by Tracey
The police came about half an hour after the shooting happened but the boys had already taken care of the mess. They met with the cops outside, never letting them enter the club to see what the rest of us were up to, and by the time they got there the blood was covered up or washed away. They couldn’t get all of it cleaned fast enough so some pallets and crates had to be pulled out and set in odd places out back to cover it up. The cops knew, they aren’t stupid, but they can know something all day long but it doesn’t mean they can do a damn thing about it. If they don’t see anything shady out in the open, they have to get a search warrant to go poking around. Can you imagine trying to get a search warrant in Cicero on a property run by a Capone? Heaven help the brave man who tries.
“Miss Marcone.”
I spin around to face the doctor as he comes out into the dining area. He’s covered in blood from working on all three men, each of them at least requiring stitches. One of the boys needed a bullet extracted and wasn’t that the most horrible thing I’ve had to listen to in a long while. Almost as horrible as the night Tommy brought in a double crosser from the Southside and… Anyway, it was awful but I was told this man is sleeping soundly now. He’ll probably keep the bullet as a souvenir. Put it on a necklace or in a ring. If he gets shot again he can make cufflinks.
“Your friend, Edward. He is sleeping soundly now.” the thin old doctor tells me in his thick German accent.
“He’ll be alright?”
“He will be just fine. Ze bullet hit him just shy of ze lung. No permanent damage has been done.”
“None at all? He’s a musician, you see, so if he can’t play…”
The doctor waves his hand in front of me, dismissing my concerns. “No, no, no. It is all tissue, all muscle. No bone appears to be cracked or damaged. He will be stiff for a few weeks but zen he is back to tickling ze ivories.”
I grin. “That’s for pianos. He’s a bassist.”
“Yes, yes. Tickling the strings, then.”
“Thank you, doctor.”
He bows slightly to me then turns sharply on his heels, leaving the room.
“I don’t like him.” Alice says sourly.
I frown at her. “What’s not to like? He came down here at the drop of a hat and single handedly stitched up three of our guys, no questions asked. The man’s a saint.”
Alice snorts. “Hardly. I don’t trust the Germans. Especially that one.”
“You don’t trust Santa Clause.” I tease her sharply, snapping a napkin at her ass.
She squeals and jumps away, laughing. “You shouldn’t either. Breaking into houses, stealing pastries, leaving bribes. Hush money is what it is.”
“Hush money for what?”
“We’ll never know will we? The kids aren’t saying cause if they do, Santa is taking back that toy train. Lickety split!”
I laugh, feeling giddy. “We were kids once and I don’t remember what the hush money was for. Do you?”
“Course not. He brainwashes you.” She leans in and whispers loudly, “Like the Germans.”
I throw the napkin at her face, laughing. “You’re full of hot air. Leave the Germans alone.”
“They’re trouble, I’m telling you. Someday you’ll see.”
“Yeah, alright. If you see Tommy or Ralph, tell them I went home to change, will ya?”
“You got it.”
I gather my things together and leave the club, smiling at Rick as I go. I feel light, airy. Unattached to the world around me, like I’m riding too high for it to really touch me. I think that’s a good thing. I think it’s right that I should feel happy because Eddie is going to be fine, Tommy is alive and no one died in that attack. Not even little ole me. It’s right to feel good. Great even.
Then why won’t my hands stop shaking?
Chapter Seven
One of the few things I like about the holidays is the food. I’m crazy for sweets and there’s no time like Halloween or Christmas for candied everything. Save your Valentine’s Day chocolates in a heart shaped box, I’d rather have a pillow case full of candy I gathered after a long night of Trick or Treating. At least then I know I earned it.
It’s been a long stressful week at the club and at home with all the drama from the constant shootings and fighting going on in the apartment. Living with the girls is great right up until it’s not. Right up until someone insists that dress is theirs or those shoes are mine and who ripped a hole in the last good pair of stockings? The tiny one bedroom apartment full of bodies and shouting was getting to be too much. So now I’m cruising the streets of Cicero, bundled up for window shopping and munching happily on some candied popcorn I splurged on from a street vendor. Not many people are out this evening. The temperature is dropping fast making it feel more like winter than the end of fall. Once the streets are covered in snow and ice walks like this will become rare for me. I’ll be surrounded by people in the club and at home all the time. No escapes. The thought makes me want to tear my hair out.
“You owe me a name.” a deep voice rumbles in my ear from behind.
I nearly jump out of my skin, my popcorn spilling over from the paper bag as I jolt with surprise.
“You rotten son of a—“ I breathe, pressing my hand to my chest.
Drew eyes me carefully, noting my reaction. “Yeah, I wondered if you were there.”
“Where?”
“The shooting behind the Cotton Club. You’re jumpy like a kid back from a war zone.”
“What shooting?” I ask, trying to sound confused. I’m a singer, not an actress. Cut a girl some slack.
Drew smiles. “Nicely done.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask with annoyance.
“Were you hurt?”
“Hurt when? Now? When you scared me nearly to death?”
“I think it would take more than that.”
“Not much more. And no, I’m fine. Thanks.” I mutter. “What are you still doing here? I thought you were long gone back to New York.”
“Now who’s the detective?”
“What?”
“I never told you I was from New York.” He’s watching me now, his face serious. Intense. “You asking around about me, Adrian?”
I shake my head. “I hear things. A lot of things.”
“Did you hear what brought me to Chicago?”
I look at him sharply. His eyes are steady on my face and I understand for a moment why Rosaline didn’t like them.
“No,” I say firmly. “And I don’t want to know.”
We walk in silence for nearly a block. I feel his eyes on me the entire time. Just when I’m feeling like I’ll squirm or scream he releases me from his stare. The air around him shifts, lightening instantly as he reaches over to steal popcorn from my forgotten bag.
“Do you ever ask permission?” I demand, pulling the bag out of his reach when he goes in for more.
“Not when I see something I want. I don’t like being told no.”
“Something tells me being told no doesn’t exactly stop you.”
He chuckles as he tosses a few kernels in his mouth.
“It’s sweet.” he says in surprise.
“I like it sweet.”
“Really?”
I grin at him. “My popcorn at least. Everything else I like a little…”
“Sour?”
I meet his strange eyes and feel a pull low in my stomach. I’m flirting with him, there’s no getting away from that, and if I’m reading him right he’s flirting back. Why I’m doing it I’m not entirely sure. He’s a stranger, he’s clearly dangerous, Tommy would pitch a fit if he knew and he’s just really not that handsome. There are a lot of better looking fellas at the club who probably have a lot more money and influence that would be more than happy to take me on. But I’ve always said no. I’ve always walked away and kept that distance because I don’t want it that way. I won’t sleep my way to the top because it never gets you a
ll the way there. All it gets you is pregnant and forgotten, relegated to an apartment kept by some mobster who swings by to screw you every now and then when his wife gets boring. Now here I am on a cold street in Cicero looking into the scariest eyes I’ve ever seen and all I want to do is find out what his lips taste like. Would they be sweet? Or would they be sour?
“Sour is good.” I answer, feeling a little breathless.
He abruptly steps in front of me, stopping me in my tracks. He’s watching me again, his eyes falling to my mouth for a moment the way they did in the club when I drank the whiskey, and I wonder what he’s thinking. With him I’ll probably never know.
“Name.” he says simply, his voice hushed and deep.
He’s standing so close I can smell him. Soap and that mysterious something else. I take a half step closer, wanting more of it.
“Addy.”
He nods curtly. “It’s not short for Adrian, is it?”
I grin slightly. “No.”
He takes a step toward me until he’s towering over me. Until our bodies are nearly touching and my popcorn bag crunches loudly between us. Until his scent is in my nose, in my lungs, in my mind and I’ll remember it forever and always wonder what it is. And why I crave it. Why I want it so badly.
“Who calls you by that name?”
“No one living.”
It’s a macabre answer to an innocent question but I know he’ll understand. I have a fairly good idea what he does for a living and in that line of work, people are categorized in two ways; living and dead. That’s all that really matters.
“Good. We’re even.”
He takes a step back and the cold air feels frigid in his wake.
“You’re leaving now, aren’t you? Going back to New York?”
He nods, his eyes on mine. “All my debts here are squared.”
“When will I hear the rest?”
“The rest of what?”
“Your names.”
He scans the sidewalk behind me for a long moment before answering.
“Ask around some more.” he replies coolly. “You know enough to get the rest.”
“What if I don’t want it from anyone else? What if I only want it from you?”
I know how it sounds, that’s why I said it that way. What exactly it is I’m doing I have no idea, but I do know I have to see him again. I have to know why his laugh makes me light up inside like a spotlight on stage, why his stare scares me nearly until my knees are knocking and why all of that makes me feel so sinuous inside.
“You’re a kid.” he says tightly. “You don’t know what you want.”
I scowl at him, feeling angry and insulted. “You’re not that much older than I am.”
“Aren’t I? I grew up in this life. How long have you been in it, country girl? Two years?”
“What? You think you’re smarter than I am?”
“Yeah, I do.” he replies calmly. “You’re playing out of your league.”
“What are you talking about?”
“First Two Thumbs, now you’re tryin’ for me?”
“I told you already, Tommy and I have ne—“
“Who are you gonna shack up with next? One of the Capones?”
“Fuck you!”
“That’s the idea, isn’t it?”
I throw the popcorn bag against his chest, the kernels exploding against his gray coat in a shower of yellow and white that tumbles to his feet. Then I step quickly past him, taking off down the street. Anything to get away from him.
I make it half a block. Half a block away before I feel a steel grip on my arm spinning me around, pulling me back and slamming me against the hard planes of a broad chest. He holds me against him as though I weigh nothing and drags me quickly into an alley. We’re instantly hidden in the shadows, surrounded by empty crates and darkness. When I look up at him his face is hard and at home. This is where he works. This is where he lives. Half seen in the cold empty.
“Look at me.” he demands.
I already am. He’s all I can see. His electric blue eyes and the deep lines of his face forming a frown of anger or frustration or confusion. He presses his body against mine, pinning me against the wall until it hurts. Until I’m trapped between two hard surfaces pressing the life out of me.
“What is it about you and gangsters, huh?” he rasps, his hands pinning my arms to my sides. “Is this what you like? The violence? The danger?”
“You.” I whisper calmly. “I like you.”
He stares at me as though he didn’t hear me. As though he can barely even see me. My words don’t register with him or if they do they mean nothing.
“This is how it is with me. Nothing nice. Nothing sweet. Nothing real or meaningful to tell your girlfriends about.”
“I don’t care about all of that.” I breathe, my chest painfully being crushed by his.
“You will. Eventually you will. And I won’t give you any of it. I’m all whiskey, all sour and you think you want it now but in the long run you’ll want something else. Something I don’t have. So why don’t you save us both the trouble, sweetheart, and go sing this song to Tommy or one of the other guys drooling over you every night in that joint.”
He shoves away from me, leaving me limp against the cold, brick wall. He backs away a few steps but his eyes never leave mine. He’s waiting for something. Maybe for me to cry or for me to run to him, cling to him. Beg him to see that he’s wrong and that I want him any way I can have him. But as much as my body misses the weight of him against it, that’s one thing I’ll never do. I’ll never beg any man for anything.
So I walk away and I don’t look back.
Watch for the next episode in the
Swan Song series, #2 Gin and Toxic.
Excerpt
“What are you doing here?” I ask Tommy warily.
“You know why I’m here. Where the hell you been?”
“I called. I told you I was sick.”
“No, you told Rick and that’s not the same as tellin’ me. You know that. What’s wrong with you?”
“I had a bad headache.”
“I’m not asking about the headache, I’m asking what’s wrong with you. Since when do you call and not speak to me?”
“I don’t know, Tommy. I was tired, I wasn’t feeling well.”
“Beth says you asked for Rick.”
“Geez, fine, I asked for Rick!” I exclaim, throwing my hands in the air. “I thought he’d be sweeter about it. Looks like I was right, wasn’t I?”
“You got something you want to say to me?”
“Like what?”
“You got a guy on the side?”
“Side of what?”
“Side of us!” he shouts in annoyance.
“There is no us!”
“It’s gonna happen, Adrian.” he says, suddenly turning quiet. I close my eyes against the sight of his intense stare. “You and I, we’re happening. It’s been a long time coming and I’ve been a patient man but enough is enough. Are you hearing me?”
I don’t open my eyes and I don’t respond. I know he’s right. I’ve been living borrowed time for a while now. And I’m just so tired and so frustrated at this point. I’m so worked up over what I can’t have, over what I want, over what I shouldn’t do that I honestly don’t know if I care anymore.
“Are you hearing me?!”
I sigh, opening my eyes. “Yeah, Tommy. You’re shouting. Everyone in the building is hearing you.”
He steps closer. “Are you gettin’ smart with me?”
I meet his eyes, letting him know I’m not intimidated by him. “No. I’m not.”
He stays there staring at me for a long minute. Then he shakes his head and runs his hand over his mouth in frustration. “You’ve got a mouth on you, you know that?”
“I know that.” I reply dryly.
Tommy suddenly grabs my arm. He jerks me toward him and watches as my robe s
lips open, showing the form fitted silk nightgown beneath.
He slips his hand inside the robe and touches the fabric over my hip with surprising gentleness. His breathing hitches in his throat as his hand travels up my side, following the dip between my hip and ribs. It tickles in the most agonizing way. In a way that leaves me tense and breathless. It leaves my body begging for more.
“Tell me no, Adrian.” he growls, looking in my eyes. “Tell me no and walk away like you always do or I’m not stoppin’ this. Not this time.”
I want him but I don’t. Not really. I feel my body respond to him every time he touches me but I’m not there. I’m not in it, not in my heart or my head. But I want something, I want someone, and it’s like the Cotton Clubs. It’s like Cicero and New York. I want what I want and I have what I have and maybe it’s time I played the cards I’m being dealt instead of reaching for the deck trying to steal all the aces.
“Don’t stop.” I whisper.
