Oh Danny Boy (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #5)

“Yes, you did, right before I sent you on a mission and you disappeared,” I said severely, anger now replacing the worry I had felt for him. “I’ve been worried sick about you. Why didn’t you contact me again? Why didn’t you come back?”


“Monk said I wasn’t to tell no one where I was.” He gave me a sheepish grin. “I went to see him, and I thought the police were following me. Monk said I should get out of town, for my own safety, so he had me brought out here. He’s set me up in a nice hotel room, and he’s got a trainer for me to work with and everything.”

“So the fight is going ahead?”

“All arranged,” he said, looking around, although we were the only two within hearing. “Some Casino, next week. Tell Daniel. He’ll be pleased.”

“Daniel isn’t pleased about very much at the moment,” I said. “He’s still in jail and things don’t look good for him.”

“Oh, jeez. That’s right. I forgot he was in trouble, poor guy. Is there anything I can do?”

Since he had clearly forgotten that he had been sent to question Monk the last time, I saw little point in assigning him another mission. But it was worth a long shot, I supposed. “If you come across a man called Bugsy, one of Monk’s men,” I said, “ask him about the envelope. Ask him who gave it to him and who might have had a chance to slip money inside.”

“What envelope?” His gorilla face was wrinkled into a frown.

“The one that got Daniel arrested,” I said. “Better still, if you see Bugsy, tell him to contact me—it’s Molly Murphy, Ten Patchin Place. Can you remember that? Here, let me write it down for you. Tell him it’s very important. Daniel’s life may depend on it.” I printed the words carefully onto a page in the notebook I always carried and handed it to him. “Bugsy. Can you remember that?”

“I’ll try, miss. I’ll really try.”

I wasn’t too optimistic but I smiled at him. “I’m glad to see you’re safe and well, Jack. And if you win this fight, for heaven’s sake, get out of the boxing business or your brain will be more addled than a plate of scrambled eggs.”

“You’re right, miss. I should get out. It’s just a question of making the money last. I never was good with money.”

“Then buy yourself a little property. Settle down. Raise chickens.”

He laughed. “Chickens? Can you see me with chickens? If I picked up a chicken with this hand, I’d squash the life out of it in one second.” The smile faded. “I wouldn’t mean to, of course, but when you’ve got big hands like mine, and all this strength…”

He left the end of the sentence hanging in the air.

“So where can I find you if I need you?” I asked.

“Right here. Brighton Beach Hotel. See those turrets down by the beach? Real swank place where all the snobs stay. Monk’s taking care of it for me.”

“Monk must have a lot of money invested in this fight.”

“Oh yeah. He stands to do real good out of it, if I win.”

“Then I’d better let you get back to your training. I don’t think he’d be too happy with you if you didn’t win.”

“That’s right. I’ve got three times more around the track if I’m to get down to my fighting weight,” he said. “Nice seeing you again, Miss—”

“Murphy,” I said. “Nice seeing you too, Jack. Take care of yourself.”

“Come out and see the fight,” he said. “I’ll get you a free ticket, if you like.”

“That’s kind of you,” I said, although I didn’t think I’d want to watch two men beating each other to a bloody pulp.

Jack waved a big hand and loped off again around the track. I went on my way. I decided that since I was here on Coney Island I should take a look at the site where the prizefight would take place. Some casino, Jack had said. And a stroll in the sea air might do me good.