by Tracey Ward
I nod thoughtfully. “You know what I want?”
“What’s that?”
Tossing my hat on the bar, I stand up in front of him, offering my hand. “I want to dance.”
I expect him to tell me to sit down. I expect him to laugh and shake his head, telling me he doesn’t dance. What I don’t expect is what I get.
Drew takes my hand gently in his, wraps it around his forearm, and leads me to the center of the club like a Southern gentleman at a debutant ball. He silently turns me toward him, his eyes tight on mine as his hands touch my sides. His palms run lightly up and down just once across the fabric as though settling in, then they sit low and heavy on my hips. When I put my hands on his shoulders I notice that he’s really not that much taller than I am. Maybe five foot nine compared to my five feet seven, but he’s broad and stocky. Strong. The heat and weight of his hands feels secure where they touch me. They feel capable and gentle. Everything about him says he could take care of a girl when the chips are down. That wherever you are, you’re safe with him. Everything except his eyes. His eyes say to run. His eyes shout predator. They’re screaming at me now, telling me to high tail it out of here away from him as fast as I can.
So why do I step closer? Why do I wrap my hands loosely around his neck and try to press against him, to feel him from head to toe?
I honestly do not know, but what I do know is that I can’t stop myself.
His hands take firmer hold of my hips, gently keeping me from coming any closer.
The rejection stings but I smile through it. “You’re quite the gentleman, aren’t you?”
He smirks. “I’m a preservationist.”
“What are you preserving now? My reputation? My chastity?”
“My face. I’m not looking to get in a fight tonight. Certainly not over one dance with a dame.”
I smile at the slight. “Are you saying I’m not worth it?”
He looks me over from my long cascading hair to the pointed tips of my black shoes. “Not for just a dance.”
“What then?”
“What then what?” he asks, his eyes falling back on mine.
“A dance with me isn’t worth a fight. What is?”
Drew considers my question, his lips tightening in thought. “Well that’s the problem, isn’t it? It’s an escalating scale. A dance with you isn’t worth a fight, not even a fair one, but a kiss might be. But then a kiss probably won’t earn a man a fair fight. So for an unfair fight I suppose it’d be worth a little necking. But now necking will get a fella jumped and beat for sure, no pretense of fairness. So where do you go from there? Spending a night with you would be worth a beating for sure, but knowing Two Thumbs, a man would get far worse than just a beating for that.”
“You’re worried about Tommy,” I say disdainfully, pulling back.
Drew pulls me in close again, closer than I was before. So close that I can feel his heat and smell his scent. It’s strange, almost like tobacco but not quite. It’s not a cologne or a soap. Maybe it’s in his hair? Whatever it is, I like it. I breathe in deeply trying to get more of it.
“I’m worried about you,” he tells me deeply, earnestly.
I shake my head. “You’re worried about your face.”
“That too. I don’t want it rearranged just for looking at another guy’s girl.”
“I’m no one’s girl,” I tell him firmly.
“You might not think so.”
“You’ve been asking the wrong people the wrong questions,” I reply hotly. “You wanna know something about me, ask me.”
“Alright. How is Two Thumbs going to react to you dancing with me?”
Damn him for being clever. And right. I can’t answer that honestly without sounding like a girl with a jealous boyfriend. It never mattered to me before and I’m thoroughly annoyed that it matters to me so very much now.
“As I said,” Drew tells me in response to my silence. “One dance we can get away with but—“
“All I asked for was a dance,” I cut him off.
He pauses, watching me with that deadly blank stare of his. Then he says softly, “Well then, we’re in the clear.”
We dance in silence after that. I try to avoid his eyes but there’s no hiding from them. Eventually I look at him again and I’m not surprised to find him watching me. His face is still carefully blank, his eyes their usual unnerving intensity but there’s something else. It’s not soft, not exactly. More like…calm.
He doesn’t say a word as he pulls me in closer. His face doesn’t change in the slightest when my body is pressed against his and he wraps his arms around my waist. His eyes give nothing away when I wind my arms around his neck, pulling my chest up against his. But that’s how we stay for the remainder of the song. And it’s nice. It’s not the groping I get from some of the boys. It’s not the electric shivers I get from Tommy’s advances. It’s more like a gentle glow in my blood that runs through me, warming me like hooch going down your throat and heating your belly. I’m getting drunk off it. I’m staring into his eyes, barely blinking, and it should be terrifying but it’s not. I can see him for what he is because he doesn’t bother trying to hide it. He puts it on display, showing it to me so I’ll know the score.
He’s a monster. He’s a killer. A demon worse than Tommy, but when you’re already in the Devil’s arms, what evil is there left to fear? There comes a point when the danger becomes comforting. When you feel safe with it. When you’re so deep inside the fire you can’t feel the flames.
Chapter Five
“Did we get the cases of bourbon in yet?” Ralph asks the room.
Tommy, Mickey, and Hal all nod their heads.
“It came in last night,” Mickey tells him.
“It was late,” Ralph replies bitingly. “Tell them we ain’t paying full price for product that shows up late. We needed it for Halloween and it’s come and gone now.”
“Seems like we did alright without it,” Hal says, leaning back and puffing lazily on a cig.
“Tell that to Al. Senator asked twice for bourbon. Imagine how fuckin’ happy he wasn’t when we couldn’t produce.”
“Besides,” Tommy adds darkly, “doin’ alright ain’t the same as doin’ great and we coulda done great that night. Holidays are a time to make a killing and we won’t have another shot at one until New Year’s.”
“Which reminds me,” Ralph says, looking up and pointing at Mickey, “make sure we got champagne on hand for New Years and lots of it. Start ordering more and hiding what we got.”
“You got it, boss.”
“Tommy, who you got lined up for New Year’s entertainment?”
I feel my pulse quicken at the question, but I don’t move. I stay stock still in my place tucked in an arm chair in the corner of the big office. I wasn’t sure why Tommy wanted me here in the room while they talked business, not until right now. It’s like Halloween all over again – I know I won’t be the star, and that’s fine. That’s swell. I can live with that. What I’m concerned about is who will be taking my place on the stage. More specifically, I’m interested in where they’re from.
And when he tells us who’s headlining for New Years, I just about up and die right there on the spot.
“We got the Duke,” Tommy says seriously.
Ralph puts down his pen and stares at him. “Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”
“No laughs. We got him on loan from the Harlem Cotton Club.”
“No shit,” Hal mutters.
“What witchcraft did you have to pull to manage that?” Mickey asks, amazed.
Tommy smiles darkly. “I have people skills.”
I’m flying. I’m giddy and squirming in my seat like a kid stuck in church on a sunny summer afternoon.
Anytime there’s a guest in the club, there’s always a chance I’ll get to do a number with them. I just have to be there and you better believe that if Duke Ellington and his boys are coming to my club, I will be there that night. A chance to sing w
ith him is the closest I’ve ever come to my dream of hitting it big in New York and taking the stage of the Harlem CC.
Tommy glances back at me and I smile at him, ear to ear.
He doesn’t smile back.
“Adrian!” Ralph says loudly and I don’t think it’s the first time he called my name.
I snap to attention. “Yes, Ralph?”
“You and the girls ready for tonight’s show? Is everything set?”
“Everything is perfect.”
He grins at me. “I can always count on you, sweetheart. You never miss a beat.”
“Thank you.”
“Why don’t you head out onto the floor, grab a drink or a bite or somethin’? We got some other stuff to discuss.”
Meaning the other side of the club. The part even I’m not supposed to see.
I stand with a gracious smile, perfectly fine with being left out of the dirty details. “Of course.”
He waves a dismissive goodbye before turning his attention to the boys. “Get me the envelopes, would ya, Mick?”
“Yeah, boss.”
“Did you deliver to Birdy yet?” Ralph asks Tommy absently.
“Not yet,” Tommy replies with disinterest.
“Why the hell not? It needs to be dealt with.”
“He’ll get it when he gets it.”
I slow my walk, my hand almost on the doorknob.
“He’ll get it now because I told you to take care of it! What’s the matter with you, huh? Services have been rendered, Tommy, to a T. Deliver the fuckin’ envelope.”
“I’ll take care of it tonight.”
“You’ll take care of it now,” Ralph tells him hotly. “This is not a guy you want to anger, do you understand? We may need him in the future. Don’t burn this bridge for us.”
I can’t stall any longer. I leave the room entirely, pulling the door closed silently behind me. I hear more shouting, the screech of a chair sliding roughly across the floor, then the pounding of angry footsteps. I know it’s Tommy coming out to deal with business and he’s in a real mood because of it.
I dart quickly into the lady’s room just as Ralph’s office door opens and bangs shut. I wait with my ear pressed to the bathroom door, listening to Tommy’s shoes snap sharply across the hard wood floor in a quick clip. I know he’s angry. I know who he’s going to see. Thing is, I can’t decide who I feel more sorry for. Drew for having to face Tommy when he’s feeling evil? Or Tommy for taking his bad mood out on the very wrong man.
***
An hour later and Tommy still hasn’t come back. I’m getting worried, but about what I’m not sure. I’m just antsy is all. I’ve got a bad feeling in my stomach that won’t leave me alone. I wish he’d call or come bursting through the door, throwing off his coat to the check girl and yelling at all of us to shake a leg, but another half hour passes and still he doesn’t show.
“I need some air,” I finally declare to the band, calling a halt to the warm ups.
“You goin’ out back, Miss Adrian?” Eddie asks me.
I grin at him thinly, trying to hide my unease. “Yeah, Eddie. You coming with me?”
“I wouldn’t mind some air.”
He helps me into my coat before we walk out of the room, heading into the back halls behind the stage and toward the back door by the loading docks. The second we step outside into the brisk air I regret coming out here. He’s wearing a threadbare brown coat that makes me shiver as I watch the wind cut through it, but if he’s cold, he never lets it show.
“How are your kids?” I ask, pulling out a cigarette. I hand it to him without asking and I don’t give him a chance to say no as I take out another for myself.
“Good. Real good. Growin’ like weeds.”
He pulls out a book of matches and lights my cigarette for me before doing his own.
I chuckle. “I bet they make beautiful weeds.”
“That they do,” he says with a grin. “Oldest one is sixteen now. She all kinds of a trouble.”
“I believe it,” I say wistfully. “It’s just how girls are.”
“You a handful at that age?”
I try to grin but fail. I bring my cigarette to my lips to cover my shortcoming. To hide my sorrow. I don’t talk about Iowa. Not if I can help it. Not even to a friend like Eddie.
“Of course I was,” I tell him finally. “It was in my blood.”
“Well, hopefully she’ll grow out of it someday. Become a lady like you.”
I laugh. “Don’t ever wish for your girls to be like me, Eddie. They deserve more than that.”
“I don’t know ‘bout that,” he says softly. “You’re doin’ it all by yourself. You’re walkin’ tall every day. You speak your mind. You’re smart. And you’re kind. Don’t know what else I could want for ‘em.”
I’m glad we’re alone in this alley because what I do then could spark the kind of crazy that neither of us could ever walk away from.
I lean over and plant a quick kiss on Eddie’s cheek.
He looks at me, stunned, and not a little afraid. It was selfish of me. If anyone saw it, Eddie would have hell to pay. But I couldn’t help it. I don’t get a lot of kindness with nothing expected in return and his sweet words moved me beyond my control. And, yes, the approval of a father, even one that’s not my own, was more than my cold little heart could bear.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, “but thank you.”
He nods, still stunned silent.
The rumble of a truck coming down the alley stirs us both. I watch with curiosity as the large brown truck comes into view, pulls past the loading docks, then reverses toward them.
“It’s a little late in the day for a delivery, isn’t it?” I ask Eddie.
“A regular one, yeah,” he mutters, “but maybe this one ain’t so regular.”
“We should go inside.”
He nods in agreement, tossing aside his cigarette and taking mine to do the same. “Whatever it is, it ain’t none of our business.”
We’re walking toward the door when I hear the bay doors of the loading dock slide open nearby. Two men step out, guns in hand.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” one calls, waving for the truck to stop. “What is this?! What are you unloading?”
The back door of the truck bursts open and five guys pile out, rifles in hand. They open fire immediately, taking down the two guys from the loading bay before they can fire a single shot. More gunfire erupts from inside the building where more of Ralph’s men must have been waiting. One of the guys from the truck goes down, blood exploding behind him all over the outside of the brown vehicle. I don’t realize I’ve screamed until one of the men looks over and turns to fire on Eddie and I.
Eddie immediately grabs onto me and pulls me into the recessed doorframe. I’m hidden between the door and his body but I still shriek as gunshots ring out in our direction. More come from the garage, men shout, bricks burst and explode in dust clouds around us as bullets fill the walls of the club. I stop shrieking but I’m clinging to Eddie, panting short, frightened breaths into his shoulder.
After what feels like ages but is probably less than a minute, the truck pulls out with squealing tires. Men in the garage come pouring out and I hear more gunshots, then returning fire.
Eddie grunts roughly and sags against me. Then he falls. He slips slowly down my front and I look down in horror to find my coat and dress covered in blood. Eddie’s blood.
I scream again. I drop to my knees and cry for help, calling out with indistinct words that mean nothing other than despair.
I’ve seen men shot before. I’ve seen people roughed up and beaten down and I’ve held it together like a seasoned champ. I know how to shut this shit off, but I can’t with him. Not with Eddie. He can’t be dead. He simply can’t.
I put my hands on him, searching for the wound. It doesn’t take long to find it. It’s in his shoulder, dangerously near his chest, the bullet having passed clean through. I rip off my coat and lay it partially beneat
h him to keep it between his wound and the ground. Then I pull the rest of it up and over his shoulder near his neck to use it to apply pressure to the front of the wound. I push down hard and I’m relieved beyond measure when he groans and coughs in pain.
“You’re gonna be okay, Eddie,” I tell him urgently. My hands are shaking and my voice is frantic. I need to calm down for his sake. I have to pull it together. “They’re already calling for help. You’re gonna be fine. You just hang on, alright? Do you hear me?”
“Yeah,” he replies weakly. His eyes are closed but at least he’s breathing and answering me. I watch his chest as I press on it, making sure it keeps rising and falling.
“Adrian, are you hit?!” Mickey calls from the dock.
“No, but Eddie is! Get an ambulance now, please!”
“Shit! You got it!” Mickey shouts back. “Ben, call for a doctor. A private one. We got three men down.”
“Call a bus!” I cry.
“Cool it, Adrian. We can’t.” He’s coming closer, his eyes darting around the alley behind the club. He’s watching for a repeat performance.
“Why the hell not?”
“We can’t have the cops sniffing around back here. We gotta deal with this ourselves.”
I shake my head in frustration. “People will have heard the gunshots. They’ll call the police.”
“And we’ll have this cleaned up and won’t know nothin’ about it by the time they get here.”
“What about Eddie?” I ask desperately.
Mickey kneels down beside Eddie and I. He watches as Eddie breathes. It’s labored but it’s clear. There’s no rasping to his breath, no blood coming from his lips. Odds are he wasn’t hit in a lung which means he’s got a good chance.
“He’ll be seen by the doc when he shows.”
I scowl at him. “Yeah, after the two other guys. How badly are they hurt?”
“It don’t matter, Adrian,” Mickey tells me firmly. “They’re part of the Outfit. They get seen first.”
“Yeah, and they’re white,” I say bitterly. “Tell me that doesn’t make a difference.”
