![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() “See him?” Stacy asked.ĭécor-wise, O’Malley’s hadn’t really changed much over the years. Kat swiveled to the right to take a peek. Stacy’s eyes started darting around the bar. They smirked a lot, these soft men, their hair moussed to the point of overcoif, and ordered Ketel One instead of Grey Goose because they watched some TV ad telling them that was what real men drink. Now it had been turned into a yuppie, preppy, master-of- the-universe, poser asshat bar, loaded up with guys who sported crisp white shirts under black suits, two-day stubble, manscaped to the max to look un- manscaped. So had her father and their fellow NYPD col- leagues. O’Malley’s used to be an old-school cop bar. Kat Donovan spun off her father’s old stool, readying to leave O’Malley’s Pub, when Stacy said, “You’re not going to like what I did.” ![]()
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