Ya found another pipeline in the States, I'm assumin'."
Jimmy gave her a slight nod. "Aye. We're meetin' wit' a bloke from Northern Cali in a few weeks. Just wanted a weekend away wit' ya."
While she did find it rather romantic that he would be willing to sit through a disdainful business proposal simply for the opportunity to spend some alone time with her, there was one nagging aspect of his statement that she needed to address.
"Northern Cali, huh? Any chance that would bring us anywhere near Charmin'?"
Jimmy's face tightened as the question left her mouth. A part of her really wished she could take it back but there was no turning back.
"How long have ya known that's where he is?"
In truth, she had known for years thanks to Brien and Padaric confirming it once they had been earned their top-rockers with the Sons of Anarchy. Catherine knew Northern California and SAMCRO was integral to IRA cash flow, so she left it alone as it would only be a matter of time before she ended up there.
Every time she tried to bring up Filip, Olivia would shut Catherine down, as would Patrick. Jimmy would mumble an insult in Gaelic before lighting a cigarette, and Fiona would simply cry. Nearly ten years since her much adored Uncle Filip left Belfast, and Catherine was driving herself mad trying to dig for the truth behind his departure.
"Only a few months," she lied, "Liam passed the craic 'ta me when a lad in his unit found out."
There was no way she could tell him the information had come from SAMBEL. Even though the outlaw motorcycle club was essentially the True Army's right hand, Jimmy worked extra hard to keep Catherine out of that crowd. She assumed that was because Kenny "Scrum" Burke—Dungloe's secretary—became heavily flirtatious with her whenever she tagged along on shipment drops. Little did she know, it had to do with a little more than Scrum's playful flirting.
"I may track 'im down while I'm there. I really miss 'im." Catherine quickly turned melancholy, much to Jimmy's displeasure.
He grabbed her jaw tightly, forcing her gaze to his. "No you won't. This is the only warnin' I'm givin' ye; don't ya fuckin' go near him wit'out me there. Filip's gone for a reason."
Wanting to just enjoy the last day of waves, sun, and heat, Catherine just dropped it. There wasn't any use in her digging for more information because they knew Jimmy would never give it to her. Smacking his grip loose from her face, Catherine assured him she wouldn't go looking for Filip when they got to Northern California.
East Belfast - Northern Ireland
Catherine's heart dropped deep into her stomach as she surveyed the chaos around her.
It was a scene she had seen too many times in her two decades of life—herds of British soldiers and members of the Police Service of Northern Ireland marched the streets of Short Stand in full riot gear. Flaming glass bottles soared over the peace wall where they shattered upon impact, setting everything in its path ablaze. Across the sky, bottle rockets screamed, and Catherine watched the fireworks break the second-story windows of her neighbor.
As Jimmy slung the straps of their duffle bags over his shoulders, he was beginning to seriously regret his decision not to drop Catherine off at Patrick and Olivia's. Before their flight had taken off, Donny warned Jimmy about the increasing restlessness and tensions as the celebration of Queen Elizabeth's Golden Jubilee sparked conflict. When a pipe bomb exploded at the end of Catherine's street, he quickly ushered her into the house.
"What's the plan?" She asked, pinching the bridge of her nose. Another bomb exploded, startling Catherine. That one was too close for comfort. Without a word, Jimmy jetted up the stairs, taking them two at a time. "Alright, good talk."
Following him up, Catherine winced when she heard Jimmy begin making a mess of her guest room. She knew exactly what he was after when the harsh, squealing sound of the bed legs scratching the hardwood floor echoed in the hallway. Once in the room, Catherine fell to her knees beside Jimmy and helped him wiggle the floorboards loose. When they had them free, Jimmy lifted the Armalite from the floor. He locked the magazine in and chambered a round.
"Where's the automatic an' armor-piercin' ammunition?"
"The rifle is in the last drawer of me dresser, under the false bottom. I'll get the rounds."
Loaded Armalite in hand, Jimmy took off for Catherine's bedroom. Hoisting off her knees, Catherine crossed the hall into her bathroom where she flicked the light switch with a shaky hand. She absolutely hated it when Jimmy never divulged his plans as being left in the dark never did much to settle her anxiety. Considering the type of man, he is, she knew he held everything beyond close to his chest as it was the paranoia of things going wrong that forced him to keep quiet.
Removing the lid of the toilet tank, Catherine carefully placed the porcelain cover on the linoleum floor. Taped inside the tank were four bags, each containing two magazines. Jimmy asking for that specifically invoked apprehension in Catherine. He was beyond furious with what violence he had come home to, so naturally, it was his inclination to respond with brute force tenfold. The magazines Catherine held her hands were loaded with bullets, which had the capability to pierce the Kevlar armor worn by the Army and PSNI. Considering she was the one out the two of them thinking clearly, Catherine knew she'd have to covertly discourage the use of the automatic rifle. Firing it would only escalate the hostility and the last thing she sought was further provocation.
Clamping three of the bags under her armpit, Catherine ripped one of them open as she entered her bedroom. Jimmy reached for one of the magazines, but Catherine moved it out of his reach.
"Ya sure 'bout this?"
Jimmy responded by ripping it from Catherine's hand. "What happened in Ardoyne last summer, won't happen in Short Strand."
"Ya take out a soldier or peeler, Short Stand will burn longer, and hotter than Ardoyne." Catherine found herself distracted. "An', why the fuck did'ja open the blinds?"
Turning his attention away from loading the rifle, Jimmy shifted so he could glance out the window behind him. Catherine wasn't exactly sure what Jimmy saw as his brow furrowed, but in a split second, he tossed aside the rifle in preparation to leap over the bed. Before Jimmy could tackle Catherine to the ground, spray, after spray of bullets sliced through her bedroom window.
The sound was near deafening but, Catherine couldn't bring herself to cover her ears. She listened to the slugs lodge into the drywall. As they shattered the glass of her mirror and television screen. With her head turned to the side, she watched halfheartedly as the photos on her dresser of she and Jimmy, her brothers, her mom, and dad, were nearly shredded to bits.
She tried hard to remain still, but the fear that overtook forced her body to betray her mind. Tightly tucked beneath him, Jimmy could feel her begin to tremble as the reality of what was happening set in. He could handle the target on his back, it came with the territory of being the Brigade Quartermaster. What pissed him off beyond all belief was that this had been an attempt to take out both him and Catherine; they waited to pull their triggers until she appeared in the room. She was nothing more than a low-ranking volunteer, not even in the command staff. That only told Jimmy, Catherine's name was now known and she was becoming feared.
As quickly as it started, the shooting stopped. Their heavy breathing was the only sound in the room and Jimmy took a moment to just hold Catherine. A part of him didn't want to get go of her, afraid that if they were to stand up, it would happen all over again. He said about a dozen Hail Mary's, unbelievably thankful Catherine had taken notice to the blinds, something he hadn't thought twice about. Someone had been lurking in her home while they were in Malta and he didn't feel the slightest bit comfortable keeping her there.
"Ye okay, a chuisle?"
He felt her grab his hand and squeeze. Still as tough and unshakeable as ever.
