Page 19 of The Associate

Conor murmured his thanks. If the good Lord answered prayers with a miracle recovery for Hugh and winning lottery numbers, all the better. For now, he rang the bell for last call and held out hope for a hundred or so more dollars to add to the night’s take. After closing, with the doors locked behind the last straggling customer, he tallied up the receipts and added his cash tips to the total.

Lonnegan’s had performed well for its first night back in operation, without any social media promotion. Enough to put a dent in his parents’ debt to the mob, one might think, but Conor’s heart still panged to see how much remained to pay. Add to that the probability that these San Gaetano folks also expected current payments, and Conor came to a sober realization.

The mob need not bother fitting him with cement shoes. He would collapse in this bar just like his father, stressed out and exhausted.

Conor closed out the point of sale system, then zipped up the night’s cash take in a lockable bank bag. If customers continued to pay as such, he’d need Mona to stop in periodically to make deposits. He wasn’t worried about executing a late-night drop on his own, but he didn’t like having this much cash on his person.

After tucking the bag under his shoulder, he called up his mobile dial pad before leaving the bar, intending to call home. He’d been too busy to check in during the day, but no messages from home indicated all was stable with Hugh. He punched the first few digits of the house line and two possible numbers showed up in the autofill dropdown.

One belonged to Joe. Gio. Conor hovered his thumb over both listings and pressed to ring him. Gio hadn’t returned after Conor had released him from duties, which was fine. The three hours Gio had spent helping Conor had set the tone for the remainder of the day. He owed Gio big for stepping up when his parents needed them.

He deserved kindness in return. Conor mulled over options until Gio answered. “Is this a bad time?” he asked after Gio’s sleepy greeting. Guilt settled in his chest. “I’m sorry, this should have been a text. I didn’t mean to wake you. I can call later.”

“No, it’s good. I was napping a bit in case you called. I wanted to be rested up.”

Conor heard Gio moan out the last of his lethargy, and pictured him arching his back and stretching his limbs. Gio had demonstrated his flexibility in the back of his car, and Conor imagined the possibilities in a place with more wiggle room.

“How was it?” Gio asked.

“Busy. The evening shift flew, and I’m still wired.” Conor hugged the bank bag tighter. “I’m about to leave and make the night deposit, but I have to eat. If you’re willing…”

“Stay put,” Gio cut in. “I’ll escort you. You don’t need to walk around the city with all that cash, especially if you weren’t running money to the bank throughout the day.”

No arguing with that logic. Conor thanked him, and ten minutes later he locked up the pub and dashed across the sidewalk to meet Gio in his car. “Thanks for the lift,” he said, and gave directions to the bank. “That branch has a drive-up box.”

“I know the one. How’s your dad?”

Conor texted home as Gio turned the corner toward the bank. “Resting,” he said, abbreviating Mona’s answer. His father was resting comfortably, which was probably code for painkillers to get him through the night. He’d make sure to keep his return home quiet. “I’m not needed there, it seems, and I’m useless until I’ve had something to eat.” He watched the scenery pass, the bright lights of late-night eateries and dispensaries streaking in different colors. “What’s still open around here that’s good?” he asked. JT’s didn’t have a grill.

“Oh,” Gio said, flashing him a smile, “I know a place.”

* * * *

Bringing Conor back to his apartment, Gio decided, was worth the risk. In the event another associate or somebody higher on the chain spotted them, he had a story ready. Nothing wrong with inviting somebody for a nightcap and friendly conversation steered toward the future of Lonnegan’s. Some targets required time for convincing, wouldn’t be the first time.

If nobody saw them, terrific. Gio longed for privacy with Conor. The way he took charge at the pub, tackling multiple orders at once and charming customers, increased his sex appeal. Conor’s interest in Gio was palpable, too. The air in Gio’s car turned electric, charging his desires and the need to keep Conor from harm. His protective instinct overpowered the guilt he felt for possibly putting Conor in a dangerous position.

“Have a seat. I’ll see what’s good in the kitchen.” Gio left Conor to the few distractions in the living room and opened his refrigerator to survey their dining options. Seconds later, his well-honed senses picked up Conor’s presence behind him. Were he a threat, Gio would have quickly spun into a defensive position and either punched or reached for a chokehold.

With Conor, he straightened to his full height and let the man grasp his waist.

“Hello there,” Conor said, and brushed his lips at the nape of Gio’s neck.

“You’rethatkind of hungry, I take it.”

Conor’s muffled laughter blew Gio’s hair out of place, and the sensation rippled down his spine. “I should eat something, though,” Conor said. “You don’t need to hear my stomach growling in the middle of other activities.”

Uh-huh.

“Don’t feel like you have to go all out, either,” Conor added. He pointed into the open fridge. “I see a packet of ham. If you have bread, a sandwich will do.”

“What? C’mon.” Gio laughed and gave Conor a playful nudge out of the way. “It ain’t often that I get to entertain. Let me at least attempt to impress you with my culinary skills.” Damn shame he didn’t get any of Gloria Bertinelli’s vealsaltimboccato share. He would have preferred to serve that over the stale Chinese rice and wilted veggies in the to-go container on the bottom shelf.

“I do commend your choice in beer,” Conor said, and smiled his thanks when Gio handed him a bottle. After a minute’s deliberation, Gio pulled out a sealed container of ready-made mashed potatoes, a stick of butter, and a few eggs. “I got an idea,” he said, arranging everything on the counter. Opening the cabinet to his left, he retrieved flour and one of the small herb shakers on lazy Susan. “You’re not allergic to sage, are you?”

“I don’t believe so. I suppose we’ll find out.” Conor tipped the underside of the plastic tub with his forefinger, lifting it slightly from the counter. “Though, as an Irishman, I’d be remiss if I didn’t remark on the use of store-bought mashers for whatever it is you’re planning.”

Gio feigned indignation as he snatched away the tub. “Yeah, my Sicilian mother isn’t much for cheating in the kitchen, either, but the potatoes are fixed and cooled, which is perfect for what I need.” He decided on gnocchi, a Northern Italian dish, so Gio didn’t feel too guilty betraying his heritage. “I used up my last jar of spaghetti sauce, forgot to buy more,” he said. “Brown butter sage sauce works nicer.”

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