Saints and Sinners Read Free Page A

hands into fists. So much for a pleasant afternoon tea in the front parlor. Why couldn’t Helen understand? “I have to do this for Janet. You know how ill her father is. Her mother’s afflicted with something terrible in her joints. If she loses that job, they’ll turn her out onto the street.”
    “That need not concern you,” said Helen, setting the teacup and saucer down. “Why do you always have to be a do-gooder? Let someone else pick up that family’s broken pieces for once.” Tiny bits of scone clung to the corners of Helen’s mouth, and she removed them with her napkin. Her stiff shoes squeaked as she rose from the settee.
    “It’s only for two nights. How much trouble can I find as a coat-check girl? Janet’s never mentioned any.”
    Helen huffed at the trend of their conversation, stormed into the hallway and reached for her woolen coat. Moira followed her down the stairs leading to the greengrocery below.
    “There’s no talking sense into that thick head of yours. One of these days...”
    Once out on the sidewalk, Moira placed a hand over her mouth and nose as a buffer against the harsh December wind. “What? You’ll find me face down in an alleyway? Dead from some bully’s fist or boot? Look at this neighborhood, Helen. If I can survive here, I can survive anywhere. I’m doing this for Janet and there’s no persuading me otherwise.”
    “Those Dunnes are gangsters. Gadai . Morgan Dunne is known to make payoffs to the police so they don’t shut down his speakeasies. The Continental Club is a hellhole.” Helen dabbed at her reddened nose with a linen handkerchief.
    Gangsters? Thieves? Such was Helen’s contention only. Moira wouldn’t condemn anyone without knowing the facts first. Her gut churned. Wait a minute. Reilly said his last name was Dunne. He’d been so kind yesterday. Surely, he wouldn’t keep company with gangsters or have bad blood running through his body? Not Reilly. If he were the devil, then she’d soon be consumed by her attraction to him as well as hellfire. For another glimpse of Reilly, and to help her ill friend, she wouldn’t mind a bit. All in a day’s work...and pleasure when it came to being around Reilly.
    * * * *
    Reilly Dunne displayed his poker hand. A royal flush. The pile of coins he’d won could buy him several pairs of shoes. He snickered. What use were snazzy leather shoes when he was down in this damp cellar surrounded by cardsharps and drunkards?
    “Old boy, you cleaned me out again,” Michael Morrison said and straightened his coat collar.
    “Not to worry.” Reilly shook hands with the veteran gambler. “You’ll take my shirt the next time we sit down together.”
    Reilly strained to see who else lingered downstairs in the private cellar of The Continental Club. Across the room, his head barely visible for the bluish-gray cloud of cigar smoke, Morgan Dunne chatted with his cronies. He bristled. The walls of this place were closing in around him. It was past time for him to get out of this den of despair for good. Whether his uncle liked it or not.
    Westminster chimes announced the six o’clock hour. Time to get some fresh air. He downed the dregs of his whiskey and pushed back the rickety wooden chair. The liquor burned his gut but braced him for the evening ahead. What he needed was a new lease on life. Something or someone to shed some light on his otherwise dreary existence.
    Perhaps Flossie would entertain him tonight? He’d never shared her bed, but she was good for a couple laughs. If there was one thing he loved in life, it was women. He loved their laughter, their perfumes. Most of all their bodies. He stayed away from his uncle’s brothels and the disease-ridden whores’ beds. He loved women, but not that type.
    He stood and stretched. Time to bid this stinking cellar goodbye. Stop dwelling in darkness when there was so much light and life outside this speakeasy. Heading through the dimly lit tunnel, he made his way toward the