Mike's story, continued

I threw on my raincoat. It looked like rain. A good, hard, long rain to wash some of the filth from this city would be nice for a change. Boston's history was full of cruel and stupid men doing bad things to innocent people. Nothing new under the sun. I grabbed a quick meal from an all night hash house on the corner and thought about the case over a cup of coffee. Sounded simple enough. If this Grayden Dumas was a gambler, he'd have buddies. A gambler's best friend, whether he likes it or not, was the loan shark. I'm not a typical dick. I like to find somebody and ask questions, and I don't care how many teeth have to fall out till I hear the answer I want to hear.

I walked down Olsen Street and slipped into a cab. "Harbor, whatever bar you'd feel would be best to roll up to and let me hop out without stopoing." I said, slamming a Lucky into my teeth. I thought of Pris's cunt, all wet and warm, and then of Mrs Tanner's, which would probably yawn if my prolitariat prick tried to enter her without a butler's approval and three references.

We pulled up Top O' the Mornin's, as if some poor bastard was actually named Top O' the Mornin, and I chuckled as I literally had to hop out as he drove off. It was a dirty bar in a dirty part of town, and I was looking for what I hoped was a dirty loan shark named Bryce Greene. The bouncer took one look at me and figured I was a regular. I was flattered.

I sat at the bar and ordered a whiskey and ginger highball. I've been in places where they water down the whiskey, but never one that watered down the ginger ale until tonight. A down and out lug stumbled up next to me. It was my lucky night. "How you doin' Johnny?" I asked, slugging back my **** flavored water. He looked at me with the bloodshot eyes of someone who'd lived out of a bottle long enough to forget what month it was. Some of that blood disappeared when he recognized my face.

"Oh, Shit! Reilly, what you doin' here?" he said, swaying away from me and patting his pocket to make sure whatever he thought he might have to use was still there.

"Relax. Just looking for that loan shark that gave you squeeze a couple year's ago. You remember, the one that I flattened the nose of for you?" I grinned my sadistic grin. He shuddered. Gamblers. They hate things as cold and hard and definite as ****, and that was my other name.

"He's at a new place, on Breibaker Avenue. Jesus, Mike, what'd he do now?" he said, slugging back a drink and making a face.

"He ain't done nothing new. Just have a couple of questions." I said, taking another drink. "Hey, barkeep, my drink is a bit strong. Will you add another shot of "whiskey" to it to water it down some more?" I said. The bartender leered at me. I let my face split in grin. I reached under the counter and opened a bottle that was actually the right color of bourbon and filled my glass. I tipped my hat to him and he walked off with a look of disgust. I started to drink it, looked at Johnny, and slid him the drink, pulling my flask out. "Cheers." I said. He nodded, we toasted, and I left.