A Mobster’s Toast to St. Patrick’s Day
By Beth Mathison
Copyright 2011 by Beth Mathison
Cover Copyright 2011 by Dara England and Untreed Reads Publishing
The author is hereby established as the sole holder of the copyright. Either the publisher (Untreed Reads) or author may enforce copyrights to the fullest extent.
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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to the living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Also by Beth Mathison and Untreed Reads Publishing
A Mobster's Guide to Cranberry Sauce
A Mobster's Recipe for Cupcakes
http://www.untreedreads.com
A Mobster’s Toast to St. Patrick’s Day
By Beth Mathison
“So, a leprechaun walks into a bar—” Harry began.
“Oh, spare me,” Charlie said, rolling his eyes and taking a giant swig of his beer. “Not another one of your lame jokes. Just because we’re sitting at O’Malley’s Tavern on St. Patrick’s Day doesn’t give you license to tell bad Irish jokes.”
“Well, he wasn’t really a leprechaun,” Harry admitted. “He was a dwarf.”
Duncan O’Malley slid a fresh beer over to Harry. “They’re called little people. That’s what they’ve been called for years. Where have you been?” Duncan stood behind the mahogany bar, peering at Harry and Charlie as they finished their second pints. Duncan’s green eyes matched the long-sleeved forest green t-shirt he wore. The O’Malley family crest was stitched on the front, matching the bar’s logo outside the front door.
Harry and Charlie were perched on bar stools next to the cash register, their dark suits almost matching. They were relaxed, obviously comfortable leaning against the bar.
“You’re not the friendliest bartender in the land today,” Charlie commented. “I thought all Irish people are happy on St. Patrick’s Day. I think it’s a rule or something. It’s part of your genes, especially if you were born in Ireland like you were.”
“Amazingly, you’re mistaken,” Duncan said evenly. “That rates up there with your theory that Velcro was given to us by extraterrestrials.”
“I swear on my sweet mother’s grave, that one’s true,” Harry said. “I have a legitimate source.”
“Are you talking about that guy in the trunk, that time by the shore?” Charlie asked, his voice low. “I do remember him talking about Velcro and aliens.”
Harry nodded, lowering his voice to conspiracy level. “It was a job for Uncle Louis,” he said. “We were delivering the car to a gardening center at the shore, when we heard a banging from the trunk. We got a little too curious and opened the trunk before we got there. There was this guy in there, set up like it was his living room or something. Had one of those laptop computers, a pillow and a blanket. Even had a little snack bar on the side with chips and sodas and stuff. We got to talking and he told us that aliens gave us the gift of Velcro back in the forties. I’m telling you it was one of the weirdest things I’ve ever seen.”
“He waspretty spooky,” Charlie whispered.
Duncan sighed and rubbed the top of the bar with a soft cloth. “Could you two please refrain from talking family business in my bar? I don’t need to hear about any truckloads of merchandise or Velcro theories. You know you’re always welcome here, but next thing you know your Uncle Tommy’s going to show up, cracking heads. This is my busiest day of the year. I don’t need any trouble.”
Harry and Charlie looked around at the empty bar. The bar stretched thirty feet back, stools lined up neatly. Matching mahogany booths lined the opposite wall, and tasteful prints of Irish landscapes graced the walls. “Doesn’t seem too busy to me,” Charlie remarked.
“That’s because it’s nine o’clock in the morning,” Duncan said. “The festivities normally don’t start until closer to lunch time. The respectful working crowd comes in after dinner and happy hour. Today it’ll be busy until well after normal closing time. You two goons are just getting a head start.”
“We had some free time,” Charlie admitted. “We had to get up early to deliver a truckload of surplus waffle makers to Vito Spumoni before 7 a.m. Harry and I are just here early trying to get into the spirit of the Irish. Very early. I thought maybe you’d appreciate our effort to relate to your people.”
“So, a leprechaun walks into a bar—” Harry started again.
He stopped as the bar’s front door chimed and a man stepped in, shaking the rain from his jacket. He was in his mid-thirties, had pale skin with a smattering of freckles, and a shock of red hair similar to Duncan’s. The man’s dark wool overcoat was buttoned at the waist. Charlie and Harry tensed as the man removed his coat, revealing a bulge under his suit jacket. The two relaxed as the man pulled out a package wrapped in brown paper.
“Liam,” Duncan said, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows and resting both hands on the bar. He stared at the man. “It’s been a long time.”
“Not long enough,” Liam said in an Irish accent.
“Oooh!” Charlie exclaimed. “Another Irishman on St. Patrick’s Day! That’s so exciting. What are the odds?”
“This is my cousin Liam,” Duncan said. “He’s from Dublin. Liam, this is Harry and Charlie. They’re from a local…um…family. They would apparently like to join the Irish ranks today.”
“Well, the more the merrier, I say,” Liam said, sizing up the pair.
The front door chimed again, and a younger man pushed his way in. He wore full St. Patrick’s Day holiday gear—a green sparkly top hat, a three-inch “Kiss Me I’m Irish” shamrock button on his lapel, and a tangle of cheap plastic green bead necklaces hanging over his jacket. He hesitated in the doorway when he saw Charlie and Harry, made a decision to continue, and then walked in.
“Jeremy!” Harry said. “What a surprise.” He raised his glass to Liam. “Jeremy’s part of our family. He can be Irish for the day too.”
“Hit me,” Jeremy said, hanging up his coat and sliding up to the bar.
“What would you like?” Duncan asked.
“Don’t care,” Jeremy said, looking straight ahead at the bottles lined up behind the bar.
Duncan filled a large glass with beer from the tap. A harp Guinness logo was etched intricately on the side. He handed it to Jeremy, and Jeremy downed it in a series of rapid swallows. He set the glass on the bar, covering his mouth as he belched loudly.
“Pardon me,” Jeremy said.
“You seem a bit…upset,” Charlie said, taking a sip out of his own beer. “Normally you’re such a refined guy.”
Jeremy nodded to Duncan, who poured him another glass.
“I’d rather not talk about it,” Jeremy said.
“Family business,” Liam said, hanging up his coat. “I’ve got family business.”
“Oh…My…God,” Jeremy said, draining his second beer. Harry and Charlie stood up straighter on their stools, both at attention.
Liam gave them a curious glance then sat down at the bar, placing the package in front of him.
“He’s talking about our family business,” Duncan explained to Jeremy, Charlie, and Harry, sighing. “O’Malley family busines
s. Not yours.”
“Oooooh…” Charlie said. “I didn’t know the Irish had family business.”
“It's not that kind of business,” Duncan said. “Oh, never mind.” He poured whisky into a shot glass and handed it to Liam.
“What kind of O’Malley business?” Duncan asked Liam.
“The kind dealing with body parts being delivered across the country in a moving van,” Liam said, his eyes dark.
Everyone, including Duncan, looked at him in horror.
Liam smiled, his eyes brightening, a small smile at his lips. “I’m just yanking your chains. There’s no body parts involved. I’ve got a delivery from home is all.” He nodded at the package.
“That was terrible,” Charlie said, his face still pale. “There’s no reason to bring up gory stuff in a perfectly peaceful tavern. It messes with its good aura. And my peace of mind.”
“Sorry,” Liam said. “Just playing up the family business bit. I’ve got a touch of the blarney in me.”
“Well, I have no idea what blarney is, but we’re not barbarians, you know,” Harry said. “There are other ways to persuade people besides cutting them up to pieces—”
“Stop it. Stop it now,” Duncan said, taking a deep breath. “I meant it when I said no family business. Local or Irish.”
Everyone stared at the package sitting on the bar. It was wrapped in plain brown butcher paper, rough brown strings keeping it together. Liam looked up at Duncan expectantly.
“Well,” Duncan said after consideration. “I’ll make an exception with the package. Other than that, we’re just a group of guys enjoying a few drafts on St. Patrick’s Day. We won’t even call it family business. We'll call it a delivery. Deal?”
“Deal,” Liam said.
“I bet it’s gold,” Charlie said, scooting over a bar stool to sit closer to Liam. “A gift from the native land on this special day.”
Liam grimaced and tried to sit as far away from Charlie as possible without falling off his own stool.
“You sound like a Hallmark card,” Liam said.
Charlie beamed. “It’s a gift.”
Jeremy straightened on his stool, placing his hands on top of the bar. “My business is tanking, my mortgage is overdue, a dog peed on my leg this morning, and I think Carla is going to leave me,” he blurted out loudly.
“That was random,” Liam said.
Charlie and Harry leaned back on their stools to look at Jeremy’s pants.
“I changed them,” Jeremy said. “It was Mrs. Paton’s dog next door. He has an excitement problem. Pees on anything he really likes. And apparently he really likes me, unlike Carla.” Jeremy slouched on his stool, forearms resting on the bar. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“The cupcake business isn’t going well?” Duncan asked, putting a bowl of pretzels on top of the bar. “I heard it was going gangbusters. Heard that you couldn’t keep cupcakes on the shelves.”
“It was,” Jeremy said. “For awhile. Then the luster wore off, I guess. Orders started steadily going down after Valentine’s Day. I don’t understand it. All my customers were happy. I was even getting orders for pumpkin cupcakes, which is very rare, I’m telling you. It wasn’t even busy for the St. Patrick’s Day holiday today. I’m a failure.” He popped a couple of pretzels in his mouth. “I tried branching off on my own, away from the family, but I guess it’s not who I really am. It’s obviously not working out. It’s like God is telling me to abandon my dreams.”
Harry leaned closer to Liam. “Jeremy started his own cranberry sauce line, trying to break away from the business, which just happens to be made up of family members,” he explained, giving Duncan a nervous glance at the word “family.” “Apparently the demand for cranberry sauce is generally only at Thanksgiving, so he wanted to try something else. He started his own bakery that specializes in cupcakes. They’re actually very good. My favorite is red velvet with cream icing. Carla’s his icer. She also happens to be his girlfriend.”
“Thank you for telling my life story to a complete stranger,” Jeremy said, swaying slightly. His face had turned a sickly green, his eyes unfocused.
“Have you had anything to eat today?” Duncan asked, giving him a look of concern.
“A cupcake,” Jeremy answered. “I had a cupcake for breakfast. Chocolate, with chocolate chip cream frosting.”
“Yum,” Charlie said.
“Maybe you should hold off on the beer until you have more in your stomach,” Duncan suggested, removing the two empty glasses from the counter. He poured more pretzels into the bowl and pushed it towards Jeremy.
Harry was staring at the package. “Aren’t you going to open the box, Duncan?” he asked. “He travelled all this way to see you.”
Duncan put his hands behind his head, stretching his neck muscles. “Would you leave if I asked you to?” he asked Liam.
“It’s your bar,” Liam replied. “But the box is from your dad. He’d be crushed if you didn’t open it. Especially with his health. You know he is getting older….”
“Oooooh,” Charlie said. “I recognize a Catholic guilt trip when I hear one. You’ve only been here for ten minutes, too. That’s impressive guilt-response time. There was this time—”
Duncan glared at him and he stopped talking.
Liam drained the shot of whisky, and pushed the empty shot glass towards Duncan. The two regarded each other for a long moment, the air thick with tension.
Duncan’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he said.
Grabbing a paring knife from behind the bar, he slit the package carefully open at the top. Peering inside, he grunted in disgust, then pushed the box back to Liam.
“No,” Duncan said simply.
“Oh, my gosh, it is a body part,” Harry said. “I knew it. The Irish do have that kind of family business.”
“It’s not a body part, you moron,” Duncan told him. Harry and Charlie looked at him expectantly. Duncan ran a hand through his hair, then nodded. “Go ahead.”
Harry and Charlie scrambled closer to Liam to peer in the box. They stared at it for a full thirty seconds.
“Hmmmm…” Charlie said. “What is it?”
“It’s peat moss,” Liam said. “From a family farm outside of Dublin.”
“Your family business is peat moss?” Charlie asked, brow furrowing. “I don’t think I know what you’re talking about.” He leaned in for a closer look. “Nope, I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Peat moss is found a lot in Ireland,” Liam explained. “It’s mostly a combination of vegetation, trees, grass, fungus. It makes a really good soil enhancer for farmers and gardeners. You can also use it for fuel. It works even as a natural water filtration unit. The O’Malley family harvests it for worldwide distribution. It’s a very lucrative business.”
Harry peered into the box. “So, basically it’s dirt.”
Liam’s face reddened and he clenched his teeth together. “Peat moss is not dirt,” he said.
“It’s OK,” Harry said. “Your family business is dirt. I’m not making any judgments here, just trying to get my facts straight. You can make a living off anything you want. I’m certainly familiar with that concept. It’s perfectly fine if it’s dirt.”
“Peat,” Liam said.
“Yes,” Duncan said. “The O’Malley family business is dirt.”
“Well, all right, then,” Harry said, slapping a hand on the bar for emphasis. “Now we have something to work with. How long has your family dealt in dirt?”
“Peat,” Liam said. “The O’Malley family has been cultivating peat moss for three hundred years.”
“Holy cow,” Charlie exclaimed. “That’s a lot of dirt. Duncan, I didn’t know you came from that kind of background. You have a lot of history with dirt. It’s impressive.”
Duncan took a deep breath, and leaned against the back counter. He looked at Liam.
“Duncan is a bit of a black sheep
in the family,” Liam explained. “He didn’t want anything to do with peat. He worked in the business in high school, his dad training him so that someday he might take it over. But Duncan passed it all over.”
Jeremy perked up on his bar stool. “Really?” he asked. “Duncan’s a black sheep too?”
Duncan hesitated, then opened his hands in a giving-up gesture. “I wanted a bar,” he said. “Dreamed of it since I was a teenager. I tried working in peat, but I just didn’t have the passion for it. My family, especially my dad, was crushed when I told them I wasn’t going to work for the family.”
“Well, you’ve got one heck of a tavern here,” Harry said. He turned to Liam. “He’s got one of the most popular bars in the city, you know. And not just on St. Patrick’s Day. He has lots of activities. I think that’s the key to his success. Darts, trivia games, sports nights. He always has lots of people. Well, except for like now, just because it is kind of early.”
Duncan turned to Jeremy. “I tried opening a pub in Dublin. The Double D, it was called. People, not just my family, were so upset that I had left the peat business that I had to move half a world away to find success.”
“Well, of all things holy, don’t tell Jeremy that!” Charlie exclaimed. “He doesn’t have to move half a world away to make cupcakes. He can do it right here! He’s still part of our family, even if he’s branched off to the bakery business.”
Jeremy sat thinking for a moment, trying to focus. “Duncan, you think my cupcake business is tanking because people think I’m a mob—?”
The front door chimed and Uncle Tommy stepped in, his large frame filling the doorway. He wore an immaculate gray suit, a black fedora, and a light overcoat. He stood at least half a head taller than everyone else in the bar.
“Oh, great,” Duncan said. “Tommy, please. I don’t know what’s going on, but I really don’t need more trouble today.”
Uncle Tommy took a seat at the bar, positioning himself between Harry and Charlie.
“Moretrouble?” Uncle Tommy asked, his face an even mask. “Has there been trouble already?”
“Actually, there’s been no trouble,” Duncan said. “Just a friendly disagreement between family members.” He glanced at Liam.
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