Worcester Nights - The Boxed Set (4 page)

His words were a soft caress. “I want to know.”

And I told him.

For long hours I described what it was like to grow up in Waterbury, Connecticut, a run-down brassware-industry town which had fallen in on itself and decayed. My father was a cop, my mother, a teacher, and my four brothers and I lived a wild but happy life in our pothole-riddled street with houses jammed cheek-by-jowl against each other. We knew nothing else. We had a sense that we could hold out against anything.

And then there was that day that we came home from school to find our mother weeping on the couch. My father had been shot and killed in the line of duty.

Everything changed. My brothers took their mission to look after me with serious intent. They watched my every movement, examined every boy who showed interest, and ruled that none met their stringent standards. When I finally escaped to college, I thought this was my time to be free and find myself.

And then I had met Derek …

There was a noise from the hallway, and I looked up in surprise. Jimmy came out, shrugging on his coat. “Time, boys,” he called out to the room.

I blinked. Could it be closing time already? It seemed only the blink of an eye, but the clock was right there on the wall. I had never had a conversation like that with a guy before. Sean had been attentive, concerned, and he hadn’t interrupted to find ways to “fix” things. He’d simply listened, offered support, and been there for me.

My heart whirled into even deeper emotions, and I didn’t want him to leave.

Sean peeled another twenty out of his wallet, placing it on the counter.

I shook my head. “That’s too much. My drink was only –”

He folded his wallet and tucked it back into his pocket. “Get some mozzarella sticks to go with that pizza,” he suggested.

My eyes widened. “How did you know?”

He chuckled. “When I mentioned the twenty the first time, your eyes flickered over in the direction of Ziti’s. If this bar is your source of income, I figure you’re living on chicken soup and pretzels.”

I took up the twenty. “I appreciate it. Thanks.”

He held my gaze for a long moment. “My pleasure.”

The way he said it sent waves of longing down my body. And then he was turning, walking through the door, and only the echo of the bell was left.

Chapter 4

I
stepped through the bar door wearing the best clothes from my closet. A rose-colored top with a plunging neckline; its silver embroidery made my Saint Michael’s pendant sparkle. The jeans had a hint of silver on their back pockets as well. I looked around …

He was sitting at the bar, his eyes on me, his mouth turning up in a knowing smile.

I flushed, forced my feet to stay in motion, and Mrs. O’Malley’s voice rose above the thundering of my heart.

“Ah, you’re such a good lass, Katie. Come around back here with me.”

I hung my hoodie on the hook and joined her. She passed over the small, white cutting board of limes she was working on. I took up the knife, carefully making even wedges of them.

She leaned against the side of the bar, looking at me. “You know to be careful of those guys from the Jefferson,” she stated in a matter-of-fact tone. “Half of them go right back in the joint a month after release. It’s the life they know. It’s just their nature.”

My cheeks flushed with the heat of a blacksmith’s forge. She was clearly doing this in front of him on purpose. It was all I could do to nod.

“Unreliable guys,” she continued, her gaze steadily on mine. “Trained to lie. They’ll say anything. You can’t trust ‘em.”

I focused on the lime before me, carefully cutting my way through its skin. I knew Mrs. O’Malley meant well, but Sean wasn’t like that. When we’d talked last night, he hadn’t tried to manipulate me. He’d simply listened and been there for me. I wished fervently that she’d finish with her little sermon and move on her way.

My savior came in the shape of her philandering husband, stepping in from the hallway. “Bridgit, my dear, won’t you be late for that mah jongg game?”

She glanced at the clock and nodded. “You’re quite right. I just wanted to make sure I had a chat with Katie here before I left.” She stepped forward to lay a hand gently on my shoulder. I could smell the jasmine and orange of her perfume – it was all she ever wore. Then she moved around the bar.

Jimmy went with her to the door. “I’ll be home late again.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course you will. When is it any different?”

Jimmy turned to me. “Oh, Katie, come here a sec.”

I went around to join them. He handed me a key on a ring with a large, Crayola-green shamrock on it. “Thought you should have this. So you can lock up with your own key for now on.”

I thought of refusing it. Surely Eileen would be back home any time now and I’d be free of the place. But I bit my lip, remembering my promise to her to not cause any trouble. There was no harm in taking the key, after all. I’d just give it back when I could quit. I nodded to Jimmy and tucked it in my back pocket.

Mrs. O’Malley gave a wave of a ringed hand, then turned and walked out the door. She headed right around the corner to the side street.

I had barely gotten halfway back to Sean when the doorbell tinkled again. I turned and sighed. This girl was Japanese, if I had to guess, with straight black hair to her waist and a delicately pale, oval face. She wore a simple white shell and black leggings, with black, satiny, slipper-like shoes.

It was all I could do not to shake my head. Had she been lurking in the street, waiting for the very second she could enter the room?

She stepped toward Jimmy, digging her hand in the massive Coach bag at her side. It was decorated with dark pink hollow circles on a paler pink base. A delicate frown creased her forehead as she stuck her hand further into its depths.

“I can’t find my cigarettes.”

Jimmy waved a hand at her. “We’ll get you some later. We should –”

She pulled away from his outstretched arm, stepping back to the door. “I need my cigarettes,” she insisted. “I’ll pop across the street to the liquor store. I’ll be back in a sec.”

He looked as if he would protest, but she turned and slipped through the door, the chime announcing her departure.

Jimmy sighed in exasperation and moved over next to Sean. His voice was a growl. “Women.”

Sean’s eyes held twinkling amusement, but he did not answer. I found myself lost in that gaze, in the rich greens, in the subtle flecks of gold …

There was the tinkle of a chime behind me, and confusion flitted through me. Surely she couldn’t have made it across the madness of Kelley Square and back again that quickly. Maybe she had found the cigarettes –

Sean’s gaze was hardening, steeling, and a shaft of fear drilled through me. I’d seen that kind of look in my father’s eyes, a few times in the depths of Waterbury’s grittier blocks. I knew what it meant.

My heart thundering, I turned in place.

A pair of massive men, nearly contenders for sumo wrestling, stepped through the doorway. They had skin the color of café au lait, and if I had any question about their background it was dispelled by the large Cuban flags each had tattooed on his right bicep. They wore red muscle shirts and faded jeans.

The one on the left was larger, thicker, with a bald head which shone under the bar’s lights. The one on the right had tight curls against his head and a scar under his right eye. He seemed to be the leader. His gaze honed in on Jimmy. “You in charge here?”

Jimmy’s paunch swung as he turned to face the intruders. “Yeah, I’m Jimmy. Jimmy O’Malley. Whatd’ya want?”

Curly-head looked at Jimmy dismissively. “We got a message for you. We don’t want you here.”

Jimmy’s hands clenched into fists. “Yeah, well look around,
rafter
. There’s still signs up on Millbury Street for kielbasa and kiszka. You jerks are just the latest wave to come in and try to stake your ground. This spot here is mine, and I ain’t moving.”

Curly-head glanced at his friend, and the bald man stepped forward.

Jimmy strode up to stand right in front of him. “You get out of my place, or I’ll –”

The bald man grabbed him beneath each arm, arced him up in the air, and slammed him down on his back into the nearest table. It smashed, its legs giving way, sending Jimmy to the ground in a cascade of splinters and planks.

The bald man turned to look at me, a leer growing on his face.

Sean seemed to move between time. One moment he was on his stool, the next he had interjected himself between bald-guy and me, driving a left uppercut hard into the Cuban’s jaw. The Cuban’s head rocked back, and Sean drove a right roundhouse into the side of his head. The man flew back against the wall by the door and leaned against it, staggered.

Curly-head snarled and drove in like a bull. Sean stepped aside, evading the charge, and slammed his elbow down into the guy’s kidney. The Cuban howled in pain and rage, spinning in place. He raced again at Sean, and this time Sean threw a jab at his temple, the momentum of the man’s body giving it extra force. The man’s legs buckled, folded, and he drove head-first into the door.

Sean balanced on the balls of his feet, looking at the two men, his eyes alert for any sign of movement.

The bald man blinked himself back into awareness. He looked at Sean for a long moment, his fingers flexing, considering another round. His eyes moved up to Sean’s – and he stopped. Something he saw there made him let out his breath and drop his eyes. He bent down to drag his friend up, draping one of the curly man’s arms over his shoulder. Then he drew open the door with his other hand and together they lurched around to the right.

Sean moved to the door and shut it behind them, turning the bolt. Then he went over to Jimmy and gently hauled him up, his shoulder muscles flexing with the weight. He looped Jimmy’s arm over his shoulder and eased him over to the stool.

Sean’s voice was low. “You all right?”

Jimmy groaned, rubbing at his lower back. “I think so.” His gaze filled with anger. “But if those bastards –”

There was a hammering at the door. Jimmy flinched, curling in on himself. Sean turned in place, his hands solidifying into fists, his shoulders braced for action.

The Japanese girl stood there at the other side, her lips closed in a red pout. Her high voice scraped through the glass. “What the hell, Jimmy?”

Sean stepped forward to open the door. As she stepped into the room her mouth went into a round O. She looked from the smashed table to the numerous cuts on Jimmy’s arms. “What in the world happened?”

“It’s the fockin’ Cubans,” snapped Jimmy. “We’ll teach them. They should go back to that fockin’ island where they belong!”

The girl wrapped her arms around herself. “I wanna go home.”

Jimmy growled, but he nodded at me. I went around behind the bar and grabbed the phone, punching the button. Ethan didn’t even bother to greet me when he picked up. Caller ID in action.

“I’m around the corner,” he said, hanging up.

The girl took one last look around the place, then went back out to the street, rubbing her hands on her arms to keep warm. Ethan pulled up and they were gone.

Jimmy looked at me. “Pour me a double. Some for you, too. And get him whatever he drinks.”

I put out three glasses, grabbed the bottle of Redbreast, and poured out the drinks.

Jimmy looked at Sean in surprise. “You drink Redbreast? Are you a Cork man?”

Sean nodded. “Born and raised there, at least until I was nine. Then my ma sent me to live with her sister in Hell’s Kitchen, in the heart of New York City.”

Jimmy raised a toast to him. “To standing your ground.”

We all clinked glasses and drank down the rich liquid, honey coating our throats. Jimmy rubbed at his neck for a moment before looking back to Sean. “You learn to fight in the city?”

Sean gave a slight shrug. “My old man was a boxer, small time stuff. He could be a foul mouth when he drank, but when he was sober he spent time boxing with me. It was what we did. I thought this was how all boys grew up, learning footwork and making the speed bag dance.”

Jimmy raised an eyebrow. “Whyd’ya move to the states?”

Sean’s lips pressed. “Sometimes my old man would use my ma as a punching bag. When I was nine, I tried to defend her one time, and he turned on me. My mother moved us out the very next day. She sent me to the states, and she moved back in with her parents in County Kildare.”

“And your dad?”

He shrugged. “He got drunker, got run out of town, and we haven’t heard from him since. For all I know, his liver failed on him.”

Jimmy patted him on the shoulder. “Well, whatever that man did wrong, he did one thing right. He taught you how to defend yourself. And that, my friend, is a valuable talent.”

The phone rang, and I turned to pick it up. Seamus’s voice was terse. “Put Jimmy on.”

I handed the phone over to Jimmy. “It’s Seamus.”

Jimmy paled, but he took the phone, placing it to his ear. “Yeah?”

The stream of swears and fury was so thickly brogued that I could hardly make out individual words. Jimmy listened through it without saying a word. When the verbal assault ended he clicked off the phone, handing it back to me.