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.
"It's good."
"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.
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