Page 82 of Priestly Sins

“So, it isn’t his calling card or is it?” He takes a long pull from his mug.

I suspect it’s not coffee anymore.

“Yes. No. Wait. What are you suggesting?”

“Could it be someone else? A second player?”

“No. It has to be him.”

“Your rage is blinding you.” The lilt of his words forces me to concentrate. He stares at me as if waiting for me to understand. “Ice pick, remember?”

“But…”

“Why does it have to be him, lad?”

Silence while my wheels turn over and over and over. What the fuck? Could there be someone else? If so, what clues have I missed?

I pound the table with my fists again and he allows it. He waits with me, sitting there drinking his whiskey as I work through the suggestion.

“If there’s another player, they were at work while we were in New Orleans. They know me. They know my real name. My family isn’t safe.”

“How would they know?”

“I don’t know. But the house in South Carolina was bought under Declan O’Shaughnessy. Paperwork with Bobby’s law firm was under Declan O’Shaughnessy. Sean O’Ryan left New Orleans. Declan O’Shaughnessy was never there.”

“Keep pulling the threads, lad.”

I sit at his table for most of the morning, giving up the coffee altogether for straight whiskey. I replay everything on repeat in my head. What the fuck am I missing?

I leave Killian’s well after noon. Wish I could say that by the time I head home I have everything all figured out. To the contrary, I know less and less and am worrying more and more.

Two players? It could be. It can be.

The idea that Enzo Calabrese had not taken my mom, both of Sirona’s parents, and Bobby is a relief and offers a false hope that things aren’t as bad as they seem. That fucker didn’t deserve to breathe air and the idea that he was responsible for so much pain gives him a power that I refuse to offer.

The idea that a second player, equally as cruel and diabolical, with no regard for human life and a vendetta for me and was willing to take it out on Sirona? It would be unconscionable if it weren’t so plausible.

And it’s more than plausible.

The flowers alone for Sirona’s mom and dad. I’m going to have to ask about it and dredge back up two horrific realities. Worse still, I’m going to have to tell her I was responsible for her mom. Or at least that I brought it down on her. Even worse, that after everything: leaving her shop, her friends, family, city, culture—you name it—I still have her in the crosshairs and know absolutely fucking nothing about our threat.

I need more Kilbeggan.

I go straight to my office when I get home and open my laptop. I do the VPN shit I haven’t done in forever because I can’t have a search traced back to me. And I go to work.

I research Enzo Calabrese. I Google everything I can find, search all public records. From when he worked for Gambisi to when my mom died. How he came up the chain. I look into his legitimate businesses like the freighters and try to find the illegitimate ones like his money laundering. I read newspaper articles after the recent finding of his body and the unsealed police records since the case has gone cold. The police didn’t see him as much of a loss, but had to do the work anyway. One low-level crime lord off the streets isn’t worth making too much of a fuss over. Not in a dirty town like New Orleans.

I research what’s happened with the key players in his organization since his death. Four months have not been kind to them. Many arrested. Many more found dead. Some unable to deal with lack of power. No one sticks out as overly bright or cunning, and there’s nothing to indicate the motley bunch of lemmings has reunited.

I research Zera Hebert Calabrese. Her desire to be rid of Enzo isn’t documented anywhere, but I sat in that confessional booth and listened to her cry. I know she was trapped, wanted out, planned and plotted to make that a reality. As far as I know, there would be nothing to make her suspicious of me. Besides, killing Sirona’s mother doesn’t fit into her motivations, nor would it have gotten her closer to being free of Enzo.

As far as I can tell, Zera knew Sirona in that Enzo and Chad Dugas were “friends,” although business associates is a better phrase. His borrowing bears no ties to Zera, but I keep digging.

I Google Bobby. There’s little out there yet. The social media posts are scraping my insides and just when I can take no more, my phone dings.

Sirona:All okay?

Me:Yes