Number 06 │ A Leverage Fanfiction

The Bottle Job | Part 1

McRory's Pub

The pub was alive with energy—laughter, clinking glasses, and a lively Irish melody filling the air. Parker turned her curious gaze around the room, taking in the cheerful chaos.

"So, this is paying respects, hmm?" she asked, tilting her head like she didn't entirely buy it.

Nate raised his beer, an easy grin on his face. "Oh, absolutely. This is an Irish wake."

I took a sip of my beer and nodded. "Well, I like it."

Hardison leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "You know, there's a poker game going on in the back room."

Nate's expression softened, a hint of nostalgia creeping into his tone. "Yeah, at one time or another, every man in this neighborhood played in John McRory's Friday night game. It's an honor. I mean, hell, my father played in it for ten years before..."

Eliot gave him a curious look. "This was your father's local?"

Nate smiled, gesturing toward the bar. "Oh, this wasn't just his local. This was his office. Right here, on that stool. He'd hold court like he owned the place. I grew up here."

Hardison raised an eyebrow. "Must have been an interesting education."

Nate chuckled. "Better than prep school."

Parker chimed in without hesitation. "What kind of crook was your dad?"

Hardison winced. "Parker, you just..."

Nate didn't seem fazed, taking another sip of his drink. "He ran numbers."

I smirked, leaning back in my chair. "Let me get this straight—you quit stealing, quit drinking, and moved upstairs from a thief bar."

Parker looked around. "He did. I get that. You don't get that? Why does nobody get that?"

Nate ignored her and waved a hand toward the room. "Thing is, now it's just a neighborhood bar. But back in the day? You never knew who you were drinking next to. Mob on one side, law on the other."

"Times have changed," I muttered.

Nate gave a small shrug. "Not as much as you'd think. But Cora here—" he nodded toward the redhead behind the bar, "I remember the day she was born. Grew up here too, and she turned out all right. Huh, Cora?"

We watched as Cora hurried to the cash register, opened it, and grabbed a fistful of bills.

Nate raised an eyebrow. "She grew up here too. Solid kid."

Cora didn't respond, her face tight with frustration as she turned and headed toward the kitchen, clutching the money in her hand.

Eliot let out a low whistle. "Whoo. Redheads burn the hottest, don't they?"

Nate shot him a sharp look. "Easy. She's like my niece."

Eliot smirked. "She's not like your daughter, though."

Nate pointed at him. "No, like my niece. So I don't want you liking my niece."

Eliot raised his hands innocently. "I don't like your niece."

"You know what I mean," Nate muttered.

But before the conversation could go any further, our attention shifted. In the doorway to the kitchen, we caught a glimpse of Cora shoving the money into the hands of a man we didn't recognize.

Nate's face darkened. We all exchanged wary glances. Something was definitely wrong. Moments later, Cora stormed out of the bar, her jaw set and her shoulders stiff with tension.