“Should we go to the police?”
“We can’t involve coppers,” Tommy said. When Nichole frowned, he explained. “We don’t know who’s on the mob’s payroll and who’s clean.”
“What about Mabel? We can’t just leave her there.”
“Do you have a telephone?”
“No, but Mabel does.”
“I’ll take care of it.” He smoothed her hair, tucking it behind her ear. The familiar caress soothed her, providing welcome calm in a way nothing else had. “Why don’t you get your things together, enough to last a few days, and meet me back downstairs?”
Nichole moved in a daze. She threw clothes and necessities in her old suitcase. She’d brought it from the farm, back when she was full of innocence and dreams of being a professional dancer. Life turned out differently than she’d expected, and she’d never complained. She was happy. Frankie was the best thing that ever happened to her. She couldn’t lose him. She couldn’t.
Tommy waited at the base of the stairs. His handsome face was filled with anxiety. He quickly climbed up and took the suitcase from her. “We have to move fast and quiet. The cops will be here soon, and I want to be a good distance away before we hail a taxi. Too many prying eyes might recognize you or me.” With his free hand, he grasped hers. “Are you ready?”
“Let’s go,” she said firmly. “I’ll follow you.”
They crept around the back and dissolved into the shadows of the alley. Gripping Tommy’s steady hand, Nichole prayed desperately. If she ever needed a miracle, it was then.
April 20, 1930 ~ 3:00 a.m.
Southside of Chicago, Illinois
The hour hand ticked on the clock. It was three in the morning, and Tommy hadn’t returned. Before he left, he told Nichole to get some sleep and refused to let her come and help confront Michael. She tried arguing that Frankie was her son, and she had a right to be there, but Tommy was adamant. “I can’t do what I need to do and worry about you, too.”
She didn’t like the sound of that. What does he need to do? She knew his anger often got the best of him and hoped he’d control it. She lay in bed, unable to sleep and staring at the clock. Blood pounded behind her eyes, the beginning of a headache. Cinching her robe, she went to the kitchen, found the hidden jar of whiskey, and poured half a glass. She downed it quickly, wincing as it burned a trail down her throat. She waited a moment, and then poured another. The second went down easier than the first. The sound of a door opening was the only thing that stopped her from pouring a third.
“Found the booze, I see.” Tommy’s voice was neutral. He looked almost as tired as she was, although the sight of him filled her with relief. Tired, but seeming unharmed, was a good sign.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said by way of explanation. It was a sorry excuse for drowning one’s grief in alcohol.
He took the bottle and nodded at the glass. “May I?” When she nodded, he poured a healthy amount and drank it. “Let’s go sit, and I’ll tell you what happened.”
She followed him with apprehension. He didn’t seem upset, but like her, exhausted. He sat and pulled her down against him, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and kissing her temple. “I’m sorry I was gone so long.”
“You’re here now,” she said, her words slurring slightly. The whiskey and lack of sleep were equal culprits.
“Mikey confessed to everything. Turns out, he’s on the mob’s payroll, so is Jimmy. He was the other guy you saw. Jimmy is the one who told Capone. Mic let him go, and well, let’s just say he won’t be able to work for a while.”
“Meaning?”
“I roughed him up a little.”
“Tommy!” Even without details, Nichole felt sick. She hated violence and the thought of using it to get information. Those men were no good, but that didn’t make it right.
Shrugging, Tommy looked only mildly guilty. “Jimmy wouldn’t talk, and I needed answers. Capone has Frankie at the house. He’s with Sonny. From what Mikey says, Frankie is scared and quiet, but safe.”
Worry for her son brought fresh tears to her eyes. “How are we going to get him back?”
Squeezing her shoulder, Tommy said, “I have a plan.”
While he talked, Nichole tried to listen and not judge. She didn’t like the plan but couldn’t think of anything better. Tommy was going to bargain with the mob boss, which was a terrible idea by itself, but when Tommy told her how he was going to do it—throw a fight in exchange for Frankie—Nichole protested. “You’ll ruin your career!”
“My career for your son,” he said gently. “I think it’s a fair trade. Besides, plans change.”
Pulling his arm back, he gave her a nervous smile. She wondered what he was up to, although her heart sped up when he shifted to kneel in front of her and take her hands in his. “My timing could be better, but I’ve been thinking about this for a few weeks. I love you, Nichole, and I love Frankie like my own son. More than anything, I want us to be a family. Once we get Frankie back”—she liked that he said once and not if—“we’ll need to go into hiding. You know that, right?”
Staring at their joined hands, she nodded. Life would never be the same again.
Seeing that she wasn’t going to say anything, Tommy continued, “We’re getting a chance to start over. We’ll take new identities. Start fresh.”
Shaking her head, she said, “You’re giving up everything.”
“I’m gaining everything.” He corrected gently, shifting on his knees. “Now, let me ask before my knees go numb or I lose my nerve.” He grinned, and she laughed nervously. “Nichole Blomgren, will you marry me?”
She didn’t even have to think about it. “Yes!” she cried, her arms flying around his neck. He was her rock through everything, and she couldn’t imagine her life without him.
He stood, sweeping her up into his arms and twirling in a circle before settling back on the couch with her in his lap. She cuddled against him and closed her eyes. It was the worst day of her life, but it ended on a note of hope. The next day, they could finalize the details to rescue Frankie. At the moment, she couldn’t think past the feeling of Tommy’s hand slowly stroking her back. An overwhelming sense of comfort and love was Nichole’s last conscious thought.
§
Nichole woke in Tommy’s bed, a blanket tucked around her, enveloping her in the scent of his cologne. She stretched and smacked her lips, making a face. The residual taste of last night’s whiskey made her tongue feel thick. She wasn’t fond of booze, but it temporarily calmed the nerves. With its help, she managed to get a few hours of sleep. She wondered if Tommy had. There was no sign he slept in the bedroom. She checked the rest of the apartment and came to two realizations. One, Tommy wasn’t there. Two, he had terrible handwriting. In the kitchen, she found a hastily scribbled note:
N—
Went to the gym. Be back soon. Coffee is on the stove. Do not go out!
Love, T
No surprise, the coffee was cold. Nichole reheated it. There wasn’t much in the icebox besides a little cream, butter, and a small block of cheese. Half a loaf of bread was on the counter, so she made a cheese sandwich. The bread tasted slightly stale, but she forced it down with the hot, strong coffee. Afterward, she washed and dressed. She’d just turned on the radio and sat down to listen when Tommy returned, an unreadable expression on his face.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
He hung his hat and ran a hand through his black hair. “The arrangements are made. All we can do is wait. I hate that my next fight isn’t for two weeks.”
She hated that, too. Since Frankie’s birth, she hadn’t spent a day apart from him before he was taken. How could she wait two weeks, knowing her boy was frightened? It broke her heart. She couldn’t say that to Tommy, though. He already felt guilty. Instead, she said, “You can’t help that. Two weeks gives us time to prepare.”
“That it does,” he agreed.
He joined her on the couch, taking her hand. Tommy had started look
ing for any excuse to touch her. She didn’t mind. Being close to him was both comforting and exhilarating, although for the time being, romance was the furthest thing from her mind.
“Mikey’s got it all worked out, and Capone agreed to it,” Tommy said.
“And you trust him?” Nichole didn’t.
“As much as I can.” Tommy shrugged. “I don’t have much of a choice.”
With a sigh, she settled back into the cushion. “What’s the plan?”
“Capone will bring Frankie to the fight and give him to you. I lose the fight, and Capone rakes in the bets. After that, he leaves us alone.”
“And you believe that?” There was nothing to stop Capone from taking the money, taking Frankie, and blackmailing Tommy to throw more fights. Capone didn’t get to be Public Enemy number one because he was nice guy.
“Not for one second.” Tommy’s dark eyes captured hers. “I have a favor to ask.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t trust Capone or his henchmen and can’t have you and Frankie alone with him while I’m in the ring. As soon as you get Frankie, you need to leave.”
“Where should we go?”
“Remember Mic?”
She nodded. Mic was Tommy’s manager, a nice, older man with prematurely white hair, bright blue eyes, and an easy smile.
“Mic’s brother, Don, works on the same farm as my parents. Don is going to meet you out front. He looks a lot like Mic, but he’ll also give you a code word, ‘Delilah.’ Go with him, and I’ll meet up with you as soon as I can.”
“Where are we going?”
“Sabula, Iowa. You can stay with my parents until I get there.” Tommy smoothed her hair behind her ear and gave her a fleeting smile. “They’re good people. You’ll be safe with them. I should be there the next day, at the latest, and then we’ll go.”
“Go where?” Where will we be safe? The mob has connections across the country.
Leaning forward, he kissed her before resting his forehead against hers. “I don’t know yet. We’ll drive until we find a town we like, something small and inconspicuous, off the beaten path.”
“Somewhere they won’t find us.”
“Exactly.”
She curved into his side, resting her head on his chest and listening to his steady heart. “I’m scared.”
He was quiet for a moment before admitting, “So am I.”
May 4, 1930 ~ 2:00 p.m.
Chicago Stadium
Straining to see through the smoke and the noise, Nichole searched the crowded arena for any sign of her son.
“Mom?”
The minute she heard his voice, she turned and found Frankie behind her, his face pale and eyes wide. She glanced around but didn’t see anyone with him. Dropping to her knees, she pulled him against her and breathed in the combination of sweat and soap that was her boy. “Oh, Frankie. I missed you!”
She felt his little body shaking before she saw his tears, but he hugged her back fiercely. “I missed you, too, Mom. I didn’t think I was going to see you again. Uncle Al said I had to live with him. He said you didn’t want me.”
Taking his tear-filled face between her hands, she kissed each of his cheeks and let him see her own tears. “That’s not true, Frankie. I love you more than anything. I would never, ever let you go.”
“Can we go home, Mom?” The fact that he didn’t even ask about Tommy told her how shaken her son was. It would take time to heal those wounds.
Damn Al Capone! Damn him to Hell for scaring my child!
“You bet, kiddo. Let’s go.” Wrapping an arm securely around his narrow shoulders, she led him to the exit. To her relief, no one stopped them. Once they were outside, she looked around. A few couples lingered in the shadows, and a single man or two made his way to or from the building. No one seemed to pay particular attention to her or her son.
Once she was outside, she wasn’t sure which way to head. Tommy didn’t give her exact instructions. She wanted to get away from the building, though, so she started walking slowly down the sidewalk, in the direction of the train station. A moment later, she felt someone fall into step beside her. A quick glance confirmed the man had white hair and blue eyes.
When he caught her eye, he murmured, “Delilah.”
She nodded, and the three of them quickened their pace. The station was only a few blocks away, and they were catching the next train. Her case was already stashed there.
§
The closest stop left them in Dubuque. Don had hidden the farm truck there. It was an old, slow vehicle, but they met no obstacles on the drive to Sabula. Frankie fell asleep, his head falling against her side, and eventually sliding down until he was slumped in her lap. Even with all the bumps in the road, her exhausted child didn’t wake up.
It was after dinner and already dark outside when they arrived at the farm. Don dropped them at a small, worn, wooden cabin on the edge of the property.
“I’ve got to go,” he said with a slight shrug and embarrassed smile. “You’ll be fine. The Mazzas are good folk.”
Frankie blinked sleepy eyes and crawled out of the truck cab after his mother. Taking his hand on one side and the heavy suitcase on the other, she walked slowly to the dark doorstep, gathering her nerve. With a deep breath, she set the case down and knocked.
“Who’s there?” A gruff voice called from the other side.
“Nichole Blomgren.” Her voice wavered slightly as she raised it to be heard through the thick wood. “I’m a friend of Tommy.”
The door opened, and an older version of Tommy looked at Nichole and Frankie with suspicion at first, and then concern. “Where’s our son?”
“He’s still in Chicago,” Nichole said. “He’ll be here soon.”
His eyes narrowed. “You in trouble?”
“Yes, sir.”
Jaw tightening, he asked, “With the law?”
“No, sir. Quite the opposite.” Placing a hand on Frankie’s shoulder, Nichole drew the older man’s attention to her son. “Won’t you please let us stay until Tommy gets here? After that, we’ll leave, I promise.”
With a gruff grunt, the man motioned them in. “Maria’s in the kitchen. She’ll see that you’re fed and show you where you can rest. I’m on my way out.” He took a hat off the rack near the door and placed it on his head, nodding to them both before he left, closing the door behind him.
Nichole was surprised he didn’t introduce them to his wife, but he seemed like a man of few words. She placed their luggage against the wall, and called out, “Hello?”
A petite woman with graying brown hair came around the corner.
Nichole quickly explained why they were there and that Antonio let them in.
Maria was much warmer than her husband. She led them into the house, which only had two bedrooms. It was sparsely furnished, but filled with images of love and family. Pictures Tommy must have drawn as a child still hung on the walls, and brightly colored fabric was draped over the shabby chairs, giving the house an eclectic, cozy feel. She opened a door and said, “You rest here and I’ll fix you a nice meal, yes?”
Her English was clear through her thick, Italian accent. Tommy’s father had an accent, too.
“Thank you,” Nichole said. Once they stepped into the room, Maria disappeared down the hall. The room had obviously belonged to Tommy. There was a twin-sized bed and a dresser. For a moment, Nichole considered getting their things from the front room, but decided she didn’t need to unpack. With any luck, they’d leave as soon as he arrived in the morning. The quicker they got on the road, and on their way to a new life, the better.
Maria brought them a thick vegetable stew and a small loaf of crust bread. She patted Frankie on the head and gave him two cookies. “For after dinner,” she said with a wink. “My Tommy, he loves cookies.”
“Me too!” Frankie grinned.
It was the first time since getting him back Nichole saw him smile. She hugged Tommy’s mom and tears fell.
�
��There, there,” Maria said, patting Nichole’s back. “It will be okay. My Tommy will take care of you.”
They mostly ate their meal in silence. Nichole was physically and emotionally exhausted. Afterward, Frankie crawled into the bed without being told to. By the time Nichole returned from placing their empty dishes in the kitchen, he was fast asleep.
She lay down next to him and wrapped her arm around his slender frame. Grateful to have him back, she still feared for their future. Al Capone was ruthless and cunning. She only hoped Tommy was right. With their deal fulfilled, Capone would leave them alone.
After tossing and turning for hours, Nichole figured she’d never fall asleep. When the sun gleamed through the window forcing her eyes to open, she realized at some point she had. The smell of cooking made her stomach rumble and caused her to completely wake up. She panicked after realizing Frankie wasn’t in the room. Throwing on a robe, she went to the kitchen and found him there, sitting with a heaping plate of pancakes.
Maria, who was standing by the sink, dried her hands and said, “I must go work. You help yourself to food, yes?”
“I will. Thank you.” Nichole took in the kitchen and sitting room. They were the only three there. “You haven’t heard from Tommy yet, have you?”
“Not yet.” Maria gave them both a warm smile. “Soon. Do not worry.”
Nichole wondered how much Don or Tommy told his parents about the situation. If they did know Al Capone was involved, they were taking it extraordinarily well. They didn’t seem worried or scared.
Once Maria left, quietly shutting the front door behind her, Nichole took a plate from the cabinet and added two pancakes and a drizzle of syrup. A cup of coffee was already poured and waiting for her. She sat next to Frankie, who was already halfway through his stack.
“Are we going to live here now?” he asked around a mouthful of pancake.
“Swallow before speaking, please.” Nichole’s response was automatic, something her own mother had drilled into her children years ago. “We’re not going to live here. When Tommy arrives, we’re going somewhere new.”
7: The Seven Deadly Sins Page 14
