Page 112 of After Indigo Irish Nights
Finding police officer Robbie O’Connor—that’s what the Yanks said—was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. From the search on his phone, which he conducted in a corner booth in the airport bar, he discovered there were over two thousand officers in Boston and an endless number of what the Yanks called precincts. He got a hostile response when he called the first three asking for a Robbie O’Connor. He feared it was futile, but he kept making calls.
He could simply head to their family bar, of course, but he suspected he wouldn’t be welcome. They were protective and might close ranks. He also didn’t want to involve Ellie. That wouldn’t be fair to her. Besides, he knew there was a chance Kathleen would shut the door in his face.
He couldn’t let that happen. He had one shot at this.
Everything she’d told him about Robbie O’Connor said he was the guy to approach. It sent the biggest message. He was the oldest brother, the one everyone looked up to, the one who took care of everyone. He had to speak to him. He had to convince him to let him talk to Kathleen. Maybe he could even get the man on his side.
On the sixth precinct, he learned therewasan Officer Robbie O’Connor. When the woman asked if he wanted to be put through, Declan declined. No, he would take a cab there and meet him on his own turf.
The cab ride was death-defying. He’d had to convince the driver he wasn’t turning himself in for a crime and only dropping in from Ireland to surprise an old friend. Suspicious people, these Yanks.
And Jesus, did they have filthy mouths! People shouted out at other drivers and yelled obscenities. Even a couple of old ladies, he was shocked to witness. The traffic crawled so slow he could have gone faster on one of his friend Kade’s ponies. He’d never been to Boston, but the city was gritty, edgy. Like Kathleen.
God, he missed her.
When the cab finally dropped him off at the precinct, he had to draw himself up. A couple of the policemen smoking outside stared him down like he was planning on robbing them. The sight of guns in their belts was a little shocking. The Garda didn’t equip themselves like that where he came from. These men seemed more deadly for it, even more so because they were decked out in dark blue uniforms with black ties.
He made himself smile. “Is Officer Robbie O’Connor around? I’m a friend of his sister from Ireland.”
The youngest of the group sauntered over, his right hand fingering a black baton at his side. “We heard some Irish guy was calling around other precincts looking for Robbie. What’s your name?”
He hadn’t expected the interrogation to start this early. Damn if Kathleen’s accent wasn’t a touch nicer than this man’s. “Declan McGrath.”
The two other officers joined the first, circling him. “What’s Robbie’s sister’s name?” the young one asked.
“Kathleen, and her best friend, Ellie Buchanan, is marrying my brother, Brady McGrath.”
The oldest of the group tilted his head to the side. “What’s the name of your brother’s pub?”
He jolted. He hadn’t said his brother had a pub. “The Brazen Donkey.”
The man nodded sharply. “Okay, you can come see Robbie. We had to make sure you weren’t some insane Irishman here on some vendetta. Robbie’s put some bad people away with ties to Ireland.”
He hadn’t thought about that. But yes, he’d heard such stories. “Thank you.”
“Sure thing,” the man said in that same accent. “You want some coffee? It tastes like shit, but it’s better than the crap my girlfriend makes.”
His head was spinning. These were Kathleen’s people. Some things were making better sense. “I don’t mind drinking shite myself. Keeps a man honest.”
That made the older cop he’d been talking to laugh. “I’ll have to tell that one to my old lady. Come on. We’ll take you to Robbie.”
They checked his carry-on at the door with more efficiency than airport security. He was a little surprised by that. Once inside, there were officers everywhere, mixed in with regular people—some angry, some crying, some handcuffed. He tried not to stare.
His guides grabbed him a coffee on the way down the hall, and they passed a lot of people pushing paper in small offices.
When the older officer stopped in one doorway, he ducked his head in while the other two kept an eye on him. “Hey, Robbie! Your Irish guy checks out. He’s not a terrorist, and he’s a regular riot. Says drinking ‘shite’ coffee keeps a man honest.”
A tall, well-muscled man appeared in the doorway. Declan saw the resemblance to Kathleen immediately in the eyes and the nose. “Then we’re the most honest bunch of assholes in the whole of Massachusetts, aren’t we? So… Who the hell are you?”
The younger police guy said, “He knows Kathleen and Ellie and—”
“I’m Brady’s brother, Declan.” He lifted his chin, knowing he needed to meet him man to man. “Is there someplace we can talk?”
His brow rose, but he smiled. Thinly. “Sure thing, Ace.”
The nickname had him stilling. He never wanted to hear it again.
“Come on in and teak a seat, Declan. Then you can tell me what kind of trouble you’re in.”
