“I knew it was a mistake the moment it was over. I’m not used to feeling like this, you know?” He slammed back the rest of his bourbon and placed the glass back down on the bar.

“When Finneaus MacNarland tells you to ice someone, you fucking ice them. No questions! You just do your job and be goddamn glad you’re not the one in the Chicago overcoat.” He paused. “Can I get another finger or two here, Seamus?” The bartender filled the glass again. “Thanks, brother.” He let out a sigh.

“October Spice. Best canary this side of the river.” He raised his glass. “You were one classy broad, Spice. Aces, through and through. She didn’t put up a fight. Brother, she didn’t even seem surprised I was there.” He laughed. “Said, ‘Mac, do me in the chest so my face will look fab for the tabloids. And take care of Mic.’ So’s I promise and BAM .” He looked to his right. A little dog looked back at him with beady, black eyes.

“Just you and me, Mick.” The little dog growled back at him. The bartender laughed.