He didn’t answer me. He ran a large hand through his thick black hair and shook his head.
“So can we turn around now?” I asked.
He glanced at me, his green eyes shining. “What do you mean?”
“I know your plan. You won’t be able to ditch me and I won’t let you sleep with Margot Lorne. So we might as well go back to the resort.”
He crossed his arms. “That’s all your own theory, love. Sure, I wanted to sleep with Lorne’s wife, I won’t deny that. But to say the only reason I want to see this lovely city is just to throw you off is insulting to this man’s hometown.” He indicated the cab driver who, wisely, stayed out of it.
Way to make me the asshole, asshole. So he was committed to finishing the night out, huh? Well, that was fine with me.
“Great,” I said. “Because the resort was starting to get a little boring.”
“I’m glad you agree.”
“Me too.”
We looked at each other with smiles that didn’t reach our eyes.
You’re going to wish you stayed home, his said.
Bring it, was my response.
We drove the rest of the way in relative silence. Spanish music played over the radio as the cab drove off the highway and down into the city.
Corgas Street ended up being less of a single road and more of the entrance to an entire neighborhood of nightlife. Already the sun was setting and the late night crowds were starting to hit the streets, entering the colorfully lit bars and clubs and walking in loud groups down the sidewalk.
I watched their faces and was relieved to see a fairly typical collection of people. Mostly locals but quite a few tourists as well. The way the guy at the resort was acting, I had expected massive, muscled motorcycle gangs hanging out at every street corner and prostitutes lurking in the doorways. It really didn’t look much different from a night out in New York.
Mac must have been thinking the same thing, because he said to our driver, “You can just drop us here.” The man nodded and pulled over to the side of the road. Mac passed him a wad of bills and thanked him as we exited the vehicle.
I watched the cab drive off, disappearing down the street before turning to Mac. “Well, there’s no going back now.”
“Why would you want to?” Mac asked. He inhaled deeply, that familiar city smell that was mostly exhaust, trash, and stale piss. “That’s the stuff,” he said. “Smells like home.”
This all might have started as a way to make me uncomfortable, but Mac actually looked genuinely happy as he nodded down the street. “That bar,” he said, pointing to a two-story building with a canopy and rooftop seating. “Look good?”
“Sure,” I said. “Lead the way.”
We went inside and were seated immediately on the rooftop by a friendly waitress who brought Mac a glass of whiskey and myself one of the same.
“Are you sure?” Mac asked, as I ordered whatever he just had.
“Why not?” I asked.
He shrugged. “You seem like a fruity cocktail kind of girl,” he said. There wasn’t any derision in his voice, just a statement of facts.
“I’ve fallen into a pattern since college,” I admitted. “But come on, have you ever had a fruity cocktail?”
He admitted he hadn’t.
“Well, there’s no nicer way to drink,” I informed him. “They’re like juice boxes for grown-ups. Sweet and fruity with just a subtle reminder that you’re a card-carrying adult.”
We got our drinks. I sipped the amber liquid and made a face. “That’s not great,” I said, coughing as the strength hit the back of my throat.
Mac chuckled at my reaction, drinking his own. “It’s an acquired taste,” he admitted.
“Why though?” I asked, regretting my decision to imitate him.
“Because a tough guy like me can’t be seen getting fruity girl drinks,” he said with a laugh.
“I don’t know,” I mused, looking over the railing at the people walking below. “If I saw a big tough guy drinking out of a pineapple, I’d assume he was the baddest ass in the room.”
“And why’s that?” Mac asked.
“Because he’s confident in his badassery,” I said. “Nobody can tell him what to drink.”
“Okay, I’ll give you that,” he said. “But when I started drinking, none of us had anything to be confident about other than the shit we poured down our throats.”
Mac was actually, for the first time, acting like a normal person and not a complete jackass. Removed from the resort and the constant presence of the rest of our friends, he seemed to visibly relax, lounging in his chair with the glass of whiskey like a pauper prince.
The stress of the wedding did seem to be hanging heavily on him, though for the life of me, I couldn’t imagine why. He’d made it very clear that he didn’t agree with marriage, but it wasn’t like he was being forced to the altar himself. I wanted to ask him, but also didn’t want this nicer, funner Mac to disappear back behind a scowl.
“Who were ‘we’?” I asked instead.
“Ah.” A wistful look flashed across his face. “Just my old childhood friends in Ireland. Good boys, the lot of them. My first friends, long before the Knights were ever a thing.”
I nodded. “What happened to them?”
He shrugged and the casual look faded slightly. “Life,” was all he said.
I hurried the conversation on somewhere else. It seemed like, with marriage, this was another topic not to broach. “So did you always want to be a liquor tycoon?”
The easy grin returned. “Not at all. That was something I fell into. No, when I was a kid, I—” He paused, like he regretted starting the sentence.
“You what?” I probed.
“Nothing,” he said gruffly.
“Oh come on,” I pleaded. “What did little Mac want to be?”
The cocked grin slid back up his face and he said, “All right. I wanted to be a singer.”
My eyes widened. “What? No way.”
He waved me off. “Don’t make fun of me now.”
“So you can sing?” I asked.
“I haven’t in years,” he said.
“Will you sing for me?”
“No.”
I pulled a face and he laughed. “I don’t sing anymore, love. Now I’m a full-time business man. We have to keep up appearances.”
I sat back and crossed my arms. “We’re going to revisit this, but tell me, how did that come around, the business and the billions?”
“Trial and lots and lots of error. I had to leave Dublin for… legal reasons and found myself in the countryside. Needed work so I wound up at a brewery. I don’t know how I didn’t put two and two together sooner. I was made for the business. Got my feet wet there and then worked for their offices in the States. But I wanted to be my own boss, never cared much for taking orders. So I went out on my own. Spun the Mac Walsh line well in marketing and made a solid product. A decade later and the business has never slowed down.”
“Wow,” I said, impressed. “That must have been a lot of work.”
“You don’t know the half of it, love,” he said. “But I was an energetic kid. And looking back, I’m glad I had the smarts and the talent for business, otherwise I would have continued down the wrong path. Probably be dead or in jail by now.”