by Joanna Shupe
Her grandmother’s angle was glaringly apparent. Justine had been considered unmarriageable for so long that her family wished for all of society to finally see her with a handsome escort. If only Granny knew. Then she’d insist Justine stay sequestered tonight.
“Oh, there’s no rush,” Mamie said. “Sit here and have a drink—”
“I agree with Mrs. Greene,” Jack said smoothly. “After all, the purpose of these events is to be seen, isn’t it? And you look so beautiful this evening, Miss Greene. It would be a shame if the entire city were not to bear witness.”
Justine could have sworn her grandmother sighed at the flattery. Before she could refuse, Jack lifted her hand and placed it on his arm. Then he led her into the box.
The bright glow of the theater’s electric lights greeted her. This was the “Diamond Horseshoe,” the most desirable tier in the entire opera house. Everyone would be able to see them from this spot. At the moment, however, she couldn’t take in the crowd surrounding them. She was stuck, rooted to the spot.
Frank Tripp, and Frank’s brother, Patrick, stood in the box. When Frank’s eyes landed on Mulligan’s face, his jaw fell open. “What in the ever-loving hell . . . ?”
Chapter Seven
Jack didn’t make it two steps before Frank Tripp grabbed his arm. “Excuse us,” the lawyer said before towing Jack like a side of beef toward the exit.
“You are wrinkling my coat,” Jack muttered. “Not to mention annoying me.”
Frank released him but didn’t stop. He jerked the curtain aside and gestured. “Keep going. I want to talk to you. Alone.”
Fine. Jack supposed he couldn’t avoid this. Strolling through the salon, he winked at the two women. “Ladies.”
Once in the corridor, Tripp pointed to a room on the opposite side. Two men were smoking cigars in the small salon. “Gentlemen, I need the room,” Tripp announced. Like sheep, the two swells nodded, stamped out their cigars and departed.
“What’s your next trick?” Jack drawled as he perched on the arm of a sofa. “Getting them to quack like ducks?”
“What the fuck are you doing here? With Justine Greene, of all people?”
“What does that mean, of all people? What are you insinuating, Murphy?” It was low, using Frank’s birth name to remind him they were on more even footing than Tripp might admit. But Jack would not be judged, not by this man.
“It means that she is my sister-in-law and a good person. How do the two of you even know one another?”
“I know just about everyone who works and lives in the Sixth. That shouldn’t surprise you.”
“And yet, it does. How on earth did you get her to agree to bring you tonight? And more importantly, why?”
Jack needed Frank’s help tonight, so he decided to be honest. “I did her a favor. This was my repayment. I need to see Julius Hatcher.”
Frank’s brows climbed up his forehead. “This is about meeting Julius? Why didn’t you ask me to simply arrange it?”
“Because Hatcher would never agree. He’s refused my attempts at every turn.”
“So you’re here to ambush him?” At Jack’s curt nod, Frank blew out a long breath. “Jesus Christ. If I had known you were planning to sabotage the evening, I would have kidnapped Hatcher and brought him to you myself. My wife will never recover. Her entire fundraiser will be ruined.”
“Nonsense. If you get Hatcher to meet me, I’ll get you more donations than your legal aid society could possibly handle.”
“How?”
“Never mind that. Just get Hatcher to see me at the first intermission.”
“No sense in waiting that long. We’ll visit him as soon as the performance starts.”
“Excellent. See how easy that was?”
“So easy you didn’t need to drag my sister-in-law into it.” Frank studied Jack’s face for a long moment. “You haven’t . . .”
The implication was clear. Jack hadn’t defiled the uptown princess, had he? “No. She’s made her feelings on that subject painfully clear. ‘Puddle scum,’ I believe she called me.”
That hadn’t stopped Jack from contemplating said defiling more and more often lately. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d told her she inspired impure thoughts. Currently, his preferred fantasy was her bent over his desk while he took her from behind. When she came, he imagined his little do-gooder screaming his name loud enough to shake the rafters of the club.
Oblivious to Jack’s inner thoughts, Frank appeared relieved by this news. “Good. See that it remains that way. I’d hate to have to shoot you.”
As if he could. “I should return. I promised she’d remain unscathed.”
“There’s very little chance of that. Her reputation will be in tatters. Not to mention what will happen when her father returns from Europe and finds out.”
“I’m hardly scared of Duncan Greene.” There was nothing he could do about Justine’s reputation, though he suspected it wouldn’t suffer as much as she feared. Jack knew one thing about this city: New York loved a spectacle.
And he was prepared to give them one.
“Jesus, Mulligan.” Frank pinched the bridge of his nose. “Next time leave Justine out of it and come see me.”
Who did Tripp think he was talking to? This patronizing speech was starting to offend Jack. “I’m not one of your clients. When I need saving, I’ll let you know.”
“I realize that but . . . the Greenes are good people. They do not deserve to be embarrassed.”
“Stop wringing your hands, Tripp.” Jack stood and crossed to the exit. He was finished with this conversation. “It’s going to be fine.”
Once in the corridor, the two of them returned to the Greene box. Frank pulled back the curtain. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he murmured.
“I always know what I’m doing.” A requirement in Jack’s life—or else he’d end up dead.
The salon was now empty, the family having gathered in the box for the impending performance. Jack could hear the orchestra warming up. It sounded a hell of a lot better than what he was used to at the saloons and dance halls below Fourteenth Street. He wondered if they served beer here.
Frank went into the box first, Jack directly behind. Heads turned but Jack had eyes for only Justine, who looked alarmingly pale. He was instantly at her side, concern burning behind his ribs. Had someone said something to her? Damn Tripp for taking Jack away and leaving her vulnerable.
“Miss Greene.” He leaned in closer to speak in her ear. “Tell me. What is wrong?”
A throat cleared behind him.
He moved beside Justine and turned, partially blocking her. Mrs. Tripp stood there, her expression fierce and angry. “She’s just been snubbed, that’s what. Our neighbors, friends of our family, have both cut Justine for bringing you here tonight.” She gestured to the box on the right, where Justine’s grandmother was currently speaking to an older couple.
“Mamie,” Justine started, but her sister would not back down, apparently.
“No, Justine. He must know. Whatever his reason for attending, he must be made aware of the consequences.”
Jack slipped his hands in his trouser pockets, unmoved. “If you expect me to lose sleep over those with small minds and hateful hearts, you’ll be sorely disappointed.”
“Exactly,” Justine said. “No one cares, Mamie. Society doesn’t matter in the real world.”
“Perhaps not to you,” Mamie snapped. “However, it matters to Granny and our parents. It matters to me, if only for tonight’s fundraiser.”
“You’ll have your donations,” Jack said. “I promise.”
“I hope you are right,” Frank put in. “Because we need the money.”
Jack nodded once. “I’m never wrong, not when it comes to money. Now, shall we all sit?”
“Are you really the man who runs downtown’s criminal syndicate?”
Jack turned toward the sound of the voice, Justine’s grandmother. She had finished with the neighbor
s, who obviously gave her an earful, and returned to the Greene family.
He saw no reason to lie. “Yes, I am.”
Instead of revulsion, she looked at him with fascination. “Is that so? I bet you have all kinds of stories . . .”
“Granny,” Mamie hissed, “we should be discouraging this.”
“Oh, I’ve smoothed things over with the Stewarts. They believe he’s here as one of Frank’s clients, a man in the grips of redemption.”
Jack snorted. Redemption wouldn’t keep him alive, considering his vast number of enemies. The instant he loosened his grip on his territory was the beginning of the end. Still, he was grateful for the lie if it saved Justine’s reputation.
He didn’t know when he’d started caring about her reputation. Likely when he’d seen the pallor of her skin a few moments ago, the embarrassment lurking in her gaze. He hadn’t expected to feel anything tonight, certainly not remorse. Jack looked ahead, always. Never behind.
“That was kind of you, Granny,” Justine said, “but not necessary. I am prepared to deal with the ramifications of the evening.”
“You will have to,” Mamie said. “Granny cannot spread that tale to everyone in the theater.”
“Now is not the time,” Frank said in a low voice. “Not with ears everywhere. Let’s sit and enjoy the performance.”
The eldest Greene sister gave him a dark look before she left the box, while everyone else settled into seats. Frank kept glancing over his shoulder, as if Jack might pounce on Justine at any moment and steal her innocence.
Thoughts of innocence left him wondering . . . had Justine slept with Billy Ferris last year? If so, something told Jack that Ferris had done a lousy job of it. The two hadn’t lasted even three months together. That didn’t exactly scream “passionate affair.”
Now, if Jack had bedded Justine . . . he’d keep her naked, in bed, for days on end, worshipping her. She deserved to be studied and mapped, drawn and painted. The woman was layers upon layers of contradiction. Virginal and feisty. Pure and fierce. Selfless and dedicated. What did all that dedication feel like when it was directed toward a man’s pleasure? Fuck, he could grow hard just contemplating it.
And why couldn’t he stop thinking about her?
She thinks you are puddle scum.
Yes, there was that.
“You look very dashing tonight,” she whispered.
A compliment? If he were a schoolgirl he might have blushed. “Thank you.”
Hmm, perhaps she was reconsidering her opinion of him. He didn’t know whether to be grateful or terrified of the idea. If she were attracted to him, then he might consider exploring it, seeing where this battle of wills between them would lead.
Even though something told him he wouldn’t come out on top.
Minutes later, the footlights at the base of the stage were illuminated. From the wings came Mrs. Tripp, a graceful queen, to the center of the stage. The audience grew quiet, but Jack watched with only partial interest. He was more curious about the woman next to him.
He snuck a glance at Justine and the proud smile she wore as she watched her sister. A tiny spark of jealousy lit his chest. Jack had no family nearby. After his brother’s acquittal—an event that began Jack’s association with Frank Tripp—Jack had shipped him off to Cleveland. They hadn’t seen one another in four years.
As far as parents went, Jack’s mother died when he was eleven. The identity of his father had never been shared with him, a secret his mother took to her grave. Most of his memories of her were from the days in the Green Dragon Saloon, a Bowery mainstay that had seen the worst of the Dead Rabbits and Bowery B’hoy fights in the late ’50s.
Inside those shabby walls, he grew up hearing stories about the gangs and their destruction, the bludgeons and brickbats, how the men would fight each other instead of everyone else. It hadn’t escaped his notice how the women in the brothel took care of one another, banding together against an unruly client or speaking out when the owner enacted a policy they didn’t like.
He learned one important lesson in his childhood. Alone, you were vulnerable. Together meant you were infinitely stronger. Those ideals, camaraderie and brotherhood, had earned Jack an empire.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mamie said. “Thank you for attending this evening. I am Mrs. Frank Tripp. My husband runs the Lower East Side Legal Aid Society. As many of you know, we serve the needy and underrepresented in New York by offering them free legal assistance, helping to find lost family members, filing papers, and so much more. Why, last year alone we . . .”
She continued on but Jack ignored the speech. He admired what the Tripps were doing downtown, but the elites in this audience didn’t live there. Each night, they settled in their fancy uptown mansions, with servants and cooks and French furniture. They didn’t know what it was like to struggle, to wonder where your next meal was coming from.
Donating to these causes eased some of the guilt these Knickerbockers experienced over their privilege . . . but it didn’t absolve them. Because this crowd wouldn’t dare socialize with the Irish or Italians. Sneered at the Jewish businessmen. They forced the free African Americans and the former enslaved from their homes, using their land for parks and fancy houses. They voted for politicians who’d signed the Chinese Exclusion Act into law.
The hypocrisy made Jack nauseous.
He’d grown rich over the years, yes, but he did his best to take care of his people, his neighborhood, no matter their skin color or background. Gang violence had almost ceased. Unions were on the rise. He meted out punishments and kept things organized—in his favor, of course. It was not a democracy, per se, but he was hardly a dictator. A benevolent king, perhaps.
And weren’t kings supposed to be blessed by angels?
That brought his attention back to his little do-gooder. She was grinning, her expression full of satisfaction and happiness, and he felt something loosen in his chest. Indeed, she was different than the people in this crowd. She didn’t merely write a banknote and go about her merry way. Justine worked incredibly hard, day after day, with the downtown residents, giving of her time and energy until she was exhausted. His men had complained, quite vociferously, about how difficult it had been to keep up with her.
She was remarkable.
The crowd broke into applause at the conclusion of Mrs. Tripp’s speech, and Frank stood from his seat near the front of the box. He started up the aisle toward Jack. “Come,” he snapped without breaking stride.
Had Tripp arranged a meeting with Hatcher so quickly? It would have been a miracle, considering Jack hadn’t seen Tripp leave his seat or send a note via an attendant.
“Excuse me,” Jack whispered to Justine before motioning to Patrick. The brewer left his seat as well and they trailed Tripp out of the box.
The performance started as they entered the corridor. Theater employees were rushing from various salons and rooms, hurrying to ensure the wealthy patrons lacked for nothing. Tripp led Jack and Patrick to the center of the tier, where he pushed aside the velvet curtains and entered a salon.
Julius Hatcher reclined on a sofa, paperwork on his lap. He glanced up sharply. “Ah, Frank. Are you here to—” Hatcher’s mouth closed abruptly when he saw Jack and Patrick. “Well, it seems you come bearing gifts.”
Frank walked deeper into the room and lowered himself into one of the armchairs. “Sorry to barge in unannounced, but I believe you all know one another.”
“Indeed we do. Patrick, good to see you again.” Hatcher paused. “Mulligan.”
The less-than-enthusiastic greeting was not lost on Jack. “Would anyone care for a drink?” He hooked his thumb toward the well-stocked sideboard. “Brandy? Bourbon?”
“Help yourself,” Hatcher said. “Patrick? Frank?”
“Bourbon,” Frank answered. “I fear I’ll need it for once we’re done here.”
“How on earth did you sneak Mulligan in?” Hatcher asked as Jack busied himself at the sideboard.
&nbs
p; “He is Justine’s escort.”
“Justine? Your sister-in-law?” Hatcher whistled. “Bet Duncan will have a thing or two to say about that. What’s this to do with me?”
Jack took this as his cue. He handed out the crystal tumblers of bourbon then sat in an empty chair. “I’m here tonight to see you. I fear I had no other choice.”
“I haven’t agreed to see you because there’s nothing we need to discuss, Mulligan.”
“I respectfully disagree. I have an idea, one I think you’ll like.”
“Doubtful. And my wife is in our box, watching the performance. I’d rather she didn’t come back here and see us together.”
“So I’ll be brief.”
“No, you’ll be leaving.” Hatcher started to rise, but Frank held up his hand.
“Please, hear him out. I can’t have Mulligan continuing an association with Justine.”
“That’s not my problem,” Hatcher said sharply. “And you shouldn’t have brought him in here without asking me first.”
“I know, and you may yell at me later. But I need Mulligan out of the building before my wife’s fundraiser is ruined.”
Hatcher glared at Tripp. “You are lucky I like your wife better than I like you.”
“Everyone does. Now get on with it, Mulligan, so that we may get out of here.”
Jack cleared his throat. “I wish to take the brewery national and I need your help to do it.”
Hatcher’s expression grew even darker. “As I recall, I had that idea several years ago and you turned it down.”
“I had my reasons. The time wasn’t right. So, we took you on as an investor and I believe that investment has made you a lot of money.”
“As do all of my investments. But, I have no desire to play catch-up. You missed your chance while other local breweries like Pabst and Anheuser have thrived and started to expand regionally.”
“You’ve already tasted Patrick’s creations. You know anything he has far outshines what they are brewing in the Midwest.”
“He is gifted, without a doubt. So are others. No offense, Patrick.”
