BRIAN (The Callahans Book 1) Read Free Page B

Jack went ahead with this. Should have waited another month or so.”
    “I think the suppliers in Ireland were getting antsy.”
    “Should have waited anyway. Getting everyone arrested isn’t going to make Ireland any happier.”
    “No one’s getting arrested tonight. That’s what we’re here for.”
    Ian gripped the steering wheel a little harder, but he didn’t say anything. We were getting close to the warehouse where Jack’s people wanted to bring the supply of guns they were taking off a ship tonight. Jack brought guns in from Ireland and sold them to local gangs for drugs. Then his people sold the drugs to rich assholes who thought they were the first generation to discover the benefits of cocaine. Then half the money went back to Ireland for more guns. It was a good system that had worked for fifty years—since the old crew was still in charge. Jack changed a few things when he took over twenty years ago, but not much. He was smart enough to know you don’t change something that works.
    “Cops,” Ian said, his voice low and hard.
    Sure enough, there was a dark sedan parked a block up from the warehouse. I tugged my phone out of my pocket and sent a text that was already written and prepared for this occasion. Best not to waste any time in these situations.
    Ian pulled to a stop beside the sedan. The driver’s side window rolled down, and a smiling detective with alcohol-reddened cheeks smiled out at us.
    “Hello, Brian,” he said.
    “Anthony,” I said politely.
    “Detective Scarsorsi,” he reminded me.
    “Yes, of course.”
    We looked each other over, as though we hadn’t seen each other last month when we had lunch at a local Italian place. Anthony and I grew up in the same neighborhood. His Irish mother lived with a distant cousin of my mother’s, so we were practically related. Everyone in an old Irish neighborhood is practically related.
    “How’s your sister?”
    “Good,” he said, touching his temple. “Husband of hers is a loser, but she’s making do with what little he offers her.”
    “That’s good.”
    “How’s Jack?”
    I shrugged. “Man’s running a multi-billion-dollar conglomeration. How do you think he is?”
    “Rich.”
    I laughed. “You could say that.”
    “And you? How you been?”
    “Can’t complain.”
    Anthony looked me over for a long moment. “Well, I guess you’ve called the dogs off.”
    “That would be the wise thing to do.”
    “If you don’t mind, we’ll just sit here a little longer, see what develops.”
    “You do that, Anthony.”
    Anthony leaned against the window and nodded to Ian.
    “Take care of yourself, boy. Abigail would roll in her grave if she knew what you were up to tonight.”
    “I think my mother would be right proud of me, Detective Scarsorsi.”
    Anthony’s eyebrows rose, but then he settled back in his car and rolled up his window.
    Ian guided the car into a careful U-turn and took us back toward town. MCorp had a couple of warehouses under the names of some of their smaller, less profitable businesses. One was right downtown, three blocks from the police station, a warehouse that was once a storefront housing the barbershop where Jack’s predecessors hung out. That’s where we were headed now.
    It was so obvious the police likely overlooked it.
    Ian and I arrived less than five minutes ahead of the trucks. Four trucks. A fucking lot of guns.
    I must be getting old because just being here was making me nervous.
    Ian and I opened the big doors at the back of the warehouse and watched the trucks drive inside, one at a time. Not as much space as there would have been at the other place, but they fit. I got my boys out of there, leaving Jack’s people to deal with whatever came next. Our job was done for the night.
    ***
    “To another job well done,” I said, holding up a glass of good old Irish whiskey.
    “Amen,” Ian said quietly, as the others said, “Salude.”
    We downed our drinks and smacked the glasses on the