by Debra Dunbar
Vincent turned to Lefty, who loomed beside him. “So?”
Lefty released a quick chuckle. “So yourself! What’s the play?”
Tony sidled up alongside Lefty, eyes expectant.
Vincent straightened his shoulders. There was no avoiding this now. “Tony? Are they at the warehouse?”
“I called Lizzie just an hour ago at her home line.” He blushed at the unspoken message there. “Because she, uh…she wasn’t at work.”
Lefty smirked. “What’re the odds that’s actually her home line?”
Tony scowled. “I got good odds on that, so mind your own beeswax.”
Vincent lifted a hand. “Can you call her again? Get them all in one place?”
“Fat chance,” Tony blurted. “She don’t know where those two are.”
Vincent pinched time…just a second. He took two steps forward, then released the magic. Time slipped back into its normal rhythm, only now Vincent was standing a few inches away from Tony.
Tony gasped and jerked away.
With a somber inflection, Vincent said, “Don’t jerk me around. You know where Lizzie is right now. And you know very well that she knows where her people are. This thing maybe went off the rails, but Sadler knew exactly what was going down. They’re a tight ship. So, between you, me and Lefty, let’s cut the bull. I want you to call Sadler. Arrange a meet. We’re gonna bring goons. She needs to know that, so she don’t get ideas.”
Tony nodded.
Vincent continued, “Tell her we’re coming. Tonight. And we gotta talk to Malloy. That’s the square deal. If they get hinky with us, let her know there’s nowhere we won’t go to find her. You got that?”
Tony sucked in a breath, then nodded again.
“So, what’re ya waiting for?”
Tony trotted off back into the villa.
Lefty stepped alongside Vincent.
Vincent asked, “What do you think, did I lay it on too thick?”
“I don’t know.” Lefty snickered. “It sounded pretty good to me.”
“What am I doing, Lefty?” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
With a spin on his heel, Lefty laid a hand on Vincent’s shoulder. “For what it’s worth, you seem pretty natural at this. Maybe I misjudged you.”
“Exactly when did you misjudge me?” Vincent asked with a laugh.
“All your life.”
“Eh, get outta here,” he scoffed as they headed toward the car.
Within an hour, Tony had made contact with Lizzie Sadler, and reported that the entire “operation,” as he put it, would be in attendance at the Locust Point warehouse.
By midnight, they had three cars and one truck ready to roll to Locust Point. The cars provided the talking heads, and the truck was there to gather whatever product remained in that warehouse. No matter how things went down, the Crew was about to take hold of its own liquor shipping that night.
Vincent wouldn’t have been surprised to hear that Hattie was halfway to West Virginia by this point. Last time he’d dealt with her in an official capacity, she was more skittish than a sparrow on a cat’s ass. The whole notion of being pressed into the service of the Baltimore Crew sent her into heavy-breathed panic. The word was out, now. Everyone knew what she was. He half expected to arrive at the warehouse to find she’d vanished hours ago.
But then why wouldn’t Lizzie have just told them that? Why have them all descend on her place of business like a small army if Hattie was not even in the state?
He mulled it over as the motorcade ran from downtown Baltimore to Locust Point. Hattie knew the conundrum she was in. She knew the consequences of that cock-up in D.C. Surely, she’d have to know. No. Hattie knew they were coming. And for some reason she hadn’t run for the hills.
But why?
Vincent considered in a moment of vanity that it was him that had kept her in the city.
He’d tried to talk her into joining the Crew already, and after endless internal debate, he’d decided she was a poor fit. Disastrous, in fact. She was too volatile. Bucked too hard against authority. Hell, every time Vincent met with her to compare notes, he was never sure if the meeting would end in them shouting at each other, or flirting.
The car rammed through a pothole, and Vincent shook his head.
Flirting?
And if he was honest with himself, it hadn’t been solely on her side either. Even when they were shouting at each other, there was some sort of electric current between them.
Flirting.
Vincent released a quick chuckle, eliciting a glance from Lefty.
He continued to work on the problem as the motorcade pulled onto Key Highway leading to the waterfront at Locust Point. Hattie knew they were coming. She knew Vincent would be there. Which meant she probably held out hope that Vincent would find some way to let her escape.
His stomach squeezed tight as he realized that wasn’t in the cards.
“Hold here,” Vincent called out.
The driver stopped the front car along the side of Fort Avenue, easing toward a row of sheds and warehouses. The rest of the vehicles followed suit.
Vincent stepped out to wait for the remainder of the party to gather in a mob before him. Expectant eyes watched as he gathered his thoughts—particularly Lefty’s.
“So,” Vincent announced, “if what we heard tonight is true, we’re about to confront a light pincher.” He waved a finger at a few of the gathered gangsters. “That might not mean much to some of you, so let me tell you what we could be up against.”
The men shuffled nervously, obviously uncomfortable with the idea of facing someone who would be using magic against them instead of guns.
“Anything you see might be an illusion,” Vincent continued. “Anything. You think it’s your buddy standing next to you, but it’s her, with iron pointed right in your ear. Don’t trust what you see, but don’t trust what you hear either. If we’ve truly had a light pincher living here under our noses this whole time, undetected, then she’s good. Don’t underestimate her.”
One of the younger goons snickered. “She’s some girl, some river rat who’s been running hooch for us. What’s there to worry about?”
Vincent pinched time, strolled over to the lad to pull the hat off his head, then returned to his exact position per his practiced method, and released the stream of time. He lifted the hat with a scowl. “She’s not just some river rat, she’s a river rat with magic.”
The lad raised a hand to his head, and finding it bare his eyes widened.
Vincent tossed the hat back to him. “Like I said, if there’s really a light pincher in there, then don’t trust anything you see or hear. Believe me. All you mooks like to think of me as some sorta freak to laugh at, but I know more about this stuff than you do.”
The gathered faces searched for a safe place to look.
Vincent chuckled. “The good news is I’m the freak that’s on your side. Bad news is, this individual we’re about to approach? Light pincher or not, she is most certainly not on our side. So, I need each and every one of you to listen and listen good. You keep your irons in their sleeves. You hear me? If you pull a gun on this girl, you might be drawing on your buddy. No shooting unless I say so.”
Heads nodded.
With a whip of his finger, Vincent turned to Lefty. “You and me and Tony. We’ll head up the front, alone while the rest of you stay here.”
Tony squinted. “The hell you say.”
“Don’t give me shit on this, Tony. If she’s really a light pincher, then going in there to take her by force is only going to get us killed. Our best angle is to parlay and convince her to come willingly. And I’ll do the talking.”
Tony nodded, as did Lefty.
“Okay. Hang back, fellas. We’ll shout if we need ya.”
A couple snickers were his reply.
Vincent turned to the warehouse, adjusted his hat, then stepped forward. Lefty joined him at his right, and Tony to his left.
Tony gr
umbled, “We couldn’t have driven a few more yards?”
“You want to drive into the side of a truck you didn’t know was there?” Vincent asked.
“Good point.”
They continued up the street until the flickering candle light of the warehouse windows greeted them in the distance. The lane ended in an unpaved lot just before the warehouse, illuminated more by the moon than anything. The geometry of the place seemed grander on foot, as opposed to simply driving in.
Lefty reached over to grab Vincent’s arm. Vincent followed suit by holding out an arm to bar Tony.
All of them followed Lefty’s nod, to a tiny shadow in the middle of the lot.
“What is that?” Tony whispered.
Vincent shrugged as he took a half-step forward.
It was small, whatever it was. Sitting directly on the dirt of the loading lot. Vincent cast a glance to his companions, then shrugged. He took a step closer to the lot. Then another. Soon, he found himself strolling into the clear space before the warehouse, the moon shining overhead. And that tiny shadow sitting before him.
Vincent approached it and crouched down.
It was cylindrical. A can. The faint moonlight barely illuminated the wording along the paper label. Bertha’s Beans.
Vincent stood up, he turned to shout, “It’s just a can of—”
A shot rang out in the summer night, causing Vincent to clinch his fist. Out of instinct, he pinched time.
Turning against the turbid air of the frozen space, he spied the can of beans. It sat mid-leap, its contents spilling into the air as a bullet rifled its way inches past the exit wound. The slug spun slow in the impossible speed of the time pinch. Vincent straightened up to cast a glance along the line of fire. A plume of fire blossomed from the piles of lumber at the edge of the loading lot, near the harbor.
There was the gunman.
And Vincent froze even as the weight of the magic began to prod his guts, reminding him that every second spent in this pinch exacted a cost on his body. His eyes scanned the entire line of sheds and warehouses surrounding them.
Surrounding.
How many more were there?
This preposterous display was more than a prank. It was a warning—a warning meant for Vincent. Hattie was letting him know that she knew what he could do and she was as immune to his magic as he was to her illusion.
If he could, he would’ve called out to her in this time pinch. Alas, air didn’t move the way it normally did under his ministrations, and so, he was forced into a decision. Release the time pinch and hold off Lefty and Tony.
Or try to get creative.
With a weak draw of breath in the unsteady physics of his magic, Vincent closed his eyes, tried to calm his nerves, then released the time pinch.
Chapter 11
The sound of Hattie’s gunshot rolled from its subaquatic murk higher and higher until the rushing became the tail end of the bang she’d expected. The slow-billowing plume at the end of her rifle evaporated as time folded back into its normal pace. Of course, Vincent would pinch time. It would have to be a reflex for the man. Hattie had taken precautions—she was under cover, as were Raymond, Liz, and the four Curtis Creek neighbors Raymond had conscripted to help bail them out of this predicament.
The can of beans hopped several feet from its original position, spraying beans into the air in a pinwheel. Vincent stood in front of two men. Hattie recognized them both. There was Tony to his left— Lizzie’s side action, and one of the Crew’s major players. He was a railroad spike stuffed into a tweed smoking jacket, hard as a nail at the core, but dressed in an unexpected weave of education and refinement that belied his profession.
Then there was Lefty Mancuso, Vincent’s handler. That man frightened Hattie more than any of the gangsters she’d met, heard of, or imagined. Pushing fifty, Lefty was a veteran of the War, having given an arm for God and Country. His disability hadn’t dulled his aim with a pistol, though. Hattie’d seen that first hand. But the most terrifying aspect of this dark-haired, wrinkle-eyed fellow was his intellect. She could see it in his eyes. They never stopped watching. Noticing. Piecing it all together. Hattie felt certain on a deep level that there was very little she could ever hide from that man.
And he was in charge of Vincent.
The time pincher stood tall in the middle of the dust-paved loading lot. The gunshot hadn’t even shaken him. Not surprisingly, he’d led the march with the other two up the drive to the warehouse, leaving the army of goons behind. Vincent knew what Hattie could do to those men, even if she couldn’t work her wiles on him. Damned immunity. Whatever cosmic force had saddled the two of them with a mutual resistance to each other’s magic was surely laughing its ass off at the moment.
“I’m here to talk,” Vincent shouted, his hands raised.
Hattie pursed her lips. Well, here it was. The moment she’d dreaded since she met the man three months ago. In a way, she was surprised it hadn’t come sooner. And yet, it felt like she hadn’t had any time at all to prepare for this.
With a quick sign of the cross, she hefted the rifle down to the crook of her elbow and stood up to step clear of the lumber surrounding her. Two steps and she was fully exposed.
Vincent’s eyes found her immediately.
Hattie kept the barrel of the rifle aimed at a piece of ground halfway between the two of them. No need to act preemptively hostile, but it was best to have the weapon ready in case Lefty took a belligerent notion.
“Evening,” Hattie called out. She kept her tone professional. There was no way of knowing how much the Crew knew of their ongoing communication. In case Vincent decided to play this close to the chest, she elected to treat him like a stranger.
Both Tony and Lefty, spotting Hattie with a rifle in her hands, eased hands toward their jackets. But Vincent threw a flat hand behind him, waving his fingers as he muttered something about “keeping it in leather.” Tony pulled his hand away. It was Lefty that lingered, eyes hard on Hattie. Once Vincent turned his head and spat something vulgar at the man, Lefty eased his hand away from his jacket.
Vincent nodded to Hattie. “Nice shot!”
“Thank you,” she replied in a flat tone. “Thought I’d demonstrate a wee bit of skill, just in case your companions decided this was going to be simple.”
Vincent’s eyes widened just a bit, and Hattie couldn’t be completely sure from this distance, but she detected a slight shake of his head. He was warning her off the attitude. Fair enough. He had a better sense of these men than she had.
“Can we talk?” Vincent asked.
“What’d you think we’re doing, then?” she replied.
“Privately?” he urged.
Lefty muttered something to Vincent, who replied without turning. Clearly, Lefty was uncomfortable with the notion. And so, Hattie decided to let them come to their own peace with it before replying.
After several back-and-forths, Vincent called, “How many guns we got pointing at us, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Enough,” she replied.
“What’s with the bum’s rush?”
“Figured you’d come calling. I think maybe there’s been a misunderstanding, but you lot aren’t known for wool gathering.”
“Then may I suggest we take this inside?” Vincent nodded to the warehouse.
Hattie stifled a smile. Yep. He was trying to pull her into a personal conversation, which meant he wanted to get real.
Good. So did she.
“Agreed.” She turned to shout to either side of her, “We’re stepping inside. Hold your fire. Unless the ugly bastards decide to get cheeky, then have at it.”
Hattie spun the rifle and stowed it over her shoulder, watching Vincent as he took tentative steps forward. Technically, one of the Curtis Creek boys could plug him before he even heard the shot, without any chance of him pinching time and avoiding a bullet, but that wasn’t why they were here. Hattie wanted—no, she needed—a permanent solution to this mess. Not ju
st for her, but for Raymond and Lizzie.
And Vincent was her only hope.
She strolled ahead of Vincent, keeping a comfortable distance to reinforce the notion they were strangers, and pulled the warehouse door open. It rolled with only a little rust-driven squeal, just wide enough to let them slip inside. Hattie waited a moment as Vincent caught up with her, stepping inside to the space only illuminated by a small flickering candle.
Hattie shoved the door closed, then waited, barely able to make Vincent out in the dim light.
A click sounded in and a feeble illumination added its glow to the lone candle. He watched her over top of the tiny plume of flame rising from his lighter.
Vincent gave her a sad smile. “Well, this is a damned situation, isn’t it?”
Hattie let the rifle slip off her shoulder, propping the gun against a stack of empty pallets. “Aye. That it is.”
They stared at one another, expressions shifting through uncertainty, concern, and relief that they were finally alone.
Vincent shook his head. “Hattie, what the hell were you thinking?”
She felt her lips tremble at the warm affection behind the scold. “Not much, I’ll admit to that. It was stupid but it was the only shot we had at keeping our jobs.”
Vincent’s face darkened. “There was never a shot. Vito had his mind made before you…” He didn’t finish the sentence.
“Before I made it worse?” she offered.
“You’ve definitely stepped right into the middle of it. Which brings us to the conversation you swore you’d never again have with me.”
Hattie rolled her eyes. “Eh, I’m ready for it. Let me have the pitch. Maybe third time’s a charm, boy-o.”
Vincent grinned, the smile fading just as quickly as it had appeared. “Seriously, though. Vito’s got you thumbnailed. And he knows your name.”
She searched his face for hope. “Is there any way at all that we can turn this around?”
