Wooden Nickels: White Lightning Series, Book 1

by Debra Dunbar

  Vincent cringed to hear Vito speak of pinchers in the same manner Kentucky blue bloods spoke of Thoroughbreds. Was this all he really was to them? His whole life in service to the family, and he was no more than a racehorse and potential stud?

  The Capo released a long breath. “Even the Upright Citizens have two. And what do I have? One. Just you.”

  Vincent wilted.

  “Just you, Vincenzo,” he repeated, leaning forward. “And here I have you using your witchcraft against my own. You have taken no oaths, as you are not permitted. Nevertheless, I absolutely cannot have you raising your hand against famiglia. Do you understand me?”

  Vincent nodded. “Yes, Capo.”

  Vito asked, “Are you in love with this girl?”

  “No, Capo. I just don’t like it when a man treats women with disrespect.” He added as he ventured a glance up at Vito, “It makes us all cheap.”

  Vito looked over to Lefty, then back to Vincent. “This…is Old World thinking.” He pointed at Vincent with the words, then stood up again. “Luigi is a pig. It is well known. One day, he will push too hard, and someone will push back. Probably this girl…who knows? But it can’t be you, Vincenzo. It can’t be you.”

  “I understand.”

  “As for the rest of it, I doubt you even think on it.”

  Vincent cocked a brow. “Sir?”

  “Our situation, you and me. My only stregore. How tight a grip I must maintain, and how little help I get from you. How it makes me look.”

  He sucked in a breath, realizing where Vito was going with this. Quickly he thought through the conversation with Capstein. “If I may…I was just thinking about it as I walked here.”

  Vito wandered to the edge of the flagstones, watching the sun dip below the far rows of vines. “Is that so?”

  Vincent stood up but remained by the table. “There is something you should know.” He checked on Lefty.

  Lefty squinted, and then nodded.

  Vito turned to Vincent. “Yes?”

  “When we were in Virginia, we were entertained by the Richmond pinchers. A fellow by the name of Elmer Capstein.”

  “I am familiar with the name.”

  “You should know…he made overtures.”

  Vito grinned. “Overtures?”

  “Yes. To me.”

  Vito’s grin receded, and he marched toward Vincent. “What did he offer you?”

  “A place in Richmond,” Vincent replied. “He’s got the Crew figured as weak, like you said. Distracted by the West Virginia moonshiners trying to cut you out. Distracted by these pirates on the Bay. Distracted by the dust kicked up in New York between Salvatore and Masseria.”

  Vito’s eyes widened. “You do think of such things. Well, then? What did you tell him?”

  “I told him to take a walk.”

  Vito smiled. “Then, you are happy here?”

  “Here’s where I belong, Capo. I got no delusions otherwise.”

  “Then,” Vito declared, “you have a new task, my stregore. And your task is this—find me more.”

  “More?”

  “I do what I can to keep these idioti in the hills from outgrowing us. And the Bay…well, this is a conversation for Antonio. But I need more like you.” He grunted, reaching for Vincent’s shoulders to give them a quick shake. “And this is your primary task from now until you succeed. No more errands. No more security. You find me another stregore. For us.”

  Vincent sucked in a ragged breath, then replied, “I will.”

  “Go, now.”

  He released Vincent’s shoulders.

  Vincent turned to approach Lefty.

  Vito called, “Alonzo…stay a moment.”

  Vincent halted in front of Lefty, waiting for the man’s nod before proceeding. The remaining escort accompanied Vincent back down the gravel path toward the villa. The sky began to darken overhead, and a young boy emerged to light the gas lamps along the drive. There was no sign of Fern, but Lefty’s car was still there. Seemed he’d driven in. Vincent was so full of cascading dread when he’d arrived, the car had slipped his notice.

  Now, instead of dread, Vincent’s thoughts spiraled around his new task. He’d known for years that Vito wanted more pinchers. That was obvious, but Vincent assumed he’d buy one from New York, or trade for one. Or perhaps that he had people already on the lookout. But now that lookout was Vincent.

  Before long, he heard crunching along the gravel path and turned to find Lefty pointing to his car.

  “Get in,” he grumbled.

  Vincent nodded and slipped into the passenger seat of Lefty’s car.

  The wheels spun in the gravel before the car lurched into a tight turn back down the drive.

  “So,” Vincent mumbled. “What a day, huh?”

  Lefty’s jaw set hard. “Don’t talk to me.”

  “Listen, I’m sorry I got you into hot water.”

  “I told you,” Lefty said, struggling to form articulate words as he focused on the dark lane, “to leave that girl alone. Didn’t I tell you that?”

  “You did.”

  “And I turn my back for a hot second, and you go strong-arming Cooper in his own establishment? It’s like you’re trying to give me a condition.”

  “I said I’m sorry,” Vincent said. “What did Vito say to you?”

  “We’re going back to Cooper’s, is what.”

  Vincent frowned. “What for?”

  “An apology.”

  The nighttime crowd in Cooper’s basement gambling parlor was a bit more raucous than the Sunday morning crowd. It was shoulder-to-shoulder in that hole, and the air was double-thick with cigar smoke. Lefty shoved his way through the gathering with Vincent following in his wake.

  At one point, a boisterous poker player stood up with a shout of victory, slapping his chair against Vincent.

  The sudden motion sent Vincent into someone lingering by the bar. He reached out to steady himself, his fingers landing onto the bare arms of a woman in a yellow dress.

  Fern.

  He jerked his hands away as he looked into her eyes.

  She stood stiff, then lifted a hand to check the swoop of hair that covered her bruises.

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  She took in a breath to answer but reconsidered. With wide eyes and a quick shake of her head, she turned away.

  An arm reached in front of Vincent, tapping Fern on her shoulder.

  Lefty nodded to her as she whipped back around. “You’re with us.”

  “What?” she squeaked.

  “You’re coming with us. We have business with Cooper.”

  She paled. “No. I…I can’t.”

  “You don’t have a choice, ma’am,” Lefty urged. “Unless you want another invitation to Vito’s vineyard.”

  She blanched further, then she nodded and followed Lefty with Vincent taking the rear. It seemed she was meant to witness this public humiliation Vito had sentenced Vincent with.

  They wove through the tiny hallway leading to the back room. The crowd wasn’t as flush as the front room, but it was still nearly impossible to see the craps table from where they stood.

  Lefty snapped his fingers several times over the heads of the crowd, and failing to capture Cooper’s attention, he lifted his hand to his lips and released a loud whistle. The gamblers fell silent, turning to face them.

  Cooper wove from behind the table, his face flushed and sour.

  “What’s he doing here?” Cooper hissed.

  Lefty lifted a calm hand. “We’re here on behalf of the Capo. Can we get the room?”

  Cooper stared at Lefty, then released a sudden laugh that sprayed Lefty’s face with spittle.

  “You jerking my rope with this?” Cooper blurted. “Where do you think these people are gonna go?”

  “Then we do this outside,” Lefty replied.

  Cooper shook his head. “I ain’t got time for this.” He turned back toward the table.

  Lefty laid his hand onto Cooper’s sh
oulder. “You want to call Vito now, and tell him you’re too busy for an apology?”

  Cooper’s brow lifted. “An apology?”

  “Yes,” Lefty replied. “That a problem?”

  Cooper turned to smirk at Vincent. “No beef. I’m just surprised Vito let him off so easy. Is he back on his chain? Gonna behave himself?”

  Vincent stuffed his hands into his pockets before balling them into fists.

  Lefty shrugged. “He’s not here to hurt you, Cooper. He had a long talk with the Capo, and now we’re here.”

  Cooper snickered, then turned to the room. “Alright, everyone! Give us the room! Just be a couple minutes. Have a drink on the house.”

  The gamblers murmured and grumbled, gathering their things and filing one-by-one back through the hallway into the overstuffed front room. The last few came to a halt just outside the hallway, as there was literally no room left to go.

  Lefty ushered Fern and Vincent closer to the craps table.

  Cooper stepped up to Fern, his eyes narrowed. “What, you’re here for this, too?”

  Lefty nodded. “At Vito’s request.”

  Vincent took a step forward and cleared his throat as Lefty gestured for him.

  “Okay, so…” Vincent said. “I’m supposed to—”

  “What are you doing?” Lefty asked.

  Vincent’s eyes shifted over to Lefty. “I’m…apologizing. What do you think?”

  Lefty shook his head. “No, no. We’re here for an apology, but not from you.”

  “Huh?”

  Cooper shook his head. “What, now?”

  Lefty reached into his jacket and pulled his revolver. With a quick, matter-of-fact motion, he aimed the piece at Cooper’s foot and pulled the trigger.

  Screams spilled from the hallway and front room as the shot continued to ring in everyone’s ears. Soon, a thundering noise of people pressing into one another to make a quick exit shuddered the entire building.

  The sounds from the front room subsided enough for Cooper’s screams of pain to meet their ears as he slid to the ground, gripping his foot in his hands.

  Cooper drew in rapid breaths, then blustered, “What the fuck?”

  Lefty crouched over Cooper. “Now. About that apology.”

  The man’s cheeks puffed in and out as he tried to breathe through the pain.

  Lefty eased the gun to his kneecap.

  In a spate of syllables, Cooper shouted, “Okay, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He lifted a bloodied hand to Vincent. “Sorry I dimed you out to Vito. I was stupid.”

  Lefty lifted the pistol, then brought it in a quick swipe against Cooper’s temple sending him sprawling across the floor.

  “No,” Lefty snapped, “not to him.” He cocked his head toward Fern. “Apologize to her.”

  Cooper clamped his eyes shut, rocking back and forth as he bled onto the floor. “Sorry, sorry…”

  “Sorry for what?” Lefty prodded with a whimsical lift of his ear.

  “Sorry I hit you.”

  Lefty straightened up, then peered over to Fern. “Do you accept his apology?”

  Fern watched the scene as it unfolded, her face finally regaining its color, her eyes wide. “No. I do not.”

  Lefty sighed. “Oh well. Them’s the breaks. I’m sorry, ma’am, but Capo Vito only required that he apologize. He’s done that. What you do with that apology, I leave to you.”

  She nodded.

  “You should probably leave, now,” Lefty stated.

  Fern took a deep breath, then nodded again. As she turned toward the hallway, she paused in front of Vincent.

  He braced himself.

  Her eyes moved to the floor, then to his hat, and then finally she looked him in the eye. “Thanks for…your help.”

  He grinned and watched her leave. Lefty stepped over top Cooper, whose face was white. “I have a message from the Capo. He says if you continue to behave like a rabid dog, he’ll put you down like one. Capisci?”

  Cooper nodded.

  Lefty added, “And he says to stop calling yourself Cooper.”

  Vincent and Lefty made their way back out of the basement gambling hall, a much easier task now that it had mostly cleared out. Once they were back on street level, Lefty holstered his pistol.

  “You did that on purpose,” Vincent said, “didn’t you? Keeping me in the cold like that.”

  “You deserved it.”

  “I suppose so.”

  Lefty nodded to the car, and they made their way up the block. “Now what?”

  “Now we find Tony.”

  Lefty squinted at Vincent. “What’s your beef with Tony?”

  “Nothing,” Vincent answered. “I just need to find those boat runners.”

  “What, the ones from the other day?”

  “Yeah.” They climbed into the car. “I’m supposed to find another pincher for Vito. And I think I know where to find one.”

  “Where’s that?”

  Vincent replied as they pulled onto the street, “Somewhere on the water.”

  Chapter 17

  Despite the previous day’s abundant sunlight and fair temperatures, Monday had turned into a cloudy, brisk mess. Winds whipped off the river, filling the city with a late spring chill. Hattie pulled the collar of her working shirt up over her neck to stave off the breeze as she marched up to the Locust Point warehouse. The main doors were open, and Hattie simply stepped inside.

  Lizzie stood beside a skid of bottle crates, a notepad in her hand. She glanced up at Hattie with a start.

  “Oh, lord,” she blurted. “You have cat’s feet.”

  Hattie shrugged. “I don’t get anywhere making a fuss, do I?”

  “You just missed the excitement,” Lizzie said, tucking her pad under her arm. “Two trucks just left for Winnow’s Slip.”

  “Barrels?”

  “More of these.” Lizzie nudged one of the crates with the toe of her boot. “The Crew’s sent us wine, this time. Hell, I almost feel respectable.”

  “Do you need me, then?” Hattie asked.

  “I always need you. Better hustle on to the Slip, though. Raymond’s getting used to quick runs.”

  Hattie nodded. “So, it’s been quiet on the water? No more incidents?”

  “None so far.”

  “I suppose I’m a jinx.”

  Lizzie turned for her office. “Tick tock, jinxie.”

  Hattie headed for the waterfront, parking the truck beneath a tree at the Slip, then jogging along the pier toward Raymond’s boat. Four men lugged crate after crate of wine bottles onto the boat. More specifically, two men did all the lifting while the other pair watched. She smirked and shook her head. They must’ve been higher on the mob food chain.

  One of them turned as she approached, and she stopped dead.

  His tipped his hat with a smile, his dark eyes sparkling with amusement. “Good morning.”

  It was the pincher…Vincent. Right, that was his name. Last time they’d spoken, she’d given him a good tongue-lashing and she felt embarrassed about that. Moment they were alone, she really did owe him an apology. Although she was hoping there wouldn’t be any moments alone with this man.

  “Good morning,” she replied.

  Vincent’s older companion, the one with only one arm, offered her a quick, silent nod.

  “Well, fancy meeting the both of you again,” she said with a genial grin.

  “I hope that’s copacetic,” Vincent replied. “Don’t mean to cause you any undue grief.”

  “Nah,” she gave him a wink. “Having a strapping young man on the boat is something a girl could get used to.” She brushed past the pair and walked on.

  Raymond emerged from the boat house, his face exploding into a smile as he set eyes on her. “Hattie! Where you been?”

  “Drinking and singing for the public,” she announced, spreading her arms wide and doing a quick spin around.

  He chuckled. “You’re a filthy damn liar.”

  “You’re a bully.”<
br />
  Raymond nodded at the boat and whispered, “You seen we got company?”

  “What are they,” she whispered back, “security?”

  “Somethin’ like that. They say this stuff came from their boss’s own property, and that we should be good and careful with it.”

  She rolled her eyes. “When we’re not getting shot at, we’re smooth as babies’ arses.”

  “Between you and me,” Raymond added, “I think the whole bunch of ’em on edge. Actin’ jumpy. Especially that one.” He nodded at Vincent, who was hopping clear of the two workers.

  Hattie smirked. “He’s got good reason to be jumpy.”

  Once the crates were loaded, and the extra men had left, Raymond piloted them out onto the river. Daytime boating was less serene than night runs, but easier for them to blend in. Several fishing boats and recreational craft were out on the Bay, and they were just one more among them. The Feds tended to get more active down by Virginia, at any rate, so the ride was something she could simply sit back and enjoy.

  Unless, of course, there was another pincher on board.

  Hattie kept her distance from Vincent as best she could. To his credit, he made it easy, keeping company with his companion more than anything. They pulled up toward the Elk River on a rare northbound run. Raymond’s boat could navigate a good distance up the river, but that put them square into the hands of Prohibition. Treasury men liked to stake out the mouth of the river time-to-time, watching for boat-leggers like them. Lizzie was good at keeping the right eyes and ears greased up with kickbacks, and as such kept a fair sense of when the Feds were sniffing around. And ever since she’d started seeing that mafia man, Tony, that intelligence had only improved.

  A slope-hulled skiff sat about a mile into the river, a rust-colored stripe painted up its sides. That was their client. An old man and a boy not older than twelve reached for the side of the boat, then the boy climbed aboard and hauled the wine crates over the edge into the old man’s shaky hands. Hattie wasn’t sure if this was a grandfather-grandson freelance operation, or if the Philadelphia people were running shy of proper laborers.

  Once they were back underway and headed into the Chesapeake, Hattie turned from the bow to find Vincent standing directly behind her. She gasped, then frowned at him. “Don’t go sneaking up on women, you daft bastard.”