Chapter 4

Tag

Sitting on the sofa in my office, cigar in one hand and whiskey in the other, I watch through the one-way glass wall as the pub fills up with the Friday night crowd. Jimmy Frances Pub is the place to be in Dublin these days.

And that's grand.

After dedicating over forty years of his life to protecting my father as Da built the Quinn legacy, Jimmy deserves all the success I can help him achieve.

I swirl the tumbler I'm holding in my lap, the ice cubes clinking as they dance in the amber bliss of liquid sedation.

Moments of quiet reflection are rare these days.

Since Da passed, there has been a constant push and pull of power in Dublin. Money-grubbing lowlifes seem to think that the Quinn territory is vulnerable because of the loss of our patriarch.

They couldn't be more wrong.

Da started grooming us to run the family business from the time we could sit on his lap and read. He taught us the players, he drilled in the importance of balancing violence with humanity, and he made sure we understood that the ‘family' in the term ‘family business' meant more than his five sons.

The people of Dublin are our family, and it is both our duty and our honor to watch over them.

In the first months after Da's death, a few minor players came at us, but with Sean running the MC and Brendan and Bryan itching to bust heads and put aggressors down, the uprisals soon stopped.

To hear that Mattie McGuire might be planning to make a play is both disappointing and worrying.

Back before the truce between our two families, the streets of Dublin ran red with violence. Mattie took Da's code of conduct as weakness and tried a dozen times over decades to take control of the entire city.

He failed every time.

Mattie's approach of brute force and mowing over anyone who got in his way was effective to a point, but in the end, Da's strategic thinking and relationships with the local people and police always kept him on solid footing.

There were some dark days for the people of Dublin until Da proposed a truce. Mattie would take everything south of the River Liffey as McGuire territory and Da would claim everything to the north for the Quinns. Mattie was stupid enough to think he got the winning edge in the deal.

Our territory is technically smaller, but we have the airport and that has served us well for almost twenty years.

Both families have prospered, largely because the Quinns would never involve ourselves in the business of hard drugs, hit men, or sex trafficking.

Not being direct competitors makes it easier to stay out of each other's way.

We deal in non-addictive party drugs, restaurants and night clubs, and guns. We keep our citizens safe and make sure everyone lives by the Quinn Laws.

It's worked for decades and it will still be working in decades to come—if I have anything to do with it.

In the pub on the opposite side of the glass, the crowd parts like the red sea as Aiden makes his way back. His boots are hitting the wooden floor, and his blond braids are swinging. That's never a good sign.

And there ends my quiet time.

I reach to the coffee table in front of me and click on the remote to release the lock on the door.

He comes in a moment later.

"What did you find out, sham?"

Aiden heads straight to the bookshelf and pours himself a drink to join me. "It seems the street rat was right. Word on the street says Mattie McGuire is gunning for the Quinns."

Feckin' hell.

"On our dealings, or on us in particular?"

"Can't say for sure. I've got people asking questions though. We'll know more soon."

I take another swallow of whiskey and let it slide down the back of my throat while I think. "Since when do they have the manpower for something like that? We've got over a hundred in the MC and another thirty working for the family."

Aiden sinks into the sofa next to me and the leather creaks in protest. "Apparently, Mattie made a deal with one of the families in the north and got soldiers on loan."

"Who? Is it the Campbells?"

"Likely, but I can't confirm that yet. I have our guy in metro going through the air one footage. He's tracking movement to and from the McGuire compound."

Having the Dublin police helicopter as one of our assets has been a boon to gathering intel on the south side.

"So, how did a poison peddler pick up on this before we did?"

"Nothing overtly happened, but our people say that now that they're looking, there is a definite influx of muscle on the other side. Not sure where the kid fit into that."

I lean my head back and look up at the ceiling. "And has this muscle for hire started coming onto our side of the bridges?"

"It has. Mattie has to know he can't funnel that much muscle into our territory without someone noticing."

"Maybe his balls have gotten so big he doesn't care."

Mattie McGuire was a credible threat in the days when my father ran the business, but these are different times. Brute force and bloodshed aren't the best business practices anymore.

The world of guns, drugs, sex, and extortion has become more sophisticated.

The McGuires don't understand that.

"And our sources will keep us posted?"

"They've never let me down before."

"If Mattie has wanted a piece of me since Da passed, I'm surprised it's taken him this long to make a move."

Aiden tips his glass back and finishes his drink in a couple of gulps. "Do you want me to call a meeting and have everyone meet at the house?"

Regrouping at the Quinn compound is the strategically sound decision. The place is a fortress and with eight bedrooms and the security system in play, we could hunker down for a year quite comfortably.

But I haven't been back there since Da died.

"Call a meeting for the morning. We'll meet at the MC clubhouse and get the Devils involved."

Aiden knows of my aversion to returning to my childhood home but doesn't mention it. "Right. I'll send the message to Sean and set it up."

I finish my drink and get up to walk him out. "If you need me, I'll be at the bar. I bet Jimmy has some insight into Madman McGuire."

Aiden nods. "Aye, no doubt he does."