by Joanna Shupe
“Do you own many poolrooms?” she asked.
He actually ran a syndicate of eighteen poolrooms throughout downtown and up to Twenty-Third Street. It was a lucrative business. “I do, yes.”
“Are they like this?”
“Mine are a bit fancier.” A Mulligan poolroom was carpeted, with free drinks and a buffet dinner. That attracted a higher, wealthier clientele, one that tended to stay a good long while. And that meant more money. “Have you ever bet on the races before?”
“I haven’t. That’s more Florence’s tastes than mine.”
“How do you know if you’ve never tried it?”
She lifted a delicate shoulder. “I fail to see the appeal. So, a horse comes in first, second or third. What is the fuss?”
Jack lifted a hand and beckoned one of the young boys. He withdrew five dollars. “The lady wishes to place a bet in the next race.” Addressing Justine, he pointed to the board. Bets were being taken for the fifth race at Sheepshead Bay. “Pick a horse.”
“Do we really have time for this?”
“There’s as much time as you need. Choose a horse.”
“Number three. It’s my favorite number.”
The boy wrote on a small slip of paper then handed the betting receipt to Justine. “Race is being called in a few minutes.”
She continued to watch the crowd, so Jack cast a surreptitious glance over his shoulder and caught the eye of the bouncer behind the counter. He dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the wood then held up three fingers behind Justine’s back, his brows raised meaningfully. The bouncer accepted the money and stepped out from behind the counter, hurrying toward the screen in the corner.
“Did you meet with the owner of the shirtwaist factory on Rivington?”
Jack’s mouth hitched. Meet was certainly an interesting term for his interaction with Mr. Bay. “So, you went back.”
“I did. Detective Ellison and I were surprised by the fresh air and unlocked doors. The women were laughing and smiling. Quite a difference.”
Good. As long as Mr. Bay stuck to the agreement then Jack wouldn’t need to return. “I am pleased to hear it.”
“I don’t understand. It usually takes Ellison two or three visits, showing his badge and making threats, to get a result. And yet you managed it in one.”
“Haven’t you learned by now who really has all the power in this city?”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that I am the man who gets things done in New York.” Not a boast. Just a fact. He’d worked damn hard for it, too.
“Did you hit him?”
“No.” It was true. Jack hadn’t hit Bay. Generally, he didn’t like to get blood on his suit if it could be avoided.
“Did someone else hit him, then?”
“Mon ange, don’t ask how the soup is made if you like the way it tastes. Just enjoy it.”
She let out a huff of breath. “That is a ridiculous answer. There would be no recipe books if that were true.”
“It’s an analogy. Relax, do not worry about Mr. Bay. Think of the happy workers who won’t perish should a fire start on that floor.”
“That is a grim thought.”
“Life is grim. You should know that by now, considering all you’ve witnessed.”
“Betting for the fifth is closed!” the man at the board shouted. This meant the race was about to start.
“About upstairs,” he started. “Would you rather I went up alone and asked—?”
“Do not insult me.” Her head whipped toward him, her brows pulled low. “I am not afraid to meet with these women. It won’t be the first time—or the last.”
There was the backbone. So angelic and fierce at the same time. He cleared his throat and tried not to drool. “Again, does your brother-in-law know what you’re up to?”
She waved her hand. “We are wasting time. Let’s go speak to this Polly.”
“Wouldn’t you like to see if you’ve won?”
“I suppose. Will it take long?”
He smothered a smile. She was adorable. “Mere seconds.”
“And number three is the winner!” the man at the board announced a few seconds later. “Followed by numbers one and eight. See the window for your winnings.”
She clutched Jack’s arm. “I cannot believe it. I won. I’ve never won anything before.”
“See?” He grinned, the happiness in her expression causing his belly to twist and turn. “Go, collect your winnings.” He jerked his head toward Mac and the window.
She presented her receipt to Mac. “It appears I’ve won.”
“Indeed you have, miss. Here you are.” He slid forward a fifty-dollar bill.
“Oh, no. That can’t be right.” She turned to Jack. “Fifty dollars?”
“Guess number three had some long odds.” Reaching out, he palmed the bill and presented it to her. “Congratulations. Thanks, fellows,” he said to the men behind the counter and led her toward a side door.
It was time to go upstairs.
Fifty dollars. It was unbelievable. “What am I supposed to do with this money?” The soup kitchen at the Bowery Mission could certainly use the help. Or Justine could donate it to one of the nearby schools. The legal aid society. One of the new settlement houses—
“No doubt there’s a pretty dress or hat you’ve had your eye on,” Mulligan said over his shoulder as they weaved through the crowded room.
She frowned at his back, though he couldn’t see it. Didn’t he know her at all? Her mother might care about new dresses and accessories, but Justine didn’t. “That is not what I would spend my money on.”
Stopping beside the door, he cocked his head as he examined her. “What if I ordered you to spend that money on yourself, for something selfish? Not for anyone else. What would you buy?”
Her mind blanked. Just yawning emptiness and fragments of thoughts. There wasn’t a thing she wanted. Moreover, she came from privilege. If she desired clothing or jewelry, her family could afford it. “I don’t know.”
“Not one thing? A meal or a trip? A pair of earrings? New corset or stockings?” His gaze darted to her bosom and sparks tingled under her skin. Was he thinking about her breasts?
“I could never waste the money on me when I know others need it more.” Her voice sounded strange, low and raspy. Had he noticed?
The way he stared at her—with a heat and intensity she felt everywhere, even the tips of her toes—said he absolutely had.
They stayed there, suspended in time, watching the other, as the moment stretched. He stood mere inches away, far closer than any decent man would dare in public. The thick fringe of his lashes, the slashing brows, full lips . . . all of it close enough to touch. To kiss. Her heart felt like it was trying to force its way out of her chest. She wished she knew what was going on in his head.
Stay and I’ll make all your darkest dreams come true.
Was he remembering, too? She could hardly stop thinking about that promise and all the wicked possibilities it might entail.
“So pure,” he murmured. “All that decentness is the worst kind of temptation to a man like me.”
“Why?” she croaked.
Bending at the waist, he put his lips near her ear. “Because I want to sink inside and bathe myself in it, then destroy it.”
She sucked in a ragged breath. Raw and erotic, his words raced through her like an electric current. Her nipples tightened to hard points in her clothing, her breasts heavy and full. Sakes alive, how could he say things like that aloud, in broad daylight?
Even so, she wouldn’t run from him. She was stronger than he credited her for. “Perhaps it would have the opposite effect. Perhaps it could save you.”
He straightened, his mouth twisting with a hint of what seemed like regret. “I am past the point of saving, cara.” Before she could argue that no one was past the point of saving, he threw open the door to the second floor. “Up you go.”
Exhaling, she started up the stairs
. She’d never been so affected by a man before. Mulligan had a way of sliding under her skin and twisting her inside out. He also was proving to be efficient at solving her problems. She wasn’t certain how to feel about that.
Haven’t you learned by now who really has all the power in this city?
Nevertheless, she couldn’t rely on him. He was not helping her out of the goodness of his heart.
Which reminded her. She now owed him another favor. God help her.
A woman appeared at the top of the stairs, her mouth turned into an unhappy frown at the sight of Justine. “Stop,” she called. “You do not have permission to be up here—” Her lips curved when she spotted Mulligan. “Well, hello there, sir. Welcome to Polly’s.”
The woman sidled up to Mulligan on the landing and ran a hand down his lapel. “You look familiar. Have we met?”
“Doubtful,” he said, unusually subdued. Normally, he oozed charm. “I am Jack Mulligan.”
“Mr. Mulligan! Goodness, it is our lucky day. I am Polly, the purveyor of the fine entertainment on this floor. Now, my love. Tell me, what are you in the mood for? I’ve got girls of every type and background. Young and old, experienced and not. You can have two or even three, if you wish. I’ve heard the rumors.”
Rumors? Justine’s brain tripped on that word as she tried to make sense of it. Mulligan bedded multiple women . . . at a time? How did that even work?
“Tempting,” he said with what sounded like polite disinterest. “However, we are here to ask you and your girls about someone. A man. He has been missing for several weeks.”
Polly’s gaze narrowed on Justine. “What are you, a Pinkerton?”
“No, ma’am. I work for the Lower East Side Legal Aid Society. We’re trying to find a Mr. von Briesen. Does that name sound familiar?”
“We don’t get a lot of real names around here.” She returned her attention to Mulligan. “My girls are very busy. This ain’t the sort of thing we have time for.”
“We have money,” Justine blurted, needing to draw this woman’s focus back to her. For some reason, she couldn’t let Polly fawn all over Mulligan any longer. Best not to examine why.
“Well, I would certainly hope so. How much?”
“Fifty dollars.”
Mulligan made a strangled noise in his throat. “Chérie, have I taught you nothing?”
Actually, no. He hadn’t taught her anything. She took the newly acquired fifty-dollar bill out of her handbag and held it up. Polly went to grab it, but Justine jerked the paper out of reach. “After we speak with your girls.”
Polly dropped the flirtatious manner like a hot iron. Instantly, she was brisk and all business. “Follow me.”
She was going to be the death of him.
They would find him buried under the mounds of her blind trust and faith in humanity. It wasn’t exactly naivete; no, she’d witnessed too much for that. But, she took people at their word. She believed the best of everyone.
Including him.
Not once had she asked why he was helping her. Hadn’t questioned his motivation in aiding her little cause today. Because she believed he was good. Like her.
She’d find out his true motives soon enough. Because “good” didn’t factor into it. Not by a long shot.
Polly led them to the back, probably to the salon. This was a room where potential clients gathered, looked the girls over before making a selection. Run along, Jack. Mama’s going to entertain her friend for a while. How many times had he heard that as a boy? The men never even spared Jack a second look.
The sounds inside the house had been the worst, the grunts and slapping of bodies. The rattle of bed frames. After, the men would leave and the women would soak their bits in tubs or clean their cunts with syringes full of vinegar. Every now and then, they’d see the doctor for a cure or remedy. They had no choice but to take it, to endure. Coppers didn’t care, either. In fact, many came by for freebies or bribes.
To his ten-year-old mind, it was like the entire world wanted to make money off what lay between a woman’s legs . . . then punish them for it.
His mother told him he was wrong, that her life was better than most. Many women walked the streets with no protection or medical care whatsoever. Or, she could have been in a miserable marriage with a cruel man, an escape from which was nigh impossible. She was saving money so the two of them could move to Omaha. His mother had cousins there, and she talked for hours about this clean city with opportunities for work. Where they would live with fresh flowers and white picket fences.
Then she’d died from what they’d said was cancer. Before he was twelve, he’d been turned out on the street. Into the arms of the gangs he’d one day control, now with a brother to care for.
He shook off those morose memories as their little group reached the main salon.
“Are you all right?” Justine said out of the side of her mouth.
“Fine.”
She paused and lingered on his face, watching him. “Would you prefer to wait downstairs?”
“And leave you here alone? Absolutely not.”
Now in the room, she put a hand up to block her mouth and dropped her voice. “It’s a room full of women, Mulligan. I think I’ll be safe.”
He’d heard numerous stories over the years that might point to the contrary, but he didn’t mention as much. Instead, he marveled at her concern. For him. When was the last time someone had worried about him? His throat tightened and he cleared it, shoving away any pesky tenderness. “Stop coddling me and get to your questioning.”
“You know, if you weren’t smiling right now, I might take offense to being ordered around.”
“Ladies,” Polly was saying. “This is Mr. Mulligan and his friend. They wish to ask you all a few questions.”
Jack looked carefully around the room. The women were young but appeared well cared for. No bruises that he could see. They were smiling and clear-eyed, their dresses old but clean. The tension between his shoulder blades eased somewhat. He still didn’t like it, but he wouldn’t need to intervene.
Justine presented her sketch to the girls on the left side of the room. “Ladies, I am searching for a Mr. von Briesen. Here’s a sketch of what he looks like. Please pass it along, if you will. He is German. Has a wife and two small children. They are quite concerned about him since his disappearance.”
Each girl studied the picture, shook her head and passed it on. It wasn’t until the next to the last girl before they had a reaction.
“Oh, I know him,” she said with a nod. “He’s the shoemaker. Every Thursday like clockwork.”
“When did he stop coming to see you?” Jack asked.
“He hasn’t. Was just here last week.”
“We were told he was robbed by some peter players downstairs and put out on the street.”
“Not that I heard.” The girl exchanged a look with Polly. “That is to say, we don’t have peter players here.”
Jack nearly snorted at the bald lie. “Can you tell us anything about him? Where he lives, for example?”
“I know he likes his bum hole tickled while he’s getting sucked off.” All the girls laughed and clapped, and Justine turned a bright shade of scarlet. Jack hid a smile.
“Anything that might help us locate him?” Justine asked. “A neighborhood or family member he talks about?”
The girl shrugged. “None that I am able to recall.”
Jack could see the direction this was headed. It was already Tuesday. “What time does he usually arrive on Thursdays?”
“Nine o’clock,” the girl answered. “Might be a few minutes early but he’s never late.”
“I’ll be here to have a chat with him. Do not say anything to alert him or give him cause to disappear until I arrive. Is that clear?” He glared at both Polly and the girl so there would be no misunderstanding.
“I’ll come, as well,” Justine said. Jack didn’t contradict her, but under no circumstances would he allow her to return here dur
ing the evening. Jack would deal with von Briesen himself.
“You’ll need to pay for the time,” Polly said.
Jack nodded once. “I’m good for it.”
“I bet you are, sweetheart,” one of the women drawled.
Everyone laughed, including Justine, and Jack had a sudden urge to get her alone. He wanted to kiss her smiles and swallow her laughter. He wanted her all to himself. He tipped his chin toward the exit. “We should go.”
“Thank you, ladies,” Justine said, withdrawing the fifty-dollar bill from her purse. “You’ve helped us immensely.”
Before she could hand the bill to Polly, Jack snatched it. “See that it’s evenly distributed,” he said to the proprietress. “Fairly and equally.”
Though she paled, Polly gave a brisk nod. Jack pressed the money into her palm. “Ladies, that money is for all of you. I’ll check on Thursday to make certain you all received an equal share.” He paused for effect. “And if you haven’t, if even one of you has been cheated, there will be consequences.” The last bit was directed at Polly.
Convinced he’d made his point, he led Justine out of the room and toward the stairs. It was time to collect on his good deed.
Chapter Twelve
Justine could sense Mulligan’s dark mood. Something had changed in him the instant they’d entered the second floor. He was no longer his charming, congenial self. Instead, his eyes had gone flat, his shoulders bunched. An air of anger and resentment had clung to him like an overcoat.
When they reached the street, he gestured toward his brougham lingering at the curb. “Come along,” he said. “We’ll drop you wherever you’re headed.”
She didn’t argue. A ride to the train would be faster than walking. Also, she was curious as to what had caused the shift in his personality. Perhaps she could drag it out of him on the ride.
“Afternoon, miss.” Rye tipped his hat as they approached. “Where are you headed?”
“I suppose I’m done for the day. The elevated station will do.”
