by Joanna Shupe
Except . . . there had been a point when he hadn’t acted prickly at all. He’d been tender. And sweet.
You want a bit of trouble, princess? Here I am. And I promise I’ll give it to you anytime you like.
What a lie.
He’d practically run out the door to get away from her. And he’d apologized. The whole thing was utterly mortifying and infuriating.
Mulligan watched her with a strange expression on his face, as if he could see every thought in her head. She shifted in her chair. “Clayton taught me about the games and how to spot cheaters. Now I’m mostly interested in the accounting side of things.”
“Were you there the night he was raided?”
“Um, yes. I was there.” Why was Mulligan interested in the raid?
“He’s got the tunnel going under his club to the brothel, correct? He got the idea from me. There’s a system of tunnels in this part of town. Places where the coppers can’t go. That didn’t scare you off? The raid, I mean.”
“No.” She thought back to the brothel and how uninhibited she’d been with Clay, how erotic the experience had been. Her skin heated, a condition Mulligan couldn’t have missed thanks to her pale skin. “Why would it?”
“Interesting. I think you’re tougher than you appear, Florence Greene.” He leaned forward and folded his arms on the desk. “And I’ll help you for however long you wish.”
Clay handed his ticket to the attendant and pushed through the turnstile. The Polo Grounds had been finished only last year, replacing the old stadium that now sat directly behind it. A gorgeous ballpark, the Polo Grounds was home to the New York Giants.
Baseball had been one of the few pleasures during Clay’s boyhood. In those days kids hung around and watched games without a ticket. The young boys gathered on the hills around the Union Grounds in Brooklyn and peered down at those fast and powerful men on the field while screaming and cheering for their favorite teams.
Clay had taken bets on the games, of course. He’d never been one to pass up an opportunity for a buck. The majority of his youth consisted of hustling to make money, to keep a roof over his and his mother’s head. Lying, cheating, stealing . . . Any scruples he’d been born with were quickly shed when they lost everything.
Nowadays, he rarely left the Bronze House, except for the occasional baseball game. A bonus? The crowded public setting happened to make for excellent meeting spots in neutral territory. Some vermin were too diseased to cross the Bronze House’s threshold.
Today’s game promised to be a corker. Men hurried toward their seats, anxious to see the action on the field as the play had started moments ago. Clay took his time. He loved the atmosphere of the park, the gathering of hometown residents to cheer on their team. The sense of belonging to something greater than yourself. It gave one hope in mankind.
He wondered if Florence had ever been to a game.
Is this how you act with all of your conquests? Treat them like dirt afterward and kick them out?
She now wanted nothing to do with him, which was by design. He’d pushed her away, told her not to come back. So her absence should’ve come as a relief. The extra time had been devoted to work, and the enterprise’s bookkeeping had never been in better shape.
Except he was miserable. Sitting at his desk like a machine, calculating and writing, a damn ache in his chest that wouldn’t go away. Almost a week and he still looked up at the office door each time it opened, hoping that she’d returned.
Wasn’t distance supposed to help? Shouldn’t his dreams center on someone else now that she’d left? He hoped these emotions ended soon. Not sure how much longer he could take missing her.
You’re glorious, Clay.
He swallowed hard. They couldn’t have a relationship. The idea was ludicrous. She was bright and pure, a sheltered angel that needn’t associate with downtown scum such as himself. Someday she’d thank him for setting her on a different path.
He purchased a bag of peanuts and made his way to his seat along the first-base side. A large pair of shoulders blocked his view. “Peanut?”
Big Bill turned around, his mustached lip curled into a snarl. “You’re late.”
“Game’s just started.”
“I’ve been waiting almost thirty minutes on you.”
He didn’t owe Bill an explanation. He didn’t owe this man a damn thing. “What do you want, Bill?”
“I want you to call off the bank. I can’t lose my house. My wife and kids live there, Madden. My mother.”
“I heard the wife kicked you out. Tough break.”
“All your doing, you bastard,” Bill snarled. “You have ruined my life, all because I dared to get what was mine.”
“Wrong. You tried to blackmail me then had my club raided. You crossed a line. Your chance to negotiate is over.”
“You have no proof I was involved in that raid.”
“I don’t need proof. I know the coppers involved, all guys under you. They didn’t stay long, just busted up the place and ran.”
“You’ve made enemies, Madden. Any number of people could’ve been responsible.”
True, but in this case only Bill was responsible. “I’m going to bury you, Bill. So deep that a patrolman in Queens will think twice before breathing my name.”
“You can’t do that,” Bill sputtered. “I am the second-in-command. You cannot take me down. Every copper in the city’ll have it out for you.”
One of the Giants hit a single up the middle and the crowd roared its approval. Clay cracked another shell and popped the raw peanut into his mouth. Maybe he’d get some popcorn next.
“Did you hear what I said?” Bill shifted in his seat. “If you try to hurt me, you won’t get away with it.”
“Maybe, maybe not. However, I’m not the only one with enemies in this town. I don’t think many would shed a tear over your downfall.”
“Speaking of enemies, I wonder what Duncan Greene would think about what you’ve been doing with his daughter.”
Clay froze, though he tried not to give any outward reaction. How had Bill learned of Florence’s visits to the Bronze House? “You’re mistaken. I’ve had no contact with any of Greene’s daughters.”
“You’re a bad liar, Madden. Word’s already gotten around about you and the middle daughter. Your staff has been talking.”
Not a chance in hell. The staff was unfailingly loyal. He would bet his life that Bill had bribed someone to watch the door to see who went in and out of the club, the prick. Besides, Florence was never returning to the Bronze House. “You’re going to look like a clown if you try to sell Greene on that story.”
“We’ll see about that.” Bill hefted his large frame out of the chair. “Call off the bank . . . or I’ll pay a visit to Duncan Greene myself.”
Clay tossed an empty peanut shell on the ground. “Good luck with the move.”
“Fuck you,” Bill growled and stomped up the stands.
Ten minutes later, Jack slid into the seat next to Clay. “How’d it go?”
Clay handed over the half-eaten bag of nuts. “As expected.”
Jack chuckled and reached in the bag for a handful of peanuts. “That must’ve been fun.”
“He knows about Florence. Visiting the club, I mean. Threatened to tell Greene.”
“Jesus. Think he’ll follow through?”
Bill may have insinuated something between Florence and Clay but he didn’t have proof. Still, no one ever said Bill was smart. “Hard to say.” The crowd cheered as a third strike ended the inning. Clay put two fingers to his mouth and whistled loudly. When the stadium quieted, he said, “Doesn’t matter. Florence isn’t coming back to the Bronze House. Any talk is speculation. There’s no evidence she’s ever been inside.”
“True. Even if he’s having the place watched, the witness could’ve been mistaken.”
“Exactly. I told him he was cracked.”
“It’s sweet that you’re still trying to protect her.”
Clay grunted but didn’t deny it. He crushed another shell. “Didn’t we talk about romanticizing this?”
“We did, but I didn’t listen. Good thing, because if I hadn’t romanticized it then I wouldn’t be able to tell you who she’s now approached for lessons.”
Clay’s entire body locked up as his muscles seized in surprise. Florence had gone to someone else for lessons? Christ Almighty. The news was like a punch to the gut. “Who?” Jack paused for effect, his lips pursed. He was enjoying this. Clay leaned in. “Tell me now or I swear—”
“Word is that she’s gone to Mulligan.”
Clay shot to his feet, the bag of peanuts forgotten on the ground. He was out of the row and climbing the steps toward the exit in a flash. Had she lost her mind? She could be killed merely walking down the street to Mulligan’s club, let alone what might happen after she crossed the threshold.
“Wait up,” Jack called. “You can’t mean to go and see him alone.”
“I don’t need a nanny.” He reached the corridor and started for the turnstiles. “Mulligan won’t hurt me.”
“I wish I shared your confidence. You two haven’t always seen eye to eye.”
“That was business. This is personal.”
“Which makes it worse.” Jack grabbed Clay’s arm and pulled him to a stop. “Clay, think. Mulligan isn’t just going to hand her over. He’ll demand something in exchange.”
Clay swallowed. Jack was right but Clay didn’t care. “Then I’ll give him whatever he wants. Anything to get her out of there.”
A smile spread over Jack’s face. “Go and get her.”
Chapter Fourteen
The carriage ride took forever. Clay was nearly frothing at the mouth by the time he reached Great Jones Street. The sun had just fallen behind the buildings as he started toward Mulligan’s club, the long shadows giving cover to illicit activities of all sorts along the way.
The two guards at the door perked up at his approach. They were babes, no more than twenty, likely armed. Clay paid them absolutely no mind as he started up the steps. “Wait,” one of the guards called. “You can’t just—”
Clay brushed by him and flung open the door. The other guard reached out to grab his arm but Clay shook him off. What was Mulligan thinking, putting puppies on guard duty?
He’d been to the New Belfast Athletic Club a few times. Always at night and never for more than a quick meeting with Mulligan. Their business had overlapped in various places over the past decade, and it was a constant push-pull to stay in each other’s good graces. Clay had ceded most of the downtown gaming to Mulligan in the past two years, as he preferred to fleece fancy uptown patrons instead.
He took the stairs to Mulligan’s office two at a time. The guards were hot on his heels, calling after him and shouting for additional help. No doubt some men from the boxing area were joining the fun.
They wouldn’t catch Clay, not before he made it to Mulligan’s office.
He threw open the heavy oak door protecting Mulligan’s inner sanctum. A pistol greeted him on the other side, the barrel pointed directly in his face.
Halting, he waited, his chest heaving. Mulligan’s hard expression quickly turned to one of amusement and he lowered the pistol. “I’ve been expecting you, Clayton. Come in.”
A group of young men skidded and careened into the doorway like hounds on a foxhunt. Voices barked out in unison. “Sir!” “Mulligan.” “Ho!”
Mulligan put up a hand. “It’s all right, boys. I’ve been expecting him.”
The hounds cast disapproving glances at Clay. They drifted off, grumbling. One of the guards from the front door lingered, however. “Want me to stay?”
Mulligan walked over and clapped the boy on the shoulder. “I’ll be fine. Clay and I have business to discuss. Try to stop anyone else from getting past you, eh?”
The guard apologized and left, but Clay was too agitated to pay attention. He dropped into the chair opposite Mulligan’s desk and removed his derby. Irritation echoed in every part of his body.
“Evening, Clay. You’re looking well. May I offer you a drink?”
Clay wanted to shake the other man, to demand every bit of information regarding Florence, but that wasn’t how these things were done. Though they were thugs to the outside world, from the inside their meetings were very civilized. “Bourbon, if you have it.”
“Of course.”
Sounds of glasses and pouring followed, and soon Mulligan was handing Clay a drink. “Thank you,” Clay murmured.
“How are things uptown?” Mulligan dropped into his large leather chair, a glass of beer in his hand. “I hear business is good.”
“Indeed, it is. You’d be amazed at how easily some of those fools risk their inheritances.” He forced himself to sip the bourbon, when he wanted to throw the glass against the wall. “I’ve heard you’re expanding into the beer business.” He tipped his chin at the pilsner in Mulligan’s hand.
“I am. Found a damn good brewer. He’s a genius with malt and hops. You should take some of it with you for the club.”
“Thank you. I’d like that.”
Mulligan sipped his beer then placed the glass on a tiny metal platter. “My pleasure. Now, tell me what brings you downtown on such a fine spring night.”
“You know why I’m here.”
“Yes, but I would love to hear you say it.”
Clay stared at the other man and struggled for calm. He had to act reasonably. No one could ever suspect what Florence meant to him. “I understand you’ve met Miss Greene.”
“I have had the pleasure.” Mulligan leaned back in his chair. “Remarkable young lady. I predict big things ahead for her.”
“How long has she been coming here?”
“Let’s see. She showed up three nights ago and has been visiting every evening since then. What can I say? We seemed to hit it off.”
Clay’s hands curled into fists. Seemed to hit it off? The idea of Florence and Mulligan together made Clay want to smash something. What was Florence thinking? Mulligan didn’t have her best interests at heart. He wouldn’t protect her and teach her. He wouldn’t care for her.
He wouldn’t hurt her feelings, either.
True, but Clay would apologize for that the first chance he got.
“I want her back.”
Mulligan smiled, not even bothering to hide his amusement. “She’s not a toy or a piece of property, Clay. We are talking about a strong-minded woman who has an uncanny ability with cards.”
“Let me rephrase that, then. I want you to stop tutoring her.”
“Don’t see why I should. She’s amusing, easy on the eyes. Livens up the place.”
The back of Clay’s neck tingled, anger sweeping over him. Mulligan was obviously baiting him, but Clay couldn’t stop from fantasizing about flipping this desk and punching the other man in the jaw. It would be so fucking satisfying. “You’ve taken her into the club?”
“Of course. Some of us actually leave our offices. Tonight I plan to take her to a little place I own on Mott Street—”
“Absolutely not,” Clay snapped. “The only thing you’re going to do is tell her you can’t tutor her any longer.”
A hard edge crept into Mulligan’s gaze, the blue of his irises turning to ice. “Not many have the stones to come into my office and order me around. You may wish to rethink your approach.”
Clay exhaled slowly and tried to reclaim some of his sanity. He couldn’t outmuscle Mulligan, not on the man’s own turf. No, he had to negotiate logically, with a clear head. “What do you want in exchange?”
Mulligan lifted his glass and sipped his beer. “What are you offering?”
“I’ll buy a hundred barrels of that beer for the club.”
Mulligan snorted. “Don’t insult me. By the way, I really like her perfume. It’s . . . orange and some spice I can’t quite place. Lingers for hours after she—”
“I’ll give you the policy shop on Canal.”
“T
he one Paddy O’Murphy runs?”
“Yes.”
Mulligan stroked his jaw, his lips twitching. “You must really have your knickers in a bunch over this girl. How low the mighty have fallen.”
Clay shoved to his feet. “Don’t be a prick. The only reason you agreed to help her was to antagonize me. I am trying to be civil about this.”
“Wrong, and you are being a sanctimonious bastard. You ran her off, told her she was a distraction and now you don’t like that she’s gone to someone else. Too fucking bad, Clayton.”
Florence had told Mulligan about her last conversation with Clay? What else did Mulligan know?
“I shouldn’t have said that,” Clay muttered and ran a hand through his hair. This was humiliating, coming to his rival and having to grovel for access to a woman who’d probably never speak to him again. And Mulligan was loving every minute of it.
“Not certain the girl will care. She seems perfectly happy here, helping me with my books and learning the trade. I have plans for her. And, now that we know she likes men on the rough end of town, I’m going to see if she’s amenable—”
Clay didn’t think. Fury twisted his brain and he launched himself over the desk at Mulligan. Before the other man could react, Clay had his hands around Mulligan’s throat. “Don’t you dare touch her,” he snarled.
Mulligan sat perfectly still, his expression like granite. “One shout from me brings ten men through that door who will rip you apart. Be very careful in what you do next, Clayton.”
“Hard to shout after I tear your throat out,” he growled.
Mulligan’s features softened, his mouth hitching. “I’ll give her back, but I also want to buy into that casino you’re building on the east side.”
Clay blinked, his grip loosening in his surprise. Mulligan pried Clay’s fingers off his neck and smoothed his vest, while Clay dropped down into his chair. “How did you—?” He bit off the idiotic question. Of course Mulligan had learned of Clay’s plans for Seventy-Ninth Street.
“I don’t want much,” Mulligan said. “I’d be an investor, of course.”