Dear Irene Read Online Free PDF

that exercise was a small price to pay.
    Frank and I celebrated that Friday night by going out to an evening at Banyon’s, a local watering hole shared by the police and the press. There were lots of familiar faces on hand. The band was on a break, so it was relatively quiet, which meant you could still hear yourself think over the rumbling mixture of boisterous conversations and a distant jukebox speaker.
    “Well, look who’s here!” a voice called out over the din. I looked across the room to see a sandy-haired man with boyish good looks grinning at us. Kevin Malloy, an old friend, waved us toward him. Not long after I was injured, he had stopped by the house to cheer me up, and now he seemed happy to see me out and about. Kevin was the Malloy in Malloy & Marlowe, a public relations firm, and had been my employer for a time. He had also shared a friendship with my late mentor, O’Connor. I hadn’t been to Banyon’s since the night before O’Connor was killed, but I pushed that thought from my mind as we made our way toward Kevin.
    “Well, lass,” Kevin said, hoisting a pint of Guinness, “we haven’t seen you in here for an age. And look at you! No sling, no cast… Liam!” he called to the bartender. “A round for the house. We’ll celebrate our lost lamb’s return to the fold.”
    That brought a cheer, but for a free drink, most of them would have cheered anything short of the words “last call.” One of the reporters bent close to Kevin and whispered something to him. Kevin turned to us in surprise. “What’s this? Engaged?”
    “It’s true,” I said.
    “And how many times did you have to beg him on bended knee before he said ‘yes’?”
    I laughed and answered, “Believe it or not, he asked me.”
    “Well, now, listen up!” he called in his carrying voice, then stepped up on a chair, so that he towered above the crowded bar. As the buyer of the aforesaid round, he had their grateful attention. The bar was so quiet, you could actually hear what was playing on the jukebox. Kevin glanced at Liam, who promptly unplugged it.
    “There’s a nasty kind of rumor going around,” Kevin began, then paused, turning to Frank.
    “Tell us!” A cooperative crowd. They’d heard him before. Frank looked a little uneasy.
    Kevin looked back to the crowd. “It’s said that the men in the Las Piernas Police Department have lost their courage!”
    “No!” This chorus from the cop contingent, all of them grinning as they looked at Frank.
    “‘Courage among our policemen?’ they say, ‘Why, it’s easier to find a politician who wants to make a good Act of Contrition.’”
    “No!” the chorus supplied.
    “Yes, that’s what’s being said. I’m told the police so lack courage, they’ve become as useless as a snake’s glovemaker!”
    “No!” Again the chorus, but through laughter.
    “Nearly as useless as reporters,” Kevin said, causing an outbreak of shouts and laughter.
    “Impossible,” more than one voice called.
    “I’m here to tell you that the rumor is
false
— absolutely false — and I can prove it,” Kevin said. He pointed to Frank. “This man, Frank Harriman —
Detective
Frank Harriman — is employed by our very own Las Piernas Police Department. And I’m telling you, he has more courage than any man among you. He’s the bravest, most stouthearted, brass-balled sonofabitch I know! Do you know what he’s done?”
    Eager silence.
    “He’s asked Irene Kelly to marry him!”
    There was a great deal of shouting and cheering at that point.
    “Fools rush in!” remarked one of my coworkers.
    A series of more picturesque comments followed.
    Kevin motioned the crowd to silence by simply lifting his pint of stout.
    “Here’s to Frank Harriman, who’s had the courage to take our treasure from us! May he and Irene Kelly share a long and happy life together!”
    Finally able to drink, the crowd was especially lively in joining this part of the toast.
    After accepting the