Bum’s Rush: White Lightning Series, Book 2

by Debra Dunbar

  “Guys!” Bratva gunmen turned in place, their guns aiming now at their vehicle. “Vincent, now!” she shouted.

  The car’s front wheel popped, sending it dropping forward and to the left as the windscreen shattered from gunfire.

  As Hattie lifted her hands to block her face, the tumbling motion of the car as it sliced to the side and tilted toward an end-over-end collision with the Bratva barricade came to a halt.

  She removed her hands and breathed thick air into her lungs.

  Vincent jabbed his finger at Lefty with a panicked face.

  Hattie nodded, then reached over Lefty’s lap to open his door. She shoved on the man’s frame as Vincent climbed over DeBarre to unwrap his fingers from the steering wheel.

  Hattie slithered over top of Lefty, electing to pull him from the car rather than to push him. She’d deduced that, even though time had come to a seeming standstill in one of Vincent’s pinches, the items in motion still possessed all of their original momentum. If she ran Lefty into anything moving at high speed in real time, that could do as much damage as if they hadn’t pinched time at all.

  Hattie paused as she moved to place her foot onto the street outside of the car. She peered back at Vincent, who was gesturing madly for her to avoid touching the street. With a stiffening of her spine, she nodded. This inability to communicate verbally inside a time bubble was really starting to annoy her.

  Fine. No touching the street or anything outside of the car.

  She pulled herself onto the roof of the vehicle, already canting to the side. As she planted her feet against the sides of the car frame, she reached between her legs and jerked Lefty clear of his seat, hauling him into thin air, where he lingered, easing through the time-thickened space as if falling through quicksand.

  Vincent appeared outside the opposite window, dragging DeBarre higher into space than she had. He gave her work a quick inspection, then nodded. He lifted a hand of five fingers, then folded one down. Then another.

  Countdown.

  Vincent braced himself with a hand on DeBarre’s collar, giving him one final jerk in the opposite direction of the car’s motion.

  Hattie did the same with Lefty, course-correcting him backward against the momentum that would return in…

  Two fingers.

  She repositioned her feet, twisting for a good jump point.

  Vincent lifted a single finger.

  She nodded.

  And with a shove of her legs, Hattie launched herself into the air.

  The time bubble dissipated, with the hail of gunfire re-erupting in her ears. Her motion backward in space immediately collided with her original momentum, spinning her in a somersault until she landed on her back, tumbling forward on the street a few feet. The result would have been far more violent if she hadn’t shoved herself backward, as was evidenced by the car itself, now spinning along an oblique axis, shedding fabric and glass in fine arcs as it tumbled into the first of the Bratva barricades.

  Hattie pressed hard against the street. A hand clamped down onto her shoulder. She peered up to find Lefty nodding to her. He jerked his head for a side-alley alongside the hotel, where Vincent was already heading alongside DeBarre. Taking Lefty’s hand, she rose to her feet and the two sprinted for cover.

  Hattie and Lefty swung into the alley just as the gunfire returned. The bricks behind their heads spattered in shrapnel as bullets hammered the front corner of the alley. Lefty held a hand behind Hattie’s head as they rejoined the others.

  DeBarre reached out to arrest her motion, gathering her at the waist in the crook of his arm, and nodding to her as she caught her breath. Vincent pushed between them to peer around the corner between bursts of gunfire.

  “What happened?” Lefty demanded pushing his face close to Hattie’s.

  Vincent pulled his head out of view before a fresh salvo of bullets peppered the opposite wall of bricks. “I’m guessing we didn’t pull off that light pinch.”

  Hattie scowled at him. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”

  DeBarre shoved Lefty a foot away from Hattie. “Okay, let’s calm down. Did you have enough time?”

  Hattie nodded. “Aye. It was…it just didn’t…”

  Vincent asked, “Was it like Georgetown?”

  With a considerable effort, she nodded again. “Only worse. There I felt the illusion sputter. This was…this was like going numb.”

  Lefty spat onto the ground. “Perfect. Fat lotta good this’ll do us.”

  “I didn’t fail on purpose,” Hattie wailed, tears of frustration threatening to fall from her eyes. “I’ve only just pulled off the longest distance light pinch I’ve ever even done. Trust me. I’m not…I didn’t…”

  Vincent offered as she struggled for words, “You’re probably still tapped out from that. Let’s go easy on her, fellas.”

  Lefty squinted at DeBarre. “Hey. Can’t you use your powers on these blockheads?”

  “No can do, boss.”

  “Why not?” Lefty demanded.

  DeBarre pointed at the sky. “You see a roof over our heads?”

  “Does that matter?” Vincent asked.

  “Sure does,” DeBarre replied with a nod to Hattie. “She wanted a single car instead of four people, right? Well, if I don’t have a ceiling to pinch these guys at, the down pinch drain’ll kill me. You register that?”

  Vincent nodded. “You need a limit.”

  Hattie shifted enough to catch a glimpse at the Bratva battalion. A clutch of gunmen were making their cautious way around the barricades.

  “Eh, gents? They’re looking for us. Best find a solution sharpish.”

  DeBarre sidled alongside Vincent as the two conferred. Then DeBarre stepped away, his face swarming with doubt.

  “It could work,” Vincent insisted.

  “Fat chance,” DeBarre replied.

  “I know, I know. It’s a big maybe,” Vincent offered. “But we’re all about to get ventilated with bullets. So, one way, we all die. The other, we’re rolling the dice that it’ll work.”

  DeBarre spat, “And only I die.”

  “If you got a plan, we gotta move,” Lefty snapped.

  DeBarre waved him off. “Okay, yeah. Kinda want to see if this crazy idea plays out, anyways.”

  Hattie asked, “What are we doing, exactly?”

  Vincent ushered her and Lefty forward. “Listen. DeBarre’s problem is that he needs a limit to his down pinch. So who’s to say whether or not a time bubble constitutes a limit?”

  Hattie sucked in a breath, then muttered, “Oh. He’s definitely going to kill himself.”

  Vincent scowled. “I’m serious. Everything I’ve ever seen about my time pinches says that all rules are off the second you pinch time.”

  Lefty asked, “How can he even use his powers if you pinch time?”

  “Right, that’s the trick,” Vincent grumbled. “He’ll have to commit to the down pinch. Send them flying. Then I’ll pinch time and create a boundary for him. Once these goons are moving, the time pinch will take over. When I release it, DeBarre will have to somehow knock it off.”

  “Yeah, he’s definitely going to kill himself,” Hattie repeated.

  DeBarre shrugged. “Hell with it. Let’s give it a go.”

  Lefty jerked his pistol from his jacket, sending two shots into the head of an interloping Russian gunman. “Better make up your minds, folks.”

  DeBarre nodded to Vincent. “Now.”

  With that, DeBarre clenched both fists, then spun around into the clearing of the alley. He released a war cry that sent bolts through Hattie’s limbs. It was a moment of sacrifice. Of gamble. Of pure power.

  The whole block lurched underfoot for a half-second before Vincent reached for DeBarre’s fists, clamping his hands down on top, and sending his own powers into the twist of nature.

  The moment wasn’t like anything Hattie had experienced with Vincent before. Her feet lifted off the street. Her stomach rushed toward her throat. As she blinked away t
he time-thickened air she was used to under Vincent’s powers, she realized that everyone…including Vincent…had been captured in DeBarre’s down pinch.

  A rush of panic filled Hattie’s throat.

  Vincent fumbled about his waist for a moment as a trickle of blood emerged from his nostril. This was too large a space for him, she realized, or perhaps too many pinches in too short a time. Whatever the economics, it was proving too costly.

  He whipped his belt free of his trousers and sent the free end sailing through the thickened air for Hattie. She reached out to catch the buckle in the flat of her palm then moved in tandem with Vincent to angle his belt around Lefty’s chest, just below the shoulders.

  Vincent coughed and said something to Hattie, blood spraying in a slowly spreading mist, his words lost to the time pinch. But it was something important enough for him to try.

  What had he said?

  As Hattie sucked in as much air as her lungs could draw in order to reply, Vincent snapped his fingers.

  The upward motion of the down pinch continued as the thinness of air resolved, and the sounds of nature returned to its fluid state. No more gunfire. Instead…screams of panic.

  Hattie rushed into freefall, her hand still clamped onto Vincent’s belt, feet slamming against a fire escape, digging painfully into a gap between the wrought iron railings.

  Vincent hammered against a flagstone sill, his hand reaching to grab the edge as the rest of his body threatened to hurtle farther into space. With a grunt, he jerked against the belt.

  Hattie did the same.

  Lefty hit the contracting length of leather at that moment, his arms now flailing in confusion. The leather slapped hard against Lefty’s shoulders, smacking him in a downward force.

  That force traveled up the belt to both Vincent and Hattie, now roughly ten feet off the ground, jolting them a little higher. In a split-second of freefall, Hattie caught Vincent’s eyes.

  They were calm. Serene, even. In control. This was Vincent in his element, where he was absolutely confident in his abilities. Suddenly Hattie realized that no matter what he’d done earlier tonight, she still trusted him to keep her safe—trusted him with every ounce of her being.

  Then without notice, gravity slipped its fingers around Hattie, sending her earthward in a nauseating tumble. The three of them hit the ground hard, grunts rushing from their lungs. Lefty coughed and gagged, the wind knocked out of him. Hattie tumbled sideways, spreading the impact on her legs through her hips, lower back, and ultimately to her shoulders as she collided with the side of the adjacent building.

  Once she’d hissed against the pain and determined up from down, she peered over to the others. Vincent was already on his feet, but his face was filled with panic. On the ground just before Vincent lay DeBarre. His arms flailed at his sides, alternately pounding against the ground and reaching for his chest. The man coughed and retched, blood foaming from his mouth.

  The magic had taken its toll.

  Hattie slipped the dram from her blouse, and with the tiniest of prayers to whatever God cared to listen, called out as she tossed the bottle to Vincent.

  The tiny, fragile vial of Aqua Vitae slipped through the air, landing in Vincent’s steady fingertips.

  He pulled the stopper, dangling a drop overtop DeBarre’s lips holding one of his flailing arms with a knee. A single mote of the elixir slipped from the glass stopper, and fell into DeBarre’s mouth.

  In a second, the spasming stopped. The man sucked in a hard breath, then released it with a chest-crushing cough. Hattie stepped around DeBarre, peering out onto the street, which was oddly empty.

  Then a car landed with a crash.

  And another.

  One by one, the barricades crashed back to Earth, followed by the sick-wet slops of Bratva gunmen slamming against the pavement. Hattie covered her mouth in horror as bones splintered out of skin and blood sprayed against the adjacent buildings. The entire force of Russian attackers fell hard against the street as if they’d been hurled from a five-story building.

  DeBarre, for his part, had settled into a peaceful repose with Vincent hovering over him. She stepped alongside Vincent, peering down at DeBarre as he took in short, shallow breaths.

  “Is he…alive?”

  Vincent nodded. “This saved him.” He held the dram up for Hattie.

  She took it, tucking it away once again.

  DeBarre opened his eyes, reaching up for Vincent’s hand. He struggled upright, shaking off the effects of the elixir like dew on his brow.

  “Wow,” he muttered. “Thought I wasn’t gonna make it outta that one alive.”

  Hattie squirmed. “I have an elixir I gave you. Physically, you’re all healed up, but it doesn’t do anything to restart your powers. You might not be able to down pinch for a bit.”

  “How long?” DeBarre asked.

  “I don’t know. A few hours maybe? No longer than a day, from what I can tell.”

  DeBarre snickered. “Oh, hell. I can handle that.”

  He got to his feet, and the four gathered together to take in the carnage in the street before the Old Moravia. Shadows sliced out along the pavement as men emerged from the hotel’s entrance.

  Vincent stepped free of the alley, hands held high. “Hey boys! It’s me. Hold your damned fire.”

  A lone figure strode forward, holding his hands high to stave off the rest of the Crew. As he turned, Hattie recognized the figure as Tony.

  “Vincent! Lefty!” he shouted. “Damn, boys! Was this all you?”

  Vincent nodded. “With some help from my friends.”

  Lefty pulled Tony closer. “Have you seen Smith?”

  Tony nodded. “Sure. Ducked into the hotel right before these beet-eaters hit us. Why?”

  “Because,” Lefty replied, stepping forward, “Smith is one of them.”

  Tony blanched. “The hell you say.”

  “It’s true,” Vincent said. “All his information was just a scheme to infiltrate us.”

  Tony cast a dubious eye at Hattie. “What about this one? You brought her on board entirely due to Smith’s information.”

  Vincent caught his breath and shot DeBarre a quick glance, full of some hidden meaning, before turning back to Tony. “It was all a hoax. All Smith trying to destabilize the Crew.”

  “You expect me to waltz in there and tell the Capo that everything he’s been scrambling over these past few weeks is horse apples?” Tony asked incredulously.

  “That’s exactly what I expect.”

  “He’s not going to hear that well,” Tony muttered.

  Vincent scowled. “Smith’s outed himself as the enemy, and he’s in that hotel right this second. We’ll deal with the personal fallout later. The Bratva’s hitting every major family on the Eastern seaboard. We gotta secure this block and get DeBarre back home.”

  They hurried past the men, sprinting over ruined Russian bodies and through the entrance to the hotel. What had once been the center of culture and opulence, a refined oasis of jazz music and ice-cold gin, was now a war zone. Tables had been overturned. Men in suits stood behind them with Tommy guns and pistols. The wounded had been gathered behind the lobby desk, a tiny swarm of women attending to them. Several wounded gangsters sat at angles against the marble-clad walls as men and women attended to their injuries.

  Hattie spotted an elegant, slender woman with brunette hair in an elegant marcel wave. She wrapped gauze around the arm of one of the gunmen, her eyes lifting briefly to meet Hattie’s.

  Fern.

  Hattie shot a quick glance at Vincent, but he didn’t seem to notice the woman. As they stepped past the gathered bodies, Tony gestured for a door behind the lobby desk. “Through there.”

  “Is that the stairs?” she asked.

  “No,” Tony replied, shooting a tense expression at Lefty.

  “Oh,” Hattie grumbled. “Right, then. Let’s get this over with.”

  Tony held open the door as Hattie stepped inside. Vincent, DeBarr
e, and Lefty followed, but Tony remained outside. The room was cramped, two tables occupying most of the space. A map of Baltimore lay spread out across both tables, several red lines and black X’s indicating…something. A pitiful electric bulb illuminated the map from the center of the room, but otherwise the surrounding walls were shrouded in darkness. Leaning against one of these walls, arms crossed and thumb working his chin in contemplation, was Vito Corbi.

  His eyes glanced across the pool of electric light at Hattie.

  She stepped up to the tables to take a wide stance, one hand gripping the other behind her back.

  Vito unfolded his arms to crack his knuckles. “So. This is Hattie Malloy?”

  Vincent nodded.

  Vito took a roundabout path through the room as he sized her up. “You’re young.”

  Hattie did not respond.

  Vito added, “And elusive. I’m glad to finally meet you.”

  “You, as well,” she replied.

  Vito’s bushy eyebrows lifted. “You a Mick?”

  Hattie balled her hand behind her back. “I was born outside of Dublin, but lived in the States most of my life.”

  He scowled. “Had that long to lose the accent, but you didn’t. What does that tell me?”

  “It tells you,” she offered, “I’m not ashamed of who I am.”

  A grin crept onto his cracked lips. “Good answer.” He turned to Vincent. “Vincenzo, I would say that I’m pleased you’ve finally found a way to fulfill my request, but my patience is simply gone.”

  Vincent replied, “Yes, Capo.” He added with a cautious tone, “There is something you should know.”

  Vito lifted his chin and gestured for Vincent to continue.

  “Alexander Smith, the information broker whose services we’ve secured.”

  Vito corrected him, “Who services you’ve secured.”

  “Yes. Turns out he’s an infiltrator for the Russians.”

  Vito’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

  “All of this, from Masseria,” he gestured to Hattie, “to her. It was a scheme to stretch us out and catch us off guard. They’re hitting everyone, too. Not just us. New York. Philly.”

  Vito slammed his fist into the closer table, sending a thud echoing off the walls. “This…is…unacceptable!” Vito shook his head and paced a circle before stopping in front of DeBarre. “My apologies, friend. You have business to tend to, if what Vincenzo says is true.”