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Connor has been throwing around more resources than I would like, trying to discover where Jack’s new base is. I figured Connor would tire himself out eventually, but there were a few times I thought about stepping in. Especially hearing the men beginning to complain behind his back.
But it’s not my business and not my job to keep Connor in check. He made that very clear the other day. I’m the funding, he’s the face, and that way we both accomplish our goals.
At least, the goals I had when we cut that deal.
I scroll through my phone, glancing at the last messages we sent each other. I haven’t heard from him since the start of my impromptu “sabbatical.” It’s not that I miss him, he could be one annoying son-of-a-bitch when he wants to be. But there’s something about the routine and the way he works that makes me feel like I’m contributing to something bigger than just me.
I guess that’s why he naturally fell into the leadership role, whereas I… well, faded into the background. As usual. I shouldn’t be surprised he got so angry when I questioned him; it’s not like I’ve ever held him accountable before.
Before I think too hard about it, I type him a message.
ARNIE: Bored now. Any updates?
I’m still staring at my phone, waiting for a response, when a man slips into the booth seat opposite me.
It’s been a few weeks since I last saw him, but the difference is marked. His usually well-kept hair has started to grow out, there’s an ease to the way he leans back in his chair, and the black and bloody bruises across his face have dulled to a yellow-green.
“Arnold Knight.” Jack casually swipes up the second bottle of beer and takes a sip. “Surprised you called.”
“Surprised you came,” I shoot back. “Coming out of hiding for little old me.”
“It’s nice to come up for air every once in a while,” he replies with a shrug.
I smile. “So you’re underground, are you?”
Jack smirks back, neither confirming nor denying the assumption. “How can I help you, Arnie?”
“What makes you think I didn’t just want the pleasure of your company?”
“I suppose that does check out,” Jack concedes nonchalantly. “You do work with Connor Maguire, after all. How is my sparring partner?”
My phone suddenly feels hot in my hand and I put it away. “Little stiff, I guess, hasn’t healed up as well as you.”
“This mug has been through the wringer a few more times than he has.” Jack gestures to his surprisingly straight nose with flair. For a boxer, his face is annoyingly symmetrical.
“Luck of the Irish,” I mutter before clearing my throat. “You’re in a good mood.”
“Am I?”
“I suppose the quality of life outside Padraic’s shadow suits you,” I comment, meanwhile searching for a way to direct the conversation to the subject I truly wish to delve into.
Jack seems unfazed by my games. “Toxic work environments aren’t good for the soul. You might want to try it sometime.” He gives me a pointed look.
“Are you writing a self-help book or something?” I quip back.
“What can I say? I’m a philanthropist.” He nods at me. “Speaking of, you look rough.” Jack merely raises an eyebrow and takes another sip of beer. Waiting.
Fine. Let’s skip the small talk. I straighten up in my seat.
“We have an understanding?” I ask carefully.
Jack narrows his eyes slightly. “I hope you’re not planning on threatening me with it.”
“Our… relationship has been mutually beneficial.” I point the neck of my beer bottle at his green-tinged eye. “And you know better than I do what Connor would do if he found out.”
“You don’t need to remind me.” Jack matches me as I take a long drink. “But I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, I have little interest in trading rumors with you about Padraic Duffy.”
I tilt my head to the side. “I hear he misses you.”
