Princes of the Lower East Side: A 1920s Mafia Thriller (A Scalisi Family Novel)

by Meredith Allison

  Dolores joined her in the tiny living room, carrying a tarnished silver tray with a coffee pot, cream, sugar, cups, and a dish of shortbread cookies. She poured Mia coffee and offered the cream and sugar, then the plate of cookies.

  “Shortbreads were his favorite.” Her eyes filled and she pressed her handkerchief to her lips.

  Mia hastily took one and bit into it. “It’s delicious. I can see why he enjoyed them.”

  Dolores nodded, dabbing her eyes. “You said you’ve a shop?”

  “Yes. A ladies’ shop in Midtown.”

  “You need security in a place like that?” The older woman’s forehead knotted and her gaze took on a suspicious look again.

  She was a sharp one, Mia thought, and understood Fred hadn’t shared his side job with her. “Burglary, you see. Since it’s such a nice area, and, well, the city’s been full of criminals these past few years, hasn’t it?”

  “He certainly had his hands full. But his hard work paid off, you know.”

  “Did it?” Mia sipped her coffee.

  “Why, yes. He was so courageous and brave, he got awarded with a big bonus. Bigger than I could have ever imagined. And he took me to Atlantic City with it.”

  Mia smiled into her cup. “Did he? And did you have a lovely time?”

  “It was a bit risqué for my tastes,” Dolores admitted, her cheeks reddening, “but, yes. We saw a wonderful revue and enjoyed a delicious meal at a place on the boardwalk.”

  “Penny’s, was it?”

  Dolores’s eyebrows lifted. “How did you know?”

  “Mr. McClarty mentioned it,” Mia said. “He said the lobster thermidor was quite nice.”

  “It was.” Dolores nodded vigorously. “If you ever go, Miss Scalisi, I highly recommend it.”

  “I’ll keep that in the front of my mind,” she replied with a private smile.

  As quickly as it had lit up, Dolores’s face fell, as if recalling the entire reason for Mia’s visit. As if the knowledge that her husband was gone came and went, came and went. Mia understood that, too.

  “We’ll never go again, Fred and I. Never.” Her voice quivered off into a fresh wave of grief.

  “I’m so sorry,” Mia said. “I came here today because I…was worried about you. Mr. McClarty spoke of you often, and mentioned you don’t have any living family or children.”

  Dolores flushed. “I—was unable, you see. Barren, the doctor—”

  Mia held up a hand. “It’s none of my business. I bring it up only because I don’t want you to feel you’re alone.”

  “But I am,” Dolores cried. “I am alone now. He was my everything, and now he’s gone.”

  An invisible needle stabbed Mia through the heart. “Mr. McClarty was a valuable employee of mine,” she said. “And what happened to him was unfair. But you’re not alone. You’re not.” She reached into her pocketbook and withdrew the envelope of money Charlie had brought her.

  Dolores’s eyes went wide. She made no move to take it, so Mia set it on the coffee table.

  “Wh-what is that?”

  “Money to cover his funeral expenses, to live on, whatever you need,” Mia said. “I assume he has a pension, from his work with the police force. But anything else you need—anything else you want—that money doesn’t cover, this money will. And when you need more, you come and see me. There’s a slip of paper in that envelope that has the address to my store as well as the telephone number to my suite. Should you need anything, you call me.”

  Dolores finally picked up the envelope, her hands shaking. She stared at Mia. “Who are you?”

  A nice girl, Fred had called her once. “Just a friend.”

  Dolores leaned across the small coffee table and grabbed her wrist. “It was gangsters who killed him, wasn’t it?”

  Mia looked at her, startled. “Ah, beg pardon?”

  “He said he’d been dealing with a lot of gangsters on the street lately, bootleggers. Was it them?”

  “Why…are you asking me?”

  Dolores gripped her hand almost fervently. “You do know, don’t you? Look at you.” Her wide eyes rolled over her like a hysterical horse’s. “Fine clothes. Jewels. I can smell the expensive perfume on you—in fact, one night Fred came home laden with gifts. Lip rouge…perfume. Just like yours. He said it cost fifteen dollars. Fifteen whole dollars, and it smells just like yours. You’re not just some shopkeeper, are you? What were you really paying him to do?”

  Mia withdrew her hand from Dolores’s crushing grip, leaned back against the sofa, and crossed her legs. She sipped her coffee again. “It’s Shalimar, actually.”

  “What?”

  “My perfume. I only wear Shalimar. I sent him home with the Chanel for you.”

  Dolores’s mouth fell open.

  “How much do you really want to know?” Mia asked.

  The question caught the other woman off guard. “What have you to tell me?”

  “If I tell you the truth, how much can you really handle? Wouldn’t you be content to know your husband died in the line of duty, and that you’re going to be a wealthy widow? Because the truth isn’t far from that, but it’s much darker. And risky—for me.”

  Dolores opened and closed her mouth as she stared at Mia as though she were a mirage.

  “If we’re going to have a real chat, then you’ll need to pull yourself together,” Mia added in a gentle voice.

  Dolores drew in a breath, and then in an abrupt movement that took Mia by surprise, she launched herself out of the easy chair and went to the cupboard that seemed to hold her china. She opened a door on the bottom left and pulled out a bottle.

  Mia’s brows lifted slightly.

  Dolores made her way back to her seat, uncapped the bottle, and took a healthy pull. She let it settle, then offered the bottle to Mia.

  With half a smile, she grasped it and took a small, conspiratorial sip.

  The older woman took the bottle back and tipped it into her mouth again, then added a splash to her coffee and set it aside. “Consider me pulled together.”

  Mia regarded her for a long, silent moment. Then she said, “I’m an entertainer in town. A singer. At a nightclub called The Divine. I also own the shop your husband provided security at. A perfume and cosmetics shop, and yes, it was me who sent him home with those gifts for you. And I gave him the two thousand dollars he used to treat you to a lavish vacation in Atlantic City and, I imagine, many other things.”

  “He—he put most of it in the bank,” Dolores whispered. “All that—that was you? Why?”

  “To buy him,” Mia replied. “To buy his silence, his cooperation, his loyalty. The night we met, he was walking his beat, doing his job. He wandered into my store at the wrong time, and frankly, he didn’t have a choice. I wanted to keep things friendly with the gifts and money.”

  “Friendly?” Dolores shook her head. “I…don’t understand. Did he…did he try to proposition you?”

  “Absolutely not,” Mia said. “I know how it must seem, to have some strange, young woman knocking on your door, telling you she knew your husband. But he was devoted to you.”

  “Then what do you mean?”

  Mia released a light breath. “He was being held at gunpoint by my partners. Who fully intended to kill him. I didn’t want that to happen, so I used the moment and the gifts to bribe him into my service. I wanted to save his life, yes, but I needed a beat cop on my payroll, too.”

  “Why?”

  Mia gazed down into her coffee cup, then at Dolores. The truth she was about to admit would be the first time she admitted it to herself. The first time she said it out loud.

  “Because I’m a bootlegger, Mrs. McClarty. I run an operation from my shop, which is a front. The night Mr. McClarty—mind if I call him Fred?—walked in, my partners were overseeing a whole lot of booze being unloaded in the alley.”

  Dolores went very still.

  “And ever since that night, he worked for me. I told him when shipments were coming in, and h
e made sure he was the only cop in our area on his beat during those times. He was our lookout. And in return, I paid him. When you go to the bank to have his assets rolled to you, you’ll see just how handsomely.”

  The older woman picked up her handkerchief and wadded it in her hands. “He just never said anything,” she said. “He just never said a word. He told me everything.”

  “This is a dangerous business,” Mia said. “I’m sure he wanted to protect you from it.”

  Dolores snapped her head up. “That’s why he died?”

  She’d come this far. There was no point in stopping now. “Yes. A car came by while I was outside talking to Fred. The driver pulled a gun. My bodyguard pulled me out of the way. But Fred…”

  She stopped as fresh tears gathered in Dolores’s eyes and slowly oozed down her cheeks. “That’s why it was important for me to come see you today, Mrs. McClarty. Because of what your husband meant. Because…because…”

  “Because it’s your fault,” Dolores whispered, but the accusation was as loud as if she’d screamed it.

  It stung. Mia swallowed hard and lifted her chin. “Yes. It was my fault. Had I not hired him, he would never have been in a position to get shot while working for me. However, had I not hired him, my partners would almost certainly have killed him. Or, Fred would have gotten away and brought the New York City police to my doorstep. And then…I would have been on yours.”

  Dolores stared at her with wide eyes, the veiled threat clear.

  “So you see, Mrs. McClarty, the likelihood of us meeting, one way or another, was always high. To be frank, I’d much rather us meet this way than the other. Because this way, I get to tell you your husband died a hero, and reassure you you’ll never want for anything again.”

  “How do you know I won’t go to the police and tell them what you’ve just told me?” Dolores asked, her voice trembling.

  A tiny part of her felt horribly guilty for threatening this poor woman when she was up to her ears in grief. She’d just lost her husband, after all. But she’d wanted the truth, and Mia had given it to her. And her truth was costly—so Dolores needed to know the exact price.

  “Because if you did, I would know it was you, and whatever happened next, you would know it was me,” Mia said.

  Dolores went as white as the cream in the little, tarnished silver pitcher on the tray between them.

  “But I believe a woman in my position needs friends she can rely on. And a woman in your position needs the same. Wouldn’t you agree, Mrs. McClarty? Can I call you Dolores?”

  “You…know my name?”

  “He spoke of ‘his Dolores’ often.”

  Dolores looked down at her lap. “What about the man who shot him?”

  “I will find him,” Mia said, ice creeping into her voice, “and I will make him pay for that.”

  “You’re…going to kill him?”

  Another truth forced out of her, that she wasn’t even ready to admit to herself yet. “There aren’t many other ways of dealing with someone who does what he chose to do. Not in this life.”

  “You could go to the police,” Dolores said. “Then they’d catch Fred’s killer, and he’d be out of your life.”

  “Your husband was one of the few decent, honest men on the force,” Mia said.

  “He was on the take,” the older woman said bitterly.

  “That doesn’t mean he wasn’t a good man,” Mia said. “But don’t be fooled, Dolores. The police department is as corrupt as any criminal in the city these days. They could do nothing to whoever shot Fred, whoever tried to kill me, that would keep them from getting out of jail and doing it all over again.”

  “So you mean to say you are going to kill that man?”

  Sometimes silence was as much of an answer as words, Don Catalano had told her, so she said nothing.

  After a moment, Mia reached for her purse and gloves. “I should be on my way. It was nice to chat with you, Dolores.”

  Dolores rose a bit uncertainly to her feet and walked her to the door. “I do appreciate the visit,” she whispered. “And—and the money. That was very kind of you. Unnecessary.”

  “I hope you’ll consider me a reliable friend in the future,” Mia said.

  Dolores hesitated, her throat bobbing. “I’ve…I’ve nothing to offer you in return. I’m not my husband.”

  “I would consider you not going to the police to share what I’ve told you a great favor,” Mia said. “One I won’t soon forget.”

  “Is that what that money’s for?” Dolores said. “To buy my silence?”

  “What I told you, I did of my own accord. Because I felt you deserved to know,” Mia replied. “I didn’t have to tell you anything in order to give you the money. I simply wanted to help you, because your husband helped me.”

  “You seem like a nice girl,” Dolores said, her eyes wide and sad. “What’re you doing, mixed up in all of this?”

  It was another question that would go unanswered. Mia put her hand on the older woman’s arm. “Please accept my condolences, Mrs. McClarty. And don’t hesitate to contact me if you need anything at all.” She opened the door and stepped out into the hall.

  “I won’t say anything.”

  Mia turned around.

  Dolores stood with her head high, eyes streaming. “You have my word. Mia.”

  Mia gave her a small smile, and a bob of her head. “Good day to you, Dolores.”

  She walked down the hall until she found Charlie and Paolo. The former leaned against the staircase wall, arms folded, and the latter sat on the top step, leaning against the railing, snoring softly. He woke instantly as though a switch had been flipped when the sound of her heels on the wooden floor reached them.

  “In there making friends?” Charlie said.

  “Yeah, actually,” Mia replied, glancing over her shoulder at Dolores’s door. “Can’t have too many.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Well,” Hyman said, leaning against the doorway of Mia’s new dressing room, “I daresay we’ve quite the turnout tonight. Quite the turnout, indeed.”

  He looked quite pleased, and Mia smiled. “Congratulations seem to be in order then, Mr. Goldberg.”

  “I’ve merely packed the house with the promise of entertainment,” he said. “It’s up to you to make good on that promise.”

  “Don’t you believe in me?”

  He walked over to where she sat at her vanity, putting the finishing touches on her makeup. She’d had to apply extra powder underneath her eyes tonight to cover the dark circles. Despite taking a three-hour nap that afternoon, filling up on coffee, and Gloria doing her best to reduce the puffiness around her eyes with cold spoons and cucumber slices, the darkness remained. The powder and heavy, dark eye makeup helped conceal the worst of it.

  Hyman stood behind her, bending to place his hands on her shoulders as he met her gaze in the mirror. “I have every confidence in you.” He straightened and reached into the interior pocket of his suit coat. He handed her a wide, flat jeweler’s box. “A gift for you, to celebrate a night that’s been a long time coming.”

  Mia looked at him in surprise. “Hyman. You shouldn’t have.”

  He smiled at her. “Yes, I should have. Please, open it.”

  Mia popped the spring lid and blinked down at a delicate diamond and ruby necklace. It sparkled up at her in the low lighting of the dressing room. She fingered the drop-shaped ruby. “It’s stunning.”

  “I thought it would complement your ensemble this evening well.” He took the box from her and removed the necklace, then draped it around her neck.

  The ruby settled in the center of her collarbone. It was the perfect complement to the sleeveless, ruby-red silk shift she wore, draped with a mesh overlay of silver thread, giving her the appearance of glimmering all over. The matching headpiece, made of the same silver mesh, rested right over her dark, waved bob like a close-fitting cap.

  She reached up to adjust the necklace so the ruby hung perfectly
in the middle. “Thank you, Hyman.”

  “I, er, know our partnership came about in a way that must have seemed rather…sneaky to you,” he said. “Considering the conversation happened between me and Nick, apart from you. But, I do hope you know he only wanted the best for you, and I haven’t forgotten how he very nearly threatened my life if I didn’t care of you properly.”

  She smiled a little. “Sounds like Nick.”

  “He would be very proud of you if he could see you,” Hyman said gently. He checked his pocket watch. “I must go and ensure everything is running smoothly. Break a leg, Miss Scalisi.” He snapped his heels together with all the elegance of an English lord and made her a formal bow, then slid out of her dressing room door, shutting it silently behind him.

  Mia turned back to the mirror, studying the necklace. It was beautiful, but she was under no illusions about it. It wasn’t just a thoughtful gift from employer to employee. It was yet another reminder of how Hyman owned her. If she were to tell him tomorrow she quit, he couldn’t stop her. But she knew he would stop being her ally and join the ranks of her enemies…whoever they were, and however many of them there were.

  Besides, a small, slightly taunting voice asked, isn’t this what you always wanted? Better stages and opportunities?

  The Divine was what Sal Bellomo had always wanted the Stems Club to be, but could never achieve. Hyman’s joint lived up to its name, and the first time Mia had set foot inside the place, she’d seen with her own eyes how he had spared no expense to create a truly lavish, extravagant experience for New York’s upwardly mobile.

  A knock on the door drew her from her reverie. “Who’s there?”

  “Annette.”

  Mia blinked in surprise and smiled. “Come on in.”

  The door opened and Annette stepped instead, breathtaking in a dazzling, all-white dress. She glanced around, taking in the dark-brown marbled floors, the dark cherrywood vanity and coffee table, the plush, upholstered loveseat and chair, the wallpapered wall.

  “Well,” Annette drawled, “I suppose this is a little better than that old broom closet you used to have.”

  They glanced at each other, then burst out laughing.