“Observation and perception are two different things; the observing eye is stronger, the perceiving eye is weaker.”
— Miyamoto Musashi, The Book of Five Rings
The Claddagh Pub was busy. Blue-collar types lined the bar, many of whom drank away their entire paychecks. The tables were full, only with a slightly more upscale clientele who actually made solid food an integral part of their diets. Every television in the bar was tuned to the city’s most popular news broadcast, and the news team was split between the scenes of the two most recent sniper attacks. Houston looked at the shocked faces of O’Leary’s customers and realized how close to hysteria the city was becoming. He heard bits and pieces of conversations and all amounted to the same thing . . . What the hell are the cops doing about this psycho? He moved through the room, refusing to react to the derogatory comments.
Houston noted that both Gordon Winter and the young woman O’Leary called Lisa were backing the bar. He ignored Winter’s glare and walked past the bar, down the corridor and, without knocking, burst through the door of Jimmy O’s office.
O’Leary was at his desk, eating a burger and watching the evening news while his ever-present cigarette smoldered in an ashtray beside him. When the door banged against the wall, he started and reached for the half-open drawer on his right. Seeing who the intruder was, he relaxed. “Nice entrance. Am I supposed to be scared or some shit?”
“We need to talk,” Houston said, elevating his voice to drown out the news commentators.
“Again? It ain’t like you to run off at the mouth this much, Mike.” From the corner of his eye, Houston saw the scene on the TV screen switch to the gas station on Comm Avenue.
O’Leary said, “You interrupted my dinner to talk—so what shall we talk about?”
Houston nodded to the TV. “That . . . ”
O’Leary glanced at the screen. “I told you, I ain’t involved in that shit. Why you back here bustin’ my ass about it?”
“Because,” Houston said, “you’re involved now.”
“Really, would it be possible for you to let me in on the fuckin’ secret? Keep it slow and simple, okay? I ain’t a high school grad like you.”
“That vic was . . . ”
“I hear it was some woman.”
“Not just some woman . . . it was Pam.”
O’Leary slammed his palm on the desk, and the ashtray and the plate on which the burger sat bounced off and exploded when they hit the floor. “What! How in fuck did that happen?”
Houston sat in the easy chair. “She was shot while filling her gas tank.” “And you think it was the same asshole?” “Pretty sure. We’ll know more when the ballistics report comes back. Nevertheless, I’m certain it’s him.”
O’Leary reached down to the floor beside his desk and when he sat up he held the cigarette and put it in his mouth. “You’re right . . . I’m involved. In fact, me and my organization are all the way in now.”
“I can’t allow that, Jimmy. This is a police investigation . . . ”
O’Leary sneered. “So investigate, but you can’t stop me from lookin’ for my sister’s killer.”
“Stay out of it, Jimmy. We’ll get him.”
“And then what? Put him up for the rest of his life? I know how the fuckin’ law binds your hands. Well, I got my methods too—and believe you me, I’ll get more information faster than you guys ever will.”
O’Leary calmed down and picked up the ashtray. He stepped on the burning spot in the carpet, twisted his foot to put out the smoldering fire, and then ground his butt in the ashtray. “Susie bin told?”
“I just left her.”
O’Leary picked up on Houston’s body language. “Greeted you with open arms, did she?”
“You know better.”
“I was you I’d get her out of that dorm and someplace where we can keep an eye on her.”
“I thought about that too. She won’t listen to me though.”
“Well, she’ll talk with her Uncle Jimmy. I’ll call her and send someone to take her to your sister’s place.”
“I can get police security there.”
“Hah! Cops as security? All the shooter has to do is wait until they’re off someplace havin’ a fuckin’ donut. I’ll put some of my best people on it.”
“Jimmy . . . ”
“The friggin’ subject is closed. I’m in now and I ain’t getting out until I see this sonuvabitch and anyone who’s helpin’ him on a slab in the morgue . . . ”
Houston and O’Leary looked at each other without talking for the better part of a minute. Then Houston stood. “I guess that’s about all there is to say, isn’t it?”
O’Leary lit another cigarette and gazed into the smoke, ignoring his brother-in-law. Without speaking, Houston walked out of the office. When he closed the door he heard something crash against the wall.