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role, she’ll actually be on Broadway.”
    â€œI’ve been meaning to catch her show,” Mike said, “but it’s been tough to break away.” She’d been doing A Midsummer Night’s Dream at the Academy of Arts, next door to Tammany Hall lately, playing two minor roles and about a dozen lines per show. Mike wasn’t much of a fan of the Bard. He didn’t like to admit that he didn’t understand most of it. The language never appealed to him, although he did like the murders. Shakespeare’s plays seemed to have plenty of them.
    â€œWell, at least phone her,” Mary said. “She tells me you two haven’t talked in ages.” Mike was about to make excuses, but a glance from Tom shut him up.
    â€œGuilty,” Mike said, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’ll call.” He looked from Tom to Mary. Neither seemed convinced. “Really,” he said. “Promise.”
    â€œGood,” Tom said with finality. “Let’s eat.” Mary passed the platter of ham, followed by sweet potatoes and corn. Mike and Tom dug in. “Got something to show you later,” Tom said around a mouthful of ham.
    â€œYeah? What is it? A new pistol?” Mike guessed. Tom had bought many over the years.
    â€œNope,” Tom said with a conspiratorial look at Mary, who let just a flicker of a smile play across her mouth before shrugging her shoulders. She wasn’t about to spill the secret, which made Mike all the more intrigued.
    â€œOkay, youse got me goin’,” Mike said, letting a bit of the Bowery slip across his tongue. It was hard not to. Half the city spoke in “dese, dems’, and dose,” and it was the half that he had to deal with every day.
    â€œSpeaking of pistols,” Tom said, “How’d that new Colt work out?”
    â€œSaved my skin. It’s damn fast! Gotta do more rapid-fire practice though. Recoil has it jumping all over. Can’t hold on target if you’re in a hurry.”
    Tom nodded. “That’s what I heard about those automatic pistols. Takes some getting used to. We can go tomorrow if you want, shoot up some targets.”
    â€œSure,” Mike said, doing a quick mental calculation of the time he’d have to allow to meet Ginny and get to Pastor’s. Tom must have sensed Mike’s hesitation. “Got something goin’?”
    â€œJust going to Pastor’s,” Mike said, knowing as soon as he said it that he shouldn’t have. He hadn’t intended to tell them about Ginny. He liked to keep that side of his life quiet. It was a lot easier that way. He knew that neither Tom nor Mary approved. They had no right to actively disapprove, considering how Mary had made her fortune all those years. Tom had been no saint either, so mostly they held their tongues when it came to Mike’s peccadilloes.
    â€œWho are you taking?” Mary asked, knowing that Mike would never go to Pastor’s with any of his male friends.
    â€œJust a girl. You wouldn’t know her.”
    Tom and Mary exchanged looks. “It’s Ginny Caldwell, isn’t it?” Mary said. Mike’s mouth fell open, but he closed it quickly enough. He didn’t ask how they knew. It would only extend a discussion he didn’t want to have. They’d been over this ground before, had trodden it down until their arguments were packed beneath their feet, solid as bedrock.
    â€œYeah,” was all he said. If anybody was going to say more it wasn’t going to be him. Mary smiled, but sighed. “I know a little about her,” she said. “From Long Island, right?” He nodded.
    â€œListen,” Tom said. “Nobody knows the, ah … temptations of this city better than me. Being a bachelor in New York is like being a kid in a candy shop.” This drew a frown from Mary, but she couldn’t disagree. Hers had been one of the biggest candy shops in the