Live by Night by Dennis Lehane Read Free Book Online Page A

would get water to a fire.
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œThis is Brendan Loomis,” Albert said, “a friend of mine.”
    Joe shook Loomis’s hand, and it was like putting his hand between two cars as they backed into each other. Loomis cocked his head and his small brown eyes roamed over Joe’s face. When Joe got the hand back, he had to resist the urge to wring it. Loomis, meanwhile, wiped his own hand with a silk handkerchief, his face a rock. His eyes left Joe and looked around the room like he had plans for it. He was good with a gun, they said, and great with a knife, but most of his victims he just beat to death.
    Albert said, “I’ve seen you before, right?”
    Joe searched his face for signs of mirth. “I don’t think so.”
    â€œNo, I have. Bren’, you seen this guy before?”
    Brenny Loomis picked up the nine ball and examined it. “No.”
    Joe felt a relief so overpowering he worried he might lose control of his bladder.
    â€œThe Shoelace.” Albert snapped his fingers. “You’re in there sometimes, aren’t you?”
    â€œI am,” Joe said.
    â€œThat’s it, that’s it.” Albert clapped Joe on the shoulder. “I run this house now. You know what that means?”
    â€œI don’t.”
    â€œMeans I need you to pack up the room where you’ve been living.” He raised an index finger. “But I don’t want you to feel like I’m putting you on the street.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œIt’s just this is a swell joint. We have a lot of ideas for it.”
    â€œAbsolutely.”
    Albert put a hand on Joe’s arm just above the elbow. His wedding band flashed under the light. It was silver. Celtic snake patterns were etched into it. A couple of diamonds too, small ones.
    â€œYou think about what kind of earner you want to be. Okay? Just think about it. Take some time. But know this—you can’t work on your own. Not in this town. Not anymore.”
    Joe turned his gaze away from the wedding band and the hand on his arm, looked Albert White in his friendly eyes. “I have no desire to work on my own, sir. I paid tribute to Tim Hickey, rain or shine.”
    Albert White got a look like he didn’t like hearing Tim Hickey’s name uttered in the place he now owned. He patted Joe’s arm. “I know you did. I know you did good work too. Top-notch. But we don’t do business with outsiders. And an independent contractor? That’s an outsider. We’re building a great team, Joe. I promise you—an amazing team.” He poured himself a drink from Tim’s decanter, didn’t offer anyone else one. He carried it over to the pool table and hoisted himself up on the rail, looked at Joe. “Let me just say one thing plain—you’re too smart for the stuff you’ve been pulling. You’re nickel-and-diming with two dumb guineas—hey, they’re great friends, I’m sure, but they’re stupid and they’re wops and they’ll be dead before they’re thirty. You? You can keep on the path you’re on. No commitments, but no friends. A house, but no home.” He slid off the pool table. “If you don’t want a home, that’s fine. I promise. But you can’t operate anywhere in the city limits. You want to carve something out on the South Shore, go ahead. Try the North Shore, if the Italians let you live once they hear about you. But the city?” He pointed at the floor. “That’s organized now, Joe. No tributes, just employees. And employers. Is there any part of this I’ve been unclear on?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œVague about?”
    â€œNo, Mr. White.”
    Albert White crossed his arms and nodded, looked at his shoes. “You got anything lined up? Any jobs I should know about?”
    Joe had spent the last of Tim Hickey’s money to pay the guy who’d given him the info he needed