Chapter update has been posted at long last.
Chapter 5- Massacre on 7th Street
Dainial's finger tightened on the trigger. CRACK! The rifle leapt, and a bullet slammed into the chest of the man who had pulled the pistol. He fell like a marionette whose strings had been cut, and his comrades cried out in shock and anger.
"Up against the wall," Dan ordered angrily. When the Chinese hesitated, he thundered, "Oi said against the fuckin' wall!"With that, he walked over to one of the men and struck him across the face with the stock of his AK-47.
The Chinese obeyed the order slowly, standing with their faces towards the wall. Dainial pulled the switch on his rifle to automatic with a loud 'clack!'
"Collins," Anne said, "are you sure this is a good-"
"Shut up." He raised the rifle, looked down the sight, and squeezed the trigger.
CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK! The gun barked, and the Chinese men jerked and fell, arterial blood spraying from the ragged holes left by hollowpoint rounds in O'Malley's rifle.
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" Anne said. She backed up, and O'Donnell came running up the stairs.
"Oi heard shots- Chroist, Mick!"
"Bastards pulled a gun on me." Dainial left the room. Anne and O'Donnell stood frozen for a moment, then heard a door being thrown open, an 'clack!' and another gunshot. The pair hurried into the room next door.
Dainial was standing over another man- not Chinese, perhaps Japanese or Korean- who was stone-dead with a bullet in his spine. A sniper rifle lay by his side, and the van was clearly visible through the window.
"Found the snoiper."
"Fucksake, Collins, yer gonna bring the peelers back here!" O'Donnell said. "C'mon, let's git Lacey, pick up McLean an' the others, an' haul arse back ta base." He had fallen into a calculating tone at the last few words, clearly thinking about whether if they had left any evidence behind that would associate the killings with the Organization.
"Aye," Dan said.
The three Irishmen and the English girl rendezvoused and ran back to the van, where they found McLean and the rest of the patrol waiting.
"Ye did first aid?" Dan asked.
"Aye," one of the men who had stayed behind said, "let's go."
As they drove off, Anne asked, "Do we take McLean to the hospital?"
The others looked at her as if she were crazy. "Hospitals hafta report gunshot wounds ter the police, as ye should bloody know by now. Besoides, we got a clinic back't HQ," Rút explained.
Rút turned to Dainial. "Why the fuck did you-"
"Ye pull a gun on me, ye git shot. Simple's tha'. Besoides, Oi ain't incloined ter be lenient wi' the Choinese." With that, he fell into cryptic silence.
o.o.o.o
Jordan O'Malley unfolded the newspaper as he sat down at his desk in the police station, and immediately swore heavily. 'FIVE MEN KILLED ON 7TH STREET- MOB INVOLVMENT PRESUMED,' the headline screamed.
"Ah, Chroist's blood…" He stood, pulled out his personal phone, and punched a number into it as he walked out of the building. After a moment, the other line picked up.
"'Lo?"
"Fer fucksake, Da, whit the fuck happened?"
Jordan's father, Dennis O'Malley, answered drily, "Well, besoides the Fifth Commandment bein' repealed, ye don' hafta worry. 'S been taken care of."
"'Taken care of,' Da? Ye realoize Oi may be called out ter investigate this? Whit the fuck'm Oi supposed ter do then?"
"Tell the truth- ye dunno whit happened, 'cept whit ye read in the papers." With that, Dennis hung up.
Jordan grumbled angrily under his breath.
"O'Malley!"
The young officer looked up and saw Commissioner Gilman standing in the door of the commissioner's office, looking out at the squad room.
"Aye, Boss?"
"C'mere a minute, would you?"
When O'Malley walked over to the office, Gilman said, "You grew up in the Northeast Corner, right?"
"Aye, sir. Why?"
"Because we found six different people's blood at the scene- the five dead men's, and one other, out on the street- one Derek McLean, who lives in a building on 11th street; I was wondering if you might know him."
"McLean… m'father's best man was named Stephen McLean, mebbe they're related. Ne'er met the man, though. Whole family've got a reputation fer gittin' drunk an' then gittin' themselves killed." He frowned. "Sir?"
"Yeah?"
"How'd ye git a match?"
"Hm? Oh, turns out the man donated blood, so he was in the system. Lucky break, huh?"
"Aye, sir. Lucky…"
o.o.o.o
"A fuckin'blood donor?" Seán O'Malley thundered, standing over the bed in which Derek McLean was recovering. O'Malley went on, "Whit the fuck were ye thinkin'? Are ye really so abysmally fuckin' stupid tha' ye'd give yer blood ter the first fuckin' place the peelers go ter foind matches? Oi mean, Jesus fuckin' Chroist! Oi didn' think't was possible fer anyone ter be this fuckin' stupid, but Oi guess Oi was wrong, because here we fuckin' stand!" He pounded a fist on the bedside table. "Gimme one fuckin' reason Oi shouldn' have ye taken out back an' shot!"
McLean stared, eyes wide with fear. "I- I- I-"
"Oh,fer fucksake!" When he had left the clinic, Seán shouted, "Powell!"
The Welshman came over calmly. "Yeah, O'Malley?"
"Keep McLean a' yer house until this mess blows o'er; Oi don' think they'll look fer 'im there. Keep 'im insoide, away from windows. Oi don' want any mistakes on this."
"Of course, O'Malley."
Powell left, and Seán said to himself, "Chroist…"