Oh Danny Boy (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #5)

“I didn’t know who it was,” the man replied. “I heard someone come in, and I was ready to defend myself in case they were coming for me.”


Now I was able to breathe again, I took in the great bulk, the ugly face with its twisted, flattened nose, and I knew who he must be.

“It’s Gentleman Jack, isn’t it?” I asked. “Daniel sent me to find you. I’m so glad you’re here. I’m Molly Murphy, a—a friend of Daniel’s.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Murphy,” he said, in that deep rumble, and extended a huge, meaty hand. The handshake itself couldn’t have been more gentle.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. “And how come the landlady doesn’t know you’re in the house?”

“I’ve been hiding out,” he said. “I thought the police had been tipped off that I was in the neighborhood and were looking for me. Daniel gave me a key in case I needed it. I came to find him, but I don’t know where he’s gone. He hasn’t been home since I got here. I’ve been waiting for him to come back.” He sounded a little like a petulant child.

“He’s not likely to do that,” I said. “He’s in jail.”

“In jail? Because of me?”

“Partly,” I said and told him what I knew. “So you see,” I concluded, “somebody’s deliberately trying to get him in trouble.”

“Oh, no. That’s terrible. I’ll go to them and tell them it was all my fault. I was the one who asked him to set up the fight.” He had actually started for the door. I grabbed his arm. It was like gripping onto a rock.

“I don’t think that would do anybody any good. They’d arrest you too, more than likely.”

He must have seen the sense in this, because he changed direction. He went across to the window, moving with surprising grace for one of his size and bulk, pulled back the net curtain, and peered down at the street below.

“So I was right to run the other day. They were looking for me.”

“You’re lucky the police didn’t catch you here,” I went on. “They raided the place a few days ago and took away anything they could use against Daniel.”

“But why? Why would his pals do that? I thought he was a popular guy.”

“I thought so, too,” I said. “There is a rumor flying around that Daniel tipped off a gang to a police raid, and one of the officers got killed.”

“Daniel would never do that,” he said, shaking his big bony head. “Daniel’s the best pal a guy could have. I’d trust him with my life.”

“I know,” I said, thinking privately that I was glad Daniel had proved trustworthy to somebody. I bent to pick up the pieces of the shattered jug and deposited them into Daniel’s rubbish bin. “So we have to get to work, you and I. We have to find out who might have put that money in the envelope and tipped off the commissioner as to where a bribe was being passed.”

“How are you going to do that?” he asked.

“I’ve no idea. Talk to the gang member to start with. Ask him who gave him the envelope.”

“Yeah. Right. Okay.” He frowned at me. “What envelope?”

“The one that had the money in it.”

“Oh yeah. That one. And why were they giving it to Daniel again?”

“I just told you. It was just supposed to be a list of names, not a bribe. Someone put the money in there.”

“Who?” he asked.

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” I said, my temper rising with my voice.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I don’t remember things too good these days. They say I got myself clobbered one too many times in the head, and they might just be right. I get these headaches something terrible, and sometimes I see double.”

I had heard the term punch-drunk before, but I had never seen a living example of it in front of me. Jack Brady’s speech was even a trifle slurred and his ugly, misshapen face screwed up in concentration.

“Then why in heaven’s name do you want Daniel to set up another fight for you?” I blurted out before I had time to think. “Haven’t you been battered enough?”

“I need the money, miss,” he said. “I ain’t never been good with money. When I had it, I spent it. Once I had a diamond the size of a nickel in my stickpin. That’s when they used to call me Gentleman Jack. But I haven’t fought in a while and now it’s all gone again.”

“There are other ways to earn money apart from fighting,” I said.

He shook his head. “I ain’t never been smart, miss—what did you say your name was?”

“Murphy,” I reminded him.

“I ain’t never been smart, Miss Murphy. If I hadn’t been good with my fists, I’d have wound up as a laborer, sweating my guts out for a dollar a day. When I fight, I’m somebody.”

Somebody with an addled head, I thought, but didn’t say out loud. Instead I pulled out a chair from Daniel’s dining table for him.