Twisted and Tied (Marshals 4)

Eli gasped.

“What?” Ira asked, annoyed, scowling at his cousin.

“Absofuckinglutely not,” I chided. “No ketchup on the dog, man. Have your lost your mind? This is fuckin’ Chicago, yeah?”

He looked at me like I was nuts.

“Get extra fries and tamales too,” Eli told me when I was ordering, head on my shoulder, smiling at the girl behind the counter.

She was distracted by Eli, gazing at him instead of listening to me, but finally I got my food ordered and moved sideways so the next guy could go.

“Careful,” one of Eli’s friends said, taking hold of my side so I didn’t step off the curb.

“Sorry,” I said quickly, grinning wide.

“No, it’s fine,” he said, letting go but not stepping back. “Really.”

“I don’t—not sure I got your name at the bar.”

“And no one could hear shit at the pool hall,” he said, smiling at me, holding my gaze.

“Right?” I agreed, offering him my hand. “Miro Jones.”

He greeted me, taking my hand. “Daley O’Meara.”

I squinted at him.

“What?” he asked, teasing. “I smell?”

“No, you….” He smelled great, actually, some kind of woodsy cologne. “I just…. You on the job?”

His lazy smile got bigger and brighter. “I am. I’m following in my old man’s footsteps.”

“He a cop?”

“He’s the commander out at the Eighth,” he explained, and only then did I realize he was still holding my hand.

“I’m gonna need that,” I said, tipping my head at our clasped hands.

“Yeah,” he agreed, letting me go but still not taking a step back. “How’d you get hurt?”

“Oh, you know, a little undercover work.”

“I don’t, actually. I wasn’t recruited straight outta the academy to do that like you apparently were.”

“Oh no, I—”

“Which district are you at? I’m over at the Fourth.”

“I’m not a cop anymore. I’m a marshal like Eli.”

“Ah, you and those other guys that bailed, you’re his friends from work.”

“Yeah.”

He was quiet a moment, just looking at me, so I figured it was my turn to talk. “So the Fourth, huh?” I grimaced. “You guys got a new commander yet since they canned Vaughn?”

“Oh man,” he groaned, raking his fingers through his thick hair. “That was such a clusterfuck. I don’t even know how I’m supposed to deal with that shit.”

Earlier in the month, Leland Vaughn, commander of the Fourth District—which, interestingly enough, was where my first partner worked before he transferred to Boston—was implicated on murder charges, racketeering, drugs…. You name it, he was guilty of it, as he’d been in deep with the Irish mob.

“He was a piece of shit,” I said, shrugging. “I mean, he deserves what he gets.”

“Well, you guys gotta watch him, right? We were told he turned state’s evidence and went into protective custody. That’s the marshals’ office, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but that’s not us here in Chicago, I can promise you that.” As far as I knew, Leland Vaughn was either in Alaska or New Mexico and nowhere near the Windy City. He was an extremely high-profile target. “There’s no way to protect Vaughn in this city. The police and the mob are both after him.”

“It’s been bad. We got the O’Brien crew and the Murphy crew dropping each other like flies.” He sighed. “I hate that it’s just more bad press too.”

“It’ll run its course,” I offered frankly. “I mean, they always do.”

He nodded, tipping his head, appreciating something about me.

“What?”

“May I just say that this purple shirt is really something.”

“Oh yeah? You like that?” I snorted.

“It’s… very purple,” he teased, the grin making his eyes glitter. “I just haven’t seen this—what is this, silk?—in a while.”

I laughed, not about to give Sharpe credit for the atrocity of a shirt. “Are you kidding? This is my clubbing gear, man.”

He nodded. “I’m concerned about the clubs that you might frequent.”

I patted his arm, and he followed me to grab our food. He sat across from me while we ate, and I realized Eli still had my phone.

“Hey!”

Eli looked up at me from the other end of the table.

“I don’t have any calls from Kage, do I? Or a Prescott?” Those were the only two I was worried about at the moment.

“Uh, no.” He snickered. “Nothing from anyone you work for.”

“Okay,” I said, returning to the mouthwatering goodness in front of me. I had no idea how hungry I was until I started eating.

“Why does he have your phone?” Daley asked, and I could hear the judgment in his tone.

I looked up at him. “He’s a little drunkish and he’s fuckin’ around, but he knows better than to leave with it because, technically, we’re never off duty.”

“Makes sense.”

“But since my partner is gone at the moment, and so is his, we’re covering each other’s asses,” I explained before I took another bite. “We’re fine,” I finished with my mouth full.

He laughed at me and wiped mustard off the corner of my mouth.

Eli wanted to end the night dancing at a new place called Troubadour over in River North. He’d been trying for a while to get me and the rest of the guys to go there. I could not imagine the others dancing—though Becker assured me that back in his Marine Corps days, he was a total club kid—except me and Sharpe, so I figured since I usually said no, I’d go tonight, especially since I had nowhere to be and it was just a bit after midnight. We all loaded into cabs, and I had Daley wedged in on my left and Eli more or less in my lap with Ira dancing in the front seat next to the driver, who found the sight of a drunk bespectacled accountant quite amusing.