Letters from Ireland (Chapter 7, A True Irishman)

Author's Note: Sorry about a new font... I just wanted to try it out. If I like it, the next chapters will be like this.

Joseph Brunswick, A.K.A. Bruno, had already arrived at Logan International Airport by the time Brian found Jacquelyn on the floor of her office.
As he entered the terminal, he pulled out a new pay-as-you go cell phone.
“The crap’s hit the fan, man. Connors is on to us. I saw a freaking letter that had--”
“Yup. That. We’re in trouble. I’m leaving now. Okay. See you.” Joseph hung up, removed the SIM card from the phone, broke it in two, and flung it away.

“Hello. I’m Sheri Lyn Stacy and this is People’s News.”
The pounding theme of PNN played, and Sheri Lyn began to speak once more.
“Breaking news out of Boston. Head forensics investigator, for the B.P.D, Jacquelyn Macgregor, was found beaten on the floor of her office by Detective Brian Connors earlier today. Peter Chillings is on the scene.”
The shot switched to a man in a crisp, freshly laundered suit standing in front of B.P.D Headquarters. He wore an intense, piercing look, and a nasty black eye that overpowered everything else.
“Thank you, Sheri Lyn. Earlier today, PNN had a chance to interview Brian Connors, the detective who discovered Jacquelyn.”
The shot switched to Brian, hurrying through a crowd of reporters, a dazed look on his face and blood on his jacket.
“Mr. Connors! Mr. Connors!” Peter shouted off-screen.
A microphone was shoved in Brian’s face.
“What do you think of the allegations that you were the assaulter in this case?”
“Shut the hell up…” Brian mumbled.
Peter ignored this.
“Were you and Jacquelyn romantically involved in anyway?”
Brian’s eyes widened, and he let fly a left hook that knocked Peter to the concrete. A gasp went up from the crowd, and they all backed away.
The shot returned to Peter, an embarrassed look upon his stoic features.
“As you can see, it wasn’t so successful. I--”
Brian switched off the television, and Mark whistled.
“Jeeeez, man. Th--”
“What? That made me look like an idiot? What exactly are you trying to say Mark? I can’t believe you, my fr--”
“Brian! All I was gonna say is that was one heckuva punch. Did you see that shiner that guy had? You are a true Irishman.”
Brian cackled dryly.
“Yeah. It looks like he got hit by a bus.”
The two were sitting in Brian’s impeccably clean living room. Mark sank into the couch, clutching a Guinness, while Brian rocked back and forth in an armchair, a glass of Coke on the table next to him.
“They investigatin’ the Bruno lead?” Mark asked.
“Yeah. Some guys from Internal Affairs went to his apartment. Most of his stuff was gone; they think he fled Boston.” Brian said, a hint of disgust in his voice.
“Wouldn’t be surprised. He put Jacquelyn in critical condition. What is that, twenty, thirty years?” Mark took a sip of his drink.
“I don’t know. But I’m gonna find the SOB.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
Brian and Mark clinked their glasses together.