Harry arrived back at the table with a smile on her face.
As she sat down again next to Dempsey and placed the drinks on the table, Dempsey's eyes dropped to the glass of red wine she had bought for herself and rose again to her with amusement.
"No Guinness for you?" he questioned.
"Not this time," she replied, lifting her glass to her mouth and taking a sip.
He watched her for a moment before picking up his pint glass and drinking.
Replacing the pint back in front of him, he asked, "Hey, you mind if I smoke a cigar?"
She shook her head. She'd come to expect that from him now anyway.
He rose from his seat and headed for the bar. Harry chuckled to herself, noting that he was now able to leave the table.
She had to admit that she was very glad she'd stopped off at Dempsey's new place on the way to The Club and that they had ended up going somewhere different together. She'd forgotten what it was like to be in his company like this. Okay, he'd often been insufferable at work, but on an evening out, he was… attentive… entertaining… and… something else she couldn't quite think of at that moment. Maybe the wine was going to her head, but she hadn't felt so…alive, for a long time.
She watched as he chatted to the barwoman, ordering his cigar. The woman laughed. Then he turned and caught Harry watching him. He smiled at her and winked. Why did that make her feel so…so… let's face it, good? Damn it, what was it about him that fascinated her so much?
He returned again with a cigar and two shot glasses full of what looked like some Irish Cream Liqueur.
"What's this?" she asked.
"Try it an' see," he replied, holding up his shot glass, "To a great night, eh."
She smiled, picked hers up, clicked with him and drank.
It tasted of chocolate mint with a notable kick to it.
"Mmm, that was nice," she said, putting a finger to her lips to remove a drip of the sticky liquid that had escaped over the rim.
His eyes were drawn to the pad of her finger that momentarily disappeared past those glossy lips as she sucked it clean.
He shifted in his seat and distracted himself by saying,
"The girls call it a 'Peppermint Pattie' in New York. Dunno what ya call it here."
"The girls?" she inquired.
"Yeah well, I dated a few," he said, "But chasin' down Mafia bosses aint exactly conducive to a healthy relationship with a broad."
"No, I suppose not," she replied.
He unravelled his cigar and began to light it.
She took another sip of her wine. She was feeling… relaxed and content.
"Now we're talkin'," he said, putting his feet up on one of the chairs after having exhaled a long plume of cigar smoke.
"So, where did you take 'the girls' in New York then Dempsey?" she inquired. "Did you have a favourite bar there that you went to?"
He shrugged. "Not really. I used to know some good places before I was sent here the first time but… places change; people move on."
It must have been difficult for him moving from country to country, she thought.
He took another drink of his Guinness before returning to his cigar and continuing when a memory came back to him.
"One of the best places was this little Italian bar and restaurant called "Giovanni's". Was real cozy, ya know, typical Italian place with red an' white chequered table cloths, the works. Not too expensive, just homely. Ma used to know the family who owned it. I went there as a kid, was bought up with their kids. We'd play in the back room, or in the restaurant too before we got busted."
She smiled at the picture. "Did you used to play cops and robbers then Dempsey?" she asked.
He laughed. "Yeah."
"And did you pull the girls' pig tails too?"
"Yeah." He turned to her. "But only to get their attention."
She chuckled.
Dempsey noticed that his Guinness was going down nicely, as was their conversation. They had a certain rapport going between them that night that he was thoroughly enjoying. He continued.
"So when I was workin' in the NYPD, sometimes I'd finish work late and I'd wanna take a girl out, but there'd be nowhere open real good to take her. So I'd turn up at Giovanni's an' knock on the window. The family would be in there finishin' eatin' together after they'd closed up, but when they saw me, they'd always open and let me in. Then they'd disappear out the back and we'd have the whole place to ourselves. The girls liked that," he grinned.
She didn't doubt it.
"Only, the family were out the back all the time, watchin' us and waitin' to see if she was gonna be 'the girl'," he laughed.
She smiled. "And none of them were?"
"Nah, never found the right one," he replied, his gaze moving to her.
She held his gaze for a moment until she began to wonder what her own face was giving away, then she picked up her wine glass again.
"So what about you when you were a kid?" he asked. "I guess it was all ponies and…" he paused, running out of ideas. "What do rich kids play anyhow?"
"Yes, I did learn to ride, but we are not any different to other children you know," she stressed. "I remember that my cousins were banned from playing with toy guns at one point. This didn't stop them; they just picked up sticks from off the garden and ran around the playing cowboys and indians."
"Did they let you play too?" he asked.
"No," she replied, "They said that girls were not as good at that game." She threw him a look.
"Ooops," he said, picking up his pint glass. "Did ya go to The Club an' play with your cousins?" he asked, moving the conversation away from that touchy subject.
"No, I didn't go there until I was a teenager," she answered, sipping more wine. "But I met other boys there to… talk to," she plumped for.
He grinned.
"I got caught once," she admitted, biting her lip.
Damn, she really shouldn't say these things and look like that when he was feeling in the mood he was.
"Caught?" he found himself asking.
She laughed. "Only kissing. It was in that old abandoned house I showed you actually. You know, the one next to The Club."
"Yeah, I know. How the hell d'he get you to do it?" he asked wryly. "Who caught you anyway?"
"Doug," she cringed.
He laughed. "I'm guessin' he was jealous."
"Don't be ridiculous," she replied. "I was only a teenager."
"Ah, that came later then," he answered, stubbing out his cigar. "You wanna move on?" he asked before she could reply to his last comment.
"Yep," she said, draining her glass and reaching for her bag.
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
They returned to the car to find Eddie serenading the windscreen to the song, 'A Groovy Kind of Love." Harry could hear the music from halfway down the road. She knocked on the car window and he jumped, turning to see her motioning to speak to him. He wound down the window.
"You ready for the next stop?" he asked.
"Yes, but why don't you come with us to the next place?" she suggested. "Looks like you must be bored stiff sitting in here."
"No, no, you know the rules; I never leave the car… or else I'll be far too tempted into having a drink. Come on, get in," he urged.
She tutted and got into the back with Dempsey.
"Sorry about that," Eddie grinned, turning to speak to them. "Was just practicing my wooing techniques."
"Ed, what's the point in wooing techniques if you never get out to use them?" she replied.
"I will," he assured her. "Next time you're doing the driving," he chuckled. "So, are you ready for my next suggestion? I've had a bit of time to think of more places," he informed them.
"Go on, what have you been planning?" she asked.
"Well, it starts with this," he said, diving down into a bag on the front seat to pull out a small bottle and two shot glasses.
"Oh no, what's have you got there?" she asked.
"Just a little something to set the right scene," he replied, pouring them two shot glasses of clear liquid and passing them back.
They each took a glass. Dempsey shrugged, clinked with Harry and downed the shot.
Oh well, wild and reckless.
Harry followed suit.
"So, I've heard of this bar just off Covent Garden. It's supposed to be great. It specializes in shots, has every kind of vodka under the sun apparently, and all other shots too, all different flavours. It's owned by Russians, supposed to be a good laugh in there," he said.
"Ohh those Russians," Dempsey grinned.
Harry laughed. "What about Dempsey though?" she asked. "I'm not sure that a brash American will go down too well in there."
"Brash?" Dempsey questioned.
"Ah well, I've thought of that already," Eddie came back. "I was thinking that you two should embrace your European connections in the bar, and you," he said, pointing to Dempsey, "should be French and you Harry, should be Swedish. Great idea, eh?"
Harry didn't look so convinced. Dempsey looked slightly bemused but was willing to go along with anything that took them closer to the 'wild and reckless' stage.