Page 6 of The Associate

It therefore surprised Gio to learn the true reason for this meeting. Salvatore pointed his rocks glass at Gio, forefinger extended. “Aldo says you do good work. Whatever task he gives you, moving goods or collecting, you do it without complaint. I like that.”

“Thank you.” Gio flicked his gaze toward the smiling capo.

“It’s why I asked you to collect in this district,” Aldo said. “Get you familiar with the neighborhood, since you’ll be spending more time here.”

The ice in Salvatore’s drink tinkled. “Lonnegan’s will reopen under new management, you. It’ll be a new base for family business. Operations will resume as normal, with new staff.” After a sip, he added, “Who knows, Gio? If you succeed, this is one step closer to the call.”

“The call,” Gio echoed.

Salvatore nodded. “Aldo says good things, as does your late cousin’s capo.” He left the implied go unsaid. Gio needed two family members in good standing to sponsor him for initiation. Once made, he’d have full protection of the San Gaetanos.

Gio stood there, stunned. Happy, perhaps. Also curious. He knew nothing about running a business, or bartending, but gave only his thanks to the don. If Salvatore had this mindset, no doubt he was thinking ahead on all the what’s and how’s of making this work. He found it interesting, too, to set up a family meeting place so close to Aldo’s house, but one glance at the capo’s reaction revealed Aldo seemed to have no choice in the matter.

That neither man offered Gio a drink spoke to him of the meeting’s brevity. Indeed, after the news about Lonnegan’s, Aldo rose to escort Gio to the door. “I’ll be in touch with details,” he said. “Meanwhile, it’s Friday night. You’ve earned your fun.”

“Thanks, Aldo.” They shook hands and Gio put on his jacket. He moved the gun from the pocket back to under his belt. “Whatever I need to learn about running a pub, I’ll do it.”

“Eh, Gus’ll take care of it,” Aldo said. “Your job is to keep the place clean and make sure everybody behaves. The idea is not to make too many conspicuous changes.”

“Right.”

Aldo raised an eyebrow. “I can tell you this, though. First item of business, we’re scraping off that fucking rainbow sticker. Like hell are we gonna run some gay bar, eh?”

He chortled and punched Gio’s shoulder. Gio laughed along, his stomach churning.

* * * *

“The owner’s sick. That’s why they’re closed.”

Conor pushed back from the pub’s door at the sound of a deep voice. The approaching figure, tall with broad shoulders hunched due to hands in jacket pockets, approached and paused under the corner lamppost. The pale yellow light illuminated a handsome, long-jawed face and a grin made charming with crooked front teeth. The smile added youth to an otherwise mature posture, but Conor put the dark-haired man at about his age.

He didn’t recognize the man, but figured him for a regular if he knew about Hugh. “I’m sorry to hear it,” Conor said, choosing anonymity for now. Best to keep family business private and prevent unnecessary rumors. He glanced down at the pride flag sticker and traced the stripes. “I hoped to have a drink.”

“You’re not from here.”

Conor looked the man’s way. He’d come closer, with stealth, and widened his amber-gold eyes in appraisal. His ears stuck out from his shaggy dark hair, and when he tilted his head back, Conor noted the plush lower lip jutting forward. In a different context, it might have come as an invitation for a kiss.

This man seemed to have no problem getting into Conor’s personal space, but Conor acknowledged the neighborhood’s history. He’d grown up among Irish and Italian families with statues of saints visible in windows. Progressiveness usually amounted to lip service. This man grew up here, too, he guessed.Bit warm for a jacket, Conor observed, but he attributed that to some eccentricity.

“Your accent,” the man said in clarification. “Irish?”

“Dublin. I’m in town for a little while…on business.”

The man nodded. “Everybody has business here.” He noticed the pride flag sticker, too, then panned his gaze back to Conor’s face as though doing the math in his head. “You won’t find another place like Lonnegan’s in this neighborhood, though.” He then added, at a lower volume, “JT’s on the River, just over the bridge. You ever hear of it?”

JT’s wasn’t the only gay bar in the city, but it was the closest to the Malloys’, so of course Conor was familiar with the establishment. Site of his first same-sex kiss, and later blow job—on the receiving end. Conor played it cool. “Is it nice?”

“I’m headed there myself. I’m Joe.” Joe put out his right hand to shake while aiming his left, holding a key fob, to unlock the car parked out front.

Conor smiled back. “Joe. Conor. Good to meet you.”

“I like the way you talk,” Joe told him. “You don’t hear many accents around here anymore, not like when I was younger.” He gestured toward a row of brownstones. “The people buying these homes now aren’t like my parents and their friends, the first generation Americans who broughttheirparents from the old countries to live with them. That way of life faded quickly.”

“I can imagine.” Being first-generation American in his family, Conor knew it. Of course, his decision to move to the old country came of his own volition, and unless he hired a surrogate, the line stopped with him. One could argue he hadn’t helped the neighborhood in that respect. “Maybe change is good, though, but it’s not really for me to say.”

“Maybe.” Joe looked at him with heavy-lidded eyes and a sleepy smile. He turned the key fob in his hand, flicking his gaze at it as though contemplating an offer of a ride to JT’s. Tempting, but the age-old warning of getting into cars with strangers, in his mother’s gentle voice, rang in Conor’s ears.

To discourage the gesture, Conor backed away a few steps and pivoted in the direction of his parents’ house. “Well, if I decide to head that way,maybeI’ll see you there,” he said.

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