Rocco grinned at me, sliding his sunglasses over his eyes. “If I tell you, it will take the fun out if it.”
“I’m a boring man,” I said. “I’m allergic to fun. It sends me into anaphylactic shock.”
He laughed, his teeth bright white, as he got in the car and left.
* * *
“Cash,”Raff said, looking around. “Where the feck are we? Is this some kind of joke?”
“You know what’s a joke?” I slapped him on the back of his head. “Whenever you curse, you suddenly have an Irish accent.”
“That’s because IamIrish!”
“Part-time Irish. The rest of the time you’re a New Yorker with a New Yorker’s accent.”
“It’s not my fault my parents immigrated here before I was born. And it’s not my fault that the only time my Irish comes out is when I swear.”
He looked around again, nodding to a family dressed in old Scottish attire. “Haven’t these people got the fucking memo? Medieval is out. Twentieth century is in. We prefer modern-day medicine and boxed mac and cheese. Tell me they have beer. Or do we have to drinkcider?”
“You drink too fucking much regardless of the name.”
He turned around, walking backwards, arms open. “And you accuse me of not being full-time Irish!” He wiggled his eyebrows at two females walking past him. “Tell ’im, ladies. There’s nothing wrong with a drink every once in a while. And if it’s with a beautiful woman, or two, it’s considered socializing, right?”
They smiled at him and he took this as an invitation to wrap an arm around each of their shoulders, kicking his feet together before he walked off with them.
What a fucking winner.
I headed in the direction of the nut roaster. That was where Harry Boy said he’d be waiting for me at the arranged time. Maybe he picked the nut stand because he was busy getting his balls busted by the girl named Mari.
She was working one of the food booths, dressed in vintage clothing of the time, except for the plastic flip flops on her dirtied feet. It was hard to miss her. She reminded me of a young queen in an oil painting—there was something regal about her.
I stopped, stepping to the side of the constantly moving foot traffic.
Fuck. Her face. Either she had face-planted, or someone had used her as a punching bag.
I found Harry Boy eating roasted almonds coated in cinnamon and sugar, watching as Mari served food. I studied his reaction to her for a minute. When she would touch a spot on her face that must’ve been sore and wince, his jaw would tighten. I wasn’t getting involved in his personal affairs, but I was curious as to how he was going to handle this.
However he did would prove to me what kind of man he was. Was he going to kill the bastard who did that to her face? It wasn’t hard to tell when a man made that kind of mark on a woman. If it were my woman, I’d kill a fucker for much less than that.
Harry Boy stood up straighter when he noticed me and held out his hand. We shook.
“Nice day to be out,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said. “The weather is turning warmer.”
Even though he looked at me, I could tell he was itching to look at her again. “Your girl,” I said. “She have a date with the ground, or someone do that to her?”
“My girl?”
I nodded in her direction. “The one you keep staring at.”
“You noticed that?”
“I notice everything.”
He nodded, trashing the rest of his nuts. “She’s my sister’s best friend. Mari Flores. We all grew up together on Staten Island. My sister told me her deadbeat landlord did that to her. He’s a fucking prick.” Then he really looked at me, at my plain clothes. He’d never seen me out of a suit.
“Harri—” Keely stopped cold when she noticed me standing there.
