The Devil of Downtown

by Joanna Shupe

  Jack pushed open the door of the Little Water Street Brewery. Rye and Cooper, Jack’s usual shadows for neighborhood errands, trailed him inside. This would certainly prove a more pleasant stop than some of the others they’d made today. The brewery was a passion of Jack’s, a partnership started with Patrick Murphy, the brewer.

  They met seven years ago, when Jack tasted Patrick’s homemade lager. Patrick had been brewing and selling it out of the back of a drugstore on Pearl Street. Jack knew quality beer when he found it, having been raised on the drink like mother’s milk. Patrick had a gift for flavors. Within months, the two of them had gone into business together, eventually opening this brewery. The beer was now sold all over Lower Manhattan and Brooklyn, thanks to Jack’s distribution genius.

  Jack saw big things ahead for this brewery. And for him.

  The pungent smell of hops and grain sank into his lungs. Heat hung in the air surrounding the huge copper kettles, where yeast had been added to the wort and would ferment until it was properly aged. Assistants were carrying ledgers, recording temperatures and checking levels.

  “Mulligan!”

  Jack turned to the sound and found Patrick hurrying toward him. “Afternoon, Patrick. I see you are hard at work, as usual.”

  The two shook hands. “I had to add two more kettles this week just to handle the new orders. I don’t know how you managed to get us sold in Madison Square Garden, but I am grateful.”

  “I happened to meet one of the Garden’s investors and I made the pitch.” It turned out the investor had a hop habit, and Jack had promised not to reveal such details to the investor’s wife in exchange for the deal. But, there was no use sullying Patrick’s mind with the dirty details. “Do you have a moment to spare for me?”

  “Indeed, I do. Would you like to try a sample of something I’m working on?”

  “That’s like asking if I’d like to watch Rembrandt paint.”

  Color washed over Patrick’s neck. “A ridiculous comparison but I’ll take the compliment. Let’s sit at the bar.”

  Jack followed Patrick to the corner, where a high table and chairs served as the room’s bar. The two of them often sat here to discuss the business or taste ingredients. Jack much preferred to see the main brewing room than be sequestered back in Patrick’s office.

  Patrick shouted to one of the workers. “Jimmy, bring us a bottle of that Saaz lager, will you?”

  They settled in the chairs. “How are things in general?” Jack asked. “Need more staff?”

  “No, not after the last round of hires. It’s a good group.” Patrick rolled his sleeves up. “Why? Do you have someone in mind?”

  Jack thought of Justine and the shirtwaist factory. “Just wanted to ensure the hours and wages are fair. That we keep workers happy and reduce accidents.”

  “I have them in six-hour shifts, and they make more here than any factory in the neighborhood. Besides, they get free beer each week. Hell, some of them would work for that perk alone, if I’d let them.”

  “Good, I’m glad to hear it. How is your brother?”

  They were interrupted as Jimmy arrived with a large brown bottle and two glasses, which he placed on the table between Patrick and Jack. Patrick quickly opened the bottle and held it out. “Smell.”

  Jack put his nose close to the opening. “Sweet. A little grassy.”

  “Very good.” Patrick poured the lager into two glasses, ensuring he poured into the center of the glass and not along the sides. An impressive head formed atop each glass. “Now swirl.”

  As he’d done plenty of times, Jack picked up his glass and gently swirled the contents, agitating the beer. He’d learned from Patrick this unlocked the flavor and enhanced the aroma. He smelled it again. “Nice. It’s clean, not overpowering.”

  “Wait until you taste it.” Patrick’s eyes shone with excitement, as they always did when discussing beer. He dipped his chin toward Jack’s glass. “It should be ready.”

  Jack took a slow sip and held it, allowing the liquid to flow over every part of his tongue. It was delicious. Smooth, with lots of flavor. Was that caramel? The swallow was clean. Crisp. Well-balanced. Unlike anything he’d ever had.

  He stared at the glass. There was nothing like this on the market. Not anywhere around here, at least. “What the hell is in here?”

  “Do you like it?”

  “Like it? It’s perfection. Sweet and dry, but flavorful. It’ll appeal to anyone, whether they like beer or not. How did you manage it?”

  “A few things. Water from the Catskills along with two-row barley. Then we’ve imported the hops from Bohemia.”

  Jack took a long draught. Christ, it just kept getting better. So much innovation in one small glass. “It is impressive, Patrick. If we hadn’t just missed the competition at the World’s Fair, I would have entered it.”

  Patrick made a sound, always humble about his gift. “Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

  “This is better than Pabst’s supposed blue ribbon winner, that’s for damn certain. Start bottling it.”

  “Soon.” Patrick grinned and drank from his own glass. “I’m glad you like it. Now, you asked about my brother. Is that why you’re here?”

  Patrick’s brother was Frank Tripp, brother-in-law to Justine Greene. Frank was one of the rarified individuals who could straddle both ends of Manhattan, having served as a lawyer to both the city’s uptown elite and downtown criminal class. “Partly. I was wondering if Frank had invited you to his fundraiser.”

  “For the legal aid society?” At Jack’s nod, Patrick said, “Yes, though I have no desire to attend. Those types of events are more to my brother’s tastes than mine.”

  “I would like you to go. I plan on attending.”

  Patrick’s gaze widened, though he quickly recovered. “You realize it’s being held at the Metropolitan Opera House. If I know my sister-in-law, every blue-blooded snob in the city will be there.”

  “I am counting on it, in fact. There is one snob who won’t receive me in his home. I hope to corner him at the event, however, and it would be helpful if you were there, as well.”

  “Ah.” Patrick relaxed as he began to unravel what was left unsaid. “This is about Julius Hatcher, isn’t it?”

  Jack hid his smile by taking another sip of the outstanding beer. A reclusive financial genius, Hatcher had fingers in almost every pie—including the brewery in which Jack now sat. Hatcher had invested a few years back, with Jack’s permission, and urged Patrick to take the beer national. They hadn’t been ready at the time, but Jack had been doing some math. The time was now ripe to brew, pasteurize and ship a national product. They just needed Hatcher’s buy-in.

  They would get it, of course, but Hatcher would want to control the entire venture. Jack had no intention of allowing that to happen. If this went forward, it was under his leadership.

  “He is your brother’s closest friend,” Jack said by way of answer.

  “Do you really think we can pull it off? What about refrigeration?”

  “Refrigerated train cars. Then we buy a railroad.”

  Patrick whistled. “That sounds like a huge investment.”

  “That is where Hatcher comes in.” Jack finished his glass and stood. “You just keep working. My job is to find ways to share your genius with the world. Together, we’re going to make a load of fucking money.”

  “I like the sound of that. Incidentally, did my brother get you into the fundraiser?”

  “No. I’m escorting his sister-in-law.”

  “Florence?” Patrick nearly screeched the word. “Madden will skin you alive then set you on fire.”

  “Not Florence. Justine, the youngest Greene daughter.”

  The look on Patrick’s face would’ve made Jack laugh, if he hadn’t been expecting it. No one would ever believe a man like Jack would associate with the angelic do-gooder. If she were even so angelic. Jack had his doubts.

  Though he looked forward to discovering the answer.r />
  “You’re joking,” Patrick managed.

  “Absolutely not. We are quite friendly, actually.”

  “You . . . and Justine Greene. Friendly?” He scratched his jaw. “What am I missing?”

  “There’s nothing to it. She needs my help from time to time with her little projects in my part of town.”

  “Oh, I see.” Patrick’s confusion cleared up, his lips stretching into a smooth smile. “The business of favors. A Mulligan specialty.”

  “They do come in handy. You just be at that fundraiser.”

  “You with Justine Greene at the Metropolitan Opera House in front of all New York high society? I wouldn’t miss that spectacle for the world.”

  Jack clapped Patrick on the back. “Then dust off your evening jacket. We’ll show those Knickerbockers a thing or two.”

  Justine couldn’t recall ever being this nervous.

  Draped in one of Mamie’s old evening gowns, she hovered near the entrance of the Metropolitan Opera House. It was crowded, with nearly everyone of consequence here this evening. To bear witness to her and Mulligan. Together.

  Thank goodness that her mother and father were in Europe at the moment. It would be weeks before they learned of Mulligan’s involvement at the fundraiser. By that time, Justine would have rid herself of Mulligan altogether. They would have no reason to interact any longer, and her bizarre fascination with him would subside.

  Fascination? More like fantasies.

  Fine, yes. She’d had her share of fantasies lately about Mulligan. Lewd and exciting fantasies where he kissed and touched her everywhere, his bright blue eyes burning with desire. His hands eager, his body hard. Dark words of appreciation and encouragement. She had pleasured herself in the bath tonight just thinking about it.

  But fantasy and reality were two entirely different worlds.

  He stood for everything she worked against, like violence and crime. She helped people but never stepped outside the law. Mulligan created his own set of rules, anything that furthered his interests.

  Therefore, she had to suppress her body’s bizarre reaction to him, the craving that hummed along her skin in his presence.

  The line of conveyances moved and a slick black brougham inched to the curb. Nothing on the outside hinted that it was any different than the other fancy carriages on the street, but something, some strange feeling, made the hairs on the back of Justine’s neck stand up.

  The door flung open and a leg clad in perfectly creased black wool shot out. The leather shoe was so shiny she thought she saw her reflection on the surface. Then a large frame twisted and slowly emerged, each movement deliberate, almost flamboyant. The yellow lamplight illuminated the sharp angles of his jaw, the perfectly chiseled features. He wore an arrogant smile, his bearing proud and straight, as he placed a silk top hat on his head.

  Elegant. Impossibly handsome.

  Mulligan had arrived.

  He made no effort to advance toward the entrance. Instead, he pulled on his cuffs. Brushed his sleeves and smoothed his vest, seemingly preening for the crowd. Mouth gone dry, Justine swallowed as she watched from the shadows. He was Adonis, all lean male beauty and strength. A man the gods would fight over. His black-and-white evening clothes, worn here by every man like a uniform, only caused him to stand out from the crowd. It was as if the cloth had been woven just for him, sewn to highlight his broad shoulders and trim frame.

  Everyone around them stopped to stare. The woman next to Justine actually gasped.

  Justine didn’t move, her back glued to the brick. In general, she didn’t care for attention. Too late now. You agreed to let him escort you. All eyes would be on them tonight.

  One evening. One fundraiser. Then you’re through with Mulligan.

  Unless she decided to ask for help with finding Mrs. von Briesen’s husband.

  No, you can do it on your own. No more debts to Mulligan. No more favors, no more contact. They were even after tonight.

  “Miss Greene!”

  Oh, Lord. He’d spotted her. Heads turned her way, and she had no choice but to step forward. “Good evening.”

  He strode toward her, his long legs eating up the pavement that separated them. Then he took her hand and brought it to his mouth, his full lips brushing the thin cloth of her glove. “Miss Greene,” he said, his voice deep and intimate. A ripple went down her spine. “How lovely you are this evening.”

  She could feel her skin heating, like she’d been in the sun too long. Eyes were everywhere, silent and judging, but she forced herself to ignore them. One night. You can do it. She clutched his arm and began leading him inside. “That was quite an entrance,” she murmured.

  “They were going to stare no matter what I did. Besides, cowering by the side of a building isn’t really my style.”

  “I was not cowering.” Not really, anyway. More like enjoying her last few minutes of solitude.

  “If you say so.”

  She ignored him and focused on the impending crush. The inside of the opera house bustled with activity. Patrons hurried to their seats while ushers assisted. Keeping her face down, Justine tugged him up the stairs and toward the bottom tier of boxes.

  “May we slow down?” he asked. “I wasn’t aware this was a race.”

  “They’ll cease staring once we are in the box.” Maybe.

  “I had no idea you were so eager for us to reach your family.”

  She stopped suddenly, nearly causing the couple behind them to collide into her back. Oh, heavens. Her family. In moments, she would walk in with Mulligan. How strong was her grandmother’s heart?

  Offering a smooth apology to the other patrons, Mulligan neatly moved her out of the fray and into a small alcove. He leaned in, the hint of cigar and mint clinging to him, and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. She froze, tingles shooting down her legs all the way to her toes. The unexpected touch had been gentle, so different from her fantasies. But she liked it. A lot.

  “Breathe, Justine. The part about being eager was a joke.”

  “Are you certain you must attend tonight?”

  The side of his mouth hitched. “I am, chérie. But I promise, you’ll emerge unscathed. I swear my life on it.”

  Ha. He had no idea how vicious society could be, how this would affect her family. Justine would end up very much scathed. “Let’s get this over with.”

  He stared down at her, his blue eyes startling even in the dim light. “Do you trust me?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  That caused him to throw his head back and laugh. “Smart girl. Considering the thoughts running through my head at the moment, you’d be wise not to.”

  “What do you mean?”

  His head tilted as he perused her from head to toe. Something about the slow examination made her feel both hot and cold at the same time. “Impure thoughts,” he rasped. “About you.”

  Oh, heavens. He’s having impure thoughts about me. The idea was dizzying.

  Yet, this was not the time or the place for her fantasies to come to life.

  Exhaling, she struggled not to reveal how much he affected her. “After tonight, you will never see me again.”

  “Do you honestly believe that?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “We shall see, I suppose. Come on. Let’s face the dragons together.” He presented his arm and, after she sucked in a deep breath for courage, she accepted it. They departed the alcove and moved along the corridor to the Greene box.

  “Prepare yourself,” she warned as they drew near. “We may be asked to leave.”

  “Not a chance in hell. This is a fundraiser. No one wishes to lose my generous donation.”

  She almost groaned. How could she have forgotten? “I suppose that guarantees you won’t be asked to leave.”

  “Mon ange, if anyone hurts or disrespects you, I shall grow very angry. Then they will have to deal with me.” He bent closer. “I will protect you.”

  “Do not call me that.” She was no
angel, nor did she belong to him.

  Looking up, she noted they’d arrived. Oh, sweet mercy. He had distracted her with his flirting and nicknames, and now they stood in front of the Greene box. More like Pandora’s box, considering all the trouble they were about to unleash.

  “Go on,” the devil urged over her shoulder. “If I know one thing it’s that you are no quitter, Miss Greene.”

  A little burst of confidence filled her. He was right. She was no quitter. Resigned, she pushed through the velvet curtains at the back of the box.

  Mamie and Granny were in the salon sipping cocktails when Justine stepped in. “There you are,” her grandmother said. “We were wondering—”

  The words disappeared and silence descended as her escort entered behind her. She cleared her throat. “May I present Mr. Mulligan? Mr. Mulligan, this is my sister, Mrs. Tripp. My grandmother, Mrs. Greene.”

  He strode deeper into the room and performed a bow worthy of a prince. “Good evening, ladies. Mrs. Tripp, it is my honor to attend for such a worthy cause.”

  “I wasn’t aware Justine was bringing an escort tonight,” Granny said. “A Mulligan, you say? Are you one of the Boston Mulligans?”

  “Indeed, I am not,” Jack said. “New York through and through. In fact I was born and raised in the Sixth—”

  “On Sixth Avenue,” Justine blurted. “Near Washington Square Park.”

  “Oh, that is a fine area,” Granny said. “Our family had a home on the park for years. Perhaps we knew some of your people—”

  “Granny, let’s not get into boring social pedigrees before we’ve even taken a seat.” Justine turned to her sister. “How is the crowd tonight? Will you raise a lot of money?”

  Mamie’s eyes flashed fire, a knowing gleam that proved her sister was aware of Mulligan’s identity. No doubt she’d latch on to the first opportunity to get Justine alone. “The crowd is unexpected, to say the least.”

  Justine had no response to that, so she gestured toward the sideboard. “Shall we stay and have a drink?”

  “Go,” Granny said, shooing them toward the box. “No need to sit in here with us. Go and find a seat. Tripp will bring out drinks soon enough.”