Murphy's War is in the final stages of being edited with a release date coming very soon! Here is a small preview of what is to come in the book!
"If the cops catch you, you know nothing."
It was a common phrase heard in the Murphy household growing up. Uncles, cousins, siblings - they were all too aware of it and of course, what was implied within it. You know nothing, which translated to, "If you rat on anyone or what you were doing, you're in for a beating." It didn't matter that you were family. It didn't matter that you shared the Murphy last name with everyone else. It meant you were a rat, never to be trusted again. No chance of redeeming yourself. Pushed to the curb and dead to everyone. That was if you were lucky. So many before had been killed or disappeared, never to be found again. And this was with family. Hard to imagine what they were capable of doing to those who didn't share the same blood.
Sean Murphy walked down the street, hugging his leather coat around his midsection. The package he was carrying wasn't obvious to just anyone, but the feel of the weight in his pocket made him all too aware that he was carrying something that could possibly put him in prison for life. Police presence in the city seemed to always pick up when he was on a job. Nodding toward one of the men in uniform, he continued at normal pace, so used to the situation that he could do it while sleep walking. He recognized their faces, just as he assumed they knew who he was. It was no mystery that he was part of the Irish gang in the neighborhood. They were like celebrities in the area, and unfortunately for Sean, a mark of notoriety that he wished he could scrub off in the shower. He didn't like the lifestyle. He wanted out. Until he found a way, he had to play along and continue working for his uncle. It was the only way to ensure that he stayed alive.
After a few blocks, he ducked into a bar that the locals knew as Pat's. To him it meant unloading the pound of cocaine he had strapped on his body. Only a pound, but it was like a ton of bricks lifted off of his shoulders as he scooted it across the table in the back office, making direct eye contact with the man in the chair.
"You Murphy's work quick. I just requested a pound this morning."
Sean nodded, but didn't speak. He had learned in his thirty six years to say a lot with body language and leave the talking to the ones who died young.
"Every time you come here, you hardly say two words. You a mute?"
He shook his head and swallowed, glancing around at the other men who served as body guards. "No. Just nothing to say."
"You know who I am, right?"
Cyril Sullivan, a cousin to the Murphy's and one of the dealers hired on to distribute product. "Yes, I know who you are."
"We're cousins, yet you act like I'm some stranger. Have a seat. We got some good Irish whiskey. Might as well enjoy some of this product you helped bring over."
Sean sat down, looking at each of the men, hesitating. "I need to get back soon with the money. Jack will be waiting."
"Jack Murphy, our notorious uncle. God bless that man. He can wait thirty damn minutes, yes? You're a trusted guy. You've been doing this since you were biting ankles. It's established you're not gonna run off with this stuff."
Sean watched as one of the men poured the amber liquid in a tumbler next to him, sliding it to his reach. The last thing Sean wanted to do was get drunk with them, but it would tarnish his reputation even more if he bailed on an invite to sip down some of the alcohol. It was smooth - a normal drink among everyone and something he had developed a great tolerance to. A few drinks wouldn't hurt too much. Savoring the burn, he tapped the rim of the glass, requesting more.
"How is it?" Cyril asked.
"Still a man of few words." Cyril laughed, downing his third glass full. "Picked it up in Ireland last time I was there." He threw a band of money on the desk. "Better get that back to Jack."
Sean finished his drink and grabbed the money. "Pleasure doing business with you." Shoving through the door, he avoided all eye contact with the bar tenders and patrons. Looking down, he was caught off guard when he ran right into one of the cops he had seen before dropping off the package. His heart skipped a beat, but he tried to keep his face neutral. This wouldn't be his first run-in with them, nor his last.
Check my Facebook author page here for updates. I will post there first when it is available. You can also follow me on Twitter @JTateAuthor! Happy reading!