“Johnny doesn’t like me making friends.”
“Tough, do it anyway. He might be a boss, but he ain’t yours. Right?”
“Right. Meg?” But, Meg was gone.
Crazy, thought Hannah opening her eyes, wide awake. This was her most vivid dream with Meg in it yet. Her conversation with Meg felt real even though she knew Meg hadn’t really been there. Still, dream or not, she felt better, determined. She reached for the phone to call Josie.
Johnny beat the little shit into the wall as two muscled and armed heavies held the man still. When the fella finally collapsed to the floor in a semi-conscious heap, he kicked him a few more times for good measure.
“Ya want we should finish him, Mr. Gallo,” offered one, bald as an egg as he pulled the man’s hair hard, forcing him to look up.
“Nah, that’s good enough.” Johnny shook his head and with one well aimed shot, spit on the man. Contempt was ripe on Johnny’s face as the wad landed right on the man’s already swelling eye. “Don’t wipe that off neither.”
While straightening his shirt, his silver cufflinks laced with gold, ring flashing, Johnny eyed the hospital orderly with disgust. The idiot had ratted them out to the press. He’d eavesdropped on the private conversations in Torrio’s room. He grimaced, hoped he didn’t have any of the dimwit’s blood on his new custom tailored clothes. He hated getting his hands dirty, but this couldn’t be helped. It was business, personal and necessary.
He’d traveled to Chicago to update Torrio himself and it had leaked into the papers that there were now mob connections from Chicago to Kansas City to New York. The comment had created no end of hype and speculation, alarming the public and making things difficult. No one liked a snitch, or needed another can of worms opened right now. Not Torrio. Not Capone. Not him.
The terrorized figure on the floor shuddered, blood and spittle running down his face. He was obviously afraid to wipe it, afraid to move, not at all sure of what might happen next.
Sighing deeply, Johnny shook his head. He threw the man a clean handkerchief. He knelt close to the man’s’ ear. “Now listen, rat. From now on in, keep your hole shut, stay away from reporters, coppers too. And keep them ears away from where they don’t belong or I’ll cut them off next time. Consider this a lesson on learnin’ manners. Oh, anybody asks you to testify, you refuse, or we’ll hafta shut you up permanent, got it?”
The man nodded, sweating profusely even though it was fifty-five degrees outside.
“Business settled, fellas, I’m going home to New York.” Johnny turned to go, the two men with him following behind. Back in the car he took out a comb to fix his hair. He was anxious to clean up, say his farewells and catch a train back to calmer streets, to Brooklyn, to Hannah. He didn’t need any further impetus to pack his bags.
The problems in Chicago were constant. Capone was scared even with no less than thirty loyal men guarding him. Torrio had finally had enough of Chicago and would be returning to New York. Returning home from shopping with his wife, still carrying packages he’d taken four hits to his body as someone tried to kill him again. At forty-three, a millionaire several times over, Torrio had decided he was leaving Chicago and all its wonders, wealth and problems to Capone.
And, damn, Johnny missed Hannah. All that perfection, poise, spirit and gorgeous spunk waiting at home. His and his alone. It was unfortunate he couldn’t lock her away like one of his treasures and take her out for display or play when it suited him. He wondered how mad she’d be. He’d been gone much longer than planned, weeks. While he hoped the suitcase full of trinkets he’d bought might placate her, he suspected he’d get an earful. She’d be certain to make him suffer first and they’d have to have that talk he’d promised, the one where he’d have to bite the bullet and deliver the goods. He would, but damn, sometimes he wished he could lock her up and throw away the key.
17 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“You gonna open that bottle, or bash me on the noggin with it instead?”
Hannah jumped and turned as the bottle she held went flying. Clapping her hand over her mouth, she smothered a shriek, awaiting the inevitable sound of breaking glass. The impact was dulled by the rug’s edge. She squealed, “Johnny!”
She’d been frustrated when Johnny left for Chicago to ride around in Capone’s thirty thousand dollar bulletproof Cadillac, to baby-sit a recovering Papa Torrio while he expected her to stay home every day and night. But her eyes drank in the sight of him.
He was wearing a dark blue suit with gray pinstripes, white shirt and a blood red tie. She wagged her finger at him. “You handsome devil, you scared me half to death. Almost made me ruin a perfectly good bottle of hooch, sneakin’ in here like that.”
Smiling and arching a brow he calmly bent down to pick up the fallen bottle. “So, you saying you don’t like surprises, Han?”
She couldn’t lie, her heart was pounding. “We both know I adore surprises.”
Chuckling, he put the bottle back on the counter before turning to her. His black eyes glimmered as he held out his arms. “Then, show me, doll, show me.”
She dragged in a breath, her mind reeling with things she was annoyed about, things she should say to him, but giggling she rushed into his arms anyway. Glad to see him, kissing him all over, pleasure washed over her. “When did you get back, Johnny?”
He sucked the words right out of her, nibbling on her like a starving wolf. And, he smelled good, clean, familiar—hers.
“Last night. I slept at the office.” Few would guess behind the peeling paint, barbed wire and chipped brick facade that the offices above his warehouse were class personified, Italian Renaissance with all the amenities; a bathroom, shower, bar, card table, billiards room, padded walls, doors thick as vaults and bulletproof windows. He needed his space, for business, for privacy.
“Couldn’t have been too comfy, I saw the place and—”
“When?”
She felt his body stiffen, but he didn’t loosen his hold. His nose was buried in her hair. “A week ago, thought since I hadn’t been there I’d pop in.”
“Ya went upstairs?”
Her insides clenched. She stared into his eyes, dark and unreadable. “Heck no, if it’s anything like the downstairs it can’t be too comfortable, right?”
He shrugged, his expression neutral again. “Where was Charlie?”
She detested Charlie, the bodyguard-driver Johnny insisted accompany her everywhere while he was out of town. She’d made a habit of trying to ditch him, though the man, a burly hunk of meat with no manners and an even more despicable attitude always seemed to track her down like a hound dog on the scent.
They were interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Speaking of Charlie, I refuse to—”
“Shh.” Johnny put a finger to his lip.
He went to open the door. It was Charlie.
Nodding at her, his beady eyes expressionless, Charlie lugged in Johnny’s valise, a trunk and two shopping bags. Johnny blocked most of her view, but Hannah’s eyes were sharp. Johnny always brought her something. She waited while he thanked Charlie, told him to go and slamming the door turned to lazily trace her body with his eyes.
She swallowed hard. Her belly was tingling as if he’d touched her there, everywhere. Her heart thumped like a foot tapping fiddler at a hoe down. “I wish I could have gotten rid of him quick as that when you weren’t here. As I was saying, that fella is a bohunk.”
She debated whether she should tell him she went out before Charlie did. She’d felt like a kid in a candy store going out to listen to music even knowing Johnny wouldn’t be happy she’d gone out without him at all.
“I like that thing you’re wearing.” Johnny’s voice was husky as he admired her skimpy, silk gown. “That dress clings to all the right places,” he sighed hungrily and ran his hand through his shiny black hair. “Damn, I missed ya, Han.”
“I missed you too, handsome.”
His gaze swept the apartment, empty whiske
y bottles by the sink, the dirty ashtrays. She knew he hated disorder, hated her drinking too much, smoking. She was relieved when he decided to forego lecture for action. Instead of commenting, he loosened his tie and took off his jacket. He unbuttoned his shirt and removed his cufflinks. His intent was as plain as the grin on his face. He walked towards her, words unnecessary, for now.
He scooped her up as if she weighed no more than a bundle of feathers, careful not to trip on the obstacle course of discarded clothing all over the bedroom. He lowered her gently onto the thick layers of their unmade bed, ruthlessly throwing pillows and blankets out of the way as he made a place for their bodies on the soft mattress.
He plunged down on the bed beside her into the welcoming folds of too many blankets already immersed in her scent. His desire for her was eclipsed by long days and nights of soul draining demands, intense concentration, abstinence and longing. He didn’t know how much he’d longed until right now. He’d never felt like this about any other woman and knew he never would.
His hungry fingers found the source of her pleasure as her own very determined hands were busy fumbling with the front of his trousers. She pulled, giggling and demanding what he sure as hell wanted her to have anyway.
He almost lost it twice, but held on when she finally managed to release his straining cock, licking it, sucking and stroking. He was more than ready, throbbing thick with need. She was his, only his. He turned her away, around, upside down, distracting, denying, forcing himself to restrain a primitive urge to claim and possess by thrusting mindlessly into her honeyed depths. Instead, he made love to her slowly, thoroughly and methodically. He would not be content until he felt her open to him and surrender. And, only when she was frantic, clinging, begging and conquered, her eyes glazed over with hard-won passion, with the knowledge she needed what only he could give, all her calculated, clever lucidity gone, then and only then, would he let go and give them both what they wanted.
An hour later, relaxed, Johnny lay with his hands behind his head. Hannah lay beside him, her hair in splendid disarray. He tugged one golden lock, forcing her to face him. “Hey, what’s this I hear you been going to the Cotton every night with the goddamned maid? Worse, getting chummy with Owney Madden? What’s that about?”
Hannah wasn’t surprised. It figured Charlie had ratted her out. Rubbing Johnny’s face affectionately she patiently explained how Josie had invited her to go out to hear music and she’d accepted. “We both share a love of the blues and the Cotton Club swings with quality acts. I even got to see that big, blonde actress, Mae West and some dancer named George Raft who they say is going to be Hollywood’s next big star. Josie’s best friend sings there and she knows a fella who plays trumpet for the house orchestra so we get the VIP treatment. Mr. Madden was nice to everyone, not just me. He knows I’m your girl, but I didn’t think it hurt to mention I’m a singer looking for a place to sing.”
Johnny’s body tensed. “So, you went behind my back to ask that fancy flamingo for a job when it ain’t none of his goddamned busines—”
“How dare you!” She jumped up, her good mood instantly dashed. Spotting her robe, she pulled it on, tying it even as she glared at him. “I didn’t ask Owney for anything of the sort.”
“Oh, it’s Owney, now, is it?” His eyes thunderous, he glared at her, jaw tight.
She clenched her fists as tears of frustration filled her eyes. Weeks of pent up anger came to the surface. “You have one helluva nerve. All I want to do is work again. Obviously, you don’t understand. You pretend to. You say you’re going to manage my career, but it’s been months. I’m beginning to suspect all you’d like is for me to be your house frau. Go shopping Hannah, you say,” she imitated, gaze snapping. “Your work is important, but mine isn’t. That’s it, isn’t it?
He groaned, resisting the urge to shake her. He casually lit a cigarette instead. “Damn, Hannah, you know that ain’t the truth. Can I help it Papa John was almost killed? Do you think I want to be away so much, from you, from my business?” He brought up the jobs he’d already gotten her, how he gave her anything her heart desired. “I got you a whole suitcase full of gifts this time. I have Charlie drive you anywhere you want to go and this is the thanks I get?”
“I can walk or take a bus. I don’t want a bodyguard, especially him. He’s hateful and prejudice too. Called my friends the N word. I don’t like having to explain myself every time I go out when you are not here. He’s rude and I don’t like him.”
“I would’ve never guessed that,” Johnny said sarcastically. “I thought I was keeping you safe, doing you a favor.”
“And, yourself too. He obviously tells you everything I do, a perfect little spy.”
Johnny rolled his eyes. “Give me a break. I’m being cautious here, trying to take care of things. I’d die if anything happened to you because of me.”
“You don’t trust me.” Her gaze grew distant.
He shook his head and tried to grab her robe, but she pulled away, twisting to distance herself from his reach. Johnny sat up, tamped out his cigarette, his back against the headboard. His eyes were narrow slits. He patted the bed. “Sit back down—now.”
Hannah hesitated, but flopped back down again with an exasperated sigh close to the edge, gaze veiled and chin obstinate.
“Don’t ever pull away from me like that again,” Johnny warned. “I trust you. I just don’t trust any fellas around you.”
“Then please, no Charlie and don’t accuse me.” The hell was she noticed his hairy chest and ribbed belly with its small trail of hair leading down to where the rest of his assets now lay hidden by the sheets. He was such a good looking fella and when he was gone, she missed him.
Surprising her, he conceded. “Fine, but somebody’s got to guard you or I’ll worry.” A smart fella knew he had to eat some crow if he wanted peace. Dames.
“Okay, sometimes and only if he’s human,” she agreed, studying his face.
Nodding, he sighed. He was in a mood to be generous. “I been working on solutions.” He wanted to appease her and keep a handle on her time. “I got good news. An associate of mine, Shotzi Giordano bought a joint, The Renegade. It’s in Brooklyn and while it ain’t Manhattan he’s fixing to attract a swank uptown crowd. How does headlining your own act Wednesday nights and the first two weekends of every month with a percentage of the drinks thrown in sound?”
She eyed him suspiciously. “You got me a job just like that? He’s never even heard me sing.”
“Hey, he knows if I say you’re good, you’re good.”
“I want to get work on my own merit. You didn’t bully him into it, did you?”
Now was obviously not the time to tell her he owned half the action and was bankrolling Shotzi too. “Hell no. Why would I hafta do that? Shotzi knows me, knows I got good instincts. I told him you’ll draw a crowd and always have. He was sold, simple as that. What do ya think a manager does anyway?”
“What kind of stuff will he expect me to perform?
“Whatever you want, but you gotta figure it out quick because we, uh, he’s planning on openin’ in five weeks. The place ain’t huge, but it’s got a nice bar and a stage with room enough for a piano.”
Hannah’s eyes widened perceptively. She licked her lips. “Can I can pick my own format and hire my own people? I want to be creative.”
“Yeah, whatever ya want.”
She scooted closer to him, getting excited. “How about the blues with some piano, sax, maybe a clarinet, fiddle and bass, another gal on vocals for back-up. What do you think? I know this lady piano player—”
“Whatever you want, doll.” He patted her indulgently.
She hugged him, eyes shining. She was no longer mad and thanked him effusively with lots of kisses. “You’re the best, Johnny, the best, thanks. I’m sorry I doubted you. I should know by now, your bark is worse than your bite. You’re a marshmallow inside that tough shell and the sweetest, most wonderful fella in the world.”
He rolled his eyes, but accepted her hug. “I live to serve. Glad you’re happy, doll.
Hannah was more than happy. Johnny rented her a temporary studio space at his own expense while The Renegade was being renovated so she could work on putting her new act together, interviewing, auditioning, hiring and rehearsing musicians and she didn’t even think to question it. She hired Josie’s friend Berta to play piano and sing back-up. And thanks to Berta’s contacts she got all her players in place quickly. They were a mixed bag of talent. Gary, a white saxophone player who could also play clarinet, CT, a colored bass player for percussion and drums and a colored, fiddle player named Willamina who also sung back-up. Johnny even let her hire Josie to come in three nights a week to keep her clothes pressed, run errands and keep the dressing room stocked and cleaned.
Planning and working on the act gave her life new purpose. Even with a decided lack of sleep, she felt great, surer of herself then she had been in a long time. With only one week to go before opening night, she’d been subsisting on java, cigarettes and soup. Johnny, busy catching up on his own work was only too happy to reap the benefits of her appreciation and she was very appreciative.
“Well, doll, I got a surprise for ya.” He greeted her with an enthusiastic kiss and hug, waltzing her towards the door that afternoon. “I gotta show you something.”
Curious, she let him lead her down the hall, down the elevator, trying to read his face. He looked smug, grinning like a jack-o-lantern. His hand firm on her arm, he steered her to the door and opened it. “You got a birthday coming soon and since you don’t like Charlie…”
With a brief glance back at him, she looked out on the street and spotted a shiny new black four door sedan. Next to it stood a big-boned giant of a fella with bright auburn hair. “An automobile?”
Johnny nodded. “Yeah, ain’t it a beaut? Jimmy there is gonna be your new driver and he ain’t nothin’ like Charlie. The kid can take you where you want to go, run errands for you, whatever ya need when I can’t be around. So how does that suit you, doll?”
The Songbird with Sapphire Eyes Page 21
