“I am always obliged to accommodate one of our city’s fine civil servants.” Clay stood, as well, and nodded at Jack, who led the other man out into the corridor. Jack would set up Crain with some house chips downstairs. As Crain was a terrible poker player, he’d undoubtedly lose that amount within the hour. Then he’d dip into that fat stack of cash Clay had just handed him . . . and the money would come right back into Clay’s pockets.

He’d smile if he wasn’t in such a shit mood.

Jack strolled inside the office a moment later, just as Clay was pouring a drink. “Why do I dislike that man so much?”

“He’s harmless, if you don’t mind gutter snakes who would rob their own mothers.”

Jack took the seat Crain had vacated. “Miss Greene got off safely.”

“Yes, I received that message before.” He dropped into his chair and cradled the glass of bourbon.

“Planning to drown your sorrows?” Jack asked.

“Fuck off.”

Jack merely laughed. “Would you care to discuss your lovers’ tiff with Florence Greene?”

“There was no tiff and we are not lovers,” he growled. “Furthermore, I don’t need managing, Jack. You should attend to the floor. We’re probably being robbed blind down there.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“God, no. Talking is the last thing I want to do. In fact, if you plan on making noise at any point in the next two hours then you may leave now.”

“There are other women.”

“I’m aware of that.” He took a long drink, enjoying the burn of the liquor as it traveled to his belly. Yes, there were other women, but they weren’t Florence Greene. She had captured his full attention.

“I do have a piece of good news, if you’re interested.”

“For God’s sake, please.”

Jack smirked and reached into the humidor on Clay’s desk to select a cigar. “Bill’s wife has kicked him out of the house. He’s now living with the mistress over on West Thirty-Seventh Street.”

“Good. Let’s call in the banknote on his house. I want to take away anything attached to his name. I want to destroy him.” That would teach men on Clay’s bankroll not to betray him.

Jack whistled. “You are in a mood. All right, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” He downed the remaining whiskey in his glass. “We need to send a message to the Metropolitan Police Department. No one crosses me without paying a steep price.”