Page 56 of Irish Vice

But I say to Madden, “Fiona Ingram’s not for the likes of you.” I try to emphasize my point with another swipe, but he blocks my hand with his forearm.

“Who’s to say I haven’t had her already?”

Sure. Like he’s had his so-called contortionist and a thousand other girls.

I try not to stare at Fiona’s black leather corset, even when she starts wriggling like she’s just discovered a new way to drive my boys mad. It takes me a moment to realize she’s digging a phone from between her tits.

The sun sparkles on the metal case as she answers a call. Turning toward me, her eyes lock on mine over the crowd. She nods. Says something. Closes the distance between us on her sky-high heels, phone extended.

Time to pay the piper.

“Happy Easter,” I say into the phone, once she hands it over. I pause just long enough to make my point, and then I add, “Boss.”

Kieran Ingram coughs like he’s already halfway through his second pack of the day. I use the break to point a finger at Madden, then to gesture at the knot of Fishtown Boys trading lies around his eyesore of a car. My brother scowls, but he follows my silent order, herding them away to give me some semblance of privacy for the call.

When Ingram finally comes up for air, he says, “Tell me yer havin’ th’ priest read th’ banns.”

“You’re living in the past, Boss. There’s not a priest in America who does that anymore.”

“Then ya have some other excuse fer not gettin’ a ring on my daughter’s hand by this morning?”

“You know my excuse. I’m already married.”

“To a girl ya don’t want and to a lyin’ slag.”

“Mind your fucking mouth,” I say, before I consider the cost.

Ingram’s answer is lost in yet another coughing fit. The man has to be short one lung by now. Maybe half another.

Fiona can’t know exactly what her da is saying, but she has some general idea. Her teeth stand out against the scarlet lip she’s caught.

I take a deep breath while Ingram fights for a shallow one. I count to five. I exhale even slower. And when the coughing finally lets up, I say, “Enough. Fiona will be home by midnight.”

Her eyes narrow in defiance. Ingram’s speechless for long enough that I’d think the call had dropped, if not for his raspy breathing. Finally, he says, “Yer passin’ on th’ best business deal o’ th’ century, boyo.”

“I am,” I say. I don’t need to argue aboutboyo. I’m taking the upper hand. Finally.

“Yer leavin’ behind some terrible hurt feelin’s.”

“That was never my intention.”

“A little spondoolicks’ll go a long way toward makin’ things right.”

Money. He’s holding me up for cold, hard cash. And he’s doing it using a word only an Irishman would know. We’re brothers, he’s saying. We’re all in this together.

Has it been about money all along? He doesn’t like the drop in my tithe, so he’ll whore out his daughter. Make me pay up another way. It makes cold, vicious sense.

“What’s your price, old man?”

From the shock on Fiona’s face, she’s never heard anyonespeak to her da with that tone. Or maybe she’s just come to realize that Ingram’s been using her for bait all along.

“Ten mill’s a good start,” he says. “Along with an extra five points on all ya earn fer th’ next ten years.”

It feels good to laugh, long and loud, like one of Ingram’s coughing fits. “Not on your feckin’ life,” I finally say.

“Pay me now ’n’ ya get off cheap. Yer goombah lawyer slag’ll tie ya up in divorce court fer more?—”

“See, that’s where you’ve made a mistake,” I interrupt. “An expensive one. I told you to mind your fucking mouth. But you just keep bringing the woman I love into this conversation. And that’s going to costyou. A lot.”