All the lights were off. “Pop, you here?”

There wasn’t any answer. I looked in his office. It was empty. I ran up the stairs to his room. He wasn’t there. I came back down and opened the door to the family room. Nothing. He wasn’t back yet.

I flicked on the television and sat on the couch.

I’d wait for him.

A hand on my shoulder woke me. “Logan, what are you doing here?”

I blinked and looked at my watch. It was almost one in the morning. “I came by to talk to you. Why are you home so late?”

He rubbed his hands on his pants and sat on the chair beside me. “Patrick wasn’t at Lucy’s when I arrived, but he told Tommy I was to wait.”

Lucy’s was not only the largest but also the best-known strip club in Boston. It was also the Blue Hill Gang’s headquarters.

It was only one of twenty other strip joints that fronted Patrick’s illegal operations run under the corporation eerily named All My Women. Sick fuck. The strip clubs, or gentlemen’s clubs as my pop preferred to call them, were named after women all right, but the women were cartoon characters. There was Betty’s, Veronica’s, Wilma’s, and a slew more I couldn’t recall.

Tommy, the prick, was Patrick’s son and just as big of a douche as his father. He and I never did see eye to eye, and while he had reason to hate me, I had reason to hate him more.

Worried, I clicked on the lamp sitting on the table and studied my father. “Have you been drinking?”

He shook his head. “No, but I wanted to.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Did the prick pour you one?”

He nodded. “Left the bottle on the bar in case I changed my mind.”

It wasn’t the first time.

Scowling, I let my anger out. “Son of a fucking bitch. That’s it. You’re not going there without me anymore.”

My father slammed his palm on the table beside him and the lamp shook. “Logan, I can take care of myself. I told you I want you to stay out of this. And besides, you know you can’t set foot inside there or anywhere near that little prick.”

Knowing he was right, and feeling empathetic after my outburst, I said, “Don’t you get it? Now that Gramps is gone he’s trying to break you.”

My father’s jaw clenched. “Let him try. I’m not as weak as he thinks.”

“Pop, you have to get out before you can’t. Things are different now. The stakes are so much higher with Gramps gone. He’s got you doing things you’ve never done and you know you shouldn’t be doing them.”

He sat back in the chair. “You don’t think I know that?”

I grunted, “I’m not so sure.”

His voice rose. “Well, I do. And you also know I can’t get out.”

Frustrated, I stood and went to glance out the window. “It’s been twelve years. I think that’s long enough to be Patrick’s personal counsel, liaison, or whatever the fuck he calls you.”

My father leaned his head back and shut his eyes. “Son, you know it doesn’t work that way.”

Practically growling now, I spat, “Fuck him and fuck the way he thinks things should work.”

My plan had better be successful because if it isn’t, I just might kill the motherfucker. Then where would I be?

“A life for a life,” my father muttered.

Feeling like I might explode, I punched the wall. My hand started to throb instantly. “Fuck.”

Shaking his head, my father went into the kitchen and came back with a bag of frozen peas. “You need to calm down. Put this on your hand and have a seat.”

I took it and sat on the couch. In a much calmer voice, I said, “Tell me exactly why you went to O’Shea’s like a madman today and what he told you when you were there.”

My old man let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know, Logan. There were a few factors that played into my demeanor today, but mostly I’m just tired of people getting hurt. And if this son of a bitch thinks he’s going to get a pass from Patrick because he’s blaming his wife or because his old man Mickey O’Shea, Patrick, and me grew up together, he needed to know neither means shit to Patrick. I wanted to make that crystal clear right off the bat.”

“Did you get his attention?”

“I don’t know. I hope I made him weigh his options because if he doesn’t stop thinking out of his ass, he might not even get enough time to try to right the wrong he claims his wife caused.”

Sympathy?

I got it.

He didn’t want any undue harm to come to anyone else.

And finally, I was learning something that mattered. “What makes you speculate O’Shea thinks he might get a pass?”

My old man steepled his hands. “It’s just a feeling I got on the phone.”

I treaded lightly. “Tell me more.”

“It’s the way he’s handling this whole situation. He’s not stupid. Either he thinks he can get out of this or he has an ace up his sleeve.”

“What do you think the ace might be?”

“Who knows? His wife, maybe, or the source.”

I gave him a questioning look.

“Some time ago, I was in a meeting with Patrick when Tommy burst in and announced he’d discovered an underground drug operation taking place on Blue Hill turf with a woman as the front man. Patrick didn’t ask questions. Just told Tommy to take care of it, find the source, and squash it.”

“Patrick leaves something like that for Tommy to take care of? Are you kidding me?”

“There’s been so much underground drug activity going on over the last few years, Patrick is tired of dealing with it.”

“But he chose to lead the gang.”

“I know. But Patrick only wants to deal with the girls, the goods, the numbers, and protection. The rest is up to Tommy.”

“So what happened after Patrick told Tommy to take care of it?”

“Months later, Tommy shows up out of the blue and tells Patrick he tried to find the source by playing the chick, but it didn’t work out the way he thought. Patrick flipped out and told Tommy he didn’t want to hear it, he just wants him to take care of it. Later I asked around. It turned out the girl not only somehow lost the drugs, but she lost the cash Tommy had paid her for them as well, and the worst part is, shortly after that, she went missing.”

“Who was the chick?” I already knew the answer.

My old man closed his eyes. “O’Shea’s wife.”

Interesting. Maybe she wasn’t in rehab like Elle had said. “Do you believe she somehow lost the drugs and money?”

He opened his eyes. “Do you?”

“It sounds like she was working with someone who double-crossed her or she stashed them both for later and then disappeared.”

My old man nodded in agreement.

“Where does O’Shea think she is?”

“He says he knows as much as we do. She just up and disappeared. He claims to have known nothing about the operation she was running, and says he doesn’t know where the drugs or the money are that she told Tommy she lost.”

I scrubbed my jaw. “Do you believe him?”

He flung me a look. “No reason not to. He hasn’t been involved in Blue Hill affairs at all—ever.”

“But?”

“But, no reason to believe him, either. The whole thing is weird.”

“What exactly does Patrick want from him?”

“He hasn’t told me, but my guess is he wants both the money and the drugs as compensation. I overheard Tommy say he wants the girl.”

“All three? That’s insane.”

“O’Shea’s wife disappeared with Blue Hill money and what were also, technically, their drugs. Patrick wants retribution.”

“And O’Shea. What was his answer when you told him his payday would be coming?”

“He didn’t have one. He kept quiet.”

“But he knows he needs to deliver something soon?”

“He does. I told him twice. He also knows that if he doesn’t, something bad is going to happen. All I can say is, he’s been warned.”

“And even after you delivered the message, he was still acting calm and cool, like it was no big deal?”

My father nodded.

“Do you believe he has a huge trump card to present if he doesn’t deliver all three things? Because, come on, he can’t be that stupid.”