En route, they’d received a sketch based on the description given by the St. Al’s Slovakian landscaper. The poor fellow was short on observational skills. The perp had a black wool cap, shoulder-length cherry blonde hair, and bad teeth. He couldn’t even give a detailed description of the teeth. He only remembered that they were comically horrible.
Gomez could tell his partner was seething.
“What are you thinkin’, Jaime?”
“Either I got sent here by Kelly, or Kelly got sent here by Arthur. If I’m the stooge, I get it. If it was supposed to be Kelly…see what I’m saying?”
Gomez nodded. Arthur wouldn’t have sent Kelly to a false location just to waste her time. He was an arrogant prick, but he wasn’t a petty arrogant prick. His plan would have been to see if she’d dime the UJ to the cops. If that was the case, then someone was watching the building. Or, more than likely, someone had been watching the building and bolted when they saw the flashlights and suits.
Beck approached from behind. She was angry, but it was difficult to tell at whom.
She spoke.
“If I understand your informant, Jim, the painting party is going on somewhere tonight. Not here, but somewhere.”
“That is correct.”
“You said you have physical addresses for all these UJ ding-dongs.”
Gomez answered.
“Some of them”
The beam from her torch whizzed around the room as she turned toward the exit.
“Okay gentlemen, reroute. It looks like we’re doing this the hard way.”
19. On a Bus
The bus.
Gordy’s first painting party, and he spent it in West fucking Springfield. His superiors had dropped him off a stone’s throw from the flag factory and told him to take the bus home. The stop for the only bus that ran all night was a half mile from the factory, and the stop in Potterford was close to three miles from his house.
Pain in the ass.
He’d tried calling Arthur when the fibbies showed up, but there was no answer.
The party must have been rockin’ beyond belief. Arthur must have been kicking so much ass and getting so much tail that he forgot about the stake out. It was Gordy’s special assignment, the one that would finally make him full UJ.
Gordy could see his reflection in the bus window from the shoulders up. He turned as far as he could to see the back of his UJ uniform. They’d allowed him to paint a slash through his generic symbol and put a Theban “G” underneath. It looked like a flaccid penis, but he’d take it. It was the greatest moment of his life.
His intel from the police station put St. Aloysius RCC in the crosshairs of the UJ. Why this pleased Arthur so much, Gordy could only guess, but what did he care? He was full UJ now. There would be other painting parties. There would be drugs. There would be women. There would be all the things he’d dreamed about since the first night he followed Zed Zed out to the old barn.
He found himself staring into his own eyes.
Ha! Grounded!
A Mack Truck could barrel through his parents’ bedroom, and they wouldn’t wake up. Thank G-d for Ambien.
He would have trouble keeping his mouth shut at school the next day, especially around Braden Reilly.
“Schmuck.”
What Gordy would have given to tell the dicky red-headed tool bag mama’s boy exactly what happened to his uncle. Then he’d see how trivial his good looks, his batting average…
…the science fair award he got in the h sixth grade that should have been mine…
…and his underserved boost on the PCHS freshman food chain were compared to the power of numbers. Compared to the UJ. Compared to the flaccid penis being reflected on that bus window. It killed Gordy knowing that he had to keep his triumph to himself.
He sat back in his sticky seat.
Maybe I’ll try Artie again.
Gordy would, indeed, get his chance to tell everything to Braden Reilly, but the circumstances wouldn’t be at all what he dreamed.
20. The Condo
Julie was understandably in bed when Lynch got home. The door clicked behind him as he trudged up the fourteen carpeted steps to his living room. On the end of the dividing wall that faced him when he reached the top, there hung a wood etching of the Irish Blessing:
May the road rise to meet you
May the wind be always at your back
May the sun shine upon your face
May God hold you in the palm of his hand
It had become a part of his environment, like any piece of home décor. He rarely paid it any mind, but a memory was tapped as he absently tossed his coat on the couch and went for his bottle of Chivas.
He gave the etching a hard look as he recalled the day he received it. It was given as a congratulatory gift for passing his Sergeant’s Exam…a gift from Kevin Reilly.
He ran his index finger across the piece’s surface. It was made from a beautiful piece of cocobolo. The lines in the recessed lettering were smooth and precise. The stain and the finish brought out the contrasts in the grain.
“I wonder…”
He lifted the piece off its nail and flipped it over to see if the maker left a signature or a stamp. What he discovered was a brass plate.
Reilly’s Trophy Shop
305 Cherry Street
Potterford, PA
“There’s a coincidence, considering tomorrow.”
The giving of such a gift must have been a Reilly tradition. Lynch remembered Gomez saying that he’d also received one, except his was etched in Spanish.
The moment was easy to recall:
“The Irish Blessing in Spanish? Isn’t that like going to Taco Bell and ordering in Old English?”
“Right, hombre. Me thinks I shall have a Chalupa.”
He tried to replace the etching but wound up missing the hole and pushing the nail all the way into the drywall. He was in no mood to screw with it, so he tossed Reilly’s gift onto the nearby dining room table. When he did, something on the table caught his attention. It was a promotional poster for the last
