After the family meeting,Ronan went to Cahill Construction and got a job. Although his last name would’ve opened doors for him at Cahill if he needed, he simply relied on his years of running crews away from Chicago. He’d worked for an Indiana company that sent him on the road as a superintendent all over. Taking a job on a crew was a huge step down. But he didn’t mind. Thomas Walsh had questioned that when he interviewed Ronan. Ronan told him he wanted to be back home and was willing to put in the work.
Although Alan Cahill’s name was still on the company, even Ronan knew he didn’t have a hand in the day-to-day business. Not long after Michael Doyle’s disappearance, Alan was elected alderman and eventually moved on to mayor. His son Danny had taken over operations. As far as he knew, Danny and his father didn’t cross paths, other than with Alan.
Ronan had focused on getting in with the old-timers, guys who had been working for Cahill in some way or other for more than twenty years. Any time there was overtime to be had, they let Ronan take it. He never turned it down. He also never turned down the chance to go out for a drink after work. That was where the most important business took place—over a Guinness at the pub.
For as much as things had changed in Chicago, some stayed the same.
But he was no closer to figuring out what happened to his dad than he was when he’d been before he came home. He’d burned through the last two weeks and had nothing to show for it. He was beginning to think Brendan was right. He was never going to get answers.
This afternoon when Thomas Walsh, his immediate supervisor, called him to the trailer, he knew something was up.
Thomas sat back in a creaky chair that rocked under his weight. “Take a seat,” he said, pointing to the only other chair in the tight space.
Ronan sat. “Is there a problem?”
Damn. If he got laid off already, he’d be pissed.
“Not at all. Just the opposite. We’re offering you a promotion to superintendent.” The look on Walsh’s face didn’t exactly express happiness.
Ronan blinked, unsure if he’d heard correctly.
“Ronan?”
“I’m sorry. Did you say promotion?”
“Yes. Congratulations. I’m assuming you’ll be taking it since you jump on any job we’ve offered.”
“Of course. Thank you. It seems kind of sudden. Is that going to be a problem with the guys?”
“Not my call. The day’s about done. Go out and buy a drink for your crew. Then head on over to the Black Rose. You know where that is?”
“Yes.” The Black Rose was the bar where Alan Cahill had conducted all of his off-book business since the beginning. While it wasn’t a private bar, you only went to the Rose as an employee of Cahill’s if invited. It was not a drink-after-work establishment for most of them.
“Meet Danny Cahill and he’ll go over the specifics of the new position.” Thomas stood and extended a hand.
Ronan shook hands and thanked him again. This was it. His chance to finally find some answers. And to think last week he’d been almost ready to call it quits on his quest for the truth. He’d never had a face-to-face with Danny Cahill. They’d met in passing, but Ronan doubted the man would recognize him. Meeting Danny Cahill was the first step to getting closer.
He headed back to where the crew was rolling up the tools for the day.
“What’d the boss man want?” Drew asked.
“To tell me I’m being promoted. First round is on me tonight, boys.” He spoke cheerfully, as though these men were his friends, when in fact, they weren’t. He didn’t have anything against them, but the young guys wouldn’t be able to get him any closer to finding the information he needed, and he didn’t know if he could trust any of the older guys.
A deep cheer traveled across the group as word spread that they’d get a free drink. Ronan smiled as he gathered his stuff and loaded his truck.
At the bar, he rushed through a beer, anxious to get to the Black Rose. Thomas hadn’t given him a specific time, which wasn’t unusual. The Cahills could hold court there most of the night. He accepted congratulations from guys on his crew, but his mind was on the next step. He slapped backs on his way out of the bar and headed to the Black Rose.
Danny Cahill was the connection to his dad. He considered how to approach Danny, what to do to get closer, admission to the inner circle. In his gut, he knew that inner circle, Alan Cahill and friends, knew something about what happened with his father. Chicago politics and construction were dirty business.
Brendan had tried going at them head-to-head when he was younger and came up empty. They protected themselves and Brendan had been labeled as someone not to trust. It was one of the rare occasions Ronan could remember his brother acting rashly. That was usually his move.
He circled the block near the Black Rose, looking for parking. Nothing available, which was normal for a Friday evening, but it didn’t help calm his nerves. His stomach churned for a multitude of reasons. A first meeting with Danny Cahill, not wanting to leave his boss waiting, worrying that Cahill wouldn’t be able to tell him anything about his dad. Worse, getting all of the answers he believed he wanted. He looped around twice before finding a small spot that took three tries to parallel park into.
He pulled open the heavy mahogany doors with the engraved black roses centered in the wood. The interior was dark but inviting. Couples sat at small tables enjoying dinner, singles gathered at the bar. Ronan looked around for Cahill. The hostess walked up to him.
“One?”
“I’m meeting someone. Danny Cahill?”
“Oh, Mr. Cahill is expecting you. This way.” She led him to the back of the restaurant to a round corner booth.
It was the kind of booth he’d imagined a mafia boss used to conduct business. He swallowed a chuckle. The Cahills weren’t Italian mafia, but they were definitely connected. In Chicago, you no longer heard stories of the Irish mob, but that was only because they all owned legitimate businesses.
Didn’t make them any less “mob.”
No one was at the table, so Ronan was unsure of his next move. It felt disrespectful to sit when his host wasn’t there, but where was he? The hostess said Cahill was expecting him. Fuck. He was not made for this kind of interaction, where every move would be scrutinized. He preferred to plow ahead and do what he wanted.
Instead of sitting, he stood, leaning against the edge of the booth, and took out his phone to appear less anxious. A moment later, Danny Cahill was standing beside him.
“Ronan Doyle?”
“Yes, sir.” Ronan extended a hand.