you get Hatcher to meet me, I’ll get you more donations than your legal aid society could possibly handle.”
“How?”
“Never mind that. Just get Hatcher to see me at the first intermission.”
“No sense in waiting that long. We’ll visit him as soon as the performance starts.”
“Excellent. See how easy that was?”
“So easy you didn’t need to drag my sister-in-law into it.” Frank studied Jack’s face for a long moment. “You haven’t . . .”
The implication was clear. Jack hadn’t defiled the uptown princess, had he? “No. She’s made her feelings on that subject painfully clear. ‘Puddle scum,’ I believe she called me.”
That hadn’t stopped Jack from contemplating said defiling more and more often lately. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d told her she inspired impure thoughts. Currently, his preferred fantasy was her bent over his desk while he took her from behind. When she came, he imagined his little do-gooder screaming his name loud enough to shake the rafters of the club.
Oblivious to Jack’s inner thoughts, Frank appeared relieved by this news. “Good. See that it remains that way. I’d hate to have to shoot you.”
As if he could. “I should return. I promised she’d remain unscathed.”
“There’s very little chance of that. Her reputation will be in tatters. Not to mention what will happen when her father returns from Europe and finds out.”
“I’m hardly scared of Duncan Greene.” There was nothing he could do about Justine’s reputation, though he suspected it wouldn’t suffer as much as she feared. Jack knew one thing about this city: New York loved a spectacle.
And he was prepared to give them one.
“Jesus, Mulligan.” Frank pinched the bridge of his nose. “Next time leave Justine out of it and come see me.”
Who did Tripp think he was talking to? This patronizing speech was starting to offend Jack. “I’m not one of your clients. When I need saving, I’ll let you know.”
“I realize that but . . . the Greenes are good people. They do not deserve to be embarrassed.”
“Stop wringing your hands, Tripp.” Jack stood and crossed to the exit. He was finished with this conversation. “It’s going to be fine.”
Once in the corridor, the two of them returned to the Greene box. Frank pulled back the curtain. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he murmured.
“I always know what I’m doing.” A requirement in Jack’s life—or else he’d end up dead.
The salon was now empty, the family having gathered in the box for the impending performance. Jack could hear the orchestra warming up. It sounded a hell of a lot better than what he was used to at the saloons and dance halls below Fourteenth Street. He wondered if they served beer here.
Frank went into the box first, Jack directly behind. Heads turned but Jack had eyes for only Justine, who looked alarmingly pale. He was instantly at her side, concern burning behind his ribs. Had someone said something to her? Damn Tripp for taking Jack away and leaving her vulnerable.
“Miss Greene.” He leaned in closer to speak in her ear. “Tell me. What is wrong?”
A throat cleared behind him.
He moved beside Justine and turned, partially blocking her. Mrs. Tripp stood there, her expression fierce and angry. “She’s just been snubbed, that’s what. Our neighbors, friends of our family, have both cut Justine for bringing you here tonight.” She gestured to the box on the right, where Justine’s grandmother was currently speaking to an older couple.
“Mamie,” Justine started, but her sister would not back down, apparently.
“No, Justine. He must know. Whatever his reason for attending, he must be made aware of the consequences.”
Jack slipped his hands in his trouser pockets, unmoved. “If you expect me to lose sleep over those with small minds and hateful hearts, you’ll be sorely disappointed.”
“Exactly,” Justine said. “No one cares, Mamie. Society doesn’t matter in the real world.”
“Perhaps not to you,” Mamie snapped. “However, it matters to Granny and our parents. It matters to me, if only for tonight’s fundraiser.”
“You’ll have your donations,” Jack said. “I promise.”
“I hope you are right,” Frank put in. “Because we need the money.”
Jack nodded once. “I’m never wrong, not when it comes to money. Now, shall we all sit?”
“Are you really the man who runs downtown’s criminal syndicate?”
Jack turned toward the sound of the voice, Justine’s grandmother. She had finished with the neighbors, who obviously gave her an earful, and returned to the Greene family.
He saw no reason to lie. “Yes, I am.”
Instead of revulsion, she looked at him with fascination. “Is that so? I