hundred ways to finish that sentence. Instead of bothering, Jack gave the man an easy smile. “Listen, you know a man named von Briesen? German fellow.” Justine slipped the paper sketch through the bars.
“No.” Mac passed the paper back. “Sorry.”
“We’ll go upstairs to ask the women next, if that’s all right.”
“Sure.” Mac pointed. “Polly’s the woman in charge. Through that door there.”
Jack started toward the door Mac had indicated—only to realize Justine wasn’t with him. Instead, she was glued to the action in the betting room. Boys carried slips of paper back and forth from the screen in the corner to the wall. These were the race results, which were then written on the board. Minimum bets here were cheap, not like Jack’s rooms, which made the World more affordable for the average Bowery resident.
“Do you own many poolrooms?” she asked.
He actually ran a syndicate of eighteen poolrooms throughout downtown and up to Twenty-Third Street. It was a lucrative business. “I do, yes.”
“Are they like this?”
“Mine are a bit fancier.” A Mulligan poolroom was carpeted, with free drinks and a buffet dinner. That attracted a higher, wealthier clientele, one that tended to stay a good long while. And that meant more money. “Have you ever bet on the races before?”
“I haven’t. That’s more Florence’s tastes than mine.”
“How do you know if you’ve never tried it?”
She lifted a delicate shoulder. “I fail to see the appeal. So, a horse comes in first, second or third. What is the fuss?”
Jack lifted a hand and beckoned one of the young boys. He withdrew five dollars. “The lady wishes to place a bet in the next race.” Addressing Justine, he pointed to the board. Bets were being taken for the fifth race at Sheepshead Bay. “Pick a horse.”
“Do we really have time for this?”
“There’s as much time as you need. Choose a horse.”
“Number three. It’s my favorite number.”
The boy wrote on a small slip of paper then handed the betting receipt to Justine. “Race is being called in a few minutes.”
She continued to watch the crowd, so Jack cast a surreptitious glance over his shoulder and caught the eye of the bouncer behind the counter. He dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the wood then held up three fingers behind Justine’s back, his brows raised meaningfully. The bouncer accepted the money and stepped out from behind the counter, hurrying toward the screen in the corner.
“Did you meet with the owner of the shirtwaist factory on Rivington?”
Jack’s mouth hitched. Meet was certainly an interesting term for his interaction with Mr. Bay. “So, you went back.”
“I did. Detective Ellison and I were surprised by the fresh air and unlocked doors. The women were laughing and smiling. Quite a difference.”
Good. As long as Mr. Bay stuck to the agreement then Jack wouldn’t need to return. “I am pleased to hear it.”
“I don’t understand. It usually takes Ellison two or three visits, showing his badge and making threats, to get a result. And yet you managed it in one.”
“Haven’t you learned by now who really has all the power in this city?”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that I am the man who gets things done in New York.” Not a boast. Just a fact. He’d worked damn hard for it, too.
“Did you hit him?”
“No.” It was true. Jack hadn’t hit Bay. Generally, he didn’t like to get blood on his suit if it could be avoided.
“Did someone else hit him, then?”
“Mon ange, don’t ask how the soup is made if you like the way it tastes. Just enjoy it.”
She let out a huff of breath. “That is a ridiculous answer. There would be no recipe books if that were true.”
“It’s an analogy. Relax, do not worry about Mr. Bay. Think of the happy workers who won’t perish should a fire start on that floor.”
“That is a grim thought.”
“Life is grim. You should know that by now, considering all you’ve witnessed.”
“Betting for the fifth is closed!” the man at the board shouted. This meant the race was about to start.
“About upstairs,” he started. “Would you rather I went up alone and asked—?”
“Do not insult me.” Her head whipped toward him, her brows pulled low. “I am not afraid to meet with these women. It won’t be the first time—or the last.”
There was the backbone. So angelic and fierce at the same time. He cleared his throat and tried not to drool. “Again, does your brother-in-law know what you’re up to?”
She waved her hand. “We are wasting time. Let’s go speak