Page 17 of Biker's Conquest: Property of Rage

I let her have “sweetie” because it’s a lot less embarrassing than “little bear”. We live close to Mulligans as well as this office building with a med spa, lawyer’s office, and a therapist’s office that specializes in addictions. Weird ass combination.

Boston’s only problem is being too fucking cold, but I don’t stand out too badly over here. In some states and places, bikers look rough and out of place, but Boston has its own deep mafia roots. I did a job with dad a long time ago in Boston, working with the prominent Irish crime family – the Murrays.

Tonight, I expect Darragh Murray in Mulligan’s, but I don’t recall if he’s the one I met. The bartender can tell I’m from out of town. He looks at me too curiously and stares too long when I order a pint of beer. When Darragh Murray enters Mulligans, I almost laugh to myself that I could have ever not recognized him.

He has blatant tattoos indicating his position and membership in the mob. And he has that look. Fierce blue eyes – a sharp stare. Features that were all taken directly from his Irish motherland. I look like more of a Caucasian mutt in comparison. The recognition is mutual.

“You’re Southpaw’s brother.”

“Bear.”

I extend a hand and find a firm, strong handshake. The kind that inspires confidence in doing business with a man.

“Nice to meet you,” he says. “Sorry I’m late. Had to put the kids down to bed.”

“Understood.”

“You look just like Wyatt. Fucking crazy.”

Darragh Murray used to fight. I gambled (and lost) on a few of those fights. Aside from the fighting, I don’t know what kind of man he is or whether I believe Wyatt that we can trust him.

“I heard you have experience with running black market casinos,” Darragh says. “My brother and I are interested in getting one started in Boston but… we have a unique set of challenges to confront.”

Complexities? I don't have to ask more questions for Darragh to open up to me.

"We have a lot of problems with Puerto Ricans, problems with the cops, and problems with high-rolling customers who don't pay up."

"Can't you handle the cops?"

The bartender brings Darragh a half-pint of robust, amber beer. He nods as he takes the first foamy sip off the top.

"Yes," he says. "I thought you might have the strength to handle the high-rolling customers who don't pay up."

"We’ve got some muscle."

"My brother Callum just had his second and I wouldn'tnormally accept that as an excuse but... he also injured his back. Word travels fast around this city and it'll be a matter of time before there's more chaos than I can handle."

"And you're the one in charge?"

"Of this," he says. "I answer to my brother Aiden. You'll meet him eventually. We just want to make sure that you're ready to do business."

"Yes. I have enough to invest in start-up costs and the experience to handle non-payers."

"Good," Darragh says. "We like to stick to breaking fingers and toes, knees if necessary... pulling out a few teeth and slicing off ears. No further unless absolutely necessary."

Cold, emotionless work. Any man dumb enough to rob a family of mobsters that runs Boston the way the Murrays do deserves what's coming to him.

"Nothing I can't handle."

"Jim," he calls to the bartender. "Get another pint for my friend, Bear."

We exchange contact information so Darragh can keep me in the loop and like a typical Boston guy, the conversation descends immediately into the recent performance of the local sports teams and fighters in the new local boxing championships.

"You bet on sports?" Darragh asks casually after discussing the Patriots recent performance brings him close to visible frustration.

"Too much."

Darragh grins. "You'll get along just fine here then. In about a month, there's a big lightweight boxing match with ten grand in prize money. The guys fighting have never fought before and... whole thing should attract a big crowd."

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