Mrs. Brodsky glared at the two of us and then finally shrugged in the manner of an infinitely-put-upon mother. “Fine. See if I try to help you ungrateful girls again.” She cupped her hand over her face. “Katya! The kitchen will need cleaning!”
Lily cautiously approached us once Mrs. Brodsky was safely out of the parlor. “What are you doing here, anyway?” I asked.
She put a manila envelope down on the floor beside two large Macy’s boxes and gave me a curiously tentative glance. “Yes, well . . . well, I was invited to some election fund-raiser of Beau Jimmy’s at the Waldorf and I thought, why not invite Zephyr!”
“You did?”
“Well, I’d been out all day . . . reporting things, you know, and anyway had no time at all to go back to my place so I had to dash into Macy’s, though you know I just abhor department stores, and found the only two decent things on the rack and brought them here. You can have the one I don’t like as much.”
Aileen and I glanced at each other. “That’s . . . nice,” I said, unsure what to make of this side of Lily.
“You look like you want something,” said Aileen, politic as always.
Lily raised her eyebrows and gave a speaking look at the tatty knitted shawls draped over her shoulders. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” she said.
I sighed. “Lily, Aileen. Fortune-telling roommate, meet deb journalist.”
“I thought you must be that one. So, what’s in the envelope, Lily?” Aileen said.
Lily smiled thinly. “What do you care? Do you sense something?”
Aileen blushed, but her glare could have staked a vampire. “Mock me all you like, but I doubt you’d have the balls for a real fortune-telling.”
“I don’t have the balls for anything.” Lily did her best to look down her regal nose at Aileen, though it didn’t seem to be working. She seemed a little too curious for it, in fact. “You mean to tell me you actually have some power? I have to tell you, I’m not gullible enough to think it comes with the accent.”
“See for yourself, if you can stomach it.”
“Oh, go ahead, please. I’m dreadfully curious.”
I didn’t like the sound of this at all, but both Aileen and Lily looked identically mule-headed. Nothing I could do would make either one back down. But I worried about Aileen—Lily didn’t know any better, but I saw how much these visions cost her, and how they could overwhelm her if they came on too strongly. At least on the street she didn’t invoke them deliberately, but with Lily she’d be sure to use as much of her fledgling seer power as she could command. I moved over so Lily could sit beside Aileen, who took Lily’s hands, palms up. She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes. After a moment, Lily laughed nervously.
“Well? Should I clear my mind? Envision a field of daisies?”
“Try closing your mouth.”
I turned my giggle into a cough. Oh, Aileen, I love you. After a minute of strained silence, Lily shifted, but Aileen’s grip on her hands was stronger than it looked. Lily gave me a panicked glance, but I just shrugged my shoulders and leaned back. She’d asked for this, after all. Only thing we could do was watch the show.
“You don’t like it, but you learn to get used to it,” Aileen said, her voice breathy and deep. Lily looked positively nonplussed. “Your kind are more forgiving than you believe. Less forgiving than mine. You crave success, but you won’t achieve it unless you stop caring so much what they think.” And then, in sudden panic, “Zephyr! You have to let him!”
Aileen slumped, tumbling onto Lily’s chest and shivering like she’d just come in from the cold.
“Are you serious?” Lily said. “What kind of a fortune was that? It didn’t mean anything!” I could tell that she was struggling to affect her nonchalance, and mostly failing. Even I felt a bit disconcerted. She looked down at Aileen, still shivering, and tentatively put an arm around her back.
“Well, there there. It’s over now. What ever that was.”
The parlor grandfather clock started to chime unsteadily, startling the three of us. I stood up and cursed. “Sorry, Lily, can’t go to the party, I’m already late for Locution and Personal Finance.” Her face actually fell, which would have made me as suspicious as Aileen if I’d had any time for it. I dashed upstairs to get the course materials, but when I came back down, Lily was still there. She was holding the manila envelope.
“You should see these, Zephyr.”
Her voice was so uncharacteristically solemn that despite everything I paused and took it from her. I was going to be late, anyway. And I didn’t at all like her anxious, worried expression. There were photographs in the envelope. Recently developed, I could tell from the chemical smell. They were of some dimly lit room in a ware house.
“Crates of boxes, crates of boxes, crates of . . . Harold Weisskopf and Sons Frankfurters?” I looked up. “You want me to see photos of a hot dog ware house?”
She shook her head. “Just keep going.”
So I did. There were the hot dog crates. The next one, someone had cracked it open. And then inside. Those tall bottles definitely weren’t frankfurters. Illegal hooch? Likely. Next photo, the bottle was broken open. The liquid was dark and thick . . . almost indistinguishable from red wine in the photograph, but not quite. I looked up at her. “Faust?” I said, my voice shaking for no reason I could name.
She nodded. I didn’t need her encouragement to keep looking. The photographer had broken open a few more crates of the frankfurters. All of them held bottles of Faust. I looked back at the initial photo of the room: this ware house must hold hundreds of thousands of bottles.
“The Negro supplier,” I whispered.
Now Lily actually looked away, and I found myself drawn to the last remaining photographs. There were two. The elevator shot looked familiar, but then, Otis service elevators ought to be remarkably similar. The final shot rendered the series unmistakable. The front of a ware house on East Twenty-sixth Street. A broken padlock on the door. Perhaps even my footprints in the snow?
I sat down abruptly at the foot of the steps and forced myself to breathe. A business transaction, indeed. He’d found Faust and arranged for it to be purchased by one of the most vicious crime lords in the city and now he was culpable for the deaths and destruction it had caused.
“How could he?” I said, realizing I was close to tears. “How could he do this and ask for my help and just pretend that he had nothing—” I choked to cut myself off.
Aileen had stood and was looking through the photographs I’d dropped. Lily seemed torn between trying to comfort me and running away.
“I’m sorry, Zephyr. I’d started to suspect, but I didn’t want to tell you until I knew for sure. I snuck into the ware house today on a hunch and took those pictures. They were on the fifth floor, plain sight.”
I had to laugh. “Well, no one’s going to question why some frankfurter boxes smell a little funny. He loves hot dogs. What kind of a person loves hot dogs and Ming vases and just decides to supply a whole city with a dangerous drug . . . like it’s some sort of joke?”
Lily bit her lip and put a hand on my shoulder. “But he’s not a person, Zephyr. He’s an Other.”
And for the first time in my life, I didn’t argue.
I arrived fifteen minutes late to class, and staggered through my lessons with the verve of a dying tortoise. Aileen had decided to wear the extra dress and go to the Jimmy Walker fund-raiser with Lily. I didn’t begrudge them the night out. I could hardly think. Or, rather, I could think all too well. At least class distracted me. Giuseppe, to my surprise, played truant, though he usually attended Locution. And apparently, I wasn’t the only one hoping to catch him. Several of the other students came up to me after class and requested that I tell Giuseppe to contact them if I saw him. And why? Because it seemed that he owed them all money.
“He’s had terrible luck, recently,” I explained, wondering why they were transferring onto me their hostility at not having been paid back. “His whole famil
y’s in danger. His son . . .”
Marta, a Jewish vampire originally from Germany, frowned. “Yes, we heard that. And that terrible mobster. And his dying mother. And his evil landlord. Oy, the luck this man has, I’m afraid to touch him.”
Mother? Landlord? I’d thought Giuseppe had his own rain cloud, but it seemed closer to a tropical depression. I assured Marta that I was in the same situation, and that she should at least wait until February, when the tunnel workers get their paychecks. I wouldn’t mind some replenished funds myself, but Giuseppe should probably placate the rest of the mob first.
After they left, I nearly staggered back home, too overwhelmed to think of much other than my bed. And in fact, I didn’t even make it that far. Aileen’s discarded shawls still covered the couch and I found myself lying down with them as covers, mind whirring despite my exhaustion. Amir might die if I didn’t help him. He was Rinaldo’s dealer. He might die . . . I fell asleep without realizing it, and had a glorious vision of myself dazzling the stuffy guests at some exclusive party. And there was someone in particular I wanted to impress . . . where had he gone? Oh, of course, he was up on the stage, plucking masterfully at a bass while Nicholas crooned with his beautiful voice. They both stopped when they saw me, their mouths in perfect O’s of admiration and surprise. Amir looked so beautiful in his tailored suit and steel-gray tie. All the strain had left his eyes, replaced with something closer to smoldering desire. The kind of tenderness I felt when he touched my cheek, and called me—
“Zephyr, habibti,” Amir said, in front of the whole party. “You’ll remember me when I’m gone?”
A djinn? The assembled whispered in horrified tones. How gauche.
Nicholas hissed. “You betrayed me! You putanna! All this time, with that wog!”
“He’s not a—”
“Zephyr! Zephyr!”
The voice jolted me out of my sleep so harshly that I fell onto the carpet. I rolled on my back and looked up at Lily. She was dressed in a green gown similar to the confection that had graced my recent dream. But she didn’t look at all like the composed, faintly supercilious reporter I knew. And she was alone.
I sat up. “Where’s Aileen?”
Lily shook her head and sat down on the couch. She raised her hand to her mouth and I could see tears in the corner of her eyes. “God. Oh, God, Zephyr, she’s gone. They took her and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it and Zephyr, I don’t know what to do.”
Deep breath. Don’t curse. Someone took Aileen. Fuck fuck fuck. Well, that’s better. “What happened?” I said, as calmly as I could.
“Suckers,” she said. “A whole posse of them. And not the Turn Boys, before you ask. Older. They found us after we left the party. I think a few of them might have been guests, Zephyr. I didn’t really think that suckers came to our parties. Sucker mobsters! No one else was on the street. They said they wanted Aileen in revenge for Dore. You know, that gin-runner of Rinaldo’s you told me was killed. They said something about Rinaldo wanting the killer, and a bounty on her head. She tried to get away, but one of them just Swayed her and picked her up.”
“Did you see which way they went?”
“We were near Gramercy Park. They went south, but it was too fast to really tell. What should we do? I’d call the police, but . . .”
“It’s Rinaldo. They might arrest us.” I stood up and started pacing the room to clear my thoughts. “Tell me exactly what they said, Lily. Why did they single out Aileen and leave you alone?”
She shook her head. “They thought she’d killed that gin-runner! She swore she hadn’t, but they didn’t listen. They didn’t even care about me. They said they wanted the reward. ‘Can’t believe Dore got himself popped by a girl,’ they said. That’s it. They were sure.”
“Sure of what? Aileen barely knows how to pop a balloon, let alone a sucker. Hell, the first time she even saw one exsanguinate was last Friday . . .” I paused midstep. Was it possible?
“Lily,” I said, very carefully, “what was Aileen wearing to night?”
“I lent her a dress. A revision of Balenciaga from ’twenty-four. Black—”
“No, no, I mean, was she wearing any jewelry? Cuff links? Diamonds?”
Lily shook her head. “Why on earth would she be wearing cuff links, Zephyr? I’m not that forward a dresser. She had a nice pair of diamond earrings, though. She said they were a gift from you.”
“A gift.” My laugh was giddy, the kind of laugh that generally preceded a full-on fit of the vapors. I sat next to Lily, and she looked at me as though I had finally lost my mind.
“They aren’t earrings. I took those cuff links off of a vampire I popped last Friday,” I said quietly. “He had Aileen under his Sway and was about to take a snack. He was old, good at hiding, wealthy enough to wear diamond cuff links. Wealthy enough to be someone important. I never even considered the possibility.”
She gripped my wrist. “Are you saying . . .”
“I killed Dore. And now Rinaldo’s going to kill Aileen for it.”
I convinced Lily to go back to the newspaper and file what she had in time for the morning edition. It didn’t take much convincing, to be honest—she had been unnerved by the casual power and ruthlessness of Rinaldo’s gang, and the thought of confronting them directly apparently scared her as much as it scared me. The only difference between us was a certain level of personal stupidity and the certain knowledge that someone I loved would die if I didn’t find Rinaldo to night and stake him. And Amir? Well, I just couldn’t think about him.
For the first time in nearly two years, I was hunting with intent to kill. I might regret it later, but I didn’t have time now. I borrowed money from Lily and hailed a cab to the Gramercy Park Hotel. It seemed especially awful that Aileen had been kidnapped so close to help, if only Daddy or Troy had seen her. But they’d have their chance to help her now. I barreled past the concierge and into an open elevator.
“Pent house,” I told the operator, and he took one look at my face and closed the doors.
I’d expected to see preparations for the strike tomorrow, but when I entered the pent house I was nearly overwhelmed by the sheer amount of weapons and armor and the volume of quickly shouted instructions. They even wore the practical black jean and canvas clothes that served as the de facto Defender uniform. Were they having a dress rehearsal? I counted eight men total, including Daddy and Troy. I recognized a few of them from my Defender days, but they didn’t pay any attention to me. Mama was sitting by the couch, shouting into the telephone. Daddy wasn’t making it any easier for her to hear, since by far the loudest noise in the din was his deep bass chanting one of his favorite warped mining songs. I think he liked to imagine himself as a soldier preparing for war, and of course every soldier needs a marching song. This song had started life as “The Avondale Mining Disaster,” but was now the story of one of Daddy’s and Troy’s more colorful vampire hunts near Helena.
I rolled my eyes. A poet my daddy was not. “Daddy!” I shouted, cupping my hands over my mouth to cut through the din. “We need to talk!”
He was sitting near the window, strapping on his weapons, and called my name in near unison with Mama when they saw me.
“Don’t start that do-gooder crusade of yours again, you hear? Your mama said she couldn’t find you anyway.” He twisted his lips. “Don’t know what’s gotten into you women lately. I told your mama I’d send her back to Yarrow if she kept on about it.”
I rounded on her. “Mama! You told me I had until tomorrow night!”
She shook her head, and I realized that these preparations must be last-minute. Short of hog-tying them, she couldn’t stop the Defenders from fulfilling a contract any more than I could. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I tried to call you.”
But I had been asleep. I felt a wave of terror powerful enough to make my knees shake. I rested against the edge of the couch, closer to Daddy. “What happened?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Funds came through. Ask your boy over
there, Zeph. I don’t bother with the details.”
Troy shrugged. “The client paid us this afternoon. I was told that plans had changed, and it was imperative for us to move against the Turn Boys immediately.” He grinned. “And the Defenders never disappoint our clients, as you well know.”
Christ, but I wish I didn’t. “Who is this client, Troy?”
“You know I can’t tell you that.”
“This is not any time to mess with me! My best friend has just been kidnapped by Rinaldo’s men, you’re about to kill the Turn Boys and I need to know what in sucker-bleeding hell is going on!”
The room had suddenly gone silent. “Zephyr!” Mama whispered. I could never understand how she managed to live with Daddy and still be sensitive to “unladylike” language.
Troy even seemed taken aback. “Giudo. That’s all I know. We meet on different street corners around Little Italy. Thick accent, but he wears a cowl like a monk and I can’t see a bit of his face. He hands me the money, gives me his instructions, I leave. Considering who he wants us to kill, I never questioned his secrecy.”
Giudo? Wasn’t that the name of Rinaldo’s other son? “How old?”
He shrugged. “Judging by his voice, at least over thirty, but it’s hard to tell in situations like these.”
I thought back to Rinaldo’s will. He’d explicitly stated that Giudo was to be in his mother’s care until he came of age. So unless the will was very old, it seemed unlikely that a deep-voiced man Troy thought was over thirty could be the same person. Still, how common of a name was Giudo, anyway? Why would this one want to kill Nicholas? It couldn’t just be a coincidence, could it?
I shook my head. “And you’re doing this right now? Rinaldo has my friend. The second he finds out what you’re doing, he might kill her.”
“Yes, Troy,” said Mama, “can’t you do something?”
Troy shook his head. “It’s too late to go back on this. Giudo was quite emphatic that we needed to do this to night.”
Moonshine (2010) Page 26
