Lakefront and Mrs. Grey

by Mr. David R. Dorrycott

Chapter Four

Upon Becoming Noticed

"Yah gat ah gat?" the doorman asked. Kathleen barely nodded yes, she had stumbled across this place as she’d left her own building. Noting certain traffic patterns was second nature to her, the movements of people entering a oddly clean ally was a dead giveaway. To the average club attendee she appeared about as dangerous as a teenager. Still she held out her purse, giggling gently. He wasn't impressed, reaching into the cloth bag to withdraw her tiny .22 revolver. "Yah getz it bak whens yah leaves. Gotz that? Watz ah English girl diin here anyway?" he demanded, seeing her name embroidered in the purse's lining.

"Maiden names O'Flynn" she answered in Irish. "You marry who daddy says marry, especially if he's some dumb love struck landowner. Can I go in now?" she finished, maintaining her act. He shoved her purse, now a great deal lighter, back into her hands before motioning her in. As she vanished through the inner door the goon flicked a signal to his unseen partner. 'Keep an eye on her' was the signal. It wasn't used often. Though she could easily fool the average goon this one had been around. He knew she was different, though he suspected her as a police or Federal agent. Not as a ex-New York Gun Moll and enforcer. Certainly not as someone who could deal with him and his partner without breaking a sweat.

Kathleen looked around as she passed through the delaying front door, stepping sideways to get out of the light from behind her. O'Shannon's Grill and Tavern wasn't exactly a full speakeasy, though if you wanted and were known alcohol could be obtained. As a native Irishwoman the place was a magnet to her simply for its name. She could get alcohol to drink if she wanted it, but Kathleen wasn’t much of a drinker and not a smoker. Both vices interfered with her reactions. In her line of work that was suicide, and O’Shannon’s was happily also almost directly across the street from her apartment building. She'd decided that between her looks and her maiden name she'd be welcome. Of course, only after it was decided that she wasn't some English girl slumming. Or working for the man.

Working her way around the packed house Kathleen found a single chair open near a supporting beam. Settling down next to a couple of much older women she ordered a glass of tea from a very harried waitress. No need to hunt for work right now after her windfall. She decided it was time to enjoy herself. Besides, the waitress was pretty so she might as well let these Joes know what her new tastes were going to be, before they made any really bad mistakes. One man in her life treating her like an animal was enough, she’d decided on the ferry to give the opposite sex a try. At least as long as she’d given Tommy. Who knew, maybe she would like it. Maybe not. There was no way to tell until she tried.

Her meal turned out to be rather good, her companions less so at first. Both older woman gave her ugly looks when her look caused the waitress to blush. “Good God fearing girls do not live as such” one of the woman snapped harshly, though keeping her voice low enough not to cause a commotion.

“Ah have noh been ah good girl since mah uncle was hung bah tha English in Ballymena when ah was six” she countered, letting her full Irish accent free. “Ah helped tah dig ‘es grave. Noh God fering yes. Trha I am ladies. Buh do noh deny me mah mortal pleasures, tha are ah buh rare few. Nah whiskey, nah tabaco. Buh ah have mah reason tah turn away from men noh. God. ‘E will judge me when mah time comes. ‘Tis noh for mortals tah judge mortals wha Gods law mah be..”

“You are..” the woman who’d spoken gasped. “Why here?”

“Where God sen me” she admitted. “Tah help tha Irish, best ah may. Tah make tha mans lif tha harsher, tah make tha Irish stronger. Tah send money home, where tis needed. Ahn you?”

“We...” The woman blushed, then looked down, away from Kathleen. “We have been lax. How may we help?”

“Fer noh, not. Ah mus make mah place o’ fall alone. If ah survive, if ah prosper, ah will do wha ah can tha help you. Yours. Buh do noh deny me mah simple pleasure. For ah had tah endure ah English husband near eleven years. God thank he as gone tak ‘ell forever.”

“My name is O’Conner. This is my friend the Mrs. Kennedy. Dear, I cannot agree with your choice. Yet perhaps you wish to wash the English from your body. I do ask that you do not force yourself on one of our daughters.”

Kathleen smiled, a friendly smile. “O’Flynn she answered the unasked question, her accent abruptly gone. “Going by Grey as long as it suits me. No Mrs O’Conner. I will not force any Irish Lady to do anything, ever. I am not my uncle, who’s actions lead to his own downfall. Should I prosper it will be with the help of our people. Never upon their backs. Never such, for there is no English blood within me. No matter how much he tried. It is another twenty three years before my father escapes the English stone. I plan to be there waiting for him when he marches head held high out of their hell.”

“Then perhaps we may become friends. But Mrs. Kennedy and I must return home now. Our husbands will be returning from work at the docks. I hope that we will meet again.”

“So do I” Kathleen agreed. Oh yes she thought, the matrons had noticed her. Soon her name would be everywhere. She would be watched of course. Would she survive Lucky Louie, then reach too far too fast, fail to do anything or become their guiding light. That even Kathleen did not know, though she was now certain why God had sent her here. Let the Irish think what they wanted, she though knew what she wanted.

Though the waitress came again twice, Kathleen quickly realized that she would never gain any advancement through that gateway. Still she managed to part upon friendly terms. Friends were important. Especially in her line of work.

It was almost three am when she finally slipped into her rooms, having ditched two tails and a cop by the simply matter of entering the next door apartment building, then jumping from roof to roof and entering her building through the unlocked fire door. A fire door she carefully locked behind her after closing it. Sitting on her bed she counted the money she'd grabbed from the deadman, using only the streetlight for illumination. Turning on a light now would telegraph to everyone exactly where she lived. Not that by the weekend everyone who wanted would know. "Two hundred and thirty seven" she counted, talking softly to herself. “Not bad, but I better not do that again soon. Need ammunition and a cleaning kit for the nine. Shopping tomorrow, then maybe someplace fancy tomorrow night." The unopened letter and photo she slipped into her desk, anyone finding it would assume it was from her lover, not the dead mans. She'd read it later when there was more light. Shoving the money into her rumpled clothing she rechecked her window and door locks, sat the single chair so that anyone breaking in would tumble over it, and only then went to sleep.