“Yep, that’s it. No reason to drain an expensive bottle of whiskey so fast you’re probably going to puke it up in a couple of hours.”
He looked up at Rafe’s placid face, unsure if the man was mocking him. Stabbing Rafe’s shoulder with his index finger, he muttered. “I’m not going to throw this up.”
“Nope, just like you’re not going to go find your boy,” Rafe drawled. “Not like he isn’t a musician and probably will be back out playing someplace with a lot of tourists to make money. Don’t know where you look for someone like that in San Fran.”
“You are mocking me!” Sionn accused. “Fucker.”
“Pretty much, and it’s funny. As people would say, you’ve got it bad there, Murphy.”
The teasing was irritating, more of a burr under Sionn’s skin, but Rafe had the right of it. Dee should be easy enough to find. There really weren’t that many places the man could go to fill his guitar case with cash. The pier was Dee’s best bet and, although long, pretty much contained to the sweep along the bay. If he tried hard enough, he’d be able to find him. It would just take time.
“He was scared, Rafe.” Sionn rubbed at his face, still hearing the tremble in Dee’s voice before he helped the man up. “And he wasn’t scared for himself… it was for me.”
Dee’s fear clung to him. More than the guilt he carried with him, Sionn found himself cradling another man’s terror, wondering what he’d done to deserve it. He didn’t need to close his eyes to feel Dee’s trembling in his arms or the metallic tang in the air from the shot metal railing. Those moments dug themselves in deep, spreading out invasive roots until Sionn could only reach for a bottle to yank the taste of fright from his tongue.
“So, Murphy, whatcha planning on doing?” Rafe rattled the half-empty bottle at him. “Finish this off or tell me how you’re going to find your boy?”
Chapter 5
K, you believe in God, right?
Most of the time. Not at four in the morning before I have to go to work and my boyfriend wakes me up to ask about him, but mostly, yeah.
Do you think Damie’s in Heaven? I mean, if there’s a Heaven, you think D’s up there with God?
Shit, Mick. I can’t imagine God not taking Damie, just so he’ll be there for when you go Home.
—Another 4 in the Morning, Date Unknown
NEARLY a week after the shooting at Finnegan’s, Sionn began to suspect he’d seen the last of the musician. Leigh shook her head every time he came through the door. He’d spent a few minutes trying to repair the shot amp before giving it up as useless. It had about as much of a chance to work again as there was that Dee would walk through Finnegan’s doors.
Sionn wasn’t going to give Leigh the satisfaction of showing he missed the man, but damn him if he didn’t find himself hunting for Dee before the week was out.
Questioning other buskers did him no good. They either were woefully ignorant of other entertainers or protective of their turf. His Friday was wasted trying to get information from jugglers, clowns, and a one-man band. He didn’t have high hopes for his Saturday, but Sionn was willing to burn the hours to find the man who’d gotten under his skin.
By midafternoon, the sky was uncharacteristically clear, although winter folded a bright nip into the wind to warn off anyone who’d dare get too comfortable. He prowled the piers, pushing his legs until they ached and the scar on his right thigh buckled his gait. Needing to rest, he collapsed onto a bench to rub at his leg, working at the tight knot on his thigh.
Tired, and more than a little bit angry, Sionn closed his eyes for a moment, wishing away the too-much-coffee and not-enough-sleep headache lodged behind his temples.
There’d been nightmares when he finally was able to sleep. Blood-smeared and disjointed images where he lay helpless, unable to stop Dee from bleeding out in front of him. The musician lay sprawled on deep gray carpet in a room he knew all too well. The Viennese skyline stretched out around a wide corner, ceiling-high windows polished to a clear sheen to capture the view. If he strained his hearing, he could make out the sounds of a bazaar coming in through one of the open windows, the yodeling calls from vendors competing with birdsong to wake the morning.
Dee’s head was broken, shattered into bits by the high-powered Magnum the security issued its agents. His eyes were filming over as Sionn watched. It was too late to save him. No matter what Sionn did, he was always too late… for the family he’d been hired to protect or the crying young man in his dreams.
“Fecking git.” Opening his eyes, Sionn rubbed harder, pushing to break the hard lump of muscle knotting his leg. “Where the fuck are you?”