Page 9 of The Associate

“You know this used to be a seafood restaurant? It was back before I was born, but my grandparents used to come here.” Joe stretched out his arm. “This was all outdoor seating, and people would come up in their boats and anchor them here,” he said, indicating the moorings beneath the deck. “They said if you paid extra, the servers would bring the food out to you. Cloches, cloth napkins, the whole bit.”

“Nice.” Conor knew the lore from his own parents, but the notion of playing new-in-town tourist appealed to him. He saw no point in unloading his woes on a handsome new friend, and perhaps in some way his father would have championed the act. He’d hang on Joe’s every word and stroke his ego.This one’s for you, Da.“I take it you’re a native.”

Joe puffed up his chest. “Born and bred. I went to St. Paul’s High School, not far from where I saw you at Lonnegan’s. As you can see, it didn’t rub off on me much.” He gestured to the large rainbow flag tacked to the building’s exterior.

“Well, you’re in good company,” Conor said. Interesting. He’d attended the same school, and Joe looked to be close to his age. He’d have remembered such a handsome fellow loping through the hallways, but Joe’s face didn’t trigger such memories. Then again, Conor had gone up through the honors and college prep tracks, so they might not have crossed paths anyway. “Did you attend university here, too?”

“Nah.” Joe snorted, and tipped back his bottle. “I barely got out of high school. I was never meant for academia.”

That answered that.

“What brings you to town, Conor?” Joe leaned on the railing, crossing his legs at the ankles. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

Conor inhaled, fast and sharp. “Well,” he said, drawing out the word to stall. “I had mentioned I’m here to take care of some business.”

“Yeah.” Joe nodded. He left his mouth parted for a beat before adding, “I suppose everybody has some kind of hustle going on.”

“Not quite like that,” Conor said.My father is dying.“I work for an independent film company in Dublin as a locations manager.” At present, using up all his rolled-over leave. If his da lingered past his allotted paid time off, well, that might be good if Hugh took a turn for the better. If not, Plan B, as soon as Conor thought of one.

Joe blinked, an exaggerated reaction that suggested interest and required further explanation. “Cool, so you’re like on a film crew.”

“One way of putting it.” Conor set his half-full bottle on the railing. “I scout locations for our company’s productions, film and television,” he said. “That’s the short version of my job description, though there’s quite a bit involved in the process. Researching potential villages and buildings for accuracy, helping to secure permits, scheduling shoots.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Joe asked. “Doing recon for a new movie?”

Conor put both hands behind his back, crossing his fingers.I have to sell my father’s legacy.“A limited series, actually. A family saga that spans decades between Ireland and the States. The scenes in the present would play out here.”The story of my life.Conor met Joe’s gaze and tried for sincerity in his expression. He hoped Joe bought the fib.

“I’ll be honest, it sounds interesting but probably not something I’d follow.” Joe left his empty bottle next to Conor’s and drifted back a few steps. “I don’t spend a lot of time watching shows, or movies. I like sports.”

“Quite all right,” Conor said. “I prefer comedies myself. This project is rather heavy.” His taste for beer fading, he picked up on Joe’s cues and they began to stroll the length of the deck. “As it is, many of our productions aren’t distributed to this side of the globe, so if you want to watch them you’ll need a VPN and access to whichever channel in Ireland or the U.K. airs it.”

“Forget it then, sorry. That’s too complicated.”

A peaceful silence settled between them for a few beats. In his head, Conor thanked his da for pressing him to go out tonight. This brief respite injected him with much-needed serotonin, something missing from his life even before his father’s health issues had spiked. Dublin offered a vibrant gay scene, yes, but Conor kept to himself most of the time. At thirty, he could claim two serious relationships, the last one having ended five years ago. He remained friends with both men, had even attended the wedding of one, but these days he preferred to dodge romantic commitments in favor of the occasional shag.

Joe, for example, made for a prime sexual fling candidate. He carried on a conversation well, was gorgeous as sin and, looking at how his jeans fit, possessed a nice ass. Despite the stress of the past few days, Conor liked to remind himself that he was a man with healthy urges. One such need, to have Joe grasp him at the waist, occupied his foremost thoughts as he contemplated asking the man if he wanted to go back inside and dance.

Instead, what came out was, “What do you do for a living, Joe?”

What indeed?

I run with the mob.He could open with that line, and odds were Conor would laugh off the supposed joke and insist upon a genuine answer to this question. Gio had been tempted more than once to try it, but in this city one never knew who was lurking around the corner or in a group of men at one end of a deck behind the city’s best known gay bar. Don Salvatore himself hinted at good things to come for Gio within the family, and he wasn’t about to toss it away on a goofy remark.

He kept a story prepared for whenever he met somebody who wasn’t connected. Introducing himself as Joe instead of Gio played a small part in that it added to his anonymity. Call it acting. Maybe if he ever got to Ireland, he’d look up Conor’s film company and audition. “I’m a warehouse foreman,” he said. He built his legitimate persona off various interests operated by the San Gaetanos. “I started out in high school, working summers for one of the distribution centers out by the airport. Stayed out of trouble, got promoted. I do all right.”

“Good for you.”

“Yeah.” Gio shrugged. He spotted a couple of well-dressed men coming out the deck to smoke. Lawyers, maybe, or accountants. JT’s catered to an extensive clientele, from gig economy hustlers to doctors and executives. Gio thought himself neither better nor worse than anybody here but, in Conor’s presence, he suffered a fleeting moment of insecurity. They locked gazes for a moment, and Gio faltered as he studied Conor’s pale irises. Not quite blue, not quite green. Somewhere, a box of sixty-four crayons had the right word to describe them.

“Anyway,” he added, “it’s not as glamorous as scouting film locations.”

Conor stepped closer. “It’s honest work, though. Nothing to be ashamed about. And being a foreman means you’re in charge, yes? I don’t necessarily supervise people in my line of work.”

Honest, heh.Gio harbored no guilt as a Mafia associate. He’d known from day one how the family operated, and what consequences awaited him if he stepped out of line. Tonight’s dinner with the don and his capo, though, assuaged any worries for now.

“I may be changing careers soon,” Gio said. “A contact tipped me off to an investment opportunity in which I’d have managerial control, and I’m considering it.” A partial truth, and Gio wasn’t certain why he mentioned it. Scratch that. What he knew of Conor Still No Last Name, he liked. If this encounter led to a fling, he at least wanted Conor flying back to Dublin impressed by the burgeoning entrepreneur he laid. His smarts as well as his body.

They drifted back toward the door leading into the club. “Will it pay more than the warehouse? If so, congratulations if it pans out.”

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