“Well then, not-quite-Father Patrick,” Mick called out. “What brings you into this den of iniquity?”
“We’ve got business to discuss.”
Mick straightened a little. “You hear that, lads? I’ve got important business with the neighborhood’s best lawyer. Let me have a beer first.”
Patrick shook his head. “Sorry, Mick. I promised my mother I’d bring home dinner, and she’s waiting. Let’s go outside now.”
Mick didn’t look happy about it, but he followed Patrick out the pub’s back door. Talking about Mrs. Kellerman’s surprising offer on a public street wasn’t ideal. There were people in this neighborhood who’d kill for a thousand dollars, but Ruby had made it plain Patrick wasn’t welcome at their place.
“Well?” Mick asked as they shuffled into the grubby alley behind the pub. “How many copies of my book are they going to print? And when can I get paid for them?” His hand trembled as he lit a cigarette.
Mick would get fifteen percent of the book’s profit, and Patrick would get two percent if he won the lawsuits the Blackstones were sure to launch. The money would be welcome, but the bigger prize would be publicity for Patrick’s legal services. Winning a case against the Blackstones’ intimidating phalanx of lawyers would catapult him to fame in the city, but first he was legally obligated to pass along Mrs. Kellerman’s offer.
“I don’t know when you’ll see any money,” Patrick said. “The publisher won’t pay until the judge considers the pending injunction against the book. The Blackstones are already trying to block it, and I can’t wait on payment forever.”
“I’ve got an entire case of cigarettes you can have,” Mick offered.
“I don’t smoke.”
“Well, I don’t have any money. You know that.”
“You’ve had an interesting proposition,” Patrick said. “The Blackstones will pay you a thousand dollars for agreeing to drop the book permanently.”
Mick leaned against a gritty brick wall as he drew hard on the cigarette, his eyes pensive. “I was hoping to make a lot more than that.”
“But this is guaranteed money, payable immediately. If you gamble on the memoir, it could be years before the court lets the book go to press. I think you’ll win, but there is no guarantee.”
Mick’s hand trembled even harder. Those tremors were a dead giveaway that Mick hadn’t drunk enough yet tonight to calm the shakes. Up close, the ravages of age and alcohol were easier to see than when he’d been holding forth in the pub.
“The quick money is tempting,” Mick finally said. “I’d pounce on it, but Ruby won’t want to sell out. She has her heart set on buying a place in Brooklyn. A little flat with our own kitchen and maybe even a window. What would you do in my shoes?”
“I’d ask your wife how badly she wants that place in Brooklyn. She won’t get it with a thousand dollars.”
Mick nodded and tossed the butt of the cigarette on the ground, grinding it out with his shabby boot. “Good idea. Let’s go ask her.”
Patrick’s hand shot out to stop him. “I was there right before I came to the pub. It didn’t seem like she wanted to be disturbed.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Mick said as he started ambling down the alley. “She picked up some stuff from the printer that’s a bit hot and probably didn’t want your pious eyes seeing it.”
Hot? That could mean any number of things, but as long as Ruby wasn’t wrapped in the arms of an illicit lover, he wouldn’t mind concluding this business today. Mrs. Kellerman’s offer carried a stink on it, and he wanted to put it behind him.
Ruby was no more welcoming to him this time, even when Mick swaggered into the single room they shared and drew her into a hearty kiss and a tacky grope. She twisted out of her husband’s embrace and tugged her blouse back into place.
“I wasn’t expecting you so soon,” she said to Mick. “I barely had a chance to throw a cloth over the mess I picked up from down the street.”
The only thing with a cloth over it was a small crate at the end of a rumpled, unmade bed. The room reminded Patrick of the squalid place he’d lived when he first got off the boat. It had a table with two chairs, a chest, and a bed with a thin mattress. All washing and cooking took place in a communal room down the hall.
Mick took a seat on the cloth-covered crate and dragged Ruby onto his lap. “It looks like we’re already making the Blackstones jumpy, love,” he said, then told her about Mrs. Kellerman’s offer.
Ruby seemed offended by the suggestion. “A thousand dollars? When those people live in palaces? Tell her to fling it in the sea.”
“Are you sure?” Mick asked. “We could get the money right now. Think of it, love. A thousand dollars will buy you some new clothes and restock the pantry.”
“You mean it would restock the wine cellar,” she corrected. “We didn’t flee Ireland to be those people’s lapdogs. You did eighteen months in jail waiting for that trial. A jury found you not guilty, and those people never even said they were sorry. Tell them to take their thousand dollars and stick it where the sun doesn’t shine.”
The words sparked something in Mick, and he stood, tossing Ruby to her feet. “That’s my girl,” he boomed and swept her up into a hug. He tried to twirl her, but his gangly frame couldn’t manage it, and they both went crashing to the floor. They howled in a combination of pain and hilarity.
Patrick looked away. Mick and Ruby were both thoroughly disreputable, but he envied their closeness. Going through life alone was hard. He wanted what they had. He wanted a woman in his life, not the lonely existence of a bachelor still living with his mother.
