Catherine pushed her sunglasses into her hair, balancing two coffees from Starbucks in one hand as she wandered the halls of the ICU floor in St. Thomas.
This time around, she was thankful there hadn't been a repeat of the near breakdown she had. She'd been wary of coming back, scared out of her wits that the same taunting images of her past would find a way to ruin her day. Not only was she in a lot better mindset to see Chibs, but she was also feeling far more comfortable as he wasn't holding anything against her.
When she approached his door, Catherine stood out of view for a second. Despite the calmness she managed to muster, she had to prepare herself for him peppering her with questions about why she hadn't reached out to Liam yet. Of all people, she wished Chibs would at least understand why she was hesitant. She may have shown her brother mercy by getting him out of Ireland, but the council wouldn't be so forgiving if they discovered she knew where Liam was.
Mentally counting to three, Catherine took the plunge and walked in. Chibs was pleased to see her again, which was obvious by the wide smile quickly spreading across his face. Even he'd been worried he saw the last of her when she left the hospital the prior afternoon.
"You're spoiling me with the visits, a thaisce." Chibs propped himself up in bed, moving his breakfast tray out of the way so she could set down one of the coffees she was holding. "I can't get used to seein' you this often. It'll break my wee heart when you head home. What are you doin' here so early?"
Catherine took a seat in the chair beside the bed, crossing her legs as she removed the lid of her coffee to blow across the top. "Got an early jump on the morn' is all. Jimmy was up too so he offered to drop me off on his way out."
Hearing her mention Jimmy's name, Chibs stopped himself short of taking a sip from the coffee she brought him. When Catherine realized he stopped drinking not because he was shocked Jimmy would do such a good deed, but rather because he worried the loathsome son-of-bitch found an opportunity to spike the coffee, she sprang into action. Reaching over, Catherine set her coffee on the tray, taking the other one from Chibs' hand.
"I promise it's just milk and sugar. I held 'em the entire time we were in the car together."
"Aye, thanks," he said meekly, hoping she didn't notice the deep scarlet scorching his cheeks. He felt so pathetic for even worrying about that in front of her.
"Any news from the doc on when you'll be gettin' the hell outta here?"
Taking a sip of the coffee that was a little too sweet for his liking, Chibs shrugged. With Jimmy in town, he didn't want to exactly tell her he'd have to leave St. Thomas for a hospital well outside of the security of Charming. "Should only be here for a few more days. I'm ready to make a run for it though. Drivin' me mad bein' laid up like a goddamn invalid."
"You need the time to rest," she half-scolded. "This isn't some wee injury you can just ignore. Listen to the doc, yeah? If not for yourself, then for Kerri. The poor girl was devastated when she heard what happened."
Chibs turned his head, feeling somewhat guilty he was putting all of his girls through such an emotional rollercoaster. For them, he'd do whatever they asked.
"How is Kerrianne doin'? Like, how's she really doin'? When Fi was here, she gave me the usual bullshite about everythin' bein' jus' fine."
For a brief second, Catherine thought about giving the same half-assed answered. There was no reason to drop the truth into his lap when he had enough to worry about in Charming. But like every man in her life, Chibs never sugarcoated reality for her because he knew she could handle it. Being honest with him was the least she could do — he deserved to know what his daughter was up to.
"She's a teenager," chuckled Catherine. "She's a good, bright girl though, despite the hormones. I dunno if Fi told you, but she's at St. Dom's and she'll be startin' her A-Level classes next year."
While it was good to hear she was doing well in school, there was one thing Catherine said that piqued his curiosity. "What do you mean despite the hormones? She's not gettin' into trouble as your ma did, is she?"
"There was a wee lad who caught her eye but trust when I say she's got a decent head on her shoulders. Her taste in men does cause for a…slight concern."
"Jesus." Chibs pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. Hearing his daughter was old enough to start dipping her toes into the dating pool was a hard pill for him to swallow. "Who's the lad?"
Catherine hesitated telling Chibs. She didn't want to break his heart before noon. "His name was Brennan O'Farrell. He was one of Jimmy's recruits."
"Oh, for Christ's sake. You keep her away from the likes those fellas — wait, what do mean by he was?"
"That's a story for another day, so it is. But you do have my word that he's been taken care of. Dessie made sure there's no way he'll be sniffing around her anymore. Ya know she did ask me if you were," Catherine paused, shifting in her chair, "she asked if you and Fi ever ran with the likes of me Da and Jimmy if you know what I mean."
Chibs felt a sudden tightness in his chest. It was only a matter of time before his daughter started digging for answers. "Aye. What did ya tell her?"
"I told her no, that neither you nor Fi did. But she's too smart for her own good. I think she already knows. She's a goddamn solicitor in the making, I swear. She never asks questions she doesn't already know the answers to. When she asked if I was in, I told her the truth, and I told her what happened to Darragh as a wee warning."
Reaching out, Chibs squeezed Catherine's knee. "I appreciate that, kid. Keep an eye on her for me? Don't let her get wrapped up in all this shite."
"Of course. I do what I can; she's too good to up like the rest of us."
"I said the same about you where you were a wee girl."
Catherine sharply sniffled, trying to stop the tears from welling in her eyes. "That was my fault. I didn't take you seriously when you told me to keep well away from the IRA. Ya know, I didn't even find out Jimmy was in until I was like fifteen. When he caught word that I was passin' info to the lads on the Falls about Brit foot patrols, he finally told me he was a bloody commander and that I should be going to him with anything I overheard. He'd give me a tenner for every piece of credible intel I fed him."
Chibs stiffened. This was the first time Catherine willingly opened up to him about what went on after he left Belfast. He was desperate to know when she reached the point of no return and he had to tread lightly to get anything more out of her. Like anyone involved in the armed conflict, she kept those truths locked away.
"Is that why he pushed you in? You were givin' him good intel."
Catherine shook her head. "Believe it or not, he never approached me. For some reason, everyone thinks he pushed me to do it when that's not the truth. I went to him; I pushed him to get me in touch with a recruitin' officer. He jumped through hoops for me because my Da threatened 'em all sayin' I was off-limits."
"Why would you throw your future away like that? You saw first hand what happened to your da…to me."
Catherine averted her eyes from Chibs. She hated thinking, let alone talking about what made her make the decision that would turn her life into such a mess. The only reason why she was willing to tell Chibs was that she was tired of everyone blaming Jimmy for the choice she willingly made.
"Because," she breathed, quickly wiping the tears off her cheeks. "After school, I went to St. Matt's to light a wee candle for me Da because he was in Maghaberry. Lorcan McInnes, the lad I was dating at the time, told me to meet him at Templemore so he could take me back to mine. Instead of being smart and walkin' through the Short Strand, I walked along Newtownards Road so I could have enough time for a smoke. When I was coming up on the Great Eastern, an off-duty Tommy who was outside the pub asked me for a light. I ignored him, but when he noticed my uniform, he started yelling some shite at me. I was so bloody stupid," Catherine bit her lip and shook her head, "I should've let it go because he was drunk. Everyone on the street just went about their business as if he wasn't beating on me right there on the pavement in the middle of the afternoon. Never in my life had I been so…humiliated. So angry. That's why I threw my future away."
Chibs moved over in bed, patting the now vacant space. Catherine darted right up, crawling in beside him. He moved the IV tubes around so she could rest her head on his chest. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, closing her eyes and listening to the comforting rhythm of his heart. Chibs wrapped his arms securely around Catherine, nuzzling his nose into her hair.
He couldn't help the intense guilt eating away at every fiber in his body. If he hadn't been the one to screw up in the first place, she wouldn't have endured that because he would have still been in Belfast when Patrick landed himself back in prison, and Catherine never would have been left unattended to wander about the wrong side of the city.
Where the hell had Fiona been? he wondered. What about Olivia, Liam, or Brien? Most importantly, where the fuck was Jimmy when it happened? Of all people, Jimmy should have known better than the rest of them; Catherine was the kind of kid who no one could turn their back on for two seconds because it was certain she'd get herself into trouble.
"I should'o been there. Everythin' fell apart for you and Fi after I left."
Catherine lifted her head off his chest, balancing herself on her elbow. "I can talk to Jimmy, convince him to let you come back. Or even Dessie. He controls everything south of Armagh except for Newry—"
"Oh, sweetheart," Chibs whispered, tucking a wavy tress behind her ear. "You've no idea how much I'd appreciate you doing that for me, but I can't go back. Too much happened and too much time has passed. Northern Ireland isn't my home anymore."
"What about Scotland? Aunt Cait went back to Edinburgh and Padraic has been talkin' about goin' too. If it's the MC you don't wanna leave, youse could start a charter there. Brien would follow, I know that for sure."
With every word she spoke, Chibs' heart broke into tiny pieces. There was no way he could make her understand why he never wanted to return to the United Kingdom or the Republic. It had taken him far too long to constantly stop thinking about what he left behind, if he unburied the hatchet after all these years he'd either drink himself to death or eat a bullet. He couldn't even tell her he'd consider it because it would be wrong on so many levels to get her poor hopes up.
"Do me a favor?" he asked.
"For you, anything."
"Stop tryin' to get answers from Jimmy. Put aside whatever animosity you have towards Fi and have a drink wit' her. Talk to her, ask her what happened. I promise she isn't as awful as ya think she is. And while you're at it, call your fuckin' brother."
"Hold the elevator!"
Hearing the request, Catherine darted her hand out to stop the heavy doors from sliding shut. She moved off to the side, allowing for the rushed woman to make her way inside.
"Are you going down?" she asked. Catherine simply nodded and a comfortable silence fell upon them. It didn't last though. "Are you by chance Catherine O'Toole? Filip Telford's niece. Or do you go by Dennehy now?"
Catherine snapped her head to the side, grabbing a hold of the metal railing fearing her knees would buckle. She gave the stranger the once over. Her straightened hair was long and blonde, the cheap pantsuit she had on was the first clue telling Catherine this woman wasn't a doctor. A hospital administrator, maybe. Even if she were, there was no possible way she'd know anything about Catherine.
"Who the hell's askin'?"
Before she answered, the woman pressed the red emergency stop button. The elevator jolted to a stop, making Catherine almost lose her balance.
"With everything I've been told and read about you, I have to say I'm very surprised it's not Catherine O'Phelan. Whatever happened between you and Jimmy? Was his age starting to show in the bedroom? If that's the case I don't bla-"
"Who the fuck are you?" Catherine was starting to regret her choice of footwear today, opting for a pair of pink ballet flats instead of her boots where she could have concealed a knife.
"Special Agent June Stahl," she said extending her hand. "I'm with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms."
"You're a fed." When Catherine refused to take June's hand, she took no offense and lowered it. During her long career, she learned the criminals were just as friendly as her colleagues, in that they weren't at all. "What is it that you want with me?"
There was no point in beating around the bush. This was the first time she's managed to get this close to someone who was actually in the IRA, June didn't want to screw it up with useless questions that would only inflame Catherine. She thought back to the conference call she had earlier in the week with an agent from MI5 who informed June that Catherine may be in Charming. He gave her decent advice about the kind of dissident Republican Catherine was. The True IRA was nowhere near as organized as the Provisionals once were, but Catherine had been brought up with enough old-timers to have the same discipline instilled in her. The biggest blunder June could make was underestimating Catherine. A woman like her should never be downplayed. She's been indoctrinated just enough and usually well-armed.
"I want your baby daddy."
Catherine snorted. "You can have him. I should warn ya he isn't as domineering in the bedroom as you'd think. But then again, you seem like the kinky type who doesn't get her kicks bein' the wee submissive one, so maybe youse be a match made in heaven after all."
June wasn't in the mood to play Catherine's games. She knew she had to take control of the conversation before Catherine could. "We both know how evil Jimmy is. He ripped apart your family, then knocked you around a couple of times when you were pregnant and I'm sure you did nothing to deserve it."
"Who says I didn't deserve it?"
Jimmy may have been her least favorite person in the world, but that didn't change the fact Catherine still loved him. Unlucky for June, that love far outweighed the hatred Catherine had towards officers of the law. Catherine also had a hunch that perhaps someone—Liam—was talking again. That was the only way the insufferable American would have gotten her hands on the intimate details of her relationship with Jimmy.
She prayed she was wrong.
Tired of the smart-mouthed remarks she was getting, June lost her edge. "Look, you can play dumb all you want but your days of freedom, and Jimmy's is grossly limited the longer you Micks are here. That's a promise. It would be a damn shame if those boys you have ended up becoming wards of the State once their deadbeat, terrorist of a mother is sentenced to life in federal prison. If you help me get to Jimmy and the rest of his True IRA connections, I'll see what I can do to make sure you only spend twenty years being passed around like a wee bitch, lassie."
For some reason, watching Catherine remain stoically calm only aggravated June more. It had been so easy to rattle Donna Winston and Cherry, she failed to realize that thirty years of living in complete and utter hell turned Catherine colder than Gemma Teller. Those threats were nothing more than empty to Catherine, nothing she hadn't heard before.
Though, it was kind of refreshing on Catherine's part to not be hammered with a shower of demoralizing taunts and insults. She was far more intimidated by the PSNI than she was of the wretched woman standing in front of her who trying hard to assert her authority.
All the grandstanding managed to do was prove to Catherine the ATF had absolutely naught and were growing colossally desperate by risking it all to corner her in an elevator in some ho-dunk hospital.
Catherine bit her tongue from laughing, wanting to tell this federal agent that if she were good at her job, she'd already know that Jimmy was sitting in the parking lot waiting for Catherine to finish her visit.
"The True IRA," Catherine snickered. "They're bloody animals, so they are. I'm highly offended you've ambushed me like this, accusing me and my ex of being associated with the likes 'em when all I'm tryin' to do is make sure my uncle makes it out of here with half his head still intact. Wherever you've gotten your information from, lassie, you've been lied to. I'm a wee housewife, and Jimmy, he's a half broke pub owner just tryin' to make an honest livin' like the rest of us poor Irish-folk in Belfast. It seems to me, the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms should be a little less concerned about what I'm doin' here and a little more focused on the real terrorists who brought a car bomb into Teller-Morrow Automotive."
Deciding she was done with this conversation, Catherine reached around a stunned June and pressed the emergency button again to restart the elevator. Before June could conjure something half-intelligent to say, they reached the ground level. When the doors slid open, Catherine stepped out then used her foot to stop the doors from closing when she realized June wouldn't be joining her.
The nefarious smirk that spread along Catherine's red lips filled June with the same worrisome intuition she'd felt the night she rolled up onto Donna Winston's murder scene.
"Ya said your name was Special Agent June Stahl, right?" asked Catherine. June swallowed hard and nodded — turns out she downplayed Catherine after all. "Brilliant. Good luck with your inquiry into those devious bastards. It's about time someone brought 'em to justice."
The smile never dropped from Catherine's face until the doors closed. Spinning on her heels to head out through the main entrance, she frantically dug through her purse for her phone. Her thumb trembled as she swiped through the plethora of apps until she came across WhatsApp to send Jimmy a warning text to get the fuck out of there.
It took Catherine nearly forty minutes to hike to the park they agreed to meet at if things went haywire. By the time she collapsed on the bench, she had sweat right through her silk blouse, and her feet throbbed from having zero support. Looking around, she couldn't spot Jimmy's SUV but she talked herself out of the anxiety by saying it was because he'd ditched it for something else.
Twiddling her thumbs, all she wanted to do was go home. Even though she knew her chances of being picked up by the police were just as high in Belfast and Crossmaglen, there was something about being detained in a foreign country that made it all the more nerve-wracking.
Catherine tapped the toes of her shoe on the cracked concrete, checking her watch every three seconds. She nearly jumped out of her sunburned skin when her phone started vibrating in her purse. Fetching it, she was relieved to see it was a message from Jimmy.
Chevron petrol station. 10 mins, was all it said.
Jumping to her feet, Catherine slipped her phone into the waistband of her leggings and started walking in the direction of the gas station. This wasn't the first time they've had to play a game of musical cars, nor would it ever be the last. But as she made her way on foot in a town she knew nothing about with federal agents unequivocally hellbent on tracking she and Jimmy down, Catherine started to wonder if she was getting too old for this shit.
At twenty, sprinting through the thicket of south Armagh, or the residential areas of Belfast to evade an arrest had been an adrenaline rush like none other.
"Goddamn it, O'Toole," she chuckled to herself reminiscing about one of her many run-ins with the RUC, "I swear to God if you make me run this will end very badly for you! Motherfuck… I know where you fucking live!"
Despite her idiotic decision to make a run for the border a few months back when the PSNI came knocking, now at thirty, Catherine would prefer two days of questioning than exerting her body to rates she just wasn't used to anymore.
Though in retrospect, she'd rather not do anything that would attract their attention. Unlike Dessie who gave no thought about assembling dodgy pipe bombs in Cullyhanna, or Patrick who still never left the house without a pistol or even Jimmy who shamelessly tossed shell casings into the river when it was broad daylight.
If she and Dessie narrowly escaping death three times over the last year taught Catherine anything, it was that she was more than ready for a life of quietude. The farmhouse in Forkhill and her four boys were all she wanted.
No more running.
No more violence.
No more of the Irish Republican Army.
When she made it to the Chevron station, she was a few minutes early. With still no sign of Jimmy, Catherine went inside to buy a bottle of water and a pack of Marlboro Lights. With the cold bottle tucked under her arm, she walked back outside while tamping the pack of smokes against her wrist. That's when she saw Luke pumping gas into a blue sedan she's never seen before.
Nonchalantly, Catherine crossed the somewhat busy lot. She went right for the car Luke was servicing and slid into the front seat.
"Where's Jimmy?" she asked Luke when he finished.
He started the engine and pulled out into traffic. "Oakland. He asked me to bring you back to the pub. What gives?"
"A fucking fed," Catherine lit a much-needed smoke. "Some ATF broad cornered me at St. Thomas after I finished seein' Filip."
"I told him it was a bad idea to let you see him alone. Should've had Fiona or one of us with you."
Catherine shook her head. "Yeah, 'cause me walkin' in there with one of Jimmy's goons wouldn't seem suspicious at all. Youse don't have the slightest clue how to be inconspicuous; stand out like bloody black sheep."
"But one look at us and I bet you twenty quid the bitch would've left you alone."
She couldn't argue with that logic.
Luke escorted Catherine into the dimly lit pub in Oakland. Many of the men who worked there were either in the IRA or were close associates who knew how to keep their mouths shut.
It was quiet and empty, which was expected for the time of day. When she saw Jimmy sitting in one of the back booths with a bottle and two shot glasses on the table, Catherine pushed passed Luke to go straight for him.
Sliding in, she rested her head on her folded arms. Jimmy shooed Luke away.
"This was not part of the plan, at all," she whined. "Do you have any idea how far you made me walk?"
"After how pitiful your run was this morn' I figured you could the exercise."
Lifting her head, Catherine was at a loss for words for a moment. She accepted the whiskey he poured for her.
"Do you remember that thing we talked about?" She slammed her shot, shuddering when the booze didn't go down as smoothly as she hoped it would. "About how you're supposed to think before you speak. You're worse than Eamonn, I swear."
"Oh, so when Eamonn does it you praise him for his honesty, but when I do I'm just an arsehole."
"That's because you're not as cute as wee Eamonn."
"I resent that," Jimmy said, taking another shot. "The wee bastard looks just like me."
Catherine furrowed her brows. "Don't be callin' my son a wee bastard, you prick."
"He is. In the literal sense, anyway."
"And whose fault is that?" She tapped her long, manicured nails on the tabletop.
"It ain't fuckin' mine. I wanted to marry ya but I do remember you sayin' right to my face that you wouldn't marry me even if doing so would reunite Ireland." Jimmy offered Catherine another round which she didn't hesitate to take given how this conversation was going.
Catherine ignored his recollection, going straight for the first thought that popped into her head. "You should've pulled out. As we were driving to Wicklow, I told you we had to be careful because I was ovulating."
"Really, Catherine? I was so pissed that night, I don't think I could've remembered my name let alone remember you telling me to finish on your tits instead of in your fanny. If you were so concerned about safety, you would've pushed me off you. I probably warned you half a dozen times I was about to cum before I did."
"Just goes to show which head you were thinkin' with."
Jimmy held up his middle finger, blowing smoke rings above her head. He stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray at the end of the table, more than ready to drop this conversation. "What the fuck happened at St. Thomas."
"ATF — that's what fuckin' happened. A one Special Agent June Stahl corralled me in the elevator. She told me she knows who we are and she's got one hell of a hard-on for you. She used the same threat they all do. Said it would be a shame for my boys to end up in the system and that I should give you up for a lighter sentence, blah, blah, blah. We should probably lay low for the next couple of days; start makin' arrangements to get me and Fi back home. You should also check in on Eddie to see if they've visited him. The fella doesn't know how to keep himself together when the peelers start comin' around."
"I want a lad with you at times, ya hear?" He pinched the bridge of his nose. This was the last thing he needed to be worrying about. "From now on, you and Fiona aren't be goin' to see Filip anymore."
"Understood."
Her heart started to pound when Luke, his brother Kevin, and several other of Jimmy's enforcers crowded around the table.
Without even having done anything, Catherine couldn't help feeling like she'd something to wrong the army.
"It's almost two," Luke said to Jimmy.
"What's this about?" she asked.
Jimmy reached into the breast pocket of his blazer. He pulled out a cheap flip phone, setting it on the table beside her empty shot glass.
She thought she would be sick. The army never shied away from exploiting Catherine for being multilingual. She could turn her Belfast brogue into a Russian or German one with the slightest of ease, so when it came to calling in a bomb warning she was one of their most precious assets.
"I'm not doing it," she asserted. "Not after last time when your lads fucked the entire thing up."
"It's not that kind of call, a chuisle."
"Then what's this about?"
Jimmy filled the shot glass then scooched it closer to Catherine. Luke tossed a small folded piece of paper in front of her. She ignored the booze, going straight for paper and unfolding it. There was a Belfast phone number scribbled down. It took a second to register exactly whose number it was.
"Why do you want me to call Ian?"
Realizing she had no interest in the whiskey, Jimmy drank it. With Catherine's high standing within ONH and her still fairly connected to the leadership circle of the True army, Jimmy knew he couldn't lie to her. Eventually, the truth would come out and it would only make him look like the asshole when he was nothing more than the middle-man in this entire mess.
"Do you remember what I told you about us wanting to push out Samcro and Sambel?" asked Jimmy. Catherine nodded and he continued, "McGee and O'Neill agreed to help make that a reality so long as we make sure they're taken care of financially in the future—"
Catherine cut him off, "How does Ian come into this?"
Irritated she interrupted, Jimmy rose his hand. "If you'd let me finish, you'd find out. Mother'a Christ. A few weeks ago, Sambel ran into a wee bit of trouble and it's your boy who's leading the investigation. If McGee and O'Neill end up in Maghaberry, it'll be bad for all of us."
Your boy. Catherine rolled her eyes so hard she almost saw the inside of her head.
"So you need me to call off the hound."
"Aye. Somethin' like that."
Jimmy's answer didn't sit well with Catherine. She picked up a cigarette, holding it between her index and middle fingers. "What's really goin' on here?"
"That's the truth, so it is." Jimmy struck his Zippo to light the smoke for her. "It's not so much as callin' off the hound as it is puttin' the auld fella down."
Catherine's world came to a grinding halt on its axis. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't think. She stared Jimmy right in the eye and the indifferent luster told her he was serious. The shaking cigarette gave it away that her hands were trembling, so she quickly dropped it into the ashtray.
When Catherine finally found her voice, she spoke slowly and clear, "I will not make the call."
Jimmy swallowed his bubbling fury, unable to fathom the set of brass balls she possessed to be explicitly insubordinate to him in front of his men. "Aye, Catherine. You will."
Picking the cigarette back up, she took a long drag, blowing the smoke out in a steady stream. "No, I fuckin' won't. Ian…he's a friend. He's—"
Before Catherine had a chance to finish her thought, Jimmy reached across the table and swiftly backhanded her.
The cigarette she'd been holding near her face tumbled from her grasp, falling into her lap. It burnt a hole through her black leggings. Not thinking twice about the smoldering cigarette on her thigh, Catherine brought her fingers to her cheeks, gently pressing them to the stinging flesh.
In unison, Jimmy's men shifted uncomfortably. They didn't exactly blame him for what she said disgusted them to the core. By now, her capricious affair with the English constable was an open secret that everyone coped with by turning a blind eye to. They knew it was a severe lapse in judgment brought on by a dangerous combination of too much alcohol and all-consuming grief, but they never considered the notion she'd one day take the side of a peeler.
"Ian Wright is not a friend, you frumpy twat," Jimmy snarled through clenched teeth. "Where've you been for the last thirty-fucking-years? Because if that's how you're gonna talk, it sure hell hasn't been in the six counties with the rest of us."
Finally taking the cigarette off her lap, Catherine crushed it in the ashtray. She couldn't exactly figure out what shook her the most: Jimmy striking her or him forcing her to make the call that would end a good man's life.
She never held being a police officer over Ian's head, being mature enough to understand he was simply doing his job when it came to investigating the crimes committed in Belfast. It was no different than her doing her job of committing said crimes. If they needed an investigation stalled, they handled it by handing over an envelope bursting with cash.
This time around it was personal, and for what reason, she had no idea. Ian knew something that a few thousand quid couldn't solve.
Jimmy flexed the hand he used to smack her. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the bright red mark on her pale cheek, wishing he hadn't done it. The guilt was almost paralyzing. It hadn't been a gut reaction to hearing her say what she did, it was more so to prove to himself and everyone else in the room that he wasn't too soft on her after all.
The only thing keeping Catherine from storming out of the pub and finding her way to the airport was her pride. She didn't want Jimmy nor his men to think she was too soft to handle one pitiful smack. Besides, Patrick had wailed on her a lot harder when he was blind-drunk than what Jimmy managed just now.
Jimmy poured another two shots, wasting no time knocking back the one for him. He placed the glass upside down on the table, wiping a rogue droplet of whiskey off his lower lip.
"Here's the situation. Right now, Dessie is at the Holywood Golf Club, just itching to make the shot straight through Ian's front window, and I have a lad sitting across the Falls Road itching to make the same shot at your da. If you refuse to make the call to get Ian in place for Dessie, I make the call to Michael Casey.
Catherine felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. "You're lying, so you are."
Jimmy smirked, picking up his Blackberry. He showed Catherine a photo and her heart nearly jumped out of her chest. It was of Patrick sitting in his favorite recliner, remote in one hand, beer in the other, like every night when he watched the news. Catherine nearly lost her mind when she noticed Danny's light blue blanket laid out in the middle of the room, toys scattered around it.
Her boys were there, too.
"You're bluffing. You wouldn't do that to my Da with Eamonn there to see!"
Jimmy shrugged. "Even if I am, is that a chance you're willing to take, a chuisle? For a goddamn peeler who couldn't give a shite about you."
No, it wasn't. Nor did she want to be the one who put Ian in the line of sight to catch a .50 caliber bullet in the forehead. Catherine had seen her fair share of sniper hits, and all she could imagine was his head turning into pink mist. But living with that guilt would be light-years easier to deal with than something happening to Patrick, Eamonn, Sean, or Danny. She feared for Dessie as well. There was no way for her to know if Jimmy had set him up to be caught with the Barrett trying to scurry from the golf club.
She could just slap him for letting Jimmy talk him into doing something so reckless.
Needing whiskey more than ever, Catherine finally drowned her shot only to quickly pour another one. The raw booze gurgling in her empty, upset stomach, she took a breath. "If I make the call, I have your word nothing happens to my Da, my sons, and Dessie?"
Jimmy nodded. "I promise nothin'll happen to any of 'em."
"Okay." Snatching the phone off the table, Catherine flipped it open. It was either going to be Ian or Patrick, and she couldn't think about going back to Belfast knowing she'd not only have to bury her father but deal with the trauma Eamonn and Sean would be scarred with from seeing their grandfather's head explode like a watermelon.
Not trusting Catherine to dial the correct number, Jimmy took the phone from her hands so he could punch in the numbers himself. He pressed the small green button, then handed it back off to her.
The entire time it rang, all Catherine could do was pray Ian wouldn't answer. If he didn't answer, that would mean he wasn't home.
Her heart sank when the line picked up and she heard his voice. Her gut told her to hang up right away. Her only job was to get him to the front of the house where the landline phone was kept. Dessie had a quick trigger finger and even better aim, so him just being in the room would be enough. But she couldn't end it that way.
"Ian," she said, her words laced with a sickly false delight. "It's Catherine."
Jimmy nearly had a stroke when she so brazenly identified herself. Being a detective for the Serious Crimes branch, there was no way his phone wasn't wired to record the threatening calls he surely received.
"No, everything's fine," she paused, "I just — I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry."
