* * * *
He went, unsurprisingly, to Paddy’s Pub, run by his uncle, on Ninth Avenue at 45th Street. Paddy catered to the locals, both neighborhood and theatre, which meant Monday was an exceptionally busy night. Most shows were dark, so tonight represented the weekend for many of the denizens of Hell’s Kitchen, and as such, Jimmy had trouble finding a spot at the bar. But he was family, so Paddy shooed away a drunk with an empty glass who was just taking up dead space in the near corner of the bar. Jimmy settled down on the stool, accepting the pint of Harp before him.
“How was dinner?” Paddy asked, his white hair and florid face as Irish as ever.
“Ma was in rare form, traditions to the hilt.”
“Calloway reopens tomorrow, you expect different?”
“No, and actually, I took comfort in it. N
