by Joanna Shupe
“That’s absurd.”
“I have to agree with Frank,” Mamie said. “Mulligan trades in favors and bribes. The more help you ask him for, the more he’ll demand from you in return.”
But I’ve already given him everything.
She didn’t tell her sister that, though. If Mamie found out the true depth of Justine’s feelings for Jack, her sister would go straight to their parents and tell them. That would bring about a series of uncomfortable conversations Justine would rather not have right now. Not when things were so perfect with Jack.
“You’re wrong. Jack doesn’t mind helping me.”
“Of course he doesn’t,” Frank said. “He’s trying to corrupt you. To get you and your family in his debt.”
“That’s not why he helps me.”
Frank exchanged a glance with Mamie, and Justine could tell exactly what they were thinking. That Jack was taking advantage of her, likely physically. And that she sounded like a naive fool for falling for it.
She was very tired of being underestimated and dismissed.
Coming to her feet, she stared them both down. “If I am able to help people, including the clients here, then what is the difference how I go about it? You never questioned my methods before.”
Mamie shook her head. “This is different, Justine. And you know it.”
“No, it’s not. What I do know is that neither of you think I am able to handle myself. That I’m following Mulligan down a path of rack and ruin.”
“We are right to be worried,” Frank said, a little more gently this time. “I’ve known Mulligan a long time, the kinds of things in which he’s involved. You’re not cut from the same cloth.”
She strode to the door. This conversation was going nowhere and only serving to upset her. “Maybe, but I hardly see how that matters. People change.”
As she went into the corridor, she thought she heard Frank say, “Yes, they certainly do.”
Jack was in his office, getting his weekly manicure, when the door burst open. Frank Tripp appeared, his expression as dark as a thundercloud. Only, the lawyer wasn’t alone. Behind him was Clayton Madden, the former casino owner and Jack’s biggest rival until Florence Greene came along.
Oh, Christ. What was all this? He was glad to see Cooper trail the other two men inside. Mrs. Jenkins didn’t look up from her seat at the side of Jack’s desk, her concentration remaining on Jack’s hands.
“Afternoon, Mulligan,” Frank said, removing his derby. “Hope you don’t mind the intrusion.”
He did, actually. Once his nails were finished, he had a stack of reports and tallies to get through before he could meet Justine over at Bond Street in an hour. “Not at all,” he lied as Mrs. Jenkins began filing his nails. “Always happy to see you both. Some more than others, of course.”
Clayton said, “Being rude won’t get rid of me.”
Pity. “You are looking well, Madden. How is the lovely Florence?”
Clayton’s eyes flashed with violent intent. She was a sore spot between the two of them. He clearly hadn’t forgotten how Florence came running to Jack when Clayton had been stupid enough to kick her out. “She is exceedingly well, thank you.”
“I am relieved to hear so. Please send her my regards. And if I may help her casino in any way—”
“She doesn’t need your help,” Clayton snapped.
“Perhaps, but my door is always open for her.”
“If you’re not too busy with your primping, that is.” He tilted his chin toward Jack’s hands.
“Hold up, you two,” Frank said. “That’s not why we are here. We’re here to talk about my other sister-in-law.”
Justine? Jack ground his back teeth together, fighting an outward reaction. He hated being caught off guard. However, he needed to keep his wits about him at all times. Stupid equaled sloppy equaled dead in Jack’s world.
Jack said quietly to the manicurist, “Mrs. Jenkins, would you mind excusing us for just a few moments?”
The woman nodded and put down her file. Cooper showed her into the hallway and shut the door behind her. Jack faced his two guests. “And what about Miss Greene?”
Clayton strolled over to the sideboard and poured drinks for them. “You and Miss Justine Greene,” he drawled and handed out glasses of bourbon. “I wouldn’t think luring uptown debutantes to their ruin was your raison d’être, but here we are.”
Jack set the glass aside. “Making money is my raison d’être, a quality we both share. And, I hardly see how this involves you. Isn’t there a gloomy hallway missing your glower right about now?”
“Stop sniping at each other,” Frank said. “Mulligan, my wife is concerned about your association with her sister.”
“Miss Greene is a grown woman and makes her own choices. I am not forcing her to do anything against her will.”
“That’s a load of shit,” Clayton put in as he leaned against the wall, drink in hand. “You’re seducing her into trusting you.”
“You make me sound positively Machiavellian.”
“Because it’s not far from the truth,” Frank said. “I am begging you to leave her alone. This can only end badly and I won’t be able to help you. Her father will come after you.”
“Please.” That was beyond insulting. Jack shook his head. “Considering all I’ve faced in my thirty-two years, do you honestly believe I am scared of Duncan Greene?”
Frank’s mouth flattened and Jack imagined the lawyer was fighting the urge to talk this problem to death. “I want you to stop involving yourself in my clients’ cases.”
“I’m hardly involved. Your sister-in-law asks for my assistance from time to time and I see no reason to refuse her.”
“I am asking you to refuse. I do not want you mixed up in my business.”
“Except for my donations.”
Frank grimaced. “I realize how that sounds, but yes. I prefer to help clients legally, not through bribes and intimidation. And the legal aid society remains open only through generous donations.”
At least he was honest. “May I ask where this is coming from?”
“Mrs. Gorcey returned this morning saying her husband has missed the last two payments. Apparently, you and Justine settled on some arrangement with the Gorceys.”
Goddamn Gorcey, the idiot. Jack caught Cooper’s eye. “Find him.” Cooper nodded once and disappeared out the door.
“I’ll learn what happened,” he told Frank. “Gorcey is one of my men.”
“He should have been arrested and brought before a judge. If this were handled in the courts, then Mrs. Gorcey would have legal recompense.”
“And I prefer to handle it myself, seeing as how Gorcey is under my command.”
“Which makes Mrs. Gorcey dependent on you.”
“I suppose, though she has no reason to doubt my word that it will be handled.”
“You cannot possibly think to foresee every possibility. What if something happens to you? What if Gorcey jumps a train out west? She has no legal hold over receiving money from him.”
“Then you’re in a bind because I don’t turn my men over to the coppers. I prefer to deal with my own problems.”
Frank’s frown revealed his frustration but Jack wouldn’t back down. The lawyer said, “What about the other cases? Do those involve your men, as well?”
“I hardly see how that matters.” He held up his palms. “If she asks for my help, I will give it. Gladly.”
“I don’t get it. Do you have feelings for this girl?” Frank asked, seemingly exasperated. “Or are you poking a hornet’s nest merely for amusement’s sake?”
This was starting to grow tedious. “Miss Greene is perfectly capable of taking care of herself. You are concerned over nothing.”
“Wrong. She is kind and gentle, a caring soul. Your complete opposite in every way. You must know an association with you will tarnish her.”
Yes, he was aware. And, if he were a good man, he would heed Tripp’s words. But he was not
that man. Instead, he’d crawled out of the gutter to oversee the city’s biggest criminal enterprise, one he ruled with relish. To astonishing success. That man would do what he pleased, when he pleased.
And he wouldn’t stand here and be taken to task like a goddamn errant schoolboy.
“Tripp, it is my appreciation of what you did for my brother all those years ago that prevents me from throwing you out on your arse at the moment. However, make no mistake, I do not take advice from anyone other than myself. If Duncan Greene—or anyone else—doesn’t like that, you may tell him I said to not-so-very-politely fuck off.”
“I told you he wouldn’t listen,” Clayton said, his mouth curving into an annoying smirk.
Jack pierced him with a harsh stare, one that had cowed many a man over the years. “Do not forget who assisted you in your hour of need, when you came begging to get back in Florence’s good graces.”
Clayton had no rejoinder for that, so Jack returned his attention to Frank. “Are we finished?”
“Yes, we’re finished. For now.”
“Then by all means, don’t let me prevent you from leaving.”
Clayton finished his drink, set the glass down and left. Frank didn’t immediately follow. Instead, he narrowed his eyes on Jack’s face, his expression solemn. “We all have an hour of need, Jack. You’d best hope you still have some friends left when yours arrives.”
Jack was still mulling those words over a few minutes later when Cooper returned. “How is it everyone walks around here unannounced? Tripp and Madden just stormed my office like I’m a French aristocrat.”
Cooper scratched his jaw, seemingly confused. “Tripp said you were expecting him.”
That lying bastard. “Forget it. I want the door guarded at all times. O’Shaughnessy will retaliate at some point and I’d rather have a fighting chance when it happens.”
“Got it.”
“Any luck in locating Gorcey?”
“No. Hasn’t been around in over a week, apparently.”
Jack sighed, his leg bouncing with irritation. “Fucking find him. Search the city. In the meantime, send the missing payments to his wife with my apologies.”
“I’ll handle it. By the way, Rye wants to know if you’re going to the fights tonight or if you’re headed over to Bond Street this afternoon.”
“Bond Street.” Cooper’s mouth twitched like this answer amused him. Jack snapped, “Something to say before you fetch Mrs. Jenkins for me?”
“I think it’s sweet, is all. Rye and I both like her.”
Before Jack could reply, Cooper slipped out the door and into the hall, leaving Jack alone with his thoughts. Yes, I like her, too.
More than he’d ever believed possible . . . and he wasn’t quite certain what to do about that.
Chapter Twenty
Rising, Justine put down the telegram and rang for her maid. She hated to cancel on Jack this afternoon but her presence was needed elsewhere. He’d understand. After all, they’d seen each other nearly every day for the last week.
Mrs. Grant, her friend at the Mulberry Mission, just cabled to ask for help with the soup kitchen. Justine was always happy to lend a hand when necessary, and today was no exception. Even if she craved Jack’s touch.
She dashed off her own telegram.
CANNOT MEET YOU. AM NEEDED AT THE MISSION FOR DINNER. TRY NOT TO MISS ME.
She then sent the cable with her maid, who could be counted on as discreet. Thirty minutes later, as Justine readied to leave the house, a messenger boy from Western Union arrived on a bicycle. He handed her a paper then waited in case there was a response. The message read:
IMPOSSIBLE. I ALWAYS MISS YOU WHEN YOU ARE NOT HERE. WHICH MISSION?
She bit her lip. The charmer. “Do you have a pencil?” she asked the messenger. “I’d like to send a response.”
The boy handed her a stack of papers and a pencil. She quickly wrote out her response.
MULBERRY. WILL BE THINKING OF YOU.
She handed him the papers, pencil and a coin. “Thank you.” He tipped his cap and sped off, legs pumping as he disappeared into the city’s traffic. Justine hailed a hansom and set off downtown.
The mission was already crowded when she arrived, with men, women and children lined up outside the brick building to wait for supper. She smiled and offered a polite hello as she passed. There were so many that needed help in this city. How could anyone turn a blind eye to all of the suffering here?
She went through the heavy double wooden doors and hurried toward the kitchens. Mrs. Grant found her right away. “Thank goodness,” the older woman explained as she hugged Justine. “We’ve had four workers laid out with illness this week. I’m at my wit’s end.”
“Tell me what to do.”
That was the last conversation Justine remembered. From that point on, she was too busy to think straight. She and the workers struggled to prepare and cook the meal, ready the utensils and plates and put chairs and tables out for the guests. It was almost a relief when the doors opened because then she could merely focus on putting food onto plates.
With fewer staff on hand, it took longer to fill each plate. Justine did her best, moving as quickly as she was able. Sweat rolled down her back but she kept going.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone step in on her right. “Move over.”
Her head snapped up at the familiar voice, certain she’d misheard. Certain she’d missed him enough to conjure his voice at every turn.
No, he was here. Jack was here. At the mission.
He wore his usual fancy suit, his hair slicked to perfection. His eyes dancing and lips twisted with satisfaction, he was clearly enjoying her surprise. She blurted, “What are you doing?”
“Helping, if you’ll let me.” He flicked his fingers to indicate that she should slide over. “Hand me that ladle.”
She gave him the soup ladle and moved to the potatoes. “I do not understand.”
“There’s nothing to understand. I wanted to see you and this is where you are.”
Heat flooded her skin as she scooped roasted potatoes onto a plate. The woman holding the plate gave Justine a wink. “You’ve got a keeper in that one, dearie.”
Yes, she rather thought she did.
“Don’t you have better things to do?” she asked out of the side of her mouth.
“Surprisingly, no. And the more help on hand, the sooner you’ll be finished.”
That was when she saw Cooper and Rye in the crowd, helping to clear dishes and chatting with the guests. Oh, dear Lord. Her insides melted, her heart squeezing tight like a fist. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll let you properly thank me later.”
She was certain someone overheard that comment, but it seemed no one did. She couldn’t stop grinning.
Jack was a natural at making people feel at ease. It shouldn’t have surprised her, yet it did. He spoke to many of the guests in their native language, from German and Italian, to bits of Polish and Russian. He made them laugh, charming the women and joking with the men. Some recognized him, expressing their astonishment that Jack Mulligan would be here, at a soup kitchen, serving meals. He assured them of his love for the neighborhood and its people, whether they worked for him or not.
When the food had been served, he walked through the tables, sitting and visiting with people. He had soup stains on his cuffs, but he didn’t seem to notice. As she helped to clean up, she stole glances at him. Her heart felt as if it might burst.
“And who is your friend?” Mrs. Grant asked quietly. “He’s certainly a handsome one.”
“That is Mr. Mulligan.”
“Well, it appears many of our guests already know him. Is he a politician? Or a fancy railroad magnate?”
“He’s . . .” She hesitated. “A businessman.” It felt wrong to dissemble but the description wasn’t exactly a lie.
“That ain’t no businessman,” one of their guests said as he passed by. “That’s Jack Mull
igan. South of Fourteenth Street they call him the very devil.”
Mrs. Grant’s face changed, wariness creeping into her expression. “Oh, I hadn’t realized it was that Mr. Mulligan.”
“He’s not as bad as that,” Justine said. “He’s quite generous.”
“But he’s also dangerous.” Mrs. Grant watched Jack as he shook hands with a table of men. “I’ve heard stories. Should you be associating with a man like that, Miss Greene?”
Her back straightened, the urge to defend him tightening her muscles. She wished the world knew him as she did: a sweet, funny and kind man. Who else would have rushed here to help tonight, merely because he wished to spend time with her? Who else would have made a speech at the Metropolitan Opera House as a way of saving her reputation? What about teaching her bowling and promising to help get her into the police department? He’d done all that and more since she met him. “He’s merely a friend.”
“If you say so. Please tell him we are grateful for his help tonight.” Mrs. Grant picked up a serving dish and took it into the kitchen to be washed.
It was clear the older woman wasn’t convinced. Someday, though. Someday the entire city would see him as Justine did.
The main dining room was empty by the time Justine left. She hadn’t seen Jack depart but why would he remain? There must have been a hundred other things requiring his attention. She’d find a hansom uptown and meet her family at home for dinner.
Pushing open the heavy wooden doors, she emerged outside. Cool night air washed over her just as she spotted a slick black carriage waiting at the curb. Her heart stuttered. A good-looking man leaned against the side, his hands in his trouser pockets. He looked delectable—like an ice cream cone, an ear of roasted corn and a chocolate bonbon all rolled into one.
His mouth hitched when she started toward him. Warmth shone in his startling blue eyes. “A ride, miss?”
“I am looking for the bighearted, good-looking man who was inside a few moments ago. Have you seen him?”
“Perhaps. Was there some sort of reward being offered?”