Secret Isaac (The Isaac Sidel Novels Book 4)
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many gangs in New York that would meddle with Jamey O’Toole. You’d need a hatchet to get at him. A bullet would only leave a little nipple in his chest. But Isaac had a worm to hearten him. He wanted to devil this O’Toole. “Jamey,” he said, “I hear your old shield is lying in the property clerk’s drawer.” O’Toole had a warm smile for Isaac. “How are you, Chief? It’s hard to remember all the different uniforms you own. Isaac, I don’t have a grudge, I swear … but keep out of the alleys, will you?
climb without her. And always, always she was tricked into believing the next ridge would be the last, the final one. She had a pair of lungs inherited from her mama. She could breathe in and out, and move into Dermott’s tracks. She was the Rose of Connemara, the Queen of Cashel Hill, escaping from the Fisherman’s house with her man. He hadn’t done more than grab her by the hand. But you couldn’t lie down in goat shit. Her thighs were growing sore. She didn’t care how many faces a cliff had. It
king mumbled to himself. He had a blackness under his eyes. He hardly noticed Annie Powell. It went on for days. Then he slapped his pockets and said, “Jamey boy, climb into your darkest suit. We’re going to church.” The donkey couldn’t believe it. “What about me?” Annie said. “Girl, any dress will do.” The king ordered up flowers from the hotel. Roses they were, pink, white, and yellow. The flowers had a perfume that made the donkey sneeze. Dermott was cross with him. “Will you recover from
nothing until the cops picked them up. They had to run to the cellars and the trees whenever the Fordham Baldies arrived on Clay Avenue. The shabbiest nigger gang could have destroyed them in an even fight. The Devils were without a single patch of honor. They were the scavengers of the borough, mocked by other clubs. Only the worst pariahs came over to the Devils’ side, outcasts and imbeciles. The Devils lacked the scars of open combat. They would fall upon the isolated members of some gang
out of the graveyard.” “Then I’ll buy rabbis to fight the rabbis of Esau Woods.” The Tiger chuckled to himself. “That will be a sight. Rabbis clawing each other’s holy shirt … boyo, you don’t have the time. No playing with rabbis. Mangen’s not a fool. He’ll wonder why you’re here. You might never get to Dublin with Mangen around. His grand juries are notorious for latching on to boyos like you, so they can’t leave the country.” “Dennis won’t find me.” “That’s good news,” the Tiger said. “I’ll