“Gina.” He felt like groaning, but restrained the impulse. It wasn’t that he disliked the friendly brunette who worked in the kitchen with Tony’s wife Irlene, but she’d pursued him with a vengeance ever since they’d met. He’d told her bluntly on numerous occasions that he didn’t want a girlfriend or any strings, but she’d persisted shamelessly. And, he hadn’t exactly been nice. Banging her silly about a week ago and not calling her since. “I was just leavin’.”
She grinned. “Good, you can walk me out. I’m leaving too. What have you been up to?”
Not seeing any easy way out, he opened the door for her. “Been busy, working, hangin’ out with the boys.”
She paused to fidget with her hair, a silly little hat on her head. “Where you going now?”
“I dunno. It’s late,” he said with a casual shrug, lighting a cigarette.
“Ain’t you gonna offer me one?” She smiled at him flirtaciously.
“Nah. Ya know I don’t like it when a dame smokes.” He also didn’t like when a dame asked too many questions, but refrained from saying that.
She laughed, clapping her hands together as if he’d just said something hilarious. “So, if I don’t smoke will you come home with me? I can whip up somethin’ real special to eat, or we can have a nightcap, some tea?”
“Tea. I ain’t no old lady or nothin’,” he cracked.
She giggled anew, brushing against him. “C’mon, don’t be such a party pooper.”
He threw down his cigarette, stomped it with his heel and lit another. He wasn’t sure if he should encourage her. He decided to be blunt. “I told ya, Gina. You’re a nice gal. I like you, but I ain’t the kind of fella to play house with. I only want one thing from a dame right now.”
She smiled up at him, eyes twinkling. “I know that, tough guy. So, do you want to come home with me or not?”
Keeping his face cool and impenetrable, Johnny paused. It was obvious she knew the score and was awaiting his answer with an eagerness that should have been flattering, but somehow wasn’t. Her scent, female, homey and sweet nudged just a little. Willing pussy with no strings attached. He’d be even crazier then he’d been earlier if he passed that up.
Shrugging, he offered her his arm and mumbled. “Why not.”
She sauntered against him, chattering happily the entire time they walked. With a restlessness he couldn’t quite conceal, he blocked out his true thoughts with a lazy smile. He was impatient for her to find her key, open her apartment door, shut up and get down to business. But, instead he helped her with her coat. He took off his. He waited as she unpinned her cloche hat. She turned, smiled. “How about something to drink?”
“To hell with that. C’mere.” Sick of chitchat he yanked her to him. He nuzzled her face and pulled at her clothes. “What…the…fuck. Why do dames wear so many things?”
“Oh, Johnny, the neighbors,” she giggled as he proceeded to tear off her stockings, lifting her skirt to deftly cradle her crotch.
He noted it was already damp. No surprises there.
“Who cares?” He knew she didn’t. He undid his belt, dropping his trousers.
“We should go to the bedroom, ooooh…” Her legs thick as stumps were already tightening around him. He effortlessly held her up against the wall. Horny as hell, Johnny pushed into her without further preamble. She gasped and started howling like a goddamn coyote.
Hannah was glad her friends had suggested they get together and go out, to cheer her, to catch up, to celebrate. The girls were meeting at Fanny’s, a speakeasy, essentially a windowless, white-washed brick basement hidden behind the wash and dry on Ninth Street.
Seymour had died of a heart attack days after Hannah had last seen him and the Jefferson Hotel had closed abruptly. A few weeks later, Jerome and Sam had left to follow the blues trail to New Orleans. Velma moved back to her hometown of Arkansas and only Booth managed to land on his patent leather shoes, running the local racetrack.
The news of Seymour’s death had hit Hannah harder than losing her job. She licked a lime, drinking gin out of the tin can they served her drink in. “Poor Seymour, thanks to him I have funds, however it was horrible learning he’d died and not being able to do anything other than send condolences, and the Jefferson closing so suddenly was deflating. I loved working there.”
“Cabarets and saloons aren’t the only ones feeling Prohibition’s pinch. The only reason I could make it tonight was so many shows went belly up I have huge gaps in my schedule,” admitted Rosie.
“I am sorry about Seymour, Hon,” said Meg, her brown eyes warm. “But, I find it hard to believe you’re not swimming with offers for work.”
Rosie exchanged a meaningful glance with her roommate. “She has options.”
Meg grinned, looking better than the last time they’d seen her. “Okay, do tell. I had a sneaky suspicion something was up when Rosie was so insistent we meet here tonight.”
Rosie grinned. “Well, should I tell her, or will you, Han?”
Hannah spoke up. “I got a job. Tony’s Place on Fourteenth. A piano bar, small, but a steady singing gig all the same.”
“Whoppee.” Meg punched air and hugged her. “Good for you.”
“This job comin’ so easy is a big relief, that’s for sure.”
Meg looked thoughtful. “Isn’t Tony’s a restaurant?”
Hannah nodded. “Mostly, but they have a fancy area upstairs for private parties. It was the strangest thing. I hadn’t even been looking for work yet and the owner called me personally. He offered me an outrageous sum of money just to sing three nights a week. Said he’d heard me sing before and thought I was great. So, I figured what the heck, it’s a job and in this economy, beggers can’t be choosers. I start next week.”
Meg reminded her that she was a valuable commodity. “Tony was smart to grab you.”
“I have some good news too.” Rosie waved her hand. “Mikey’s teaching me to drive his new Model T.”
Meg was aghast. “I’d just as soon hail a cab. Isn’t driving an automobile dangerous?”
Rosie grinned. “Yes, but it’s so fun. There are all kinds of mechanical doodads to learn about. I’ve been practicing using my cranking arm, but I’ll be driving soon enough.”
“The very idea of driving one of those contraptions is horrifying to me. Next thing you know they’ll be expecting us gals to fly airplanes.” Meg made a disgusted face.
They were interrupted by a loud, slurring male voice. “Hey, the shinger from the hotel, fancy sheein’ you here,” he taunted. Forcing his way through the crowd, the fella executed a clumsy bow in front of Hannah and said, “Hello, Lovey.”
Hannah’s face paled. “I’m not your lovey. Please go.” She turned away. Most of her admirers were just that, admirers, but sometimes people could get nasty, especially when they were drunk.
“You heard the lady,” said Rosie giving him a dirty look.
“Lady, ah that’s a rich one,” said the fella with a sneer. Anger suffused his plain features. He grabbed Hannah by the shoulders and forcefully spun her stool around. “Ladies don’t work in cabarets or frequent speakeasies.”
“Hannah, do you want me to call someone to throw him out of here?” Meg stood; ready to hit him over the head with her purse.
Hannah cringed, hating the idea of an unpleasant scene. “Just go away, mister, will you?”
She sat and tried to turn her chair around, but he blocked it with his foot. She stood with an impatient sigh, tapped her foot and tried to look tough. “Beat it now.”
His eyes raked her up and down again. “You singers are all the same, sluts and whores.”
“Sorry you feel that way, but you don’t know me. I think it’s best you leave.”
Moving closer, lips puckered, he had the nerve to try to kiss her.
Ducking, distaste suffused Hannah’s face. “Go before you get into trouble, mister.”
“Is that an invitation?” He grabbed her arm.
“Let me go!”
Despite her efforts to push away, he managed to boldly lick her cheek. Repulsed, she freed her hand to slap him hard across his face.
He let go, but before she could make tracks he lunged back towards her swaying like a mad bull and stumbling, he fell.
“Get off her, you idiot.” Rosie screamed. Too late the drunk landed on top of Hannah. Her breath whooshed out. Gasping for air, afraid she would suffocate she tried to push him off, but when she couldn’t, she panicked and started kicking and screaming.
John Lazia, Johnny Gallo, Lazia’s bodyguard Charlie Carollo, attorney Gil Relente and Mark Green, a local restaurant entrepreneur were being entertained by Vincent Perella, the full bellied proprietor of Kansas City’s latest speakeasy. They’d each been handed a hand rolled Cuban cigar upon arrival and were seated in a small room off the main. Vincent raised his voice enough to be heard above the din of the crowd. “Glad ya came ta get a slant on the place and by the way, John, that case of gin you sent was tops.”
“That’s just a taste of what we’ve got.” John Lazia said confidently.
The meticulously dressed Green ran one of the cleanest joints around. Rumor had it the handsome restaurateur with curly hair and green eyes wore a white glove to make sure his cleaning crew didn’t miss a spot. And that he once knocked his own son out with one punch when he’d closed up for the night and left a table unwiped. Green smiled. “I sure as hell ain’t gonna crimp on drinks with the quality of food I serve. So is it true you’re really bottling soda pop too?”
Lazia nodded. “Sure, it’s legit and believe it or not, we’re doing a good business already.”
Vincent looked impressed. “Sounds like ya got a good set-up, but what’s to keep costs from soaring out the roof once we’re counting on you?”
“Nothin’ Vinny. There ain’t no guarantees.” Gallo’s dark eyes were flat. “You, me, him, we could all be dead tomorrow.”
Vinny flinched. “Yeah, but you want triple what I’m payin’ now. What kind of deal ya gonna give me that’s better than what I already got?”
“We’ll keep your business runnin’ healthy,” said Johnny, adjusting his shoulder holster.
Vincent’s eyes widened. “Hey, I ain’t lookin’ for trouble. Businessman to businessman, all I care about is the bottom line. From what I hear, you fellas got a bottom line that goes back as far as New York City.”
“That’s right, which is all the more reason why with us you get what ya pay for,” Johnny said, smoothly, looking deliberately at each of them.
Lazia moved to pull several unmarked bottles out from his briefcase. He handed them to Vinny. “Here’s another taste and it’s only the tip of the iceberg.”
Vincent sipped from the first bottle. “Umm, it is top notch. This whiskey’s so strong I can water it down and still call it good.”
Lazia looked confident. “Let’s talk numbers.”
With a smug look on his face, Johnny Gallo leaned forward. “First, ya hafta know the deal. Minimum twelve cases a day, twenty or more no extra delivery charge. We deliver every two to three weeks and we get paid in cash before you get the goods.”
“I’ll take twelve of the whiskey for my own use, but I’m more interested in soda pop and beer,” Mark admitted, pulling out a roll of starched money.
Vincent looked appalled. “Why the hell should we pay up front? What if something happens and you can’t deliver?”
Johnny really hated wasting his time teaching idiots like Vinny the basic laws of supply and demand, but his annoyance didn’t show. “If we say we’ll deliver, we’ll deliver.”
“But, what if you can’t? What if the shipment gets hijacked or the Feds block it?”
Johnny shrugged. “Then we all lose. It’s risky business. You know that.”
Vincent balked. “I never like paying for anything I don’t get first.”
“Your wife was a virgin when you got married, wasn’t she?” said Mark. Everyone laughed except Vincent. He wasn’t happy. Not happy at all.
“Can’t ya do me a solid? Do better than that?”
“It ain’t negotiable. You pay and we do everything possible to see you get your goods. That’s the way it works. It’s a simple matter of faith, but maybe you don’t trust us?” Gallo’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Vincent paled when Johnny pushed away from the table, his revolver, harnessed to his shoulder flashed when he stood. “How ‘bout I give you some time to think about it. I need some air.”
“We’ll give you a moment,” said John Lazia, excusing himself to follow his cousin into the crowd.
Johnny grunted as his cousin came close. “You think he’ll go for it?”
“Green did, but Vince can be difficult. If he doesn’t fold it’ll be harder to get some of the others into line.”
“If that happens I’ll beat the shit outta that self important little fuck, make him see things clearer after all the time we spent kissing his big, fat, tightwad ass. It’d be a shame if his place burnt down, wouldn’t it?”
Lazia snorted. “Can’t do that, cuz. Remember, we’re respectable businessmen now. You’re supposed to be a diplomat.”
Johnny snickered, eyeing a curvaceous girl with long getaway sticks. “Diplomat—shmiplomat. I miss the good old days when beatin’ the crap out of a fella got the job done a lot quicker. Felt better too.”
At the sound of a commotion in the crowd, Johnny turned. He spotted people shuffling and saw that some idiot had just knocked some dame to the floor. Even horizontal, he recognized the blonde immediately.
“Sonafabitch!” He rushed over. He plucked the fella right off of the girl with ease. Hannah looked unhurt but terrified. Fury filled him on her behalf. His fists and feet a blur, he beat and kicked the guy like the dirty sack of rags he was.
“Hey, Johnny, enough,” shouted Lazia, reaching over to pull him away.
Johnny stopped, shaking his head. He’d been tempted to kill the guy for messing with his beautiful canary. His. Damn, when had he started thinking of her that way?
“Whatsh the hell,” mumbled the sap, head lolling.
With his foot planted firmly on the man’s chest, Johnny paused as Hannah’s friends helped her up, cooing like a flock of pretty pigeons.
“Get offsh me. Don’t you know who I am?”
He punched the guy one more time for good measure.
The tall, dark eyed gal, one of Hannah’s friends smiled and thanked him profusely.
He shrugged. “No problem. Glad I could help out.”
The other friend, a rather flamboyant looking redhead blew him a kiss. “Me too, thanks mister. You’re a real knight in shining armor, a hero. That jerk started bothering us for no reason at all.”
He froze sensing the moment Hannah’s magnificent sapphire eyes fastened on him. Even disheveled, she was drop dead gorgeous. Johnny felt his own breath hitch and his lips go dry as she recognized him.
“Oh, Mr. Gallo. Thank you so much.” She looked embarrassed.
Her husky, breathless voice made him think of lazy nights of passion, her eyes reminded him of gems of the finest quality. He felt like a dumbstruck schoolboy though he acknowledged the recognition with a rakish tilt of his hat. He didn’t much like feeling awkward. Sensing his cousin’s quiet presence behind him, he looked away. “Hey, John, how about we dump this stinking piece of refuse outside in the alley where it belongs?”
Ignoring the pull to stare at her, he concentrated on hoisting the drunk outside.
“Sluts, the lot of ‘em, but I’m sure if I were six shades darker Miss Glidden wouldn’t push me away. The paper said she dated Negroes.”
“Shut up, will ya,” snarled Johnny, seething as he angrily fingered his revolver. “John, how about I drill this rube right in the head and call it good?”
“Don’t. We need him breathing, cuz. He ain’t worth the trouble.”
“Okay. Fine,” said Johnny. He settled for knocking him in the noggin with his revolver.
“Great, what did you do
that for,” said Lazia, annoyed when the man slumped against him, dead weight.
“Teach the punk to treat a dame right and not start rumors. I got a vested interest in seeing that little gal stays happy. She’s gonna be singing at Tony’s.”
“Ah, you got her.” John grinned as he helped dump the jerk into the fancy fliver someone said was his. “Her singing your only interest?”
“Shut up, will ya.” Johnny didn’t look amused as he lit a smoke.
Lazia grinned, but stayed silent as he checked the guy’s breathing, and rifled through his pockets. He pulled out his wallet. “At least he’s got cabbage. Makes it worth our trouble.”
“Not by a long shot,” muttered Johnny, grabbing half, pocketing it. He hoped the blonde didn’t think he was some kind of thug losing his temper like that. He wondered again why he cared.
9 CHAPTER NINE
The next time Hannah saw Johnny Gallo someone she didn’t know was screaming “RAID”, whistles were blowing and uniformed policemen were filing into the restaurant below with their guns and wooden sticks in hand.
Upstairs, the music came to an abrupt halt. The piano player, obviously more interested in saving his own skin, ran. Hannah looked around in dismay. Two days and three hours into the job and trouble already. Great!
Tony’s people were folding crap tables, taking apart the roulette wheel and stuffing incriminating evidence into sliding floor and wall panels. A quick glance in the two way mirror told her the police were busy downstairs, but the VIP audience surrounding her began forgetting good manners in a mad rush to escape. Observing the crazy tableau of chaos, Hannah didn’t relish the idea of going to jail either, but was proud of herself for not panicking.
“Come with me and hurry.” It was an order. She recognized the man and his New York twang, but despite the burning stares he shot her every time they were within ten feet of each other and his defense of her at Fanny’s, Hannah didn’t know what to think about Johnny Gallo, or for that matter what he thought about her. What she did know was that he made her uneasy.
The Songbird with Sapphire Eyes Page 10
