It wasn’t a fear she could entrust to anyone but Ada. It wasn’t even something she had admitted to herself until this moment. She was supposed to be the fearless one, the one with no qualms and no limits. Yet somehow she always ended up right here, trying to break into pieces while Ada calmly refused to let her.
Ada set down her violin, but Corinne’s illusion remained, unyielding in its furor.
“Do you remember the first fight we had?” Ada asked.
“You mean five minutes after I moved in?”
“You asked me if I was in charge of the laundry.”
“In my defense,” Corinne said, “I was a complete and utter bonehead back then.”
“Just back then?”
Corinne tried to kick her, but she couldn’t disentangle her legs from the blankets. At some point—Corinne couldn’t remember exactly when—she had dropped the illusion, and the comforting familiarity of their cluttered bedroom surrounded them again. The petty provocations during their first few months together seemed almost like a dream now. They hadn’t hated each other exactly, but Ada would practice her violin late into the night, and Corinne would say ignorant, unfeeling things almost every time she opened her mouth, and it hadn’t seemed possible for them to do anything but coexist.
Corinne couldn’t pinpoint the moment they had become an inseparable, unstoppable force. She did remember the day of her grandfather’s funeral, when she had wept alone on this same bed for almost two straight days, and instead of leaving her to break apart, Ada had played a song so beautiful on her violin that Corinne had felt for the first time that she might be able to go on.
“Despite your appalling first impression, we’ve been at this for years,” Ada said. “We’ve never come across anything we can’t crack.”
“What about the HPA?” Corinne asked. Her grief was muted for now, but the fear still remained. “We can’t hide from them forever.”
Ada plucked at one of the violin strings, her expression tense with thought. Then she dug through the blankets until she found Corinne’s hand. She gripped it tightly and looked her in the eye.
“This is you and me we’re talking about, remember?” she said. “If we’re in this together, then they don’t stand a chance.”
CHAPTER NINE
The Red Cat was in a nicer part of town than the Cast Iron, surrounded by hotels and banks and ritzy restaurants with cloth napkins and French waiters. Luke Carson liked things big, bold, and gilded. The front entrance had a uniformed doorman and a sign encircled by buzzing electric lights. Inside there were gold chandeliers, champagne, and tablecloths the color of blood.
Ada, Corinne, and Gabriel went to the back entrance, which was considerably less classy but much more private. Corinne had wanted it to just be her and Ada, since they had both performed at the Red Cat before and might be able to talk their way in. Saint hadn’t argued about being left behind, but Gabriel had flatly refused. In the end, it had seemed like less trouble to bring him along.
Corinne knocked on the back door until a man cracked it open. He narrowed his eyes at them in recognition but shook his head.
“Your lot ain’t coming in here tonight. Carson’s orders.” He spat a wad of tobacco toward their feet.
“We don’t want to come in,” Ada told him.
“We don’t?” Corinne asked.
“Fetch Charlie Lewis,” Ada said. “He asked me to meet him here.”
“He did?” Corinne asked. Gabriel nudged her.
The man was staring at Ada hard, as if trying to find a reason to call her a liar.
“If you don’t get him, and he finds out I had to stand out here in the cold all night, you’re going to be in a heap of trouble,” Ada told him.
From what Corinne knew about Charlie, she couldn’t imagine him causing trouble for anyone, but she dutifully kept her mouth shut. The man was obviously at war with himself, but after a few seconds he told her to wait a minute, then slammed the door shut and locked it.
“Well, that was easier than I expected,” Corinne said.
“I figured if we waited on you to sweet-talk him, we’d be out here all night,” Ada replied.
Corinne jabbed her with an elbow, and Ada ignored her with the long-suffering air of a mother whose toddler was misbehaving. After a few minutes the door creaked open again, and Charlie slipped into the alley with them, hollering over his shoulder at the man to stop being such a dictator.
“Hey, Ada,” he said, barely nodding toward the others. “I’m going on in fifteen minutes—I can’t—”
“You’ve got to let us in,” Ada said.
“What?” He looked around the alley, then lowered his voice. “You know I can’t. Not tonight.”
“Why not tonight? Charlie if you know something about Johnny, I swear—”
“What’s going on with Johnny?” Charlie asked.
Ada hesitated.
“Nothing,” Corinne said. “Something’s ruffled his feathers, and we think Carson might be able to help. Why can’t we come in?”
“Tensions are high, is all,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “After what happened at the docks—well, you just need to go.”
“Please, Charlie,” Ada said. “We’re not here to cause trouble. We just need ten minutes.”
“You can’t really think that Luke is going to talk to you. You’ll be thrown out the second he sees you.”
“Let us worry about that.”
Charlie regarded them for a few seconds, his expression flickering in the moonlight. Finally he nodded.
“You two,” he said to Ada and Corinne, then nodded toward Gabriel. “Not him. He looks armed.”
Gabriel made a noise of protest, and Corinne elbowed him.
“There’s a door around the side,” Charlie said, gesturing. “It’s the stage door. I’ll meet you there in five minutes.”
He went back inside and shut the door behind him. They could hear his muffled conversation with the other man before there was quiet.
“You two are not going in there by yourselves,” Gabriel said.
“We’ll probably only have a couple of minutes with Carson,” Ada said to Corinne.
“So how do you want to play it?” Corinne asked.
“The same way we always do, I guess.”
Ada was loosening her neck scarf, her smooth forehead creased with a slight frown. She seemed distracted, and Corinne had the sudden thought that she was upset about lying to Charlie. She wasn’t sure how to address that, and before she could, Ada had started toward the stage door.
“Excuse me,” Gabriel said. “Am I just going to be ignored all night?”
“Probably,” Corinne said. “Unless you add something worthwhile to the conversation.”
She turned to follow Ada, but Gabriel grabbed her hand and pulled her back. Corinne was disconcerted by the sudden nearness of him. His grip was firm but gentle, and she found herself wondering how his hands were always warm. The minimal space between them felt charged, like the air before a storm. Then Gabriel spoke and ruined the moment.
“There’s no way I’m letting you two go in there alone.”
“Fortunately, we don’t need your permission,” Corinne said, extricating her hand from his. “Ada and I have been a team since before you knew how to pull a trigger, and we are capable of more than you can fathom. Kindly shut up and let us handle this.”
She moved back a step but refused to break away from his dark stare.
“Even though your idea of handling it is to storm in blindly and accuse one of the most dangerous men in Boston of murder?” Gabriel asked. There was a stitch in his brow, and his fingers had curled into tight fists at his sides.
“We know what we’re doing,” Corinne said, turning her back. “No one asked you to come.”
She rounded the corner to wait with Ada at the stage door. Gabriel trailed behind her but didn’t say more. Ada caught Corinne’s eye with a questioning look, and Corinne answered with a shake of her head. After a fe
w minutes passed, Gabriel cleared his throat.
“Is there a point when I should be concerned?” he asked quietly. His tone had lost its bite. “Or shall I just sit out here all night, twiddling my thumbs?”
“Give us twenty minutes,” Ada said.
“Then you can do something stupid,” Corinne added.
Gabriel didn’t reply. The door opened, and Ada and Corinne slipped in, tapping fingertips as they went. The inside of the Red Cat was heady with smoke and liquor. Ada whispered something to Charlie that Corinne couldn’t hear and touched his shoulder lightly, but she stayed at Corinne’s side.
Together they ducked through the bustle of the backstage crowd, a cacophony of laughter and tuning instruments in their ears. Corinne led the way blindly through a door that seemed to be in the direction of the main floor. It let out at floor level, stage left. Ada shut the door behind them, and they waited a moment for their eyes to adjust.
Where the Cast Iron was all wood paneling and simple framed photographs, the Red Cat was sheer extravagance. The bar was a massive square structure in the center of the floor, roofed with intricately carved mahogany and glistening with rows of hanging bottles and champagne flutes. Crystal chandeliers hung at intervals along the ceiling, with the grandest centered over the white marble dance floor. The waterfall of shimmering crystal teardrops was three tiers deep and cast every gilded and marbled surface in the club into sharp relief.
The waitresses were in a flurry around the crowded tables, their heels clacking on the floor, their faces a sheen of perspiration beneath caked powder. Corinne saw a few people she recognized from the Cast Iron or the newspapers, mostly politicians and lawyers. She kept her head down, praying no one who knew her parents would recognize her. Those who came into the Cast Iron knew to keep their mouths shut about whom they might see around the club, but she didn’t know if Carson’s patrons would have the same consideration for the daughter of an influential family like the Wellses. She usually counted on the fact that important people didn’t want to draw attention to their patronage of places like the Red Cat or the Cast Iron.
The girls picked their way between the rows of tables toward the bar, where Corinne ordered a gin and tonic. She and Ada had played here a few times, so she knew which side of the bar was nearest Luke Carson’s table. He was sitting with his wife, Eva. There were two men in suits and coats in conversation with him. One of them was built like an athlete, and had his suit not been impeccably tailored, it no doubt would have strained at the seams. He was leaning forward with both hands resting on the table. Beneath one of his palms was a thick white envelope. The man’s partner had his back to Carson and was observing the action of the club with a lazy, distant smile. He was shorter, with a receding hairline and bland, pudgy features.
When Corinne got a good look at his face, she spun on her barstool so that her back was to him, jerking Ada along with her. Her pulse was pounding so hard, she could feel it against the glass she clutched in her hands. They were the HPA agents from the asylum. She was sure of it, though she had no idea what they would be doing here.
“Did they see us?” Ada whispered, and Corinne knew she had recognized them too. Her hand was shaking as she peeled Corinne’s hand from her glass to take a sip.
Corinne stole another glance over her shoulder. The massive agent was slapping Carson on the shoulder and pushing the white envelope toward him. It gapped open, and Corinne caught sight of the green inside. Carson’s expression was grim, but he slid the envelope into his jacket.
Corinne turned back to the bar. “I don’t think so,” she whispered.
They both watched in the mirror as the two agents walked past, toward the door. Then Corinne downed the rest of her drink in a single gulp, told the bartender to put it on Charlie’s tab, and went straight for Carson’s table. Ada stayed at the bar long enough to pay for the drinks, then caught up with her. Ada slid in beside Eva in the semicircular booth, and Corinne plopped down beside Luke. She exchanged a glance with Ada—barely the length of a heartbeat—but it was enough to say everything that needed to be said. This was a game that the Carsons had no chance of winning.
“Hello there,” Corinne said. “I imagine you probably remember us.”
“Corinne Wells and Ada Navarra,” Luke said. “Hard to forget a couple of broads like you.”
“Usually I’m all for flattery, but let’s keep it short and sweet tonight.”
“You know why we’re here,” Ada said.
“I can guess,” Carson said, disentangling his hand from his wife’s hair in order to give a dismissive wave at the two brawny gentlemen who were sidling toward them. Corinne had to admit that Gabriel was at least better at pretending to be unarmed than they were.
“What I can’t guess,” Carson continued, “is how you managed to get in here. Care to tell me so I know who to fire?”
“Your mother,” Corinne said with a smile. “Lovely woman. Not all there, but then she did have to deal with you for the better part of her life.”
Carson’s lips twitched, and Corinne could see his grip on his glass tightening. His wife laughed suddenly, a lilting sound like morning birds.
“Quite a mouth on such a little thing,” said Eva, putting her hand on her husband’s arm and rubbing it slowly. Her gaze moved between them in lazy amusement. “What a funny pair you make.”
“We do tricks too,” said Ada.
“Sure do,” Corinne said. “Have you ever wondered what it would look like if your skin were turned inside out? Because I’ve got a poem for that.”
Luke Carson made a small, jerking movement, as if he were ready to throw something.
Eva laughed again. “Cute,” she said, and leaned to speak into her husband’s ear, though she wasn’t exactly whispering. “I like them. Let’s hear what they have to say.”
Carson’s face twisted through a few expressions before finally settling into one of calm composure.
“Let’s hear it then,” he said to Corinne.
But it was Ada who spoke, while Corinne focused on Carson’s face through the smoke and candlelight.
“Do you know where Johnny is?”
“Not the slightest idea,” Carson said. He leaned back and swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “People are so hard to keep up with these days.”
Corinne didn’t take her eyes off him. She was watching his eyebrows. A lie was always in the eyebrows.
“Was it your people at the wharf the other night?” Ada asked.
Carson’s eyebrows moved upward, only slightly. He was quiet for a few seconds, considering her.
Around them, the club echoed with movement and conversation. Someone onstage was striking the first few notes on a piano. Eva Carson’s hand was still on her husband’s arm, her fingertips moving in slow, soothing circles.
“No,” Luke Carson said.
“Can you swear on your mother’s eyes?” Corinne asked, jumping into the conversation to throw him off balance. “And while you’re at it, can you swear that you didn’t just accept a bribe from Agent Mammoth and Agent Slick who were just here?”
“Kid, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Carson said, his voice heating despite his wife’s consoling touch.
“She rarely does,” Ada said, propping her chin on her hands. “I’m sure the Hemopath Protection Agency is just collecting for charity.”
“Maybe it’s time for you both to go. The show’s about to start.”
“You two should play another set for us sometime,” Eva said, tapping her manicured red nails against her Manhattan.
“Certainly,” Corinne said, forcing a smile that more closely resembled bared fangs. “I’ll save that poem for you.”
“We’ll see ourselves out,” Ada said, standing.
“I think you won’t,” Carson said, waving again to his armed lurkers.
In an effort to remain dignified and avoid unnecessary bruising, the girls let the bodyguards lead them out the front door by the elbows. Once they wer
e deposited outside, they started walking with purpose in the direction of the Cast Iron. When she heard the door shut, Corinne nudged Ada’s arm and they doubled back toward the stage door. Gabriel was waiting for them.
“Well, Carson denied everything, predictably enough,” Corinne told him.
“Do you think he was lying?” Ada asked.
Corinne shook her head. “It’s hard to tell. He’s hiding something for sure. What do you think?”
“Those HPA agents were there for a reason,” Ada said after a few thoughtful seconds. “But I don’t think he knew anything about Johnny.”
“That settles it, then,” Corinne said, linking arms with both of them to start walking back to the street. The slushy gray snow crunched underfoot. “We’ll pay a visit to Down Street, see if the Witcher brothers have anything to say for themselves.”
“Not tonight,” Ada said. “You know they don’t let anyone into the back room after ten.”
“Why do you think the Witchers are involved?” Gabriel asked. “I didn’t think they were part of Johnny and Carson’s rivalry. Down Street doesn’t even host shows.”
“It’s the only other iron-free joint in town,” Ada said.
“The Witchers don’t party like we do, but they still have their fingers in a lot of pies,” Corinne said. “Illegal sorts of pies. The Witchers may not be involved, but I’ll bet they know who is.”
Gabriel didn’t say anything. Corinne wondered how long he was going to pout about being left out of all the heroics. The three of them were walking in the direction of the club, with Corinne still linked between them. The hotels and restaurants they passed were bright with activity, as women in furs and men in silk hats cavorted between their nightly entertainments. Competing music drifted from establishments as doors swung open. Corinne was overwhelmed by the carefree nature of it all. Johnny was dead and her world was ripping at the seams, and somehow these people could go about their lives without noticing.
“We’ll want to come back to the Red Cat at some point, I guess,” Ada said, breaking into Corinne’s reverie.
Iron Cast Page 16
