"I tried to talk her out of havin' you, ya know," Frank swore. "There was a doctor who would have helped us out of the jam we were in, but the d.a.m.ned church doesn't believe in abortion and I'm not riskin' goin' to h.e.l.l, not for the likes of you. But you," he said, breathing hard and staring at Mary Ellen, "you should have given him up, like I told you. Saved us both a lot of embarra.s.sment."

"Screw you!" Daegan yelled.

"Oh, you have, kid. And let me tell you this, so you'd better get it straight. You are not and never will be my son. Let me put all this in terms you'll understand so that we'll be clear on it, okay? Your mother, she's my wh.o.r.e."

"Oh, no, Frank, you don't mean it," Mary Ellen said, then stared at Daegan. "This is all because you've riled him up."

Frank wasn't finished. "She does what I want when I want and how I want. A good woman. Knows her place. I take care of her and she appreciates it." He said it as if he meant it, as if he really cared about her in his own weird way. "But you, you've been a pain in the b.u.t.t since the day you were born. Nothin' I can do about it, but you stay away from my kids. Do what you want with Robert's, but keep away from mine."

"You stay away from my ma."

"Daegan, no!" Mary Ellen wailed.

"What?" Frank said. "Don't you get it, kid? Without me, your ma's nothin', just a pretty woman who's getting older-a woman who no other decent man would look at because of her useless kid. If it wasn't me keeping her, it would have to be some other guy-someone who might not be as nice as me. She'd be another man's wh.o.r.e."

Daegan came around again, this time landing a bone-crushing blow to Frank's face that jarred him up his entire arm. Blood sprayed from Frank's nose. With a shriek of pain and outrage, Frank let loose, pummeling Daegan's belly so hard he heard his ribs crack. Like a bloodied heavyweight contender, Frank landed blow after blow, ignoring Mary Ellen's screams and the sounds of voices outside.

Daegan spat on his father.

Frank swore and grabbed him by the front of his jacket. "You dumb little b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

"Frank, don't, oh, dear G.o.d, don't!" His mother was sobbing.

Crack! Pain seared through Daegan's face as his father's fist slammed into his nose and blood spurted. Daegan spun back against the wall and slithered to the floor. "Don't get up," Frank, breathing hard, ordered.

Daegan struggled to his hands and knees and his mother screamed.

"You never learn, do ya kid?"

Breathing hard, Frank hauled Daegan to his feet. His legs were like jelly and Frank laughed. "Yeah, you're not as tough as you think you are."

His mother was out of the corner and clinging on her lover's arm, wailing, trying to keep Frank from hitting Daegan again. "For the love of G.o.d, Frank, don't hurt him. He's your son, your flesh and blood."

"Humph." Eyes deep with rage burned into Daegan. "Then it's my duty to show you your place. Now, you miserable punk, if you ever so much as look at me or my family again, I'll kill you."

"Try," Daegan goaded through teeth that rattled and he spit again, a b.l.o.o.d.y wad of spittle splashing Frank in the face.

Frank's fist balled and blasted into Daegan's face. Daegan dropped to the floor.

Mary Ellen shrieked. "You've killed him, oh, G.o.d, Frank, look what you've done! Baby, oh, baby." She was on her knees beside Daegan, touching him, her tears splashing on him.

"Leave him alone," Frank ordered.

"But he's hurt-"

"I said, leave him alone."

Blackness threatened to overtake Daegan. He saw his father yank his mother to her feet. "Now I came here for a reason. Let's get to it."

"I can't. Not now-Daegan needs a doctor." She was white and scared and it was all Daegan could do to stay conscious. "We have to help him."

"You have to take care of me," he reminded her. "The kid'll be okay. He's out of control, Mary Ellen, he needed to be taught a lesson."

"No, Frank, I can't-"

He lifted her off her feet and staggered into the bedroom. "I hear 'no' at home," he said, throwing her into the room and slamming the door behind him; but still the ugly words seeped through the door. "From you, I expect 'yes' and 'whatever you want, baby.'"

"But Daegan-"

Slap! The sound echoed through the room and was chased by a horrifying shriek. "Frank, don't!" Slap. Another wail.

Daegan dragged himself to his feet, spitting and coughing and thinking of the gun that he'd hidden in the mattress of the hide-a-bed. His mother was screaming and Frank was spouting obscenities. "The boy will be all right, but the sooner you take care of me, the quicker we can call a doctor."

"No, no, no!"

Slap! "Undress."

"Frank, what's happened? We have to see about Daegan-"

Slap! Thunk. "I said take your clothes off, G.o.dd.a.m.n it, or you'll get the beating of your life!"

"You wouldn't," she said, her voice quavering in fear. Daegan wanted to throw up. He struggled to his knees and wretched up blood.

"Don't, don't, don't, please, no-" she screamed and fabric tore.

"You're in for the f.u.c.k of your life, baby," Frank snarled.

Daegan, fighting the blinding pain, crawled to his bed. He reached the couch and felt up inside the frame where he'd taped the gun. His mother screamed and sobbed. Head pounding, he didn't think of anything other than he had to end it. Once and for all. They couldn't go on this way. Now or never.

Slap! Flesh hit flesh and his mother whimpered, but Frank was feeling better. "That's more like it," he was saying and Daegan imagined him doing all sorts of vile things to his mother. "See, honey, oh, G.o.d, that's it...oh G.o.d." The springs began to creak, faster and faster.

"No!" he yelled, but his voice was only a whisper and he felt impotent, unable to help the woman who had brought him into the world. Gritting his b.l.o.o.d.y teeth, Daegan wrapped sticky fingers around the gun and dragged it from its hiding place, then crawled painstakingly across the floor.

The bedroom door wasn't locked, and still on all fours, he willed himself into the room and saw his father half-dressed and grunting, rutting like an enraged animal atop his mother. Her best green dress was in tatters, tears stood in her eyes, and her face was already starting to bruise where he'd hit her. Using the door frame for support, Daegan pulled himself upright, standing on legs that threatened to give way. He caught a glimpse of the pain in her face, of the feeling of hopelessness that was her life just before she glanced in his direction.

"Daegan, no!"

Frank stiffened. "What the h.e.l.l?"

She let out a scream that echoed through the room.

Frank twisted so that he could see the doorway and Daegan, sagging against the frame, the gun shaking in his fingers. Fear jelled his father's features. "Jesus Christ, kid, what'd'ya think you're doin'?" He started to scramble off the bed.

Someone pounded on the front door. "Hey-what's going on in there?" a loud male voice demanded.

Mary Ellen grabbed the comforter covering her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Daegan, don't, put that down-" she shrieked, sliding to the floor in a tangle of bed sheets. "NO!"

Daegan squeezed the trigger.

Chapter 9.

Bam!

The gunshot blasted through the apartment.

Frank dove off the mattress. The bullet zinged past his head and wood splintered in the old oak headboard of Mary Ellen O'Rourke's double bed.

Frank hit the floor with a thud, his eyes wild with terror, his legs tangled in sweat-soaked sheets.

Mary Ellen wailed.

Someone pounded on the front door. "Hey-hey! What's going on in there? Cy, call the G.o.dd.a.m.ned police! Hey, are you all right in there? Mary Ellen? Mary Ellen!"

Frank tried to roll his huge body behind the bureau. "For the love of G.o.d, woman, get him to stop!" His eyes widened as he stared at Daegan. "Don't do it boy! Make him stop! Jesus, Mary Ellen, make him stop before he kills us all."

"Hey! Miss O'Rourke, what's going on in there? Are you okay?" Voices outside, more of them.

"Oh, s.h.i.t!" Frank yelled. "Sounds like the G.o.dd.a.m.ned Fourth Battalion!"

His mother was shaking on the bed, holding the tattered quilt around her, crying in wretched, incoherent sobs. Daegan took a step toward her but her lips curled back in disgust. Frank was dragging himself to his feet. "I should have you up on charges!"

"NO!" Mary Ellen cried.

In the living room there was the sound of an axe ripping through wood.

"Oh, G.o.d, now what?" Frank zipped his pants and looked furtively to a window.

In the distance sirens began to scream.

"s.h.i.t, what a mess."

"The police," Mary Ellen whispered.

"I gotta get out of here."

Crash! The lock gave way. Footsteps on the stairs. Daegan glared at his father and for the first time realized that his eyes were hot and wet with tears. "You sick b.a.s.t.a.r.d, you leave my mother alone."

"No, Frank, don't leave," Mary Ellen cried, a huddled, pathetic woman shamed by all who loved her.

Mike O'Brien, a big, strapping man with thick red hair and beard, strode into the room. Bouncer for the Cat O'Nine Tails, he was used to outbursts, brawls, knife fights, and even an occasional gunshot. "For the love of Saint Peter, what happened here?" Meaty hands planted on his hips, he raked his gaze across the mess that had been Mary Ellen's bedroom, only to stop when he saw Frank cowering in the corner. "Well, if it ain't Mr. Uptown. Looks like ye found yerself a h.e.l.luva mess this time and you-" He turned to glare at Daegan. "What were ye thinkin', eh, boy?"

A siren split the night and Frank was sweating. "I can't have the police involved. If Robert finds out-"

"Shakin' in yer boots, are ye?" Mike laid a big hand on Daegan's shoulder. "Too bad ye missed, son," he said as he strode to the closet door, ripped down Mary Ellen's chenille robe, and tossed it to her. "Better get yerself dressed, Mary girl. I think ye got some explainin' to do. You, too, ye sorry b.a.s.t.a.r.d," he added to Frank, then shooed everyone out of the room to allow Mary Ellen a little privacy. There was a crowd gathered in the living room. Gawkers from the bar downstairs. Soon, the police, weapons drawn, raced up the stairs.

Daegan, his face swollen, his head thundering, dropped onto the couch that was his bed. The second he'd pulled the trigger, he'd experienced a personal epiphany. He'd wanted to kill or maim his father, but he'd missed. In a heartbeat he realized how he'd nearly ruined his life as well as his mother's. If he'd killed the tyrant, he would have ended up in jail and Mary Ellen O'Rourke would have been kicked into the street.

No charges were ever filed. Frank swallowed his pride and called his brother. Thirty minutes later, at two in the morning, Robert Sullivan swooped in wearing a three-piece suit, starched shirt, and impeccable tie. His hair, salt and pepper, was neatly trimmed and combed. He even smelled of expensive aftershave. All business, he observed his brother through frosty eyes and acted civil to Mary Ellen and Daegan only for the policemen's benefit. A criminal lawyer, as oily as the eels pulled out of the bay, accompanied him.

As Mary Ellen smoked and answered questions in her softest voice, Robert was encouraging and kind; he even offered Daegan a sympathetic smile, but all the while, Daegan suspected, he was manipulating everyone in the room. Using his friendly, let's just-keep-this-little-disagreement-between-us-friends smooth talk and his deep pockets, he handled the police and the onlookers.

Dazed, his head throbbing, Daegan heard words exchanged. Robert's low voice was filled with concern for all involved. He shook his head and Daegan only caught a few of his words. "Unfortunate misunderstanding...accident...a tragic miscommunication that we should all forget...the poor boy. Growing up...well, you know. Thankfully nothing was seriously damaged."

Cash was quietly slipped to the police and a few others, including Mike O'Brien, who looked as if he didn't want to take the hundred-dollar bill being offered, but ended up tempted by greed. With an embarra.s.sed glance at Mary Ellen, Mike tucked the folded bill into the deep pockets of his st.u.r.dy overalls.

Still shaking inside, Daegan knew instinctively that he'd crossed an invisible moral line. When he'd picked up the .38, he'd shaken off his shackles of childhood and become an adult. Never again would he live the way he had.

From now on, he was on his own. He would pave his own way, play by his own rules, and disregard all the heretofore time-honored dictates of G.o.d, country, mother, and the Family Sullivan. He was his own man, able to level a gun at his father, ready to take the consequences for his actions.

After the police and Frank, escorted by a silently seething Robert, left, Daegan began to pack. Mary Ellen didn't even try to stop him, just sat in a chair at the kitchen table, smoked, and watched him with wide, wounded eyes. She looked old and haggard, her hair mussed, her makeup long since faded. Her legs straddled the corner of her chair and Daegan noticed that her once slim ankles had begun to thicken from years of hard work, age, and the inevitable effects of gravity.

She played with her cigarette, rolling the tip around in an old ashtray he'd won for her at a county fair by shooting wooden ducks in an arcade. Somewhere along the way, thankfully, his aim had lessened and he hadn't killed Frank. It seemed as if Mary Ellen was fresh out of tears, but as he hefted his duffle bag to his shoulder and looked at her one last time, she swallowed hard, her lips folding in on themselves.

"I'll call."

"Sure." Defeat edged her words.

"I will."

She didn't believe him-he could read it in her eyes though her mind wasn't open to him. Her shoulders drooped and he guessed that she was still in shock that he'd tried to kill the man she loved. When he touched her lightly on the shoulder, she closed her eyes and clenched her jaw. As he brushed a kiss across her cheek she let out a soft little moan of dismay, but she didn't reach for him. On wooden legs he walked out the broken door that Mike O'Brien had fixed with old plywood.

Unbelievable.

Daegan O'Rourke had attempted the unthinkable, a crime against a Sullivan.

Attempted murder.

Although no word had leaked out officially, murmurings of the bullet fired by O'Rourke had rasped through the hallowed halls of the Sullivan estates and stately townhomes. The buzz was that the b.a.s.t.a.r.d boy had a violent temper. A shot had exploded in the night, the bullet narrowly missing Frank Sullivan.

A close call. Far too close, but then again that b.a.s.t.a.r.d boy had always exuded trouble.

Too bad the shooter couldn't have been arrested. It would be such a relief to have him behind bars and out of their faces for ten or twenty years, though it wasn't possible. If Frank had to testify at trial, the fact that Daegan was his b.a.s.t.a.r.d son would inevitably be revealed, leading to a conundrum far worse than having the shooter listed as a runaway.

Still, it was ludicrous, so wrong so wrong that a person who didn't belong, a boy who had no right to be near the Sullivans, could wield so much power. The power to embarra.s.s. The power to intrude. The power to kill. One could only hope that Daegan had learned his lesson, that he wouldn't tangle with the likes of Frank Sullivan anymore. that a person who didn't belong, a boy who had no right to be near the Sullivans, could wield so much power. The power to embarra.s.s. The power to intrude. The power to kill. One could only hope that Daegan had learned his lesson, that he wouldn't tangle with the likes of Frank Sullivan anymore.

And so far so good. According to family scuttleb.u.t.t, O'Rourke was into the wind, missing since the incident. Not that anyone was beating bushes trying to find him. His own mother, Mary Ellen O'Rourke, the only person who seemed to care one iota, seemed to accept that he was gone for good. Gone far, far away from Boston and the world of trouble that would be his if he insinuated himself into this family again.

Why don't you just drop off the face of the planet, Daegan? Make it easy on all of us and just disappear?