Drink Me

47. THE AMERICANS

THE AMERICANS

Chris Newby looked much younger than his thirty-eight years of age and with his dark hair, dark eyes and olive skin he looked more of Italian descent than Irish.

Riley met him at a pub called Rudy's on ninth and forty-fourth, that with its five dollars beer pitchers and complimentary hot dogs, was one of the locals' favourite and made for a perfect crowded place to talk without attracting any unwanted attention.

When Newby arrived, Riley had already secured a corner booth with a strategic view both on the entrance door and on the TV synced on ESPN.

The American walked passed the dark wooden bar, scanning the crowd for a recognizable face until his eyes met Riley and he resumed his pace to the booth.

"Murphy?" the man asked.

"You must be Newby," Riley replied, standing and stretching out his hand that Newby shook with strength before taking a seat on the red leather padded bench.

"I got us a pitcher, hope you like red beer," Riley said, pouring the man a glass of brew before this could reply.

But Newby took it without complaints, nodding appreciatively and downing a long gulp as if he hadn't drunk in weeks. "How was your trip?" he asked as his glass hit the table with a satisfied deaf sound.

"Uneventful," Riley replied, grabbing a peanut from the metal bucket on the table to find it still surprisingly crunchy when he broke the shell in half.

Newby nodded again, effectively putting an end to the niceties, and signalled the waitress for another round of whatever was on the table.

"The meeting is tomorrow at twelve-thirty," the American started, squeezing a peanut of his own.

Riley relaxed against the padded bench and, as he scratched his wrist, he pressed the chronometer button on his watch. He hoped the recorder was powerful enough to register the conversation in such a crowded place.

"We'll meet on twenty-seventh and Broadway, then I'll take you to Pratt's office. Wear a suit," the man instructed and Riley suddenly realised he was going shopping that afternoon.

He nodded and took a sip of his beer.

"Is there anything I should know before the meeting?" he asked, hoping the question was general enough for the man to volunteer some casual information.

"I'm sure Cooper shared everything there is to know," Newby said as the waitress approached the table with a spilling pitcher of beer.

Riley observed the man's eyes unashamedly land on the girl's décolleté. She couldn't have been more than nineteen.

"How did the Senator react when he found out I would be attending the meeting alone?" Riley asked, hoping to get Newby's preying attention back on himself and away from the girl's v-neck.

But the man kept silent while the girl deposited the pitcher on the table, evidently uncomfortable under Newby's vulgar stare.

Riley felt terrible for the girl but he couldn't say anything to the man, he still hadn't gained his trust. So he just kept silent, busying himself with a sip of beer until the waitress was finally gone.

Men are pigs sometimes.

"Sorry, man, I got a bit distracted there," Newby sneered with satisfaction and judging from his expression, he expected Riley to do the same.

"Hard to blame you," he said with a complicit, gamy smile.

And Newby took the bait. "Anyway," he started pouring a fresh glass of beer. "Pratt was very impressed with you, to be honest. Rumour has it you intercepted a snitch and took care of him," he looked at Riley and bobbed his head subtly with a look in between admiration and jealousy. "Men like you are always a welcome addition to our group."