Chapter Twenty-one: Danny

Around eleven that night, Archie Dee, as squirrelly as ever, bounced into the club, glanced around, and came right in my direction at the edge of the stage. He shouted to be heard over the blaring speakers.

“Hey, Danny, how’s it hangin’?”

“Good, Arch, you?”

“Ain’t complainin’.” He rocked on his feet. “Saw you with Hannah today.”

I shifted my glance from the dancer on stage to him, my antenna up. “Oh, and where was that?”

“Uptown a bit.”

Jesus.

He leaned forward, preparing to whisper but then realized he still needed to shout. “Not a smart move, Danny. She’s off-limits.”

“She’s an adult, Arch. Don’t see where what she does is anyone’s business but her own.”

Archie laughed. “Sure, sure, Danny, you just keep on believin’ that.”

He gave Brittany a little wave and headed across the room. Something snagged his attention, and he paused at the doorway. His glance shifted between a man in the corner and me, and I got a bad feeling. The man was Stan. Archie was talking to him. Fuck.

I mouthed, “Piss break,” to Dougie and strolled toward the restrooms. My heart beat louder than the drum through the speakers.

Archie and Stan were chatting it out like old buds. Archie. turned to me when I approached. “Hey, Danny, come here. Small world, right? You guys know each other?”

I gave Stan a cursory glance, and Stan did the same.

“Don’t think so,” I said. Stan shook his head.

“Well, if this ain’t fuckin’ funny,” Archie said.

“What’s funny?” I asked, dreading the answer, though also curious about how Archie viewed the world.

“’Because he was in the pool hall the night of the fight. You were there. I was there. And now look,”—he spread his arms— “here we are in another fucking place, together like old pals.”

“I see a lot of fights,” Stan said. “Which pool hall was that?” He put a little slur into his words, but I knew Stan. He could drink a gallon of liquor and hold his shit together. It was the reason he was hired for assignments like this.

“Rack ’Em Up,” Archie said. “Don’t you remember? My pal Danny here drove Otto’s head into the jukebox like a bowling ball.”

Stan narrowed his eyes. He knew I’d stuck around too long too. “Sure. I remember. Been there lots of times. Not a fan of Otto’s. He got what he deserved.”

“We’re all in agreement with that?” Archie said with a stupid grin. “But, hey, guess we all have the same interests.” Once again, I waited with dread for words to tumble from his mouth. He smiled brightly. “Pool and pussy, right?”

“Sure,” Stan said with a nod. “Pool and pussy.” He lifted his glass. “And drinking. Want one?”

Archie lifted his good hand in a pass gesture. “Can’t. Got a big meeting.” He glanced at the glass of Crown Royal in Stan’s hand. “After, though, sure. That’d be great.”

I waited until Archie went through the door into the hallway. I spared one glance toward Stan, who had turned his attention back to Brittany as the song ended.

I walked into the john to the tune of Livin’ on a Prayer.

I usually didn’t believe in destiny, in fate, in any luck I didn’t create for myself. Life was a series of events, and I usually felt in control, even under cover. Archie was a wild card. Would he view this as a chance coincidence, or did he actually have enough brainpower to add a few numbers and get the right result?

I got my answer when Dougie’s two-way squawked around midnight. He told me to head to Richie’s office.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

When I stepped over the threshold, I felt as though I’d been dropped into a remake of The Usual Suspects. The gang was all here.

Butch, the one-trick pony, was performing his usual stunt of holding up the wall. The four bruisers I’d encountered throughout the last few days sprawled on the sofa and chairs, and Richie held court from behind that massive mahogany desk, the king of all he surveyed. Archie Dee darted around the room, passing out bottles of beer like we were all friends having a barbecue.

My eyes caught Richie’s. Unlike Archie, Richie didn’t wear his enthusiasm on his sleeve. Those dark eyes just peered into mine like he was trying to read my deepest thoughts. I practically felt him prodding through my recent memories—hooking up with Archie at the pool hall, my afternoon with Hannah, my phone calls with my father, the office on South Wabash, and finally talking with Stan tonight.

As I took a beer from Archie’s hand, he flashed me a smile. “I was telling Richie about Rack ’Em Up.” Archie shook his head. “What a coincidence, huh?”

My throat dried up. I drained half the bottle in a gulp. Jesus fucking Christ.

“I also told him how nice it was you offered Hannah a ride today. You know, because you saw her uptown and all.”

What a fucking nightmare. I drained the rest of the bottle.

“Sit, O’Shea,” Richie barked. “I want you in on this.” He paused and gave me a hard glance. “If you think you’re man enough for a challenge.”

“Don’t worry about me. I can handle myself.” I found the only empty seat and sat.

Richie sat forward in his seat. “I have a few things to go over before tomorrow.”