Bum’s Rush: White Lightning Series, Book 2

by Debra Dunbar

  Vincent wiped a tear from his eye as he caught his breath. “That a fact?”

  “Aye. I was sent to sow discontent among the moonshiners. And I did, but all too well.”

  Vincent shook his head in amusement.

  She marched toward him with a finger jabbing into his chest. “More of the same, too. The idea was to pick apart the Crew’s distribution network, drive the wedge deeper. Smith gets more money for more information to solve the ‘problems,’ and with all the distractions, I’m less of a priority. Only, I was played the fool. The entire trip was a suicide run.”

  Vincent’s mirth faded. “What are you talking about?”

  “Smith had men,” she explained. “Waiting. For us.”

  “A bushwhack?”

  “I was meant to die last night, along with those bootleggers.”

  Vincent shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. You’re worth more alive to him than dead. If all he wants is money, he wouldn’t kill you, and he sure as heck wouldn’t kill a bunch of moonshiners that he could rat out for cash.”

  She reached out a hand to grip his arm. “That’s because he wants more than money. The easiest way to take down the Crew is to hack at their income stream by messing with their liquor distribution, and to take away any magical advantage they might have.”

  “You don’t work for Vito yet,” he countered.

  “But I’m within his grasp.” Her eyes searched his. “Kill me, so I’m no longer a factor. Kill you. Throw the Crew into a war with Virginia, and screw with their income. They’d be vulnerable.”

  “And Smith wouldn’t get a dime,” he retorted. “Hattie, this makes no sense. One man isn’t going to take down the Crew. Smith is playing this for money. It’s not about power. It’s about money.”

  “But if it’s not?” She tugged on his sleeve. “You need to keep your eyes open boy-o, because I really don’t want to hear that you took a slug to the head.”

  “This…this is going to be difficult to prove,” he told her.

  “I know it, but I’m not here to prove anything to you. I’m here to warn you.”

  Vincent sighed. “There’s no way in God’s green hell I’m taking this to the Capo. I’m on a limb as it is. Telling Corbi that Smith’s playing both sides will only get me sent…” He didn’t finish the statement.

  But Hattie did. “Upstate?”

  Vincent squinted and backed away a step. “How do you know about that?”

  “God’s truth?” She raised her eyebrows. “Smith told me.”

  “Smith told you about upstate?”

  Hattie checked over her shoulder again. “There’s more.”

  “Lovely.”

  She pursed her lips to think for a moment, sending nervous energy through Vincent’s gut. Finally, she said, “I think Smith’s a pincher.”

  The words sliced through his brain before they could register.

  She continued, “That night when you were at the hotel? Smith was there, yes? You were conspiring with him and your cronies while I was hot-footing it back to my warehouse. Only, by the time I got there, I found Lizzie huddled with the man. He’d been there for an hour.”

  Vincent nodded absentmindedly. “I’ve seen him do things. Easy to miss, if you’re not paying attention. It’s like he can be in two places at once.”

  She nodded with a muffled smack of her fist into her palm. “That’s it. I’ll gamble he’s some sort of place pincher.”

  Vincent scowled. “That would come in handy for a man in his line of work.”

  “Don’t you see what this means?” Hattie’s voice was breathless with excitement. “Your boss wants another pincher. You have one. Give him Smith.”

  Vincent frowned. “What, this is all about finding a replacement?”

  “What else?” she demanded. “I’m the one hunted. I have to find some way to survive this, or you’ll never leave me be. Fate’s just dropped this arrogant bastard directly into my hands. I’m happy to hand him over to you.”

  “And I’m back to being out on a limb.”

  “Get your handler involved. He’ll know how to spin the yarn.”

  Vincent rubbed the sides of his face, twisting away from Hattie. “Hell.”

  “Think about what he’s doing to you. Not just me. He’s using you, boy-o. Just as surely as he’s used me.”

  “No,” Vincent told her.

  “No?”

  Vincent took a deep breath, then made eye contact with Hattie once again. “Vito’s not looking for any old pincher, he’s looking for Hattie Malloy. He has a name pinned to his little crusade. I can’t simply hand over an alternative and expect he’ll be satisfied. All that’ll do is to give him three pinchers to obsess over. He’ll still want you too.”

  Hattie’s face drew into a mask of despair. “You…you won’t even try?”

  “What good would it do? Either I hand him a place pincher who will fight me tooth and nail, and I’ll still be on the hunt for Hattie Malloy. Or I call Smith out, am proven wrong, and I lose every last inch of credibility I’ve gained since this all started.”

  “Really?” She rolled her eyes. “Credibility? Is that what you think you have, then?”

  “You’re pitching off center, Hattie. I don’t want Smith to be my partner.”

  She snorted. “I don’t half blame you, but it’s a far sight better than anything else you’ve got.”

  “I disagree.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yeah. I’ve already got someone I want to work with.”

  “Your one-armed friend?”

  “No,” Vincent snapped. “You! I want to work with you! We’ve got a synergy together. Things fall into place when I’m with you. I’m stronger when I’m with you for some strange reason. And besides that I…I like you. I like being with you. You’re smart and funny, and when we’re together everything just feels right. I want you. I want…” He caught his breath, suddenly realizing what he’d been about to say.

  Silence fell over the alley as both of them straightened a little.

  Hattie made a half-turn, hiding her face beneath the brim of the fedora, hiking her shoulders up a little so that the collar of the oversized jacket covered her chin.

  Vincent’s blood ran cold, and he also turned away.

  After a minute Hattie asked, “What about your brunette?”

  He peered at Hattie over his shoulder. “My what, now?”

  “I don’t remember her name, you git.”

  “Are you talking about Fern?” he asked.

  “Fern. Do you think she’d enjoy hearing you talk like that? Saying those things to me? Think she’d like us working side-by-side like that, day in and day out? Nights. Sometimes overnights? Because if I was someone’s girl, I wouldn’t like that one bit. No, I wouldn’t like that one bit.”

  There had been a harsh tone to the last sentence, as if she were saying the words through gritted teeth.

  “She knows business is business.” He winced remembering the conversation with Fern in his kitchen. The woman didn’t like his sort of business. And no, Fern probably wouldn’t like him running off with Hattie every day, fighting by her side, laughing, flirting.

  Flirting. Oh. Damn. He really needed to have a conversation with Fern sharpish, because it was blindingly clear where his fancy lay.

  “Business?” Hattie snapped. “Thinking she might have a different idea of business then you do, boy-o. You seriously think she’d be okay with this?”

  The ground dropped from underneath Vincent’s shoes for the barest of moments. What was this? Where had it come from? Vincent wasn’t aware that Hattie even knew about Fern. And yet, here she was…

  Was it jealousy?

  Could it be?

  Vincent released a held breath with a nervous smile. “I don’t honestly know.”

  “That’s a hell of a way to court a woman, then.”

  “There’s no courting.” He shrugged. “There no nothing. So, don’t get green over Fern.”

  H
attie spun on him. “Green? You think I’m jealous of your evening girl?”

  He whipped his chin up. “What…what did you call her?”

  “I’ll call her whatever I bloody well please.”

  “You’re ranting.”

  “I’m what? Ranting?” She pushed him in the chest with barely enough force to nudge him back onto his heels. “That’s for rummaging around Raymond’s. He’s got a baby, you know. And you brought an army with you. What if something’d happened to the child?”

  “I wouldn’t let that happen.”

  “So confident, are you?”

  Vincent took a step into Hattie. “Now, wait a second. Aren’t you the one who shot at me, then cocked me across the face with my own gun? And when it comes to armies, what would you call those rifle-toting watermen you surrounded me and Lefty with?” He waved a finger back and forth between them. “I know it’s easy to feel like a victim, but in this whole deranged fiasco, I’m the one who’s getting rolled here.”

  “Is that what you call it?” Hattie jibed. “Sitting safe and sound in your flat, drinking your expensive whiskies and eating beef. Strolling into the Old Moravia for jazz and gin and sandwiches, bemoaning your fate because some upstart little Irish girl won’t play with you?”

  “Now you’re definitely ranting.”

  She tossed her hands into the air. “Fine. I came as a courtesy. If you want to piss all over it, I won’t stand here and watch you do it.”

  “Oh, don’t be so damn righteous! Leave it for the Pope.”

  Hattie reeled back and slapped him across the jaw.

  Another pall of silence fell over the two of them.

  Vincent reached up slowly to rub his face. With a quick sniffle, he muttered, “That’s two I owe you. Three if I count the time we first met.”

  Hattie stepped away. “You’re a bastard.”

  “Maybe. But you’re the one pointing the entire family at Richmond. You have to stop this nonsense before people get killed.”

  Hattie stood stiff, her back to Vincent. “Tell that to Smith.”

  “You really think he’s a pincher?”

  “Aye. And so do you.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I’m not letting him get the better of me. Not after he’s tried to have me killed. I suggest you watch your back around him as well.”

  She bustled around the bins and out onto the street, probably disappearing with a pinch of light as far as anyone else could see.

  Vincent lingered, stewing in a whirlpool of emotions. His face stung, but it was fairly innocuous. Nothing like getting hit in the head with a pistol. What truly stung more than anything was how quickly he’d lost control of the conversation.

  I want you. Did he really say that? And the way she’d reacted.

  His intestines tied and untied themselves several times over before he brushed off his sleeves, straightened his hair and replaced his hat, and returned to the interior of the restaurant.

  Lefty was on his feet by the time Vincent stepped into the dining room. The man intercepted Vincent, corralling him close to whisper, “What was that about?”

  Vincent knew in an instant that Lefty had suspicions. The man could read him like a street sign.

  “I think we need to take another look at Smith,” Vincent whispered.

  “To be fair,” Lefty said, “I was telling you this a week ago. But fine. What’s crawled under your skin?”

  Vincent stared out the window at the passersby. Was Hattie still out there, watching? Or had she put as much space between her and Vincent as was humanly possible?

  It occurred to him that he and Hattie had crossed a point of no return. Up until this point, it was all like a game. A deadly one, but still, it had been a game with rules. A back and forth. But Hattie would never come around. He not only understood that, he believed it. People were going to die if this didn’t stop right here and right now.

  It wasn’t a game anymore. It wasn’t just about him and Hattie anymore. The lives of the Crew, the Upright Citizens, those moonshiners in West By God… If he was going to keep people alive, if he was going to expose Smith for a double-dealer, then he was going to have to break the rules.

  She’d never forgive him for what he was about to do. Never. And that thought settled like a lead weight in his chest.

  “Get the car,” Vincent muttered. “And a couple of the boys.”

  “What’s up?” Lefty prodded.

  “Make sure they’re packing.”

  Lefty grabbed Vincent’s arm. “You gonna level with me here, or what?”

  “Bring DeBarre. Just in case.”

  “In case of what? Where are we going?”

  Vincent glared at Lefty. “We’re going to bag a pincher.”

  Chapter 21

  The mosquitoes had a taste for blood, and they seemed to have been starved for weeks. Clouds of them hung beneath the boughs of oak trees at Winnow’s Slip. Hattie swatted them away as they buzzed her face beneath her bangs. Raymond plodded behind her, his feet clomping down onto the weathered pier boards as they approached the warehouses.

  “So, you want me to break his legs?” he grumbled.

  “If you can get a hold of the man, sure.”

  “They were his men?” he prodded. “You know for a fact?”

  “I saw the driver,” Hattie declared, turning a corner to the boat launches. “Serge. I spent three silent hours with the man. I know it was him.”

  Raymond muttered a spate of incoherent profanities. “Gonna kill him. I’m gonna break his legs first, then kill him.”

  “Be careful,” Hattie urged. “I think he’s a pincher.”

  “What kind?”

  “I suppose I’d call him a place pincher. He can be in two places at the same time. Maybe more. If you grab hold of the bastard, he might be standing behind you holding a gun to your head.” She paused to glance over her shoulder.

  Raymond did the same.

  “What’s that mean to us?” he asked.

  “It means we have to be careful. And take nothing for granted.”

  “I heard that.”

  They passed the first two warehouses, stopping at the third where they’d stored the liquor they’d stolen from the Crew. The door stood ajar, lock hanging from its hasp.

  “Looks like Lizzie’s beaten us here,” she muttered, stepping into the darkness of the building’s interior.

  It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the low light, but when they did, she found something confusing.

  It was less a “something” and more of a “nothing.”

  Lizzie leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, eyes hard.

  There was nothing else in the building.

  Raymond groaned in confusion as Hattie stepped toward Liz.

  “Where’s the scratch?” she asked.

  Lizzie shook her head. “Gone.”

  “You moved it?” Hattie prodded, already knowing the answer.

  “It wasn’t me.”

  Raymond huffed. “Well, what the hell?”

  Hattie replied, “It was Smith. Probably had this planned all along. Send me to West Virginia to get slaughtered along with the moonshiners. Meanwhile, he cleans us out and hands the liquor back over to the Crew. He comes away with another feather in his cap. Probably a bonus.”

  Lizzie offered, “Or he could’ve sold it to the Carolinas. Either way, he gets paid.”

  The three stood in silence for a moment.

  “So,” Raymond finally asked, “what now? We got a plan? Some way to hit him back?”

  “Best thing we can do is to try to clue in Corbi’s men. Turn them against Smith,” Lizzie suggested with a shrug.

  “Already done,” Hattie said.

  “When?”

  “This afternoon.”

  Lizzie squinted. “You spoke with Calendo?”

  Hattie nodded.

  Raymond peered at Hattie. “He believe you? About Smith?”

  “I honestly don’t know. The man’s as focused as his goblin of
a boss. I thought bringing another pincher to the table would’ve taken the heat off my neck. I’m not so sure. Might have made things worse.”

  After a moment of silence, Lizzie pulled herself off the back wall. “Listen, I think we’ve run out of plays, here. I appreciate what the two of you have done, but—”

  Hattie blurted, “Please don’t.”

  Lizzie held up a silencing hand. “But it’s time we cut our losses.”

  Raymond asked, “What’s that mean, exactly?”

  “It means your family has already been moved to a safe place. It’s time you joined them.”

  He scowled. “Now, that’s just my cousin’s place. He can’t hole us up forever. We got a home.”

  Lizzie shook her head. “The Crew knows where you live. As long as you’re associated with Hattie, you and your family will be in danger.” She added with a sheepish dip of her chin. “I can help you out.”

  Hattie crossed her arms. “So, after all this I have to run?”

  “More than any of us. We’ve discussed this—”

  “We discussed the absolute worst case scenario.”

  Lizzie raised her hands. “What would you call this, then?”

  “I…we still have friends, here. Elements inside the Crew who are sympathetic. Tony.”

  “He won’t defy the Capo. Not for me, not for anyone.”

  Hattie replied, “He already has. Right? Do you think we’d have gotten this far if he hadn’t kept his silence? Or at least, not been as effusive as he could.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know what he has or hasn’t done.”

  Raymond grumbled, “Well, maybe you should ask him before we go packin’ our bags.”

  “I’m sorry,” Lizzie snapped. “But I’m not waltzing into a room full of gangsters to beg for our jobs.”

  “It’s more than a job,” Hattie insisted. “It’s my family.”

  “Your family can move easier than anyone. There’s steel work in St. Louis. You could move to New Orleans. Or Seattle. Somewhere the fingers of the gang families can’t reach you.”

  “Da’s older and not in the best of health,” Hattie grumbled. “It’s not the destination that’s the bloody problem. It’s the moving.” She took a breath. “Besides, Vincent may be a bastard, but he won’t touch my parents.”