The three of them, sensing that Henry didn’t have anything else to say, turned and headed down the alley. Henry picked up his hat, which had fallen off when he landed the first punch, and noticed the pack of Luckys on the ground. “Hey, you dropped something…”
They all turned around. Henry tossed the pack to the tall one. Henry looked at them, and lowered his voice. “I may have been a bit hard on you fellas. How about I buy a beer, or maybe two?”
They looked at each other; the chubby one sort of shrugged his shoulders. “I could use a beer.”
The weasel cracked his neck. “Yep, I could use a cold one, too…for my eye.”
Henry laughed and led the three young men out of the alley. They crossed the street and went into a seedy bar. The place was empty, and smelled of stale beer and memories erased, one shot at a time. The bartender, reading the Wall Street Journal, set it down on the bar. “How can I help you fellas?”
“Hey Mack, could I get a pitcher of Old Style and four glasses?”
The leather jackets nodded. The chubby and unscathed one smiled.
Henry grabbed the pitcher and glasses. They went to a table near the back. The tall one spun the chair around, getting some of his swagger back, and sat down.
“Let’s start off with a proper introduction. My name is Henry Wood, and who are my three shadows?”
The chubby one, pouring and handing out the beers, said “Everyone except my mom calls me Pig.”
“What does she call you?”
“Mostly Lawrence, unless she is sore at me…then it varies.”
“Pleased to meet you, Lawrence.”
The other two chuckled. “I’m Stan, just Stan,” said the tall one, as he started tapping the pack of Lucky Strikes on the table.
“Stan, sorry about the cheap shot back there,” Henry said with a nod.
“It’s okay. You hit real good for…” Stan paused.
“…for an old man. Thanks,” Henry said, finishing Stan’s sentence.
The tension from the whooping was gone. “They call me Fish, though my name is Francis. I prefer Fish.”
Stan lit up a smoke. Fish bummed one and lit it too. He held it between his middle two fingers, cupping his hand around his mouth as he took the drags. He thought he looked cool. Actually, he did. Stan offered one to Henry, who accepted.
“I used to smoke these. Haven’t in a while.”
“Why’d you quit?”
“I don’t remember, just did. You smoke, Lawrence?”
“Not really. The guys give me a hard time about it.”
“Why you two give Lawrence a hard time about smoking? Why does it matter?”
Stan patted Lawrence on the back. “Ah, it’s nothing, we just kid around with him. If it wasn’t the smoking, it'd be something else.”
Henry looked at Lawrence, who sort of nodded and shrugged.
“Hey, I am sorry about how things went back there. You caught me on a bad day. Can I ask you something?”
The three of them had warmed up to Henry and were enjoying the free beer. “Sure old man, er, Henry. Sorry.”
“You can call me old man, I really don’t care.” Henry actually liked the sound of it. “Why did Father Patrick tell you to follow me?”
They all looked at each other, then Stan said, “We didn’t ask. He has us keep an eye on the neighborhood. We mostly watch for some fat guy, and let him know when he goes to the art gallery.”
“You keep an eye on a guy a few night’s back, about my size?” Henry didn’t think these guys had killed Mickey, they didn’t have it in them, but he wanted to see their reaction. They all waved their heads no.
Lawrence asked, “What do you do, mister?”
“I am a private detective.”
All three of them were impressed. Lawrence said eagerly, “Is that how you learned to fight?”
“No, that was a long time ago, a different time in my life.”
Now they were all in awe of Henry. They talked for another hour or so and put away a second pitcher. Henry had won them over, and they promised to not let the father know, though they didn’t understand why.
Henry left the bar and hailed a cab. Across the street, smoking and reading the paper, dressed in business attire, Arthur watched Henry leave. When the cab was out of sight, he went to a pay phone and called his boss Andre Garneau.
“Boss, I did as you instructed. I tailed you all day to see if anyone suspicious was watching you. It may be nothing, but there was someone. I noticed him at the gallery and then at the church. While you were in with the padre, he left, and a few of Father Patrick’s boys were following him.”
“That is interesting. Find out who he is. Well done, Arthur. See you tomorrow at breakfast.”