“No person can ever understand me the way you do, Mick!” Junior whispered in his ear. “You’re the best dog in the whole world.”
Junior loved that dog with all his heart, and the feeling was, without any doubt, mutual.
Just as pie was being served and the pleasured/pained groans of those suffering distended stomachs filled the air, a knock came at the door.
“I’ll get it!” shouted little James. The adults were too stuffed to rise, so they let him. James ran to open the door.
A frightful old man stood there with a face that could freeze a boiling cup of tea. James’ eyes opened wide as saucers at encountering the fearsome specter, then fled back inside in a panic, leaving the man standing in the open doorway. He ran to the protection of his mother’s skirts.
“Who is it?” called the Alderman. The boy was clearly afflicted. JP got up and went to the door.
“JP, we need t’ talk.”
“Fingy—what? I am in the midst of Thanksgiving dinner here. Shouldn’t you be home with your family right about now?”
“They’re tryin’ t’ get rid o’ me, JP. I need yer help.”
“Who’s trying to get rid of you?” asked the Alderman.
“Charley Murphy. Tammany. The whole gang in Albany and New York City. They want me out—out o’ me Chairmanship!”
Annie interrupted the conversation she was having with Hannah and Ruth, put down her napkin and apologized, “Pardon me while I go see what’s going on out there.”
She approached the door and seeing the battle-scarred face of the Hated One, she blew a gasket.
“What in God’s name are you doing here! It’s Thanksgiving Day for heaven’s sake! Have you not a single shred of decency or respect?” Annie shrilled.
“Annie!” scolded JP loudly.
“Don’t you ‘Annie’ me! It’s a family day, JP! Something this criminal wouldn’t know nothing about!”
Hannah and Jim jumped up from the table, drawn to the commotion. Ruth followed, lingering behind.
They all stood and stared, awed by Conners’ brass. The man’s notorious capacity for narcissism was, after all, not unexpected, not even when played out at their own front door during Thanksgiving Day dinner.
“All right. I know where I ain’t wanted. Go ahead. Finish yer eatin’. We’ll talk tomorra,” Fingy gruffed, readying to turn away. But at the last moment he saw Ruth, and she saw him. They both froze.
“Go back to your family Mr. Conners and leave my family in peace for just one single day!” blurted Annie.
Hannah launched darts from her eyes to his.
Fingy didn’t hear Annie, nor did Hannah’s darts connect. He was transfixed on Ruth’s hair, her distinctive coppery-orange hair, as if struck by lightning.
Ruth was likewise riveted. She glanced down at his left hand just to be sure. It was him all right. An expression of shame tinted with fear shadowed her face.
Hannah looked at Ruth, then at Fingy, then back at Ruth again. Instantly she understood. Recalling Ruth’s stories about her mother’s habit of violence, Hannah couldn’t help but feel sick to her stomach.
◆◆◆
The First Ward Saga Continues In
The First Ward Volume IV:
His Lips Forgot The Taste Of Truth.
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