The Devil of Downtown

by Joanna Shupe

  No reason to deny it now. “Too late, because I already do.”

  “You shouldn’t.”

  She tried to mask the hurt at his reaction. If she’d expected a grand declaration of his feelings, well, the more stupid her. “I do not expect you to return my sentiment now, but it is my hope it’ll grow to happen over time.”

  “There’s no chance of that. You said it yourself, this is my world, not yours. You don’t belong in it, do-gooder.”

  Frustration and anger boiled over. “I don’t know where I belong anymore! I feel like I am between two worlds. I went to the police with the ransom note and they wouldn’t help me. They said it was better for the gangs to fight it out amongst themselves. So I went to Cooper and instantly had an army of men ready to save you. I’m confused, but the one thing that makes sense is you. Whatever you do next, whether it is a brewery or a business, I want to be there with you.”

  “Whatever I do next?” He lifted his arms and let them fall. “Justine, I am plotting to kill O’Shaughnessy. That is what I am doing next. I am reclaiming my empire.”

  “But . . .” Her stomach sank. “I heard you give your word.”

  “Just like O’Shaughnessy gave his word that he’d allow me to walk out of there? We’re liars and thieves. We cannot be trusted.”

  “Please, Jack. Do not kill him. Do not be that man. You are better than that.”

  He gave a gruff, bitter-sounding laugh. “No, I really am not.”

  “You are. Promise me you will not kill him.” He said nothing, so she pressed her case. “Don’t you see? This is your chance. You could walk away. Disappear. We could go somewhere together. Be happy, just living away from the city.”

  “I can’t do that. This will always be hanging over my head. Waiting to come back and destroy whatever life I’ve managed to build for myself. O’Shaughnessy cannot let me keep breathing. He knows my men would follow me again in an instant. He will track me down if I don’t get to him first.”

  “So you are choosing this”—she swept her arm to indicate the hidden house—“over a future with me?”

  “You were right to walk away. There’s no happy ending for a man like me, one with enemies everywhere. And I cannot allow that to ruin your life. You deserve better.”

  “You are making decisions that affect me without my input. What about what I choose?”

  “I won’t do it, cara,” he said softly. “I watched you put yourself in danger, hold a man at gunpoint, and I was terrified that you’d be hurt and I wouldn’t be able to prevent it. Whatever this is between us ends today.”

  Her throat closed, as if to prevent the hurtful words from reaching her heart. Yet, they did. They sank into every part of her to weigh her down and slice her open. She struggled to speak. “You cannot mean that.”

  His bright eyes were dull, lifeless as he approached. “I do.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and loomed over her. “Go out and save the world, mon ange. I am beyond saving.”

  He strode past her and she heard him race up the stairs, his feet thumping on every tread. As if he couldn’t get away from her fast enough.

  Tears gathered in her eyes and she blinked at the pins scattered at the end of the alley. Evidence of Jack’s destruction, she supposed. Much like the pieces of her heart.

  “You are a goddamn fool.”

  Jack looked up from his whiskey and glared at Rye, who’d just stormed into the room. “Don’t say it.”

  A quarter of an hour ago Jack had walked out on Justine after telling her to move on with her life. There had been no other choice, even if he wished it otherwise. Wishing was a pointless endeavor for an underworld kingpin. He dealt in realities. Cold, hard truths. The prospect of danger around every corner.

  “I will say it once more and you will listen. You’re a goddamn fool. Whatever you said had her running out of here in tears.”

  Jack’s stomach rolled over, nausea and whiskey nearly making him gag. He took another sip, even though he hated it, hoping to numb the pain quicker. Beer took too long to get him drunk.

  He hadn’t wanted to make her cry. She’d been the first one to realize how incompatible their lives were, not him. He’d merely agreed with her. Even if he’d been willing to try, seeing her point a gun at O’Shaughnessy had certainly changed his mind.

  I want her to watch while I kill you.

  Jesus, Jack couldn’t get the scene out of his head. They’d barely made it out alive. He couldn’t risk it ever again. Not with Justine, no matter how many tears she shed.

  “You know it’s for the best,” he told Rye.

  “What I know is that you have the chance for real happiness and you’re throwing it away.”

  “Right,” he sneered. “A chance for O’Shaughnessy to find me when I least expect it. At least this way, I can kill him and get my business back.”

  “You don’t need to do that. You don’t need to be Jack Mulligan anymore. Take her and go start over somewhere.”

  The idea was ridiculous. “Hide under another name? Work as a plumber or a bank teller out in Omaha? I spent my life creating this for myself. Richer than my wildest dreams, respect and fear from the Bronx to the Battery. You think I’m going to let Trevor O’Shaughnessy take all that away?”

  “So you’d rather be gutted or shot in the street like a dog? Because that’s what will eventually happen if you don’t get out.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  Rye sent up a bitter chuckle to the ceiling. “Of course I do. You cannot stay on top forever.”

  “Yes, I can.”

  “You idiot. You should get out, move in with your lady and start having little Mulligans.”

  Jack’s hand curled into a fist. He liked the sound of that, so much that it made him angry because he knew he’d never have that kind of future. “No one from our world is allowed to do that, Rye. You should know that by now.”

  “Clayton Madden did it.”

  “In a manner of speaking. He’s living above what will soon be her casino like a hermit, but they aren’t married. And he didn’t have near the number of enemies that I do.”

  “Close—and he also didn’t have near the number of loyal men, either.”

  “I won’t corrupt her. You’re wasting your breath.”

  “You think if you leave and go straight that you’re corrupting her?”

  Why was Rye pushing this? “Someday this life will come back to seek vengeance on me. If not O’Shaughnessy then someone else. I will not watch her suffer for my choices.”

  “Not if you walk away clean. Tell everyone what you’re doing, let it be known that you’re going straight.”

  Frustration boiled in Jack’s veins, everything he hated and loved splitting apart his mind. He stood and threw his tumbler against the wall. “I almost got her killed!” he shouted. “Or raped. You should have heard what O’Shaughnessy said. Fuck, Rye. Don’t you get it?”

  Several seconds passed. “Ah.” Rye nodded as if all the problems of the world suddenly made sense. “You love her.”

  “You’re not listening to me, old man,” Jack growled.

  “I hear every word, even the ones you aren’t speaking. You’re scared. You love her and you’re scared.”

  Jack dropped back into the chair, put his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands. “How I feel doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”

  “Wrong. You don’t believe me, fine. Why not go see the one person who can really help you?”

  There was no doubt as to whom Rye referred. “And why would I bother?”

  “Because you can’t hide out in this big house, alone, for the rest of your life, drinking and bowling yourself to death.”

  “I won’t be alone.”

  “Yes, you will,” Rye said. “Because Cooper and I won’t sit around and watch you destroy yourself. Go and talk to him, Jack.”

  Jack blew out a long breath, bracing himself as he raised his hand to knock. Before his knuckles even met wood, however, the do
or swung open.

  Clayton Madden stood there, a cup and saucer in his hand, his dark eyes suspicious . . . until he got a good look at Jack. Then he relaxed.

  And started laughing.

  “Well, well,” Clayton said, one eyebrow arching. “Look at what the cat has dragged in.”

  “Fuck off and let me in.”

  Clayton pulled the door open. “In a charming mood today, I see. I cannot wait to hear what this is all about.”

  Jack stepped inside the plush top-floor apartments. Clayton was not officially living with Florence Greene yet, but there were feminine touches everywhere, from the bonnet casually tossed on a chair to delicate slippers by the door. Jealousy streaked through Jack, but not because he longed for Florence. It was the domesticity, the intimacy that he envied.

  Two days he’d stewed over Rye’s words. In that time he’d been drinking more than sleeping, not eating. He knew he looked a mess. He lacked the energy to care, however.

  “I’d offer you a drink but it’s not yet noon so—”

  “Whiskey, if you have it.”

  Clayton’s brows rose but he didn’t say anything before going to the sideboard. Jack rested his head in his hands, questioning the intelligence of this visit. He didn’t even know what kind of insight he hoped to gain from Clayton.

  Yet, something had to give. He felt like he was losing his goddamn mind.

  Rye wouldn’t speak to him, and Cooper remained at the club. Thoughts of Justine haunted Jack’s waking hours, and the dreams of her at night were so vivid, so real that he couldn’t bear to fall asleep.

  He should be plotting O’Shaughnessy’s demise, yet he couldn’t focus on anything.

  Whatever you said had her running out of here in tears.

  “Here. You look like you could use it.” Clayton thrust a tumbler in Jack’s face.

  “Thank you.” Jack accepted the glass and downed a quarter of it in one gulp. The whiskey burned all the way down his throat, chasing away the chill in his bones. “Is Florence here?”

  Settling in the chair across from Jack, Clayton crossed his legs and took a sip from his china cup. “Not at the moment. She’s not due back for some time. You aren’t here to see her, are you?”

  “No, I’m here to see you.”

  “Let me guess. O’Shaughnessy.”

  Before he retired, Clayton’s network of informants had always been impressive. “How did you know?”

  “I stay abreast of things downtown. Glad to see you made it out alive.”

  “Are you?”

  Clayton shook his head. “Mulligan, we’ve established somewhat of an adversarial relationship but that was business. I’ve always admired and respected you.”

  “And I you. Which is really why I’m here. I need advice.”

  “Does this have to do with my sister-in-law?”

  “I thought you and Florence weren’t married.”

  “Semantics. We’re as committed as any two people in possession of a piece of paper. Which means I think of her sisters as my family.” He smoothed the fabric of his perfectly creased trousers. “I heard Justine rallied the boys to get you freed from O’Shaughnessy. I wish I could have seen it.”

  A smile tugged at Jack’s mouth for the first time in days. “It was an amazing sight. Led them all the way down Bowery like the Pied Piper.”

  “Or perhaps Boudica. She’s quite fearsome, from what I understand.”

  “From Florence?”

  “No, surprisingly. Florence and Mrs. Tripp worry incessantly over their youngest sister. I sense they still think of her as sheltered. Childish, almost.”

  Justine was none of those things. She was stubborn and resourceful, brave and intelligent. “She’s a force to be reckoned with when she sets her mind on something.”

  “A Greene family trait, I’m afraid.”

  Jack downed another mouthful of whiskey. “I’m in love with her.”

  “I figured as much. So, what is the problem?”

  “Must you ask?”

  “I suppose I must. The way I understand it, you’ve given everything away. There’s nothing preventing you from taking up with a woman like Justine Greene.”

  “You can’t be serious. You really think it’s just that simple?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Jack’s aching head pulsed with frustration. He threw back the rest of the drink and set the glass on the table as he rose. “I can see I’m wasting my time.”

  “Wait. Hear me out.” Clayton pointed at the seat until Jack lowered himself down once more. “You are attempting to make this complicated, but it’s truly not. I assume you are plotting against O’Shaughnessy?”

  “Yes.” Sort of. If he could stop thinking about Justine.

  “It’s what I would have done in your shoes, were I unattached. Which you are not.”

  “I am not what?”

  “Unattached. You just said you love her and the feeling must be reciprocated if she launched a rescue mission on your behalf.”

  Jack studied his shoes. I am in love with you. Words he did not deserve from a woman he deserved even less.

  He cleared his throat. “You know as well as I do how dangerous an attachment is in our world.”

  “Yet, you are able to leave that world behind. I did and I’ve never regretted it.”

  “Not once?”

  “Not. Once.” A small smile twisted Clayton’s lips. “You know the woman with whom I now share my life. I’d lay aside a hundred kingdoms for that privilege.”

  “Does anyone really just walk away, without recourse?”

  “They do. You remember Mallet Malone?” Jack nodded. Malone had been the leader of the Waterfront Rats, disappeared in ’78. “Moved to Vermont,” Clayton continued. “Ran a maple syrup farm until he died a year ago.”

  Jesus. How hadn’t Jack known this? “I had assumed he ended up in the East River.”

  “No, old Mallet lived a happy and healthy life. There are others, too. Including me.”

  “You’ve never worried about someone coming after you, a former patron with a grudge?”

  “I would be lying if I said it didn’t occasionally cross my mind, but I take precautions. It also helps that Florence is capable of handling herself.”

  “But there’s a difference. O’Shaughnessy can’t allow me to keep breathing. It’s too dangerous.”

  “He’ll let it go if you leave town.”

  Leave the only city he’d ever known? The streets and buildings were in his blood.

  And what of Justine? If he convinced her to forgive him, then he couldn’t ask her to leave her family, her work here in New York. No, moving was out of the question.

  “I don’t want to leave and run a maple syrup farm.” He wanted to run a national brewery, but not anonymously and not under an assumed name. That dream, however, felt further away than ever.

  “Then what are you going to do?”

  “Get rid of O’Shaughnessy, I suppose.”

  More blood on his hands. More violence in his head. He definitely couldn’t go back to her after that. He’d tainted her enough.

  Please, Jack. Do not kill him. Do not be that man. You are better than that.

  He had no choice. Couldn’t she understand? It was why he’d cut her loose. She was better off without him.

  “Can’t imagine Justine would approve of that,” Clayton said.

  “She asked me to promise I wouldn’t.”

  “And did you?”

  Jack’s brows pinched. “Why would I do that? There’s no other way to deal with O’Shaughnessy, Clayton.”

  “Isn’t there? Stop thinking about this like Jack Mulligan. Think about it as an outsider would, someone who doesn’t know our rules and practices. That’s what I had to do when I lost everything.”

  “How does that help me?”

  “It might just solve your problem. It also might help you win the girl. Shall we switch you to coffee?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Justine
trudged up the third flight of stairs, each step more exhausting than the last. This is what happens when one stays abed, nursing a broken heart, she supposed. Muscles weakened and every day became a struggle. “Will you now please tell me why we had to come all the way to an apartment house on Broome Street?”

  Florence glanced over her shoulder. Secret mirth danced in her eyes, which meant her sister was up to no good. “Not yet.”

  “For the love of Pete,” Justine grumbled. “I am not in the mood for this.”

  “I realized as much when you started complaining around Eighty-Eighth Street. Just trust me, please.”

  Justine huffed and followed her sister to the landing. Once there, Florence threw open a side door like she owned the place. An empty room was revealed, two chairs the only occupants. “Who lives here?” Justine asked.

  “No one. Come along.” Florence shut the door behind them and gestured to the chairs in front of the windows. “Let’s sit.”

  “Why?”

  “God, Justine. Stop asking questions and do what I say. We must hurry.”

  Hurry? For what? She kept the questions to herself, however. Florence could be sharp when pressed and Justine felt raw enough these days.

  A week ago she’d visited Jack in his bowling alley. Longer still since she’d faced down O’Shaughnessy on his behalf. In some ways it seemed like a lifetime ago. Yet to her heart, which somehow ached more each day, it felt like yesterday.

  On each chair sat a white confectioner’s bag. “Oooh, a snack.” Florence snatched a bag and sat down. “Popcorn. Yum.”

  Justine took the other bag and lowered herself down into the chair. Outside the windows she could see Broome Street Hall. A very unpleasant reminder. Jack’s men hadn’t believed him when he asked them to transfer their loyalty to Trevor O’Shaughnessy. Their disbelief and unhappiness had rumbled through the crowd long after Jack had disappeared. Seeing O’Shaughnessy bloody and angry had only fueled the resentment between the two groups. She had no idea how the issue would be resolved. Perhaps it never would be.

  Go out and save the world, mon ange. I am beyond saving.

  She didn’t believe that. No one was beyond saving. And everyone—even Jack Mulligan—was worthy of redemption. He just hadn’t wanted it.