Page 4 of Mob Knight

“You made it sound like you’re a social worker or something when you said he knows how you feel about situations like this and that you’d call his grandmother.”

“I am. I’ve been assigned to this neighborhood for the past five years. I told you my name. Now you tell me yours.”

“I’m Cormac O’Rourke. It’s nice to meet you.”

Chapter Two

Cormac

I stare at the irritated woman before me, and I don’t know what to make of her. Part of me thinks she’s the most foolish woman I’ve ever met, and part of me thinks she’s braver than most men I know all put together. She looks at my hand when I reach out to shake hers. She hesitates, but when she lifts her arm to take my hand, I watch her wince.

“What’s the matter?” Maybe I could have sounded nicer than that, a little less demanding.

“It’s nothing.”

“People don’t flinch when it’s nothing.

“I banged my shoulder a little, and my elbow’s a bit sore.”

I don’t ask for permission when I reach out and tenderly touch her arm. I look at her elbow, and it’s obvious she’s injured.

“You need to have this looked at.”

I feel badly because I already know the only thing that went wrong for me is I tore the sleeve of my suit coat at the shoulder. My back is already broad, and the coat pulled too tight across it while we fell, but this could be serious for her.

“No, I’m fine. Like I said, I have other appointments today.”

“They can wait. You’re obviously hurt. If you don’t get this looked at today, then you’re going to end up being out of work for more than just an afternoon.”

“I told you, I’m fine.”

“Are you always this stubborn?”

“Yes.” Her answer is decisive, and it makes me chuckle.

“At least you’re honest.”

She jerks her chin toward the bodega. “You need to deal with whatever that’s about.”

“You need to deal with your arm. I’m not leaving until you do.”

“Are you always this bossy?”

“Yes.”

Her chuckle matches mine. “At least you’re honest, too.”

There aren’t many people or many times someone would say that about a mobster. I’m the least honest person most people could meet, unless they’re talking to some other syndicate man. I lie for a living. At least that’s what it feels like. It’s more like I lie for survival.

We stand, staring at each other at an impasse. I let go of her arm as gently as I can, but she winces again.

“You are going to see a doctor about that.”

She glares at me, and I can tell she doesn’t appreciate the finality in my tone. But I’m not giving in to her. She’s about to meet her match in stubbornness.

“I’m not leaving here until you promise to see a doctor. And if I don’t believe you, then I’ll take you to the emergency room myself.”

“I’m not wasting time with something they’re probably going to say is just nursemaid’s elbow and that it’ll heal on its own. I just shouldn’t use that arm very much. Fortunately, I’m left-handed.”

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