by Koko Brown
Ferruci stepped forward hand outstretched. “I gotta tell you, kid, you gave me a real fright out there.”
“It was close.” Shane laughed nervously as he shook the other man’s hand. He hoped Ferruci would have enough tact not to discuss business in front of mixed company.
As if reading his mind, the promoter’s gaze alighted on Celeste. “Well, well, well long time no see.”
Shane looked from Ferruci to Celeste and then back again. “You two know each other,” he bit out, unable to keep his jealousy at bay.
“We met before.” That was all Ferruci would supply. The bastard even had the nerve to tweak his tie.
Luckily for him, Celeste filled in the holes. “We met at the weigh-in yesterday.”
“Yeah, I kept her company while she was waiting for you,” Ferruci recalled, as if suddenly regaining his memory. With a sly grin, he wagged his finger at Celeste. “Why didn’t you tell me it was Brennan you were waiting on?”
“Would it have prevented you from flirting with me?” Celeste murmured.
A muscle in Shane’s jaw worked frantically and he clenched his fists. Testosterone warred with common sense. The only thing that prevented him from flattening Ferruci was the fact that Celeste had obviously rebuffed him.
“Well, that bout was too close for comfort,” Ferruci said, changing the subject.
Shane shrugged the tension from his shoulder. “I upheld my side of things. I got the title.”
“Indeed you did.” Ferruci chuckled. “That’s why I wanted to offer you a lift.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Celeste spoke up before Shane could do the honors. “We can grab a cab.”
“The new, light heavyweight champion of the world taking a cab after his own title fight,” Ferruci balked. “It just isn’t heard of. Come on, I insist you let me drop you two off anywhere you want to go.”
This time it wasn’t a request. For some reason, Ferruci wasn’t ready to cut ties.
“Okay,” Shane acquiesced, but then felt like a jerk when Celeste stiffened. Before she could pull away, he kissed her cheek as a way to make amends.
Ferruci clapped his hands together as if sealing some kind of deal. Shane bit the inside of his lip. The sooner he washed his hands of him, this world, this business, New York City the better.
“I’ll wait for you outside so you can clean up.” Ferruci held out his arm to Celeste. “Want to come with? I’d hate for Sugar Shane to corrupt your sensibilities.”
“Too late for that, but I’ll come just the same,” Shane said while taking his time relinquishing his wife to the other man.
“She’s in safe hands,” Ferruci reassured him. “Now that I know to whom she belongs.”
Not trusting Ferruci as far as he could throw him, Shane showered and changed in record time. He gathered up his belongings and met Ferruci and Celeste in the tunnel. In the process of rolling a cigarette, Ferruci pointed toward the exit.
“I have a few cars out back,” he mumbled as he licked and rolled. “After I drop you two off, me and the boys plan to celebrate.”
Then why delay the party with a chauffeur service? Shane wondered.
Not liking what they were walking into, Shane grabbed Celeste’s hand. If anything went down he’d protect her ‘til his dying breath.
Ferruci rolled in style. Three late model Cadillac sedans, with their motors still running, lined the alleyway.
“I’m in the middle one.”
Shane escorted her around
“There he is that Judas.” Abraham Gould stepped out of the shadows, the usual two goons in tow. “I got a beef with you, Shane Brennan.
“Abraham,” Ferruci drawled, his tongue lingering on ‘ham’, “Funny you should show up. You and I need to talk.”
“A-about what?” Gould licked his lips and Shane could sense the other man’s fear. He couldn’t blame him. Ferruci had connections in the Syndicate, one of the biggest organized crime operations in the tri-city area.
While Gould looked ready to soil his pants, Ferruci was cool as a cucumber, as he pulled out a lighter and lit his cigarette. “You enjoy the fight?”
“Ruined me.” Gould sneered.
“That’s what happens when we get too greedy.”
Gould’s gaze narrowed and his cheeks turned bright red. Shane could practically see the wheels turning in his head, putting two and two together. “What’s this? You two in bed together?”
“I hear that you tried to fix my card. Is it true?” Ferruci asked, completely ignoring Gould’s accusations.
“I–I–I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Ferruci.”
“Oh, I think you do.” Ferruci dragged on his cigarette and then exhaled. “At first I didn’t think you had enough balls to get the jump on me, but then I had a run in with an ole friend of mine, Burt Lowenstein. You know him don’t you? He runs the numbers down at the Lox N’ Bagel off Canal. Great cream cheese by the way.” Ferruci took another drag. “Well ole Burt said you put fifty thousand on tonight’s fight. That’s pretty big bait for a minnow like you.”
“Lowenstein can barely count change.”
Ferruci yanked the cigarette out of his mouth and threw it on the ground. “Did you try to undercut me in my own house?” he bellowed.
Gould wasn’t the only one who jumped. Worried, Shane pulled Celeste against him. She immediately wrapped her arms around his waist.
“Let’s get out of here,” she whispered. Even in the dim light cast by a sole light fixture above the back entrance he could see tear swimming in her dark eyes.
“We can’t, not yet.” Following through with the terms of their agreement, Ferruci had set this all up for show so there would be no doubts as to if and when they’d been met.
“It wasn’t like that…I–I swear.”
As if on cue, the Cadillac doors popped open. Four men from each car stepped out then drifted toward their party. “What are you going to do?” Gould and his men found themselves surrounded by Ferruci’s men.
“Put you out of business.”
“Out of the boxing business?”
Ferruci didn’t answer him. He snapped his fingers, and his men jumped to, surrounding Gould and his cohorts.
“What are you going to do to him?” Celeste asked.
Ferruci glanced over his shoulder. His expression chilled her to the bone. “We’re just going to talk, sweetie. Convince him to leave town…permanently.”
Hearing the promoter’s intentions, Gould struggled with Ferruci’s men and failed. They dragged him and his goons like paper dolls up to the lead car.
In a last ditch effort, he slammed his feet against the car’s running board, and then twisted around.
“Schmucks! The lot of you,” Gould yelled, spit flying in all directions.
His gaze locked on Celeste and he smiled. “He ain’t clean, Toots. Did lover boy tell you he was there…did he tell you he was there when I popped your old man, the good Reverend?”
“Get him in the fucking car!” Ferruci commanded.
But the damage had been done. Shane allowed her to pull away from him. She staggered a few steps, her shoulder pressed against the brick wall for support.
Feeling his entire world slipping away from him, Shane followed. “Celeste, please let me explain.” he implored.
Shoulders slumped, she turned toward the wall “You can try, she said, her voice trembling as she pressed her forehead against the bricks. Shane’s heart constricted so painfully he thought it would burst.
“I-I used to hang at your father’s place at night. Helped him close shop more times than not. I was in the back alley throwing out the trash when Gould and his goons came in. There was a commotion and then I heard a gunshot.”
Burdened with guilt, Shane leaned against the wall. “I came out to investigate. “T-they threatened to blow my head off, but then one of them recognized who I was and they forced me into tonight’s fight. I was supposed to take a fall. They end up with a windfall. Everythi
ng was planned.”
“Why did he do it?”
“According to Gould, your father refused to play by his rules. The Reverend refused his protection and it snowballed to the rest of the merchants on the block.”
“S–s–so all this time you knew what happened to my father. And you didn’t report it or tell me.” With each syllable, her voice swelled and grew an octave
Shane reached for her. She spun away at the last minute, eluding him. “Don’t touch me,” she snarled. Her expression as she looked from his hand to his face made him flinch. He dropped his hand.
“Don’t ever touch me again.” She pulled at the gold band encircling her finger and his chest grew tight like someone fisted his heart.
“Don’t do this. I was only making things right.”
“More like making things better for you. You got a title and my father a headstone. Oh and you got a little ass thrown in as well.”
She punted his ring at him. It bounced off his chest, dribbled between his feet and then fell flat. Heavy hearted, he squatted to pick it up before it could become tarnished. When he straightened, she was gone.
Shane blinked at the band of gold in his palm. Could things get any worse?
“Ensign Shane McAllister.”
Shane turned around. He eyed the master-at-arm badges attached to their Navy uniforms.
He’d spoken to soon.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
Portsmouth Naval Prison July 1942
“Brennan, the doc’s ready to process you.”
Shane set the letter he was drafting aside, while the guard unlocked his cell.
“Break a leg.”
Shane smiled at his cell mate, Gustaf Petersson. Assigned to the top bunk, the Gunner’s mate was curled up with an issue of Readers Digest in his hands. Despite a three year stint in the can for burglary, the man was the most well-read man Shane had ever met.
“I need all the luck you can send my way. I’m itching to get out of here and get my hands on some Nazis.”
Shane left his cell behind and followed the guard upstairs to the medics. By the end of the week, he would kiss the brig goodbye. And none too soon. After serving twenty four months for desertion, the place made him feel like a caged animal.
“Writing another letter?” the guard asked. He straightened one arm in the air, “return to sender,” he said as if reading it from a theatre marquee. “Why do you keep sending that dame letters?”
“It’s my way of keeping up with her.”
The guard stopped and looked at him as if he’d grown horns. “How can you keep up with someone if she keeps sending ‘em back? Most foolish thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Every time she moves, she has her letters forwarded to her new address,” Shane explained.
“After I survive this war, I’m going after her.”
The guard crossed his arms. “Oh yeah, where are you going to start looking?”
“She’s in Chicago. A buddy of mine, who co-owns a boxing gym in the city, said he’d seen her headlining for a swank night club on the Gold Coast. Before that she worked as a principal dancer and chief choreographer for the Micheaux Film Company.
The guard looked at him sharply. “She was in movies?”
Shane’s chest puffed up with pride. “More than a dozen musicals before the company folded two years ago.”
“Still, I think it’s stupid,” he said sucking on his tooth.
“What do expect from an AWOL sailor on the loose for five years.”
The guard looked at him sharply, but thankfully for Shane held his tongue and his Billy club. Shane had gained unwelcome notoriety in the brig for having remained one step ahead of the Navy’s Master of Arms.
His Houdini act also got him singled out more than once by the guards and staff.
Unprovoked, his stay at the Portsmouth Naval Station would’ve been easy sailing. But with every guard and sailor wanting to take down the world’s lightweight heavy champion, he’d landed in the hole more than once.
“Wait here, while I go inside and tell the doc you’re here,” the guard instructed, pointing to a bench outside the medic lab. A second later, he came back out and told him to go in.
“Happy for your last physical?” the doctor asked.
“Happy I can fly this place and finally fight some Nazis.”
“Fight Nazis?” The doctor’s eyebrows lifted above his black spectacles. “That’s a different tune for a man who didn’t report to his ship for five years.”
Shane shrugged. “The Navy was in the way of my true calling. I’d always planned on returning. Now that I have the title and learned the error of my ways, I’m ready to fight for my country.”
“Well, let’s check you out then,” The doctor patted the examination table. “Go ahead and strip down to your underwear.”
Besides checking his vitals, the doctor poked and prodded, asked him a ton of questions, even made him touch his noise over and over. By the time the examination was over, Shane was slightly disoriented and happy to put his clothes on.
“When do I ship out?” Shane slipped his crackerjack over his head.
“I’m sorry to tell you this, son. I’m going to recommend discharge.”
The wind knocked out of his sails, Shane leaned back against the examination table. “Why, I’m fit as a horse. I can go eight rounds with the best.”
“That’s the thing. You’ve gone too many rounds. I can’t definitively diagnose you, but I see signs of dementia pugilistica. Your hand-to-eye coordination is off. You lumber when you walk and on occasion your speech is slurred.”
“And here I thought I was just choosing my words carefully.” Even though his blood had run cold, clogging his veins, Shane laughed, tried to make light of things. “I’m just punch drunk.”
The doctor smiled at Shane’s joke. “I’m glad you’re taking this pretty well.”
“My coach, Ollie, suspected it.” Shane dropped his gaze, his hand reaching up to scratch the back of his head. “So did I…I guess I just didn’t’ want to face it.” Shane couldn’t deny the prognosis made his knees knock. “Is there any cure?”
“I’m not aware of any. But you can slow the disease’s progress by not boxing anymore. I’ve also heard you can keep the mind nimble with moderate exercise and therapy.”
Great. Not only was his body deteriorating. He was also losing his mind.
***
Two months later
Celeste high-tailed it back to her dressing room.
Finished with the last of two numbers, which fulfilled her contract as one of Club DeLisa’s headliners, she was free to fraternize with the club’s patrons or go home.
Tonight, like most nights, Celeste choose the latter. Not because she sought the soft comforts of her bed, but because her past had come back to haunt her.
Still breathing hard from exertion, she paced the length of her large dressing room. Along with a generous salary and top billing it was one of the perks she demanded from the club’s owner.
That couldn’t be him! Not after all these years. Sure he’d sent letters, dozens of them, but he’d never shown up at her doorstep. Why now when she’d finally learned how to live without him? When her bed no longer felt so cold and empty? And she hadn’t touched a bottle in over three years.
Preoccupied, Celeste barely acknowledged the knock on her dressing room door. It was probably Maybelline, another contractual perk, coming to help her undress.
“Hey beautiful.”
Celeste froze. His voice flowed over her like warm honey. Each syllable made her thighs feel warm and sticky. Weak in resolve, she found his reflection in the mirror.
Entirely at ease, Shane leaned against the only exit. Attired for the evening in a black and white tuxedo, he was more handsome than her constant daydreams. His tan was more pronounced. His eyes greener like a bottle of absinthe. And like that strong elixir, she was becoming intoxicated.
“Miss me?”
He straightened up f
rom the wall like a sleek panther, a pleased smile curving his sensual lips. He ambled toward her and she tensed because if he touched her, she wasn’t sure of her reaction. A part of her wanted to melt at his feet. The other half needed to plant a fist in his throat.
Celeste gathered her resolve around her like a shield. “What are you doing here?” she asked her tone flat and surprisingly even.
She was rewarded when his eyes widened and his cocky expression slipped. “I wanted to apologize.”
“Accepted, but not forgiven.”
Celeste gave him her back. As if he wasn’t there and affecting her equilibrium, she went about her post show routine. She removed her top hat and hung it with the other hats in her wardrobe.
“I’ve come to bring you home,” Shane stepped closer. “If you need help with gathering your things….”
Celeste couldn’t believe his audacity. Did he actually think she would forget what he’d done and go skipping down the road happily ever after? Remotely ecstatic, she bit out, “I’m already home.”
A muscle worked in his jaw. Good! Let him get angry. Until recently, she and the emotion had been bedfellows.
“Your home is with meyour husband.”
“Fine time to start acting like one.” Snorting loudly, Celeste tossed her silk bow tie aside. “I’ve slept with plenty of men in my day, but I’ve never slept with the enemy.”
“I was never your enemy, baby.”
With the endearment ringing her ears, Celeste swung around to face him. “Enemycon manyou’re your pick.”
“I never conned you, Celeste. I fell in love with you when I should’ve kept my distance.”
Celeste hated how his declaration made her heart accelerate. Maybe if he knew how much he’d hurt her, he wouldn’t be so keen on forcing a reconciliation.
“Do you know the hell you’ve put me through? You’re not even blood, yet, you’ve given me more grief and heartache than I’ve experienced my whole life.”
Celeste gripped the dressing table so tightly, her knuckles hurt. “Even now you’re hurting me, punishing me by just being here and stirring up old feelings I’ve worked damn hard to set aside.”
