Chapter 3Todd
Not a neighborhood he’d spent much time in, this Hell’s Kitchen. West Side of Midtown, none of the scams he’d pulled had taken him this way. He preferred the gilded old money of the Upper East Side and in a pinch, the Upper West Side’s new cache of cash would do. He’d had his share of international adventures, too, but right now he was staying local. In fact, he wished he was really local, as in back at his apartment, able to get out of this suit. It had earned its messy status, but still…time for new duds.
Except Todd Gleason was on a fact-finding mission, and it had taken him not only to these mean streets of Irish roots and budding thespians but to a pub. A dank hole in the wall on Ninth Avenue, somewhere in the low forties. A yellow sign posted above a wooden door read
