Page 76 of If Looks Could Kill
Mr. Michael O’Keeffe, Senior, locked the door, drew the blind, then blew out the front lamps in the taproom at O’Flynn’s. By the dim interior light, he began washing the bar and tables. This was usually Mike’s job, and the older man’s feet were tired from a day’s work.
It was past midnight, and it surprised him that his nephew hadn’t returned home. He was out with that new girl of his, of course, but it was a Monday night, and Mike had already asked his aunt and uncle if she might sleep over one more night. They ought to be back by now.
Sleeping over. What a world. Still, she seemed like a proper and genteel sort of girl, if an outspoken one. Maggie liked her, that was plain, and she ought to know, where young ladies were concerned.
A knock rattled the glass pane of the door.
He sighed and dropped his wet rag into a bucket, then poked the day’s cash from the till into the iron safe under the bar.
He checked that his pistol was in his pocket.
It wouldn’t be the first time someone had attempted an after-hours holdup, if that was what it was.
The knocking continued insistently, so the proprietor of O’Flynn’s made his way to the door before this clown could wake his wife.
“We’re closed,” he called through the glass.
“Mr. O’Keeffe,” a voice called. “It’s me. Ron.”
He pulled back the blind. Sure enough, there was bald Ronnie, a faithful patron, squinting through the frosty glass.
Mr. O’Keeffe opened the door. “Come in, Ron,” he said. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s Mike,” Ronnie said breathlessly.
Michael O’Keeffe felt a tightness clench in his chest.
“What about him?” he asked quietly.
“I was standing on the corner just now, see, having a smoke, and don’t I see Mike strolling along with that girl, you know, easy as you please—”
“How long ago?”
Ronnie’s eyes were wide. “Not five minutes. I came straight here.”
Good. That was good.
“What happened?”
Ronnie took a deep breath. “So I’m watching him, just for kicks, having a smoke, like I said, when all of a sudden, out of a door pops these two coppers. They’d been in that old rag-and-bone shop, Smitty’s I think they called it? The one on the corner that’s been closed awhile?”
Michael nodded, holding his breath.
“One of the cops is that Jimmy fella, you know the one? He comes in here sometimes?”
Michael nodded again, gritting his teeth. Ron required an active audience.
“The other one I never seen before,” Ron went on. “But Jimmy put Mike in cuffs and hauled him away.”
Mr. O’Keeffe felt himself dilate with relief, then indignation, a far more welcome guest.
“Was there a brawl?” he asked. “Did Mike get himself into a fight?”
Ron thrust out his lower lip. “None that I saw,” he said. “Mike seemed caught off guard. Hot under the collar about it.”
Mr. O’Keeffe returned to the bar to collect his coat and keys.
He wished he hadn’t put the money into the safe.
Now he needed it, and he didn’t fancy opening the safe with anyone around, not even harmless Ron.
“Did they say where they were taking him?” he asked, to keep conversation going, though he already knew.
“Don’t think so,” said Ron, “though it would be Mulberry Street, wouldn’t it?”
“You’re probably right.” Mr. O’Keeffe fiddled with his keys.
“You’ll go bail him out, won’t you?” Ronnie babbled.
Mr. O’Keeffe gave him a look.
“?’Course you will,” Ronnie said. “I’ll come with you.”
Yes. That would be best. For now, he needed to distract Ron while he opened the safe. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust him. It was just that he didn’t trust him where safes were concerned.
“You did right, coming here to tell me, Ronnie. Can I pour you a beer?”
“No need,” Ronnie said, “but if you insist, I’ll have a Guinness.”
Mr. O’Keeffe poured him a glass, and while Ron drank, he unlocked the safe discreetly.
That task done, he prepared to leave. “What happened to the girl?” he asked Ron. “After they arrested Mike?”
“Don’t know,” Ron told him. “Suppose she left.”
This saddened Mr. O’Keeffe, but he had other fish to fry. “Stands to reason,” he said. “Come on. Let’s go.”