Catherine was grateful Fiona rejected every one of her intoxicated demands to ambush Jimmy at the pub in Oakland.
Going back to the house gave Catherine some time to sober up a little and figure out how to tread the rough conversation. She wasn't looking for a fight. All she craved was an honest exchange, despite that with Jimmy Catherine knew hearing anything which resembled honesty was farfetched.
Jimmy came strolling through the door around ten o'clock. Catherine was waiting for him on the sofa. She was cooler than she was at the pub with Fiona — who unbeknownst to Jimmy booked a hotel suite for the night to give Catherine some privacy — and jumped right up to pour him a scotch.
All unfolded as Catherine envisioned.
For a while they glibly chatted about Eamonn, figuring out how they would split his school fees and uniform cost.
With talk of Catholic education, the conversation turned down the road of religion and that's when Catherine got up from the sofa to gather the bottle of scotch from the kitchen and a glass for herself.
She made a point to either agree with everything Jimmy spoke, or spell out her differing opinion in a tone to not to provoke him.
Over several glasses and a pack of smokes, they talked back and forth between religion and philosophy, where they ventured into the dreaded realm of politics. She kept her mouth shut, letting him vent his frustrations.
It didn't take long for them to come to a discussion on the armed conflict, and the policy differences which made she and Dessie to split from the True army.
Catherine knew if she wanted Jimmy to mention anything about the cold war between him and Chibs, she'd have to open up too.
"I fucking hate being finance officer," she groaned. "I'm too bleedin' exhausted to be worrying about whether every pound is accounted for. You know, I'd give my left tit to be adjutant again. Fuckin' Kieran… he stole the position right out from under me and Dessie just let it happen!"
The corners of Jimmy's mouth curled, forming a mischievous smirk as he poured her more scotch. This was the version of Catherine he liked most. When she's drunk out of her wits, Catherine was unfiltered and feisty.
"You wanna be second-in-command?"
Taking a sip of her drink, Catherine nodded. "Aye. I know there's a lot more responsibility compared to what I do now, but that's work I enjoy. When I was chief of staff while you were in Maghaberry, I fuckin' loved every second. I didn't do it with an infant at home, though."
And there it is, Jimmy realized. Catherine got a taste of what it was like to be in charge and she's been chasing the high ever since. Unlucky for her, she had three other men in her tight-knit circle just as power hungry. Kieran, Connor, and Jack may have Dessie's ear, but Catherine had Jimmy and her wish was his command.
"Rumor has it, Dessie and Kieran grab a couple pints at Short's Bar every Saturday afternoon," Jimmy mentioned. "Maybe the lads in Dublin aren't too happy with the way Kieran's been managing things."
Catherine held up her hand to stop him from talking anymore nonsense. "No. No way in hell are you gonna have Kieran clipped and make it look like the Dublin lads did it. All you'll do is spark some bullshite gang war that we want nothing to do with. Besides, once the bodies were to drop in Dublin and Cross, there's no way Dessie would move me to adjutant because that would put me in the crossfire. I just have to accept the fact I'll never be at the top again."
He shrugged. At least he tried.
"My offer is still on the table," said Jimmy. "You come back to the True army, Donny's out and the position is yours."
"I told you before. I'm not leaving ONH."
"Why? Because of Dessie?" The irritation in Jimmy's voice was clear. It didn't faze Catherine.
"Me refusing to come back has fuck all to do with Dessie," she asserted. Jimmy's trite reproaching of Dessie exhausted Catherine. "It also has fuck all to do with how much I hate you for all the torment you've put me through. As long as those bastard Kings are the ruling council, I want nothing to do with that organization. What happened to Darragh… Dessie and I will never forget, nor will we forgive anyone involved."
Jimmy's blood turned to ice. He flexed his jaw, unnerved by how Catherine menacingly peered into his eyes. It was impossible for him to figure out if it was a general warning for the Kings or directed at him, too.
"Its been five years. You need to let it go."
Grabbing the pack of cigarettes in the middle of the table, Catherine lit one then knocked back the rest of her scotch.
"Just like how you let it go when Filip threw a pipe bomb through your front window?"
"How the fuck — who fucking told you?"
"Filip told me. He told me everything that happened between youse."
For how drunk she was, Catherine impressed herself with remembering the lie. There was no way of knowing what sort of punishment Jimmy would dole out to Fiona if he knew it was her who spilled the hideous truth. Catherine could handle the bruises in the aftermath of a Jimmy whipping. In Fiona's case, Catherine worried a blindside punch and a few backhands wouldn't be all Fiona endured. Catherine also well enough understood she had Dessie in her corner, ready to go toe-to-toe with Jimmy God forbid anything happened.
Fiona had no one.
Jimmy pursed his lips and nodded. "Did he tell you the actual truth? Or just his version, so he comes out looking like the wee victim?"
Catherine straightened up, remaining stoic even though she realized she had Jimmy eating from her palm.
"What's the truth?"
"He made a bleedin' fool of me." Jimmy lit a cigarette. "After his court-martial for the pipe bomb and the lads told him he needed to leave for the Republic, he fucking stayed. He stayed in Belfast and he reminded me every chance he had."
"So that's when you tried to have him clipped. Not before the court-martial."
"Aye. I was still rank-and-file, so my commander told me if I just hurt him, they'd turn their cheek to it. That's when I," he tried to swallow the aching lump in his throat, "did that to his face. He came after me first! I didn't wanna kill him, I just wanted him all scarred up like the poor lass. But when he didn't leave after they ordered him to and patched with Sambel, what was I supposed to do?"
Catherine plucked the cigarette from Jimmy, taking a drag. She handed it back, exhaled the smoke through her nose and fell into the cushion, rubbing her sore eyes.
"No, I get it," she said. Never in a million years did she expect Jimmy to be the one who came out smelling like a rose in this entire cluster fuck. That's what made it so difficult to fathom. "It still doesn't justify you trying to kill him, but I understand. If the Ra tells you to leave and ya don't, you're there at your own risk. I just wish things were different, ya know."
"They will be different once we win the war."
It took every ounce of self-control not to roll her eyes at him. She bit her tongue. Telling Jimmy what she thought would only end in a fight when this conversation was so civil. Better off leaving well alone, Catherine figured.
She whispered, "Yeah. They will be."
In the morning, Catherine plopped down at the kitchen table, holding her throbbing head.
The last time she had a hangover this brutal, she'd been sixteen and she and her brothers found Patrick's stash of potcheen.
Jimmy was in the kitchen too, whipping up a quick meal for himself as he was far more functional than her.
"How are you feeling, a chuisle?" he asked. Jimmy glanced over his shoulder to peek at Catherine. "You want a wee cuppa?"
Resting her head on her folded arms, Catherine prayed that would stop the room from spinning. "Aye. Thanks. And for the record, as God of my witness, I am never, ever drinking again. Where's Fi?"
"Bollocks," he snorted, flipping on the electric kettle. "I've heard ya say that before. And Fi is off spending all of my hard-earned money. She's at the Tiffany shop in San Francisco to get Kerri a wee charm for her bracelet, I guess."
"You're sittin' on millions, that I know of. I'll try not to feel too sorry for ya that Fi likes to shop. Also, I fucking mean it this time. I blame you for letting me mix vodka and scotch. What a bleedin' mistake that was."
"Figured it would get that stick out of your arse."
"I appreciate that."
When Jimmy set the mug on the table in front of her, Catherine lifted her head. The nausea passed hours ago. Relief came at the expense of having her head in the toilet for most of the day. Jimmy had woken her up in the early afternoon to take something for the headache and drink a Gatorade. Both of which she didn't keep down.
The terrible nightmare of heaving until her throat and stomach hurt still fresh in her mind, Catherine took small sips of the hot, plain tea. Jimmy sat across from her with his plate of food, eyeing her. The way she drank last night, he knew there was something besides finding out the truth about Chibs weighing on her mind. How long it took Catherine to process stress, she wouldn't start drinking away this trauma for another three weeks, he figured.
"What's going on? Don't waste your breath telling me it's fuck all, or it's this shite with Filip because I know you're lying."
Catherine detested how Jimmy knew her better than anyone else. He always saw right through her charade.
"It's just," she paused, unsure if this was a conversation she wanted to have with him while fighting the booze-flu. If she didn't get it off her chest, she feared it would only end up crushing her. Nor did it help Jimmy was the only one who would understand. "Dess and I are going through a wee rough patch is all."
"The fights about your pre-term labor better not be still happening."
"No. It's not that."
"Care to share?"
Drinking the tea, she mumbled, "Not really."
As much as Jimmy hated to admit, Catherine being unwilling to unload the details of her personal life stung. Once upon a time he'd been the one she spilled all of her secrets to. For hours, over strawberry milkshakes and French fries, she'd chew his ear off about the drama at St. Dominic's.
And he'd listen to every useless word she said.
Jimmy grabbed Catherine's hand. He gave it a comforting squeeze, coming up with an idea.
Letting go of her, Jimmy took his plate to the sink, then stuffed his wallet and phone into the pocket of his trousers. "Go get dressed. We're going out."
"I don't think that's a brilliant idea," she said. "I couldn't even keep the headache tablets down."
"A greasy burger and chips do wonders for a hangover. I know a place that's violently American… you'll love it."
Settling into a bench outside In-n-Out Burger, neither Catherine nor Jimmy wasted time diving into their burger and fries.
"What's the craic with you and Dessie?"
"I'm not gonna tell you."
"We have shakes and chips. You have to, that's the law."
Catherine swirled her straw in the pink ice cream concoction. She appreciated the jest, even if he was far from joking. "I'm not gonna tell you because all you're gonna do is judge and make smartass commentary."
"I've been listening to your boy troubles since you were a wee girl. When have I ever judged or made smartass comments?"
"Always," she said. "Literally every time I would come to you, you'd tell me boys are arseholes and I need to just stay away from 'em altogether."
"Well," Jimmy licked a glob of burger sauce off his thumb, "if you listened to me back then, you wouldn't be having trouble with one now. Boys are awful. I don't think it's too late for you to join a convent."
Catherine took a bite of her burger. "I should take an oath of celibacy at this point. Dessie and I haven't had sex in a month."
Jimmy swallowed his bite of food, staring at Catherine. Her unchanged expression of apathy made it very clear she was telling the truth. "Jesus."
"I mean the passion is still there," she defended. "We're still very much attracted to each other, which even you can't deny because you walked in on me sending him wank material. We just haven't been connecting. Every time we get physical, we stop because there's this wee elephant in the room neither of us want to acknowledge, but it needs to be."
"What elephant?"
Catherine dusted the salt off her greasy fingers, picking up her shake. She took a long sip.
"He knows."
Jimmy furrowed his brow in confusion. "He knows what?"
Christ, this was like pulling teeth, he thought.
"Eamonn wasn't the first time I was up the duff."
"What did you tell him?"
"The truth." When Catherine blinked, tears slipped down her cheeks. "That I had a trip to England arranged, but my broken body had other plans."
Jimmy's heart was ten pounds heavier watching her wipe away the tears. "Your body's not broken, Catherine. It was one miscarriage that happened at the best time. You have three healthy wee boys now. Why would it matter to him, anyway? He knows Eamonn is mine and doesn't seem to care."
"Because I had another miscarriage around the time we brought Danny home. He has it in his head that I went to England and went through with it, but it's not true. He's blaming me, saying shite like how this miscarriage is my fault. Karma for an abortion I didn't even have."
Jimmy wasn't sure what to digest first. The fact she had gotten pregnant again, or that Dessie was again pinning blame all on her.
"Do you want more kids?"
"Aye. He's not getting any younger and I'm not either, but we need another wee baby like we need a hole in our heads."
"Lord give me strength," Jimmy muttered. "I told you this when you got with Lorcan, but it's obvious ya need to hear it again… either get on the pill, or go a clinic and get yourself some johnnies. That said, I'll talk to him. Set the record straight."
"There's no point." Catherine dug into her food. "If he doesn't believe me, there's no way in hell he's gonna believe you."
Jimmy fell quiet.
"I still think about it sometimes," he admitted. "That should have been the kick in the arse to leave Fi and be with you. The ironic part is that you were nineteen and handled it more maturely than I did."
"You acting immature… I'm shocked."
Jimmy sat on the patio with vodka and a joint. The night was more humid than he was used to, but it was still enjoyable.
His burner phone on the table, Jimmy debated on what to do. Catherine told him not to get involved in her marital troubles. He quasi respected her request, though it was difficult for him to stay out of it when the situation upset her. Protecting Catherine was something he did well. He'd been doing it for so long it was second nature, and it never seemed right going against his instinct.
Taking a drag from the joint, Jimmy held the smoke deep in his chest, then blew out a cloud as he settled back into the wrought-iron chair. His mind was at ease, almost euphoric, in the exact state he needed to be if he planned on going through with the call.
He checked his watch. It was almost four in the morning back home. No one liked their sleep disturbed, though Jimmy told himself if Dessie was taking his responsibility as a father to heart, he would be up by now with Danny.
He missed out on the first two years of Eamonn's life, and Jimmy understood he wasn't one to point fingers. He couldn't care less about the hypocrisy, ready to unload with the truth about how he regretted missing those valuable years and has done everything possible to make up for it since. Jimmy loved his son more than anyone — including Catherine. He may never wrap his head around the fact Dessie too often curtailed the joys of fatherhood. It was tough, Jimmy came to learn, but he loved every second.
Resentment was the only word he summed up his view on Dessie. The man was raising his son full time with Catherine, an opportunity Jimmy would cut off a finger for.
Things would be different when she got back to Crossmaglen, that Jimmy was sure of.
And it all would change with this phone call.
Dessie hadn't slept in days. Not since Patrick caught him at the party in Dundalk.
He sat in the living room alone. The lights and television were off and he listened to the rain pelting against windows as he drank straight from a bottle of Power's. Peering at the giant decorative clock Catherine insisted hanging on the wall, it laughed at him. He was expected to be at work in four hours.
In the front pocket of his jeans, Dessie's phone started vibrating. Digging it out, he squinted his eyes and grimaced when he saw Jimmy's number stretching across the bright screen. After tearing open the semi healed wound with Patrick at the pub the night before, talking to Jimmy would be like rubbing salt into it. He wanted nothing to do with the man who dragged his wife to hell and back. So, Dessie silenced the call and tossed the phone onto the cushion next to him.
Setting the bottle on the coffee table, Dessie clicked on the lamp and slid to the floor. He wrangled the dime bag Connor bought for him, dumping some white powder near the residue from earlier. With his Visa card he cut two lines, then snorted them with half of the McDonald's straw he saved from dinner. Dessie pinched his nose, tossing his head back when the burn hit. It didn't take long until his face became numb, and his heart pounded out of control.
Licking his finger, he dragged it through the dust left behind. As he stood, he rubbed it between his cheek and gum-line.
It wasn't often Dessie indulged his itch for cocaine, so when he did he always had reasons to justify his blossoming habit. Tonight, he told himself it was because he wasn't sleeping. How was he supposed to work, take care of two kids, an infant, and be the leader ONH deserved if he had no energy in the tank?
Besides, he'd seen Catherine and Patrick dabble with nose candy so to him the short, violent high was fair game.
He headed to the stairs, climbing up as quiet as possible. When he passed by the boys' room he held his breath, terrified the slightest movements would wake up one or all three of the tiny hell-raisers.
In his bedroom, he turned on the light and closed the door. Dessie left it unlocked in case Sean came looking for him. He went straight for the wardrobe, digging for a red metal box on the top shelf. When he found it, he retrieved the key he taped inside one of Catherine's never worn sweaters.
Box and key in hand, Dessie took a seat on the floor between the bed and the wall. He set the box between his legs, trying to think as little as possible as he unlocked it.
This was a long time coming. Five years in the making.
He took out the rubber-banded bundles of U.S. dollar bills and euro, his vital records, and other momentos he couldn't bring himself to pitch.
Finding what he was looking for, Dessie brought one knee into his chest. He reached behind him and felt around the nightstand for the pair of back-up glasses Catherine forgot to pack. He slipped them on.
"Jesus." He whisked them off. He hadn't realized just how strong her prescription is. "I'm married to Stevie Wonder, so I am."
Tossing them on the bed, Dessie held the letter closer to his face so he could better make out Darragh's chicken-scratch.
Dess -
If you're reading this before I'm even dead, then fuck you, you impatient, miserable prick.
My Da always told me there's no shame in admitting when I'm scared because only those who aren't human don't feel that way every once in a while. Truth is, I'm fucking terrified. I'm not scared about what'll happen to me because I've accepted whatever I've coming is gonna be slow and brutal. All the shite I've stirred up in the city, can't say I don't deserve it. What scares me out of my mind is not knowing what will happen to Catherine and the boys when I'm gone. Catherine… she's a strong one, but she isn't strong enough to fight Jimmy off on her own. He's a sneaky fuck, so never, and I mean NEVER let your guard down with him. I want you to be the one holding her hand the day she buries me and the shoulder she cries on when it's over.
Don't even try to deny how you feel about Catherine. I see the way you are with her, and I see the way she looks at you. Sometimes I wonder if she would have been better with you in Cross than with me in Belfast. Everything that's been thrown at she and I in the last two years, I know you would have handled it way better than me and then maybe her life wouldn't be such a mess. Catherine's dumb as shite and stubborn as all hell, but underneath is a phenomenal woman who didn't deserve any of this. Thanks, Jimmy.
Don't be fucking selfish either. If you're not gonna love her the way she deserves to be loved, please do me, her, and the boys a favor and let her go. If you don't love how she gets toothpaste all over her mouth when she brushes her teeth, let her go, because someone else will. Don't hold her back from someone who could give her and the boys everything. When you see her and the breath isn't sucked right from your lungs, or if she doesn't soothe your nightmares in the middle of the night, Catherine isn't the lass for you. The cruelest thing anyone can do is to be with someone when they don't love them back.
If it doesn't work out with her, please still watch over my boys. I don't just mean wee Seany. Eamonn too. I don't give a shite what anyone bloody says. It's my name on the birth certificate, so I think well enough means he's mine. Once I'm out of the picture, Jimmy'll do whatever he can to get back into her life, and making a pawn out of Eamonn isn't above his morality. The last thing I ever want is for Jimmy to poison their lives, just like how he poisoned our Catherine.
He's the antichrist, so he is. The only way to bring him and the Kings down is to raise hell. And if anyone is gonna do it, it's you. All I ask is that you do not let me die in vain.
You're a proper lad, Dess. More decent than I'll ever be. Never forget that.
One more thing — I'm sorry for kicking your fat arse in the chow line when we were in Maghaberry.
I'll see you on the other side, mate. Hopefully not too soon.
Cheers -
Darragh
Crumpling the yellowed paper in his fists, Dessie squeezed his eyes shut. No matter how hard he tried to control it, the tears bursted, rolling down his cheeks.
He hated himself for having been so blasé about the warning Darragh had given him. Darragh told Dessie more than once he felt it in his gut that Jimmy and the Kings were on his tail after the car bomb they detonated in front of the courthouse in Belfast.
By refusing to read the letter right after news of Darragh's death reached Crossmaglen, Dessie realized he let his mate down. Jimmy had been the one supporting Catherine through the funeral and the dark days after, and Dessie let his death be in vain by sitting on his ass even after Catherine told him it was the Kings who'd done it.
Wiping the tears from his sore eyes, Dessie noticed a photo sitting on one shelf of the wardrobe.
Behind the glass of the frame, was his, Catherine's, and Darragh's smiling faces. They were decked out in black and gold, having been at a Crossmaglen Rangers fixture. She was in the middle of the two of them, her belly swollen with Sean. While Darragh held a jovial Eamonn in one arm, the other was curled around Catherine's shoulders. As for Dessie, he had a beer in one hand and his arm protectively wrapped around her side. With Catherine almost melting into Dessie, they looked like more of a couple than she and Darragh.
Maybe he hadn't been as conspicuous in his love for Catherine as he thought if Darragh was pointing it out in the weeks before he died.
Unable to tear his eyes away from the photo, an untapped source of strength exploded in his chest. He was five years late, but he wouldn't let Darragh down. He wouldn't let Darragh's senseless murder be in vain, and nor would he sit around any longer while Jimmy and the Kings plotted his demise.
Irritated Dessie sent the call straight to voicemail, Jimmy knocked back the rest of the vodka and stood up. He left the joint burning in the ashtray, leaving the glass too as he only pocketed his phone. If Dessie wanted to be a child and ignore him, then so be it. Jimmy wasn't above playing dirty.
Heading inside, he went straight for Catherine's bedroom. The door was closed, so he gently knocked, not wanting to wake her up in case she fell back to sleep.
"Come in," she said.
Pushing his way in, Jimmy found Catherine curled up in bed. Her head was resting on one pillow while she had another held against her chest. It was obvious how sick she was feeling and a part of him regretted her dragging her out for food. He closed the door behind him while she turned down the volume on the television.
"Bout ye?" asked Jimmy. Taking a few steps closer to the bed, he crossed his arms over his chest.
Catherine yawned and stretched. "Me head is banging like two randy bunnies."
"Let's see if I can help. You mind if I join you?"
Going against her better judgement because she was only in a t-shirt and panties, Catherine moved over to give Jimmy room. He propped himself against the headboard, motioning for her to settle between his legs. He massaged her neck with the perfect amount of pressure.
Catherine closed her eyes, turning into putty under Jimmy's magic fingers.
"How did you get so good at this?" Catherine rolled her head to the side when he found a tight knot behind her ear. "I swear you weren't this good with your fingers when we first got together."
Jimmy's eyebrows darted up. "It better be my neck massaging ability you're talking about."
"Aye. So c'mon, spill. Whose the lucky lass you've been spoiling with this hidden talent you've been hiding from me?"
Taking a heavy sigh, Jimmy couldn't figure out why it felt so awkward to be talking about this with Catherine. She had no issue rubbing Darragh and Dessie in his face, yet he could never bring himself to do the same to her. Maybe, he wondered, if it was because until Catherine there hadn't been, nor will there ever be someone he took as seriously as he did her. But since she asked, he wasn't going to hide the truth.
"Siobhan Kavanagh."
Catherine's eyes sprang open. She echoed, "Siobhan Kavanagh… so that's still happening. How's it going?"
"Why do you care?" Pushing Catherine's heavy hair over one shoulder, he pressed a light kiss to the nape of her neck. He kissed her again just below her ear, then nipped her pierced lobe with his teeth. "Does it make you jealous that I'm with her?"
She let out a virulent laugh. "I'm not jealous of Siobhan at all. I just think it's a bleedin' cliche you're with the lass who had her heart broken by Dessie. Maybe if we all just branched out and stopped shagging each other, we'd have a lot less drama in our lives. We're worse than teenagers, I swear."
"I dunno, a chuisle. It sounds like you're a wee jealous."
Catherine rolled her eyes. She would not dignify him with an answer.
"Have you heard from Dessie?" Jimmy tried moving the conversation in the direction he intended it to go all along. "I tried to give him a bell a few times, but he kept sending me to voicemail."
"He called me earlier in the afternoon so I could say goodnight to the boys. He was quiet, though. I think he's getting frustrated with me because I haven't reported anything to him about Cammy and Eddie."
Kneading his fingers between her shoulder blades, Jimmy realized the set up couldn't have been anymore perfect.
"I don't think it's Cammy and Eddie what's got Dessie all twisted."
Catherine glanced back at him. "What do ya mean?"
Jimmy stopped rubbing her back, wrapping his arms around her instead. "I didn't want to keep it from you, but Dessie put it up for a vote and that's what the lads decided on."
Catherine's head swam from the information overload. Untangling herself from his firm hold, she pushed back the blanket and turned around, sitting on her ankles.
"Dessie and the lads decided not to tell me what?"
"About Ian," confessed Jimmy. "It wasn't Sambel running into trouble with the peelers that set this all off."
Pressing a hand to her forehead, Catherine tried not to cry. With how much has been thrown at her in the last twenty-four hours, Catherine wasn't sure if she could process anymore.
"What do you mean it wasn't Sambel who started all this shite?" She rose her shaky voice, "What the fuck is going on behind my back, Jimmy?"
"Dessie had a shipment of smokes busted at the Dublin port and the only fellas who knew about it besides him were Kieran, Connor, Aidan, and your sweetheart."
Your sweetheart.
Heat crept into her cheeks, and the shame spiraled through her.
"When Dessie found out what happened, he had the ISU sit down with the fellas for a wee debriefing. It wasn't them who grassed, so Dessie turned his attention somewhere else. I guess your brother put him in touch with McGee because he's got a nephew working out of Musgrave and you were wrong about Ian. He was saying more than his prayers at night, which is what I told you would happen. What was even going through your bloody mind? Thinking you could trust someone like him."
She hadn't been thinking — that was the problem.
Catherine's jaw trembled as she jumped off the bed. She paced the room, trying to make sense of everything being dropped into her lap.
"Why would he do that? Do you know how long he's been feeding them intel?"
Jimmy crossed his ankles and laced his fingers behind his head. He hated to admit it was gratifying to watch Catherine sweat over her poor decision making. "I dunno. Either he snapped and cleared his conscience, or someone noticed we were always a step ahead of 'em and opened an inquiry."
"But what kind of intel did he give up?"
Now her fidgeting and pacing was just starting to annoy him. He thought about slipping her something to relax, but Jimmy needed Catherine in sound mind and body.
"He told them how and where the smokes come in. McGee's nephew said the team handling the case on the bank job you and Dess pulled off are trying to get warrants to go through your finances. He also told us Ian pointed the finger at you and Dessie for the shooting that happened in Ardoyne when they rioted over the Twelfth, and the pipe bomb they found under the Prod copper's car in Poleglass."
Catherine's back hit the wall, and she slid down it. Running her shaky hands through her hair, her breathing sharpened. It felt like a thousand daggers hitting her at once in the chest with every breath she tried taking. Blood thundered in her ears, and her vision went blurry.
"I'm done! I'm fucking done with it all!" screamed Catherine. She wiped away the tears skating down her cheeks. "I don't wanna be part of this shite anymore! I can't end up in Hydebank!"
Jimmy couldn't sit by and watch Catherine fall down the rabbit hole of a nervous breakdown. He only wanted to scare her enough to show she had to be making better decisions when so much was on the line. He didn't mean to frighten her to the point of leaving.
Jumping off the bed, Jimmy hooked his hands under her armpits and brought her up on her feet. He moved her towards the bed, sitting her down. Crouching, he pushed the hair which was sticking to her wet cheeks out of the way.
"Catherine," he soothed. "You've gotta calm down for me, a chuisle." The tears only flowed harder. Now he understood why Patrick refused to budge on his stance of not telling her. Never in a million years did Jimmy expect this response. Catherine was unraveling at the seam and it felt like there was nothing he could do to stop it.
"I fucked up, Jimmy! I'm so," she hiccuped, "I'm so sorry! It's my fault we're all gonna end up in prison!"
It broke his heart hearing her talk in such a way, albeit he refused to deny anything she said was wrong. That was a conversation for another day.
Taking off her glasses and setting them on the bed, Catherine straightened up. She covered her face with her hands, trying to calm down. That seemed impossible with the weight of the world crashing down on her. Catherine was big enough to admit her mistakes and understood if she tried to shy away from the consequences, there'd be hell to pay.
"Dessie should court-martial me," she blurted. "They should dismiss me from ONH and I'll leave for the Republic with the boys. I'm no better than Liam or Ian and deserve to be—"
Jimmy couldn't let her finish that sentence. He knocked her hands away from her face, grabbing her cheeks with one hand. "Catch yourself on! Don't fucking say that shite because you're nothing like Ian or your brother. You were thinking with your fanny, but at least you still used your brain by not saying anything ya weren't supposed to." Jimmy let go of Catherine's cheeks once she calmed down. The tears stopped, but her breaths were still short and choppy.
"You've no idea how fucking lucky you are. Back when me and your da were growing up, the lasses who were caught doin' what you did had their heads shaved or were shot. I get you were lonely after Darragh died, but do you understand why we made such a big deal out of it? He's the enemy, and you fucked him. That was a slap in the face and it was made worse when we figured out he wasn't man enough to deal with the aftermath of that he'd done."
"I understand," she rested her hands on his shoulders. He could tell she was still trembling as her fingers dug into him. "I'll do whatever youse ask of me so I can prove I'm loyal to the cause."
Jimmy wrapped one of her curls around his finger, his eyes staring straight into red, bloated ones. "I know you will. You're a good girl, a chuisle, but you've gotta stop being such an eejit. I heard from Cacuzza and he's agreed to meet with us to try out the hardware. Tomorrow I want you to come out to the desert with Eddie, Cammy, and I so we can close this deal then get you on a plane back home."
"If it's okay with you," she sniffled, "I'd like to stay until Filip is home. I wanna talk with him more about what happened in Belfast but I can't do it at hospital with the feds crawling around."
"No. All you'll do is-"
Catherine started talking over him. "I just want to hear his side of the story. You told me yours, I owe it to him to clear the air on his end."
"You don't owe Filip anything."
"Aye. I do. But I don't expect you to understand why."
Jimmy stood up. He rolled his tense shoulders, trying to relax.
"I'll think about it. Try to get some sleep, will ya?" He headed to the door. "I need ya to be sharp tomorrow."
The last time Dessie shaved his head, he was thirty-two.
Clippers in hand, Anarchy in the U.K. was blasting from somewhere in the derelict house tucked away in the countryside of south Armagh. He was high out of mind, riding the waves between uncontrollable laughter and sobs, trying to forget the torment of having spent over a year locked away like an animal. The Provisional IRA had declared a ceasefire, Eilish divorced him and took his girls to Scotland.
To hell with the coward Provos. To hell with his cunt of an ex-wife. To hell with his hair.
A little older and not much wiser, Dessie was back in front of the bathroom mirror. The same Sex Pistols song blaring through the headphones of the iPod Catherine gave him for his forty-third birthday, there were no tears and no laughter as he plugged the clippers into the outlet.
Tossing his cigarette into the toilet, Dessie grabbed the straw and snorted another three lines of cocaine off the ledge of the sink. When he looked in the mirror, he fiendishly smiled at the reflection staring back at him. The life was zapped out of his bloodshot, sunken eyes. He was a shell of the man he'd been only five weeks ago. A shell in the sense that he was a spent shell casing of a bullet — the repercussion of something lethal.
Dessie turned into the epitome of imposed violence.
Another man was trying to steal his wife right under his nose, his best friend was dead, and the Police Service of Northern Ireland was closing in on him.
Turning on the clippers, Dessie ran a hand through his long hair one last time. He couldn't deny he'd miss Catherine tugging on the mocha locks when he wore her thighs like earmuffs, but it was the fresh start he needed.
His heart was beating out his chest as he drove the clippers from the front of his scalp to the nape of his neck. Watching thick tresses fall into the sink, it was liberating.
To hell with Jimmy O'Phelan and the Irish Kings. To hell with the True Irish Republican Army. To hell with the PSNI. To hell with his hair.
When he finished, Dessie turned off the clippers and set them in the sink. He looked over his work, satisfied. As he brushed strands off his bare chest, the tattoo over his heart caught his attention.
Dragging his thumb over the ink reading Catherine, Dessie tried to hold himself together. He needed to get her back to the safety of Crossmaglen.
Before the blood spilled in Belfast.
