IV.

Between court sessions, I managed to make it by the bar to drop a few more soldiers. The defense was limp. It was a grim picture for Hembeck. He figured any mention of the Harper Cox family would mark him as meat on the street before the sentence was handed over. So, he sucked it up and folded like a dinner napkin. A stripped badge and a pair of handcuffs bent his spine to jelly and wired his jaw shut.

Brooding over a lagoon of whiskey, I felt a chuckle on the back of my neck before I heard it.

“Toots! More of the same. And I’m payin’ Drake’s here.” The Janitor rested his elbow on the bar and leaned into vision. Thumbing the porkpie back past his temples, he flashed that weird smile. “Got to hand it to you, Drake. With pants like that, you could score in my racket.”

I drained my glass and shook my head. “You’re untouchable. I’m not. Besides, I kept the gun low. I didn’t take our man all the way.”

He sniffed scotch. “Yeah, but you might as well have. In fact, this is probably better. He logs time in the big house, I keep my reputation.” A beat passed as he focused on the mirror behind the bar, waiting for me to keep mum. “Right, Drake? …Untouchable?”

We both knew it was more of a threat than a question.

My turn to chuckle. “The roses stink for you, pal…but I’m not gonna pass the bouquet around. Just return the favor, will ya? Next time some mug frames me, cut me some room. I’m not built to weather this kind of treatment.”

A quick hand slid my next whiskey over, and the Janitor laid a familiar c-note on top of it. He shelved his scotch, yanking the porkpie back over his brow as he spun to exit. The smile never left his lips.

“This city was built on money, Drake. Not promises.”

He was right, of course. And I was drunk. Face it: Life is one ugly dime. The best you can hope for is a pocket to hide it in. My thoughts drifted to south of the border, where a dime went a long way, and life was a safer secret because of it.

I looked forward to the hangover.