Clip Joint

by Debra Dunbar

  “Well is there another pincher from Baltimore who has been given latitude?” Floresta demanded.

  Vincent looked to Lefty, who sat rigid in his chair.

  Floresta pounded his knuckles on the table. “I don’t want to hear from your handler. I want to hear from a pincher. Hardworking pinchers, who ain’t on no hook to New York toddlers duking it out over three fuckin’ blocks of turf.”

  The air adopted a tinge of ozone as his fist struck the table. Those sitting nearby inched away from Floresta, while several in the crowd chuckled at his dig on Masseria and Maranzano’s personal feud.

  “Ellery,” Floresta turned to a dark-haired man leaning against the wall. “You got troubles north of you?”

  The Charleston pincher nodded. “Yeah, we’ve got troubles. Richmond’s got us choked off at the Bay, keeping us from going direct through Baltimore, and now they’ve cut us off entirely.”

  Vincent frowned. How had he not known this? Probably because he’d stopped hanging around the Old Moravia and listening to the Crew business. Probably because he was so far down on Vito’s shit list that no one told him the news anymore.

  Cut off? Were the Upright Citizens forcing Charleston to go through them as one additional layer of middlemen? That would seriously jack up the prices of their booze. Tony must be pulling his hair out.

  “These Upstart Citizens aren’t famiglia, or affiliated with one of the families like Atlantic City and Boston are,” Floresta commented. “They’re not one of us. They’re a thorn in our side. And they’ve got two pinchers, which in my opinion might as well be considered free and up for grabs.”

  Ellery shook his head. “Not two, one. Word is Capstein’s taking a dirt nap.”

  Floresta’s eyebrows shot up. “That a fact? I hadn’t heard that.” He turned to eye Vincent. “This true, Baltimore?”

  Vincent nodded.

  “Then one pincher up for grabs. Who is this guy and what can he do?”

  The question had been addressed to Vincent. He swallowed hard, feeling a bit like a mouse about to get his neck snapped off in a trap. “Betty. Capstein’s…wife or something. Or, widow I suppose. She’s a glass pincher.”

  Floresta nodded. “Does everyone agree with me? These Citizens aren’t family or aligned with any of us. They’re a rogue group that we’ve allowed to operate in our midst. It’s time to squash them. And it’s time for their pincher to be placed where she can actually do some good.”

  “Good luck getting that bag of cats to go along with your plan,” Vincent replied before he could think to hold his tongue.

  Chuckles rippled through the room.

  Floresta smirked, “Sounds like you know her a bit more than anyone else here?”

  Vincent stiffened. “So?”

  “So, that means you get the honor of bringing her in. These Citizens are a problem that Corbi needs to take care of, doesn’t everyone agree?” Floresta paused a second for the nods of the others in the room. “Good. Speaking on behalf of Charles Luciano, we task the Baltimore Crew with eliminating the problem of these Richmond people, and sending this glass pincher to Ithaca to be retrained and presented at auction per the new policy. Charleston will no longer have to deal with roadblocks in distribution and there will be a new pincher on the market by the New Year.” He lifted his head to look at the handlers lined up behind the bar. “Agreed?”

  They all gave loud agreement except for Lefty who looked ready to chew nails.

  Vincent eased back toward the wall, wishing he could walk through it.

  “Okay. All in favor?” Floresta bellowed.

  Most of the room called, “Aye.”

  “Opposed?”

  Vincent crossed his arms, knowing when to keep his mouth shut for once.

  Floresta swept his arms in a finalizing gesture.

  DeBarre moved alongside Vincent with a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

  A large florid gentleman from behind the bar stood. “The Baltimore Crew will tender this Betty Capstein to the Ithaca markets. The Baltimore Crew will also remove the Upright Citizens and ensure they are no longer a player. Beginning immediately any and all free pinchers will be sent to Ithaca and the sending family will receive two vouchers for available pinchers of their choice in the future. Ithaca will host auctions of available pinchers with invitations sent to participants on a need basis. Help yourselves to refreshments. The bar is open, and this meeting is adjourned.”

  The gallery got to their feet, and the conversation immediately reached a low roar.

  DeBarre turned and corralled Vincent toward the corridor.

  “What just happened?” Vincent whispered.

  “I think you just got played,” the down pincher replied.

  “I figured that much. What can you do about it?”

  “Me?” DeBarre snorted. “I can’t do anything about it. You? I recommend you and your handler hightail it back to Corbi and break the news before someone else does.”

  Vincent rubbed the side of his face. “I’m supposed to kidnap a crack-skulled glass pincher? And tell Vito’s he’s responsible for wiping out the Upright Citizens?”

  DeBarre shrugged.

  “Got any advice, Mr. Helpful?”

  “Yeah. Never attend a pincher moot.”

  Chapter 5

  “You can’t be serious,” Lefty stated as Vincent put the car in park. “You’re going to keep driving? You’re exhausted. You’ll end up in a ditch or the river.”

  Vincent gave his face a brisk rub. Lefty was correct—he was utterly spent. The moot had tarried on well into the night, with most of the guests staying either at home or at the Bellevue Hotel. He and Lefty, however, felt little desire to remain among that pride of lions a second more than was necessary and had beat feet all the way back to Baltimore during the dark pre-dawn hours.

  He needed to go to sleep. But Vincent was pretty sure the moment his head hit the mattress that sleep would elude him. The walls were closing in around him. Even if he found Vito a pincher, they wouldn’t be able to keep him or her. And now he needed to figure out a plan to get Betty for Ithaca. This was all going to be blamed on him, including the mandate that Vito “take care of” the Upright Citizens.

  And all he could think about was how desperately he needed to see Hattie. The suspicion that she might be having something romantic with DeBarre plus the disaster of the pincher moot had tossed Vincent’s emotions into a landslide. He needed to see Hattie. No matter what happened to him, no matter what his future held, he couldn’t stay away from her any longer.

  “I’ll make some coffee first then decide,” Vincent grumbled. “That satisfy you?”

  “It does.”

  Vincent led Lefty up the flight of stairs to his home. As he pulled a key from his pocket he spotted a tiny brown parcel sitting at the foot of his door.

  “Think that’s some sorta booby trap?” Vincent asked.

  Lefty arched a brow. “Why’d you think that?”

  “I don’t know. These days, every damn thing looks like it’s fashioned to get me killed.”

  “Normally I’d agree, but a little package in brown paper? Probably not.”

  Vincent nudged it with the toe of his shoe, then shook his head as he snatched it off the floor.

  Inside the apartment, Vincent tossed the package onto his kitchen table and ran some water to make coffee.

  Lefty removed his coat and took a seat, lifting the parcel for inspection.

  “Looks like it was hand-delivered. No postage.”

  “Open it, then. See if it blows up in your face.”

  “That sorta thing happen a lot in this building?”

  Vincent smirked. “Well, we ain’t in Chicago, but I’m not takin’ chances.” As he busied himself putting on some water and milling his coffee beans, Lefty thumbed open the package. He made several grunting noises that seemed to indicate understanding and confusion alternately.

  “So?” Vincent asked.

  “I’ll assume this is some horse busi
ness of your own that I shouldn’t have been looking at.”

  Vincent reached for the package, its brown paper wrapping undone and flopping to the sides. He found a tiny leather-bound tome with a satin ribbon tying it shut. A note hung half-open on top, scratched in deplorable handwriting.

  V.

  Can confirm pincher in PA.

  Will remain to make sure he stays put.

  Meet me here in two days.

  When he’s in hand, our business is over!

  C.

  A wavering line slid from the end of “two days”, terminating in an arrow and a map, crudely rendered, indicating what appeared to be a patch of farmland outside of Lancaster, Pennsylvania.

  Vincent folded the note and slipped it and the journal into his coat pocket.

  “You’re right,” he muttered, turning back to the steeping coffee grounds.

  Lefty shook his head. “I’m guessing that’s Cooper.”

  “It’s my horse business, you said.”

  “Yeah, well, you and Cooper have history. It’s my job to make sure that this won’t get in the way of your new assignment.”

  Vincent harrumphed. “Some assignment. It was like a witch trial in there. Now I’m supposed to go hunt down Betty Capstein single-handed and drag her into the fold?”

  Lefty lifted a finger. “Sharp. I was talking to some of those Charleston boys and it seems she goes by Betty Sharp these days.”

  “Nuts is what she should go by. That woman’s none of my business.”

  “Literally everyone else seems to think otherwise.”

  “You really think Vito’s gonna sit still for this? Having his pincher jerked around like a paperboy? Being told it’s his job to take out the Citizens?”

  Lefty sighed. “That’s my problem to deal with. Best you get it in your head that it’s gonna happen. You got a plan, or what?”

  “Not yet,” Vincent replied as he turned to pour two mugs of coffee. “Gonna have to get the lay of Richmond. See what I’m walking into.”

  He offered Lefty one of the mugs, then sat down. The two sipped the coffee quietly for a while. The morning sun warmed the room as it spilled through the kitchen window.

  At last, Lefty finished his coffee and stood up, slithering half-into his coat, the other half falling loose over his right shoulder.

  “Sure you don’t want some shuteye?”

  “No. Gonna take a drive if you’ll let me use the car. Get some things sorted out.”

  With a chuckle, Lefty said, “Time for the wide berth to come to an end, huh?”

  Vincent scowled. “Huh?”

  “Malloy.”

  Vincent shook his head with a smirk. It was like the man could read his mind. “Well, you know…gonna need some water transportation getting into Richmond.”

  “Sure.”

  “Get outta here!” he grinned at the other man.

  Lefty nodded and took his exit.

  Vincent finished his coffee, taking his time to do so. He needed a moment or two to formulate a plan. A speech. Something. It’d been over three months since he’d laid eyes on Hattie Malloy. He’d asked Tony a few times how she was doing, but that had been it. Was she still living with her parents in that apartment in Hampden? The best place to head to track her down would probably be at Lizzie’s warehouse.

  He gave the sun a little more time to rise, then found the courage to leave.

  A snow shower had hit in the pre-dawn hours, wandering off to the east and over the Bay before Vincent drove into the city. Sunlight gleamed from the rolling drifts of white lining the sides of the street leading to Locust Point. The car eased through the snow that had been plowed clear by a single vehicle parked in front of the warehouse. Vincent followed that path, parking directly behind the car.

  He reached for the sliding warehouse door and gave it a tug. A spray of ice crystals danced onto his hat as the enormous steel door whined open.

  As he stepped into the dark interior of the warehouse, he heard a noise. In reflex, he pinched time and blinked for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. At last, he spotted the figure of Lizzie Sadler holding a hunting rifle at the door. Vincent shoved his way through the time-frozen air which always seemed a bit thicker in the winter and found no one else inside the warehouse. Taking a few extra moments to be cheeky, he pulled the rifle from the woman’s hands, removed the cartridge, and replaced the empty weapon, then he slogged back to his original spot and released the flow of time.

  The hammer of the rifle snapped down with a dry click as Lizzie pulled the trigger. She shook her head in confusion, inspecting the rifle with a quick glance.

  Vincent stepped forward. “I’m not here to start trouble.”

  Lizzie squinted at Vincent as he advanced, finally free of the bright light flooding through the crack he’d made with the door.

  “That you, Calendo?” she asked.

  Vincent tossed the bullet to Lizzie, who caught it awkwardly with her left hand.

  “Glad I’m used to this sorta thing,” he chuckled.

  Lizzie sniffed, then lowered the rifle. “You shouldn’t be barging into people’s places of business. Good way to get your block shot off.”

  “I wasn’t worried.”

  “What do you want?” she asked, turning back toward her office.

  Vincent eyed the long line of barrels and crated bottles waiting for deliveries. “Business is good?”

  “Good enough. I’ll ask again—what do you want?”

  “I was looking for Hattie. She around?”

  “Does she look like she’s around?” Lizzie snapped as she opened the door to her tiny corner office, sectioned off from the rest of the warehouse with glass-paned walls. As Vincent offered no response, she added, “She’s out on a delivery.”

  “A delivery?”

  “Left this morning.”

  Vincent swiveled back toward the front of the warehouse, then glared back at Lizzie. “Funny, because it looks like yours was the only car that’s been here since the snow last night.”

  Lizzie threw her head back and groaned. “What do you want? She isn’t here.”

  “Know where she is, maybe?”

  “No idea. It’s a few days to Christmas. Even your boss knows better than to schedule much until after the New Year. You spooks don’t get any time off for the holidays?”

  “Not exactly.” Vincent hesitated. “She still living with her parents in Hampden?”

  Lizzie narrowed her eyes, waiting a moment as she clearly wrestled with her answer. “Yeah, she still lives there.”

  “Thanks. I’ll try her at home.”

  “You sure you want to go bothering her? Can’t it wait until she isn’t supposed to be happy?”

  Vincent shook his head. “No one’s happy at Christmastime, no matter how much they pretend otherwise.”

  “You are a bona fide curmudgeon.”

  “No,” he said as he stepped out of her office. “That’s my handler’s job.”

  Vincent eased the car into a three-point turn, shoving more snow out of the way, and was soon back on the road into the city. He remembered the location of Hattie’s home. He remembered owing her father, Alton, a drink. That would be a fine excuse for his sudden reappearance. That drink. After three and a half months. Hattie would never buy it.

  Especially after the letter he sent her.

  That note was definitive, and he’d meant it. She’d had only just dodged Vito’s clutches. The last thing she needed was for Vincent to hang around her like a loud necktie, signaling their collusion to the rest of the Crew.

  It wouldn’t do, he told himself. For either of them. It was for her safety.

  It had been some truth mixed in with a load of bushwa, and he’d taken the coward’s way out. And now he was more of a coward, unable to stay away even though the noose was closing firmly around his neck.

  He should just drive back home, but now that he’d resolved to see her, he couldn’t divert his course if his life depended on it. He needed to
see her. That letter had been a terrible mistake. He needed her. Without her, everything was just…empty.

  Some of the shops downtown were open early and Vincent detoured to a few of them, picking up a huge bouquet of festive flowers, and throwing his position in the Crew around to weasel a choice bottle of Irish whisky from the private stock at the Old Moravia. He wracked his brain trying to think of something to get for Hattie, some sort of peace offering, but every idea he came up with felt wrong, so he finally gave up, got into the car and headed north.

  Vincent knocked on the door to the Malloy’s apartment, and in short order it opened to reveal a stately woman with silver-streaked red hair. The corners of her eyes wrinkled as she squinted at Vincent.

  “Oh,” she stated in a thick brogue, “it’s you, then.”

  He juggled the flowers and booze so he could pull off his hat. “Good morning, Mrs. Malloy. These,” he juggled everything again to extend the flowers. “are for you.”

  Her eyes widened in shock and she took the flowers. “Uh, many thanks?”

  “And this,” he shoved the bottle of whisky at her, “is for Mr. Malloy. Merry Christmas.”

  She took the bottle with the stunned expression still on her face. “Oh. Well. I guess…Merry Christmas to you as well?”

  He sucked in a deep breath, gathering his courage. “I was wondering if Hattie was home?”

  Her eyes narrowed again. “Nay. She’s out.”

  “Well, I suppose that figures. Do you know where she might be?”

  The older woman shook her head, maintaining an unflinching glare that made Vincent shrivel a little.

  “Well, then,” he declared with a quick cough, “I suppose I’ll be going. Can you let her know I was here? To see her?”

  The door slammed shut before he could even put the hat back on his head. Vincent turned for the stairs, convinced that drink with Alton would never happen, when the door squeaked open again.

  Branna stood half in the hallway, her mouth twisted with conflict. “She’s, ah…she’s gone to the markets.”

  “Oh?”

  “Down by Lexington Street, she said. To shop for presents. There’s a little café there she sometimes gets a coffee at.”