Ramsay(47)

Brogan shook his head. "You wouldn't want to be anywhere near this place, trust me."

"I'll stay in the car. But I'm coming." Brogan considered me for a second, but then nodded his okay.

Ten minutes later, we were pulling up in front of a crumbling,  three-story brick building. I leaned toward the backseat window, looking  up at the structure as Brogan and Fionn got out, telling me they'd be  back in twenty minutes, Brogan locking the doors with his key fob.

Although the street was nice, with lots of old, large trees, the building in front of me was a definite eyesore.

I sat in the car for several minutes, watching two boys kicking a ball  on a patch of brown grass. I glanced up at the building one more time.

Overcome with curiosity, I got out, walking quickly to the door I'd  watched Brogan and Fionn enter, wrinkling my nose when I stepped into  the lobby. It reeked of trash and something dead. I hoped whatever had  died was of the animal variety.

Stepping through the debris, I climbed the stairs, following the raised  voices. I stayed hidden around a corner for a minute listening to the  conversation.

I heard Brogan say, "Mr. Dudley, we've catalogued a hundred and fifty  housing code violations in this building. Frankly, I hardly want to  waste the finances or the energy bringing a lawsuit against you, but  there are seven women and thirteen children living here who deserve  better than the fucking, dirty shithole you're providing for them. And  unlike your tenants, I have the means to do something about it."

"Now listen here, boy," an older voice spat out. I peeked out from  behind the corner and caught the old man's eye, and pulled myself back  against the wall, my heart pounding. Damn! "Who's that?" I heard him  demand.

Biting my lip, I pulled my ball cap off, quickly scrubbed at the  mustache I'd drawn on with eyeliner that morning and unbuttoned the top  two buttons of my shirt, un-tucking it and tying it at the side of my  waist. I took a deep breath, fluffed my hair and stepped out from around  the corner, smiling brightly. Brogan was walking toward me and when I  shot him a smile, his forehead creased right before his eyes widened.

"Oh, hi, sorry I'm late," I sing-songed. Brogan frowned, and I stepped  around him, reaching my hand out to Mr. Dudley. "Mr. Dudley?"

"Uh . . ." said the tubby old man with the greasy, white hair sticking  in every direction from his head and every other orifice I could see. He  looked at me, to Fionn and then back to me. I glanced around him into  the dirty garbage pit he referred to as his apartment and tried not to  grimace at the smell wafting out. My eyes caught on a bookshelf near the  door-a bookshelf featuring a folded American flag in a small glass  holder and several medals and plaques. I squinted my eyes, reading the  inscriptions quickly. When I looked back to Mr. Dudley, he was trying to  look down my shirt.

"Mr. Rudy Dudley, former US Marine, recipient of the Silver Star?"

He puffed up, standing taller, looking at me more closely. "That's right. How'd you know that?"

I pointed behind him to his bookshelf, smiling and cocking one hip out.  "The Silver Star," I said, putting one finger up to my lips and  puckering up as I tapped them. "That's for gallantry in action, right?  Why, Mr. Molloy, Mr. Ramsay, we're dealing with a bona fide hero right  here. You boys hardly need to threaten him with doing the right thing.  Doing the right thing is in his blood." I sighed. "Mr. Dudley, you have  no idea what an honor it is to meet you. There are so few real men  nowadays, don't you agree?"

Mr. Dudley straightened even further, smoothing his wrinkled wife beater  down his paunchy stomach and flicking something dried and crusty at the  hem. "Uh . . . yeah. Yeah! You're right, young lady. In my day, heroes  were respected." He shook his head. "Not anymore." He shot a glare to  Brogan and Fionn who were watching our exchange with blank looks on  their faces.

"Well, I respect your service to our country, your bravery, and I admire  the fact that you want to provide safe and secure living conditions for  the women residing here-the women who are counting on you to be the  hero they need. But, Mr. Dudley, I understand it's an overwhelming job  and perhaps you've hesitated while trying to come up with the most  strategic plan for making the fixes and repairs necessary. Am I right?"                       
       
           



       

"Uh . . . strategy . . . yeah. That's right. If you're not strategic,  it'll all go to hell. Every last bit of it!" he yelled, looking off  behind me as if expecting someone else to appear.

I nodded sympathetically as his eyes moved back to me. "You're so right.  Again, Mr. Dudley, the sound thinking I'd only expect from a war hero  such as yourself. Here's what I propose: if I can get your guarantee  that you'll fund the cleanup project and hire the professionals  necessary, I'll send a crew made up of Mr. Ramsay's employees, free of  charge of course, to get rid of the garbage and debris littering the uh .  . . grounds and main foyer of this property."

Mr. Dudley nodded. "Main foyer, right." He narrowed his eyes, and tilted his head, considering me.

"You've got a deal, Miss . . ."

"De Havilland. Lydia De Havilland." I grinned. "Mr. Dudley, you're a gentleman and a patriot."

Mr. Dudley, shockingly, grinned back, showing me a mouthful of crooked,  nicotine-stained teeth. "Miss De Havilland, will you be by to check on  the progress?"

I hesitated. "Uh, absolutely. Of course."

"I will see you then." Again, he smoothed his shirt, licked his palm,  and reached up, attempting to tame his wild hair. Well, that was gross.  And anyway, it was a useless effort-his hair remained looking like one  of those freaky troll dolls. And how I wished he had not just raised his  arm higher than his shoulder.

He turned to Brogan who was standing there with a look that was  simultaneously baffled and disgusted. "Mr. Ramsay, I'll go inside right  now and start setting up the appointments to make the fixes you outlined  in your letter. Good day." He nodded to both men, smiled at me again,  and closed his door. I heard him whistling from the other side.

I rubbed my hands together, turning from the door and walking back to  the stairs. "Are you coming, boys?" I called to Brogan and Fionn. "Or  are you both going to stand there looking gammy?" I heard Fionn's deep  laughter as I headed down the stairs and grinned to myself.



**********



Happy hour at the bar named The Black Dragon Tavern was already shaping  up to be quite the party. Brogan, Fionn, and I snagged one of the last  booths, Fionn raising his voice to place our order with the waitress  over the hubbub. "I took the liberty of orderin' for ya, Lydia. Ya gotta  drink like the true Irishwoman ya are if we're celebratin' ya joinin'  our company today."

Brogan nodded. "As an office assistant. Temporary."

"I much prefer working in the field," I insisted.

"Not when the "field" is a rat-filled, asbestos-poisoned slum," Brogan grumbled.

"I don't know, mo chara, I think Lydia proved the field is exactly where her specific talents are needed, shur ya know like."

"We would have achieved the same result eventually," Brogan said.

"Aye, in donkey's years. We were shapin' up to make a balls of it first," Fionn said.

"Would you have preferred to spend money and time on a court case?" I  asked. "Sure, you could have crushed him eventually. But Mr. Dudley just  needed his ego stroked a bit by a female. You men seem to find that  very convincing."

"The lady is right," Fionn said. "Us lads do like to be stroked. I can't  deny it." He winked and I rolled my eyes. "Now," he went on, "like  Lydia said, we can apply the funds we were plannin' on usin' to convince  Mr. Dudley to do the right thing elsewhere, like."

The waitress delivered tall glasses of thick-looking black liquid I assumed was Guinness.

Fionn raised his glass. "To Lydia, and to a bleedin' deadly day in the  field. Fair play to ya. Sláinte." He grinned and took a long drink. I  followed suit, taking a mouthful of the strong beer, blinking and giving  my head a small shake once I'd swallowed it down.

"Well, that'll put hair on your chest," I said, my eyes watering.

"Let's hope not," Brogan muttered. "I like your chest just the way it is." I laughed, nudging him.

Brogan seemed to spot someone at the bar and started to stand. "Hey, I need to go say hi to someone. I'll be right back."

"Oh okay," I said. He got up and I watched as he wove through the crowd,  women looking back over their shoulders at him as he moved by. Though I  bristled slightly with jealousy, I didn't blame them. And on top of the  jealousy, I felt a strong surge of pride. I was going home with him  tonight.