Shamrocks and Secrets

by Cayce Poponea

  He smiled his devilish smile and moved his left hand up to rest under his chin. His green eyes sparkled in the light from the lamp on his desk.

  “Only if you call me Patrick” His voice was doing strange things to my insides. I only smiled at his request.

  “You and I both know you had everything to do with Kevin, err rather Douce, owning up to his responsibilities. I simply wanted to say thank you, it'll go a long way toward paying for her education.”

  There I said it, now to get the hell out of here.

  "Giggles is a smart little girl, she deserves the best."

  I was so sick of these names he had given to the people I loved, “Her name is Abigail.” It came out very snippy, though I didn't mean for it to.

  “Sorry, Christi, Abigail is a smart little girl,” he emphasized her name as he corrected himself. "Smiles did a fine job of raising her by herself, and it shows."

  "Why do you call my sister Smiles?"

  He didn't bat an eye as he looked directly into mine. "Because giggles start as smiles. Your sister is always smiling every time I see her, and your niece has a laugh that makes my Ma giggle."

  Fair enough. However, I refrained from asking why he called me Legs.

  "Yes, well, again, I know you're a busy man and so I won't keep you..."

  "You didn't answer my question, Christi; does your father know you're here?"

  For a brief moment, I thought about telling him to mind his own business. I was an adult after all. However, I decided that since he had just gotten Kevin to pay up that I would remain nice.

  "No, Patrick, I haven't spoken to my dad today. He has no idea I was coming to thank you," I answered and began to rise from my chair.

  "This isn't a safe neighborhood, Christi. A beautiful woman such as yourself could attract some...unwanted attention."

  “Yes, you’re right, thank you for your concern. I'll see myself out."

  "Not so fast, Christi," Patrick rose from his seat. I turned my attention back to him and sat back down in my chair.

  "Although it was very courageous for you to come here and thank me for helping your sister, I'm afraid I cannot accept only that." His eyes never left mine as he continued. "After all, I did get Douce to pay your sister a large sum of money, did I not? I'd say that mere words would not be quite sufficient."

  I was at a loss for what to say at this point. This had not gone as I had planned. This was only supposed to take a few minutes and I would be on my way home. He was right; I was attracting unwanted attention.

  "Then please, enlighten me on how I can properly thank you." Again with the clipped tone, I was in way over my head.

  "Easy, Christi, have dinner with me."

  His suggestion was not what I had expected, although I really had no clue about what he would deem acceptable. However, just as I was about to tell him where he could stick his request for dinner, Patrick began to unbutton his suit jacket and leaned back in his chair. He then casually lifted his long legs and placed them on his desk. It was at this point that I noticed the shiny handgun that sat in the waistband of his pants. I quickly looked away, only to notice that the other three men in the room were also packing. Suddenly, it was as if all the puzzle pieces came together, like a chain made of thousands of tiny magnets. Everything I had witnessed that related to Patrick Malloy pointed to just one thing—the Mafia.

  I had watched enough movies focused on organized crime that I felt I knew enough to steer clear. I also knew they tended to make people do what they wanted. I decided the best approach was to convince Patrick that I didn't fit into the standard mob arm candy role.

  "Thank you for the offer, Mr. Malloy. However, a man in your position undoubtedly requires a certain type of woman to fulfill his needs. I'm sorry, but I'm not that type of woman."

  "Patrick. I asked you to call me Patrick”

  His voice eerily low and I swallowed hard. I could feel the fear crawl up my spine. This had been a very big mistake.

  “Jesus Christ, Christi! I'm asking you to dinner, not to give me a fucking lap dance."

  It was sheer self preservation that motivated me to say what I did next.

  "You may not be requesting a lap dance, Mr. Malloy, but you would require something from me that I'm not prepared to give."

  He looked hard into my eyes, a battle line had been drawn. On one side was Patrick, a man who was, I am certain, accustomed to getting everything he wanted. Myself on the other, only wanting to leave this room in the same condition I entered it in. Patrick leaned his body back into his massive chair, a sly smile forming on his face.

  “So, if I promise to conduct myself as a perfect gentleman and not demand a blow job at the end, would you reconsider?"

  Patrick was a handsome man, used to having women fall at his feet. How sad it must be to never know if they wanted him for his money or the power they must feel when they are with him. I would gladly trade them positions, they could have his undivided attention.

  "I'd have your word that this would only be dinner, no other expectations?"

  I didn't give a shit how good he looked or how full his bank account was, he stood for something that I wanted no part of. One dinner and we were even.

  “Yes." His answer rained with assurance and strangely I believed him. ”Then, yes, I'd reconsider." My voice soft and still a little unsure.

  "Good, done!” He slammed his hand on the desk as he spoke the words. Fuck me!

  He pushed his chair away from the desk and slowly came around toward me. "Let me begin my role as a gentleman by doing proper introductions."

  He motioned for me to join him by the three men who were again standing.

  "Gents, this is the lovely Christi O’Rourke. Muscles, aka Ryan, you already know."

  Ryan smiled and nodded his head in my direction.

  "This is Tonto, one of my inner circle."

  Tonto was just as big as Ryan, or rather Muscles. I extended my hand out to shake his. I noticed that again, Patrick nodded his approval.

  "Pleasure to meet you, Sir," I smiled at Tonto.

  "And this is someone you would've been meeting in the very near future. My soon-to-be brother in law, Caleb Montgomery."

  "I had the pleasure of meeting your beautiful bride recently, Mr. Montgomery. Congratulations."

  Caleb didn't wait for Patrick, he grasped my outstretched hand and instead of shaking it, he raised it to his lips and kissed the back of it as he bowed slightly. "Thank you kindly, Ms. Christi, the pleasure is all mine."

  "Christi, let me escort you to your car. I'm sure your father would worry if I let you go by yourself.” Patrick interrupted as Caleb's lips touched my knuckles. He dropped my hand slowly, glaring in Patrick’s direction.

  Tonto and Caleb left the room first, while Patrick held the door for me. I followed the other two down the stairs, Patrick close to my left side. Once I got to the last step, I chanced a glance toward the bar. Sitting on a barstool eyeing Patrick was another overdone, scantily clad blonde. Clearly those were his type, so why was he interested in me? This only reassured me that he would be seriously disappointed with me after our dinner. Once he realized that my panties would be staying firmly on my body and not the floor of his car.

  I turned my attention back to walking out the door when the blonde suddenly crossed my path.

  "Hey, Baby, I've been waiting for you," she cooed, reaching out and running her blood red nails up Patrick's arm. I continued to walk. I could have cared less who he was sleeping with.

  I felt his hand wrap around my arm as he kept me from moving forward. I turned back and gave him a questioning glare.

  "Harley, I've told you to stay out of this club." He spoke to the blonde, but his eyes never left mine. "I know, but I have something for you."

  I really didn't have the desire to listen to her any longer. I wanted to go home, see Abigail, and then take a very long, very hot bath.

  Patrick ignored her as he urged me toward the door. Once outside, I noticed that T
onto, Muscles and Caleb were standing guard around my car. I clicked the remote, unlocking the doors. Patrick was at my driver's door before I could blink. He opened the door and stood waiting for me to get into the car.

  "Christi, I'll pick you up Friday at six o'clock."

  His eyes now soft, whether from the low lights of the club or change in venue. His voice calm, warm, and dare I say...sexy.

  I watched as Patrick and his men stood in the road as I drove off. Again, I failed to see the black sedan that followed me home.

  As I pulled into my driveway, I had to laugh at myself. My plans to simply thank him had gone up in flames. I now suspected Patrick Malloy was a serious member of the mafia and I had a date with him, I should have stuck with the fruit basket.

  My dad was waiting for me when I opened my front door. This wasn't an unusual thing to happen, he was always stopping by. My gut told me he had a reason for being here, though.

  “Patrick Malloy called me, Christi."

  "Oh?"

  "He told me everything, so you can drop the act."

  "Okay, so I went to see Patrick Malloy."

  "No, you went to a rough and dangerous neighborhood, Christi. What the hell were you thinking?"

  "I needed to talk to him and it isn't like he has an office on Michigan Avenue."

  My dad was silent as he pondered his thoughts. I left him alone, not wanting to do battle with two men tonight. "Christi, Patrick's a good guy and I want you to give him a chance. I trust him.”

  "Well, good, because he invited me to dinner."

  "I know; he asked my permission first. Just promise me you'll give him a chance?" My dad made his way toward the door. He opened it and went to leave. Suddenly, he turned around and said, "Christi, he doesn't have an office on Michigan Avenue, but he does own a condo in the same building that Oprah lives in."

  It was an hour later that I had settled into the pillows of the couch with a deep wine glass. As I closed my eyes and listened to the creaking of the house, I began to play the events from earlier in my head. Patrick had not acted as I thought. Clearly he and my father were friends who loved to gossip about me. As I took a large gulp of my wine, I nearly choked. If Patrick was a member of organized crime and he and my father were as close as I suspected. Was my dad a dirty cop?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  This wasn't a date; this was simply two people eating at the same time. Everyone ate dinner, we were just doing it together. Shannon nearly blew a gasket when I told her. She couldn't believe it took me so long to figure out that Patrick was in the Mafia. She said it took her ten seconds to figure out that Dillion was.

  “How can you be okay with this, Shannon?”

  “Easy, its just a job. It isn't any different from being a lawyer or whatever.” She threw her hands in circles in the air to emphasize her point.

  “Are you kidding me? They commit major crimes and kill people.” I shouted back at her.

  “Oh, and I suppose you’re are honest in everything you do? People lie, cheat and steal every day, Chris. Get off your self imposed high horse. He is just a guy with a different job, don't judge him for things you know nothing about.”

  Since this wasn't a date and only dinner, I wasn't going to dress up. Yeah, that lasted long enough for my father to see me and demand that I change out of the jeans I had selected. I hadn’t gathered up enough courage to confront him about being a dirty cop. So here I sat drinking the last sip of my wine, wearing a sexy little black wrap dress and heels.

  If one positive thing could be said about Patrick, he was punctual. My dad raced to the front door like a kid on Halloween. Patrick looked so different tonight, his suit still tailored to his build, his features impeccable. However, his face didn't seem so fierce and his body didn't seem so rigid. This version of Patrick I could grow to like.

  "Good evening, Christi, you look very lovely this evening," Patrick said with the biggest smile on his face as he handed me a huge bouquet of lilies.

  My dad was so excited that he quickly snatched the flowers from my hand and began ushering us out the door. I knew with Patrick being in the position he was in, luxuries were a given. What I didn't expect was the stretch limo that was parked in front of my house.

  I also didn't expect him to have the entire restaurant reserved for just the two of us; well, the two of us and the four huge guys who sat across the room.

  Clair's was a local supper club and had been in business since the early 1900's. The building it was housed in was rumored to have been a speakeasy at one time, with caves that ran underneath. The walls were made of red brick and the walls that separated the different rooms had rows of arches. The tables were all square and draped with white tablecloths. Tiny votive candles illuminated our table.

  Patrick, acting as the proper gentleman he pretended to be, pulled my chair out and then took his own seat. This time, I noticed the gun he'd had earlier in the week was gone.

  I loved the feel of the old buildings here in the city. I had always wondered if the bricks could talk how exciting the stories would be.

  Clair's was old-style dining, where they took great pride in being over the top, from offering you hot towels to wash your hands, to placing your napkin on your lap for you. They were the only restaurant in town that employed a sommelier.

  "I'm impressed, Patrick, you must know someone to get them to close this restaurant on a Friday night."

  Patrick's eyes met mine as his trademark smirk crossed his face. "I'd love nothing more than to say I pulled a few strings, but I want to be honest with you. Clair's has been my family's business since my great-grandfather built this building and named it after his first wife."

  "Honestly, I'm impressed a little more now. I've always had a fascination with older buildings."

  "Well, anytime you want to take the grand tour, I'll be happy to set that up for you, get you down into the caverns."

  "Those aren't just rumors?"

  "No, Christi, this was a speakeasy during prohibition."

  "Then I'll be taking you up on that offer of a tour."

  Patrick ordered a Delmonico and I went with the lamb chops. Our salad was made table side and was by far the most amazing salad I had ever had.

  "So, are there any other places your family owns that might impress me?"

  Patrick leaned back in his chair and wiped his face with his napkin. "Actually, yes, I just recently acquired the building you work in, as well as the banquet hall next door."

  "You bought that building? I thought Charlotte owned it."

  "No, it was actually owned by a rival family, I bought it with one of my ghost companies. They weren't being very professional with Charlotte and I don't tolerate those kinds of actions."

  I wasn't about to ask him what had happened, it clearly was not my business. I did find it odd that he didn't like bad business; he was in the Mafia after all.

  "Tell me, Christi, do you enjoy working for Ms. Charlotte?"

  “What , no nicknames for her?"

  He chuckled and then took a drink of his wine. "No, I'm certain Ms. Charlotte would have me dragged by my shorthairs if I gave her a nickname."

  I began to laugh along with him. He was correct about her being tough. I had learned a great deal from her when it came to handling people.

  "My grandfather, whom I'm named after, taught me his rules for business. I've lived them since I took over for my da. He and my da have taught me more lessons by watching them than any college class I ever attended."

  "You went to college?"

  He again began to laugh, "Does that surprise you? I went to Yale, actually."

  "I'm sorry, that was quite rude of me. I did just stereotype you, didn't I?"

  He looked at me very seriously as he leaned into me and whispered, "Yes, you did, Legs, but you can make it up to me by having a drink with me."

  I let the nickname pass for now. After all, I did just insult him. It wouldn't be that big of a deal to have another glass of wine with him. However, I should
have known that he would want to go to a different place to have the agreed drink.

  Our waiter appeared again and Patrick slipped him what I believed to be a large amount of money. He helped me with my chair and once again we were in the limo.

  Patrick began to type on his cell phone and never once told the driver where we were going. It was almost as if this had all been pre-planned.

  The drive was only a few blocks, and we honestly could have walked. However, being in heels and a dress, I was glad we didn't.

  The building we pulled up to I recognized immediately as being Pieces, the new club in the downtown area. I avoided downtown, certain areas simply were not safe. Tonight though, the thought of my safety wasn't a concern. I knew Patrick could and would protect me.

  The club was housed in an old warehouse that had been on the mayor's list of 'make our city beautiful' restorations. The city offered huge tax breaks to anyone who would take over the buildings, make repairs, and open businesses. I had read that the O’Leary Foundation had come in and fixed up several buildings and I wondered if this was one of them. The entrance to the building was impressive. There were two massive oak doors with "Pieces" written in dark green and outlined in gold.

  I had been so busy taking in the sight of the building that I had failed to notice Allyson and Ryan Donnelly standing just outside of the limo. I smiled and Allyson pulled me into a tight hug.

  "Oh, my goodness, it's such a pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Donnelly."

  "Oh, Christi, it's Allyson to you."

  "Very well, Allyson"

  It was then that I noticed Patrick's entourage had joined us. Black suits now surrounded Allyson and myself.

  "Christi, I have someone I need to speak with, can I leave you to visit with Allyson for a few minutes?"

  Before I could assure him I would be fine, Allyson did the honors.

  "Oh, don't worry about us, we'll just catch up, just find us a table," Allyson waved her hand dismissively at Patrick.

  Patrick shocked me when he reached down and took my hand in his, leading me into the building.

  Once inside, I noticed that the place looked like an old Irish pub straight out of Ireland. The bar was long and glossy, made of a beautiful oak-stained wood. The brass footboard glistened in the lights that illuminated from the ceiling. The bar was packed and I didn't think we would find a table. I blushed as man after man looked toward Allyson and myself, their eyes raking down our forms.