by Debra Dunbar
Vincent nodded. “I know the place. She and I used to…” He didn’t finish the statement. The impact of his words appeared to wound the woman, so he simply nodded again before making a quick escape.
There was a large crowd out in the marketplace. Morning shoppers had braved the cold weather to gather gifts and groceries. The street cleaners had made quick work of the sidewalks, and the center of Baltimore seemed unmolested by the winter weather.
Vincent strolled up Lexington, eyes searching through the crowd. The farther he progressed into the throng, the more hopeless the task seemed. It was a gamble that she was even here. What would be the odds that he’d happen upon her at just the right moment at just the right spot?
He came to a stumbling halt as he spotted a navy-blue beret over light red hair. The woman turned, but he knew it was her even before he saw her face. Her bangs were longer, now. They spilled over her cheekbones, curving in the sunlight with softer tones than he remembered. The hem of a yellow dress peeked out beneath a thick wool coat, a shopping bag in the crook of her elbow. He watched her for a moment, something warm spreading through his chest at the sight of her.
And just like that, the empty aching feeling he’d had for months was gone.
Hattie was nosing over a row of turnips, her expression full of friendly cheer as she spoke to the merchant. She seemed happy and he suddenly wondered if he was being selfish seeking her out like this after three months of silence. He stood still trying to decide what to do, his hands slipping into his coat pockets as Hattie paid for her bag of vegetables and turned to face the street.
And her eyes met his.
She jerked to a stop, arms stiff, eyes wide.
Vincent sauntered over, trying to look confident, casual. That would be best. Don’t race toward her and yank her into his arms. Or do anything that might make her turn and run.
She didn’t run. Instead, her shoulders relaxed. And though her brow drew together into a gathering storm of fury, the corner of her mouth lifted just a little.
“Hattie Malloy, as I live and breathe,” he declared. Should he wish her a Merry Christmas? Ask her how she’d been? Pretend he hadn’t been searching half the city to find her? Yank her into his arms?
He didn’t have a chance to do any of those things. With a quick pivot, Hattie tilted the bag of vegetables behind her elbow, then swung them hard against Vincent’s arm.
He staggered to the side, reaching to rub the point of impact.
“You horse’s ass,” she snapped. “You pea-brained, inconsiderate, worm of a man. You…you…”
Her voice broke off on a wobble.
“Are you done?” Vincent asked, still rubbing his arm. “Because I’d like to buy you a coffee and talk if you’re done.”
“Done beating you or yelling at you? Time will tell, I suppose.” She opened her sack to inspect the damage, then glanced back up at him. “Am I worthy of your company all of a sudden after more than three months? What do you want from me now? A free ride down the Bay, I suppose?”
He winced.
She glared and looked as if she might hit him with the vegetables again. “Oh, sweet Jesus. That’s actually it? You need the boat? That’s why you’re here after all this time. You are a horse’s ass!”
Vincent eyed the bag. “Are you going to hit me again?”
“I might!”
“It’s been a while. I thought this would go better.”
She snarled. “It’s been a while because you shut me out, you daft bastard! After everything we went through! Three and a half months, Vincent. Three and a half months.”
Hell with it.
Lunging forward, he yanked her into his arms, pulling her in close. He moved quick enough that she didn’t have time to react, standing in shock as he held her tight.
“I’m sorry, Hattie. I’m so sorry. I thought it was for the best. You know that, right? I did it to protect you.”
“I don’t need protecting,” she muttered against his coat. “I’m a big girl. I have my own ways and means to protect myself, thank you very much. You don’t get to just decide these things on your own and send me a damned note about it. That wasn’t fair, Vincent.”
Vincent released her and stepped back. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I had other reasons too but…” But his pride wouldn’t let him tell her about those reasons, especially when she had clearly shifted her affections elsewhere.
DeBarre. The thought made him want to drive back up to Philadelphia and punch the man.
She glared at him for a moment. “Three and a half months since I’ve heard from you, Vincent. Don’t think for a second you can come strolling back into my life again, with your brash swagger and expect me to fawn over you like a smitten schoolgirl.”
“No, of course not,” he scowled. “You’re too busy running up to Philly every chance you get like a smitten schoolgirl fawning over DeBarre.”
She gasped, then smacked his arm with the bag of vegetables again. “How dare you?”
“How dare I? DeBarre has fifteen years on you. He’s a womanizer. And you shouldn’t be trusting him.”
She stared open mouthed. “Seems like he’s been pretty trustworthy so far. He backed you up when you told Vito I wasn’t a pincher. He’s been nothing but a gentleman to me. And as for fifteen years…I’ll have you know that my father is fifteen years older than my mother, and that’s never been a problem in their marriage.”
Vincent took a deep breath, that empty feeling starting to creep back into his chest. “You’re right. It’s none of my business. DeBarre is a good man, and I…I wish you the best.”
He turned to leave only to feel her hand grab his sleeve.
“No!”
Pivoting he met her gaze, steeling himself for whatever she might tell him.
“DeBarre and I…we have nothing romantic going on between us. Never have. I… I’m going up to Philadelphia for other reasons—reasons you probably don’t want to know about.”
And now it was fear that spiked through him. “Bootlegging up to Philly? Hattie, are you insane? Right under Vito’s nose? Do you want to get shot in the head? Because that’s a damn fine way to get that done!”
“I’m careful, and it’s only a little bit.”
“No, careful is not doing it at all. Do you need more money? Is that it? Because I’ll give you money.”
“I don’t need your money,” she snapped.
“I swear you’re going to be the death of me! People get killed doing this sort of thing. If you get found out, you’re dead. Which means I’m dead too because I’ll be jumping in front of that bullet trying to save you. Damn it, Hattie. Have some sense for once in your life!”
Hattie gasped, her grip on the bag of vegetables tightening.
Vincent turned away from her. His heart was pounding in his chest. He could hear the pulse in his ears. One or two gift-laden pedestrians paused to gawk. With a sharp glare, he sent them bustling back up the street.
Hell’s bells, how did this go so wrong so quickly?
Before Vincent could concoct a believable apology, he heard Hattie whisper behind him, “We’re not very good at this sort of thing. Are we?”
He turned back around. “No. We’re not.”
And this time it was her arms wrapping around his waist to pull him close. He didn’t hesitate to do the same to her, resting his cheek against the top of her head. She relaxed into him and he found himself breathing in time with her, falling into the feel of her body against his.
She went to pull back and he tightened his grip, unwilling to let her go.
“People are probably staring at us,” she said with a laugh.
“Don’t care.” He continued to hold her for a few moments before reluctantly easing away.
She stepped back, then paced a quick circle, and stretched out a hand to shake. “Shall we start over? Greetings, then. I’m Hattie Malloy, and I’m just out to buy some presents and pick up turnips for dinner tonight.”
Vincent sn
apped to attention and shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Hattie Malloy. My name is Mud, and I’m here to beg my best friend for forgiveness. And to ask her for help.”
She smiled. “What’ve you gone and gotten yourself into this time, boy-o?”
There it was—that bright songlike tone she took when she was really speaking to him. Not as a gangster, or some lead weight slung around her neck trying to drag her into the underworld. She was talking to him, to Vincent.
“You wouldn’t believe the week I’ve had.”
She sidled up alongside Vincent to offer her elbow. He threaded his arm through hers and they set off up the street together.
“Best fill me in then.”
“Well, let’s start with Philadelphia.”
She bristled a bit.
He added, “Easy. I’m not talking about DeBarre. Or…you and DeBarre.”
Her posture tightened further. “There is no me and DeBarre.”
“That a fact? Because he seems to think otherwise.”
“Why am I defending myself to you?”
“I was trying to talk about my problems.”
“Well, there’s a switch!”
He grumbled, “Can I talk?”
“You can try.”
“There was a pincher moot yesterday. Do you know what that is?”
She nodded vigorously. “I can imagine what it is because I’ve been a part of your demented little slave world from the moment I was born.”
“God, you’re a pain in the ass.”
“But you clearly love me, otherwise you wouldn’t be hunting me down in broad daylight—”
He stopped so suddenly that it jerked Hattie at the arm.
She glanced up at him sheepishly. “It was a joke.”
It wasn’t.
Vincent sucked in a breath, staring down at her. Then he set off again, gathering her arm tight against his ribs. She trotted along a few paces to keep up with him.
“You remember Elmer Capstein?” he finally asked, having wrestled his emotions back into a proper place.
“Like I could forget!”
“Did I ever tell you about his wife?”
“I believe you mentioned her once. Glass pincher? Tried to kill you because your recruitment pitch was complete rubbish.”
He nodded. “That’s her. Betty. She goes by the name of Betty Sharp.”
“Well, she’s a free bird now. Why not choose a name of her own? A bit on-the-nose, though. Don’t you think? So what, are you going to try your pitch on her again? Might want to put a suit of armor on first, boy-o. Just a suggestion.”
“I have to capture her,” Vincent stated with the gravity of an anvil.
Hattie took in the comment for several steps. “And by capture, you mean…”
“They set me up, maneuvered things so I had no choice.” He trembled and was sure she could feel it through his ribs. “The pincher moot.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Yeah…well, a pincher moot is when all the pinchers and handlers come together to discuss something important.”
“All?”
“Yes. All. At least all as in the families and their allies. Doesn’t matter whose side you’re on. If you’re at war, or best of friends, all the families and their allies send their assets to meet.”
Hattie made a strange snorting sound. “Assets?”
“I’d like to get this out without a hundred arguments, if you don’t mind.”
She waved her free hand. “Go right ahead, boy-o.”
A rush of warmth spread through his chest at the term. That was how she spoke to him, and just him. “So…all the pinchers and their handlers get together for a huge parley.”
“Parley?” she parroted.
“To talk business?”
“Are you taking French lessons now?”
“I read books on occasion. I know, it’s unsettling.”
With a grin, she said, “Go on. You parley.”
He rolled his eyes. “The problem at the moment is that demand is greater than supply.”
Hattie blinked a few times. “Supply of what?”
“Us.”
“Oh. Well, I can’t say that wouldn’t fill my heart with delight. Question is, what’re they wanting to do about’t?”
Vincent shook his head. “It got real damn complicated. All the families have to send new acquisitions to Ithaca basically for the New Yorkers to divvy up among themselves until they quit crawling up each other’s asses.” He winced. “Pardon my language.”
“I work on the water, boy-o. I’ve heard worse and sworn better.”
Vincent nodded to a bakery they had approached. “Can we step in here? I do believe I offered to buy you a cup of coffee.”
“Cold getting to you?”
“Yeah. You?”
“I’m freezing my tits off!”
Vincent smiled at her. “You do swear better.”
They stepped inside and a wall of warm air embraced them. The yeasty aroma of crusty breads and sweet tarts filled Vincent’s nose, enticing him to purchase a pastry. An elderly couple vacated the single table toward the front windows, and Vincent pulled a chair for Hattie. They shared a sweet bun with their coffee. As they pulled it apart, steam lifted from the cottony bread in mockery of the dreary winter scene beyond the panes.
Vincent spoke around a mouthful. “Can I ask you a question without you flying into a Grade A Dubliner rage on me?”
“Probably not, but it’s out there now. Ask the question.”
“What’s your play in Philly?”
“With DeBarre you mean?” she replied with a sigh.
“You’re selling Vito’s goods right underneath his nose.” He leaned forward. “I want to know you’re being careful.”
“I’ve been practicing, boy-o. I’m a lot better than I was last summer. Besides, Loren’s protecting me.” She hid a smirk.
“You really got him on the hook, don’t you?”
Hattie chuckled. “It eats you up, doesn’t it?”
He waved off the comment. “Fine. DeBarre’s kept your indiscretions…discreet. And you’re sure of that?”
She nodded.
“Okay, well what about Arnoud?”
Her smile faded. “Aye. That one’s odd. But I don’t think he’d do me harm.”
“You do see the point I’m making, though?”
Hattie stared at the table for a moment, then finished her half of the roll. “It’s just a pittance. A case here and there. Nothing anyone would ever notice.”
“Then why do it at all?”
She bit her lip. “Well, I had to do something after what that rat bastard did to you…I mean, what he did to my parents.”
Vincent looked away.
As did Hattie.
She cleared her throat. “What did you want from me, anyway?”
Vincent gathered his thoughts, then replied still looking out the window. “At the moot there was a pincher from Queens. One of Luciano’s men. I, uh…don’t suppose you know who that is.”
She shook her head.
“Well, this pincher took an interest in me. Not sure why or how. But he put me on the spot something fierce.” He turned to Hattie. “These men are sharks. When there’s blood in the water, they come with their teeth out. I was the chum.”
“What’d they do?”
“The Carolinas made a stink about Richmond blocking their distribution and pinned the responsibility for that on Baltimore. Then everyone declared Betty Sharp to be persona non grata, and up for grabs. They want me to bring her in.”
“Bring her in? That lunatic?”
“I couldn’t say no. Not without making Vito look even weaker. He’s gonna be sore enough as it is, what with me kiting like that in front of the families.”
“And you want my help. Is that it?”
He sighed. “Vito won’t give me a party to go after her—not after the stink with the Russians. You know the waterways. You know how to slide into the city withou
t raising eyebrows.”
Hattie leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “So, let me get this straight. You’ve come to me after three and a half months of silence to ask me to help you capture a free pincher?”
He winced. It was time to be honest. Well, a little honest. “I miss you. I wanted to see you—needed to see you. This…this was my excuse to do that without looking like a complete bonehead.”
“Newsflash, boy-o, you still look like a complete bonehead.”
“Yeah, well that’s nothing new. And as for Betty, she’s not a free pincher. Not technically. She’s in the system by her own choice.”
“And how can you be so sure of that?”
“Trust me,” Vincent grunted. “She damn near opened my throat, last time I met her. I was trying to help. Turns out, she doesn’t want anyone’s help. Someone like that’s a danger to the public if she’s free anyway.”
Hattie rubbed her face. “I don’t know.”
“I understand. That’s fine. What say you sleep on it?” He reached into his coat pocket to pull the journal out. He tore off one of the pages and hopped up to borrow a pencil from the baker. Scribbling his address on the slip of paper, he handed it to Hattie. “If you decide you want to throw in, come to my place tomorrow sometime. I’ll be there. It’s laundry day.”
“And if I decide not to help?”
He stared at her for a moment. “Then, I’ll see you some other time?”
He asked it like a question, which wasn’t his intent, but the notion of never seeing Hattie again seemed dreadful.
She nodded and stuffed the note into her coat pocket. “Thank you for the coffee and the pastry. And Vincent? I’m glad to see you again. Truly, I am.”
Chapter 6
“Ah, my girl!” Alton bellowed. “You buy my present yet?”
Hattie smirked. “It’s a surprise, so don’t even try to guess what it is.”
He chuckled as she unloaded her bag of turnips onto the counter. Turning she froze, staring at a huge bouquet of red and yellow flowers in a vase on the table.
Branna eyed her. “That boy was here lookin’ for you.”
“You mean Vincent?”
“That’s the one.”
“And he brought you…flowers?”
“Perfectly good flowers. No sense in wasting them,” her mother sniffed.
