Gathering Storm

by Sherilyn Decter

  Leroy’s small feet scamper down the hall. His energy makes her chuckle. What a kid. I suppose if he’s going to be here, I should try and teach him some manners. Maybe it was him that was supposed to get the teacher card. I mean, I know how to get Gator’s ready, I know how to get liquor, I know how to deal with Zeke and Otis. I’ll figure out how to get customers. What am I missing? What don’t I know?

  * * * *

  The pale ghost of a disc in the sky shows herself as the orange one melts into the sea. Sitting on the dock, Edith treasures both. Inside Gator’s barn, Leroy snuggles under his blanket, a smile on his face for the moon that’s also shining over Cassie and the camp.

  In another barn, the Wharf Rat meeting has broken up, most with their assignments. Protection collections have been steady, raiding has been profitable and without incident. The Coast Guard is annoying, but they lose more days to bad weather than threat of seizure. None of these men notice the land’s beauty and the day’s exchange between sun and moon—they’re only interested in the night’s take.

  “Gentlemen, a word?” The Boss is standing behind Zeke and Otis as they are being briefed by Buford on targets for the night. While piracy is a crime of opportunity, the magnet for the opportunity is a static Rum Row. They know which black ships are popular, who is newly arrived and will attract a crowd. With the bait set, it’s only a matter of hunting. Good things come to those who wait.

  Zeke and Otis finish with Buford and turn for the door. The Boss pulls them aside.

  “How is our frog, gentlemen? Getting toasty?”

  “Seems to be doing okay. Place is looking good, if I do say so myself.” Zeke, puffed with pride at his accomplishments, never sees the blow coming. His head snaps round at the stinging slap.

  Otis stands mute.

  “I have not sent you there to help her. Is there confusion about why you are at Gator Joe’s?”

  Otis steps forward as Zeke rubs his cheek.

  “Eyes and ears, Boss. And mischief.”

  “And where are things with that? Perhaps you need a bit of a tutorial on how to boil a frog?”

  Otis jostles Zeke with his shoulder. “We got plans. Ain’t that right, Zeke?”

  Zeke merely nods.

  Otis shoots his brother a quick glance. “We’ve put sugar in the generator a few times and flattened the tire more than once. We stopped doing that one ‘cause then we just had to change it. See Boss, we been busy.”

  “Fine. Pick up the pace gentlemen. Crank up the heat on our little toad. I want to start smelling frog soup soon.”

  * * * *

  “Whadda ya make of that, Otis?” Zeke asks when they clear the barn.

  “Gives ya the creeps, don’t it? I’m glad it’s her and not us.”

  “Ain’t right, the way he’s getting us to do all that nasty stuff. It just don’t feel right,” Zeke says.

  “Like I said, better her than me. You were always too soft, brother. I remember—“

  Zeke punches Otis in the jaw, sending his brother flying to the ground. He sits there, looking up at Zeke, rubbing his jaw.

  “Ow. What did you do that for?”

  “You’re as bad as the Boss, picking on a gal.” He leans down and hauls up Otis. “And better you than him. Hitting the Boss would be just plain stupid.”

  Chapter 26

  N ever underestimate the power of elbow grease. It is the magic salve that, once applied, makes dreams real. A good scrubbing, a few repairs, some updates, and Gator Joe’s is transformed—vibrating with potential.

  The enterprise is filled with purpose. Edith’s filled with purpose.

  Edith is sweeping the sawdust into a pile in the middle of the barroom. They’ve run out of shingles to finish the last little bit of the roof, but otherwise the renovations are done.

  She’d expected more of a reaction when she paid the brothers in full, with a small bonus, and a little something for those hard-done-by helpers of theirs. They’d missed the deadline, but only by a couple of days. And surprisingly, when she’d gone up on a ladder to check on their work, it was excellent. Despite the grumbling, Zeke had really come through for her. Which is why his sullen looks are such a mystery.

  This morning, she’d asked Zeke to expand the bar and outfit it with a locking cash drawer, and more shelves underneath for storage. That should reduce the number of times she’d need to go out to the shed to fetch a fresh bottle of liquor. He’d reluctantly agreed—always that chip on his shoulder.

  Like usual, Otis was nowhere to be seen. Good riddance to bad rubbish, as far as she was concerned. At lunch, she’d made Zeke a bowl of soup to go with his sandwich, but even that didn’t put him in a better frame of mind.

  The work on the bar hadn’t taken long and, with the job done, she’d sent him off to help Leroy get a stone-edged path made that would lead from the veranda down to the dock. But the squabbling between Leroy and Zeke could be heard inside the barroom. Maybe it wasn’t worth it. She’d find something else for Zeke to do.

  While she sweeps, Edith’s thoughts turn to business. Now that she has a speakeasy, how’s she going to fill it with people?

  She’s jerked out of her reverie when the door bangs open. It crashes against the wall. Three men storm in. Bandanas cover their faces. They shout. There’s a gun. Edith shrieks and drops the broom. It clatters to the floor.

  Leroy comes barreling through the open doorway behind the invaders.

  A man with a head of rusty red hair grabs him, holding him above the floor. Edith reaches for him. “Leroy!”

  Another man, big belly hanging over his pants, steps between them and backhands her across the mouth. She staggers, crashing into a chair. As she lurches up to get to Leroy, the third man, white hair and watery blue eyes above the bandana, aims his gun at Leroy. “Uh-uh. Think again, missy.”

  Everything appears to Edith in slow-motion.

  Leroy’s eyes widen as large, grimy hands come around his chest and pin his arms. She tastes bitter copper in her mouth as she watches the dull metal barrel of the gun press against Leroy’s head. The loudest drumbeat she’s ever heard pounds in her ears.

  Edith grips the edge of the chair, her mouth bleeding, her chest heaving, her eyes wild.

  “This is a message from the Boss. You’re not welcome here. Time for you to go, toots,” the large man says.

  Edith never takes her eyes off Leroy. Bottles smash behind her. Drawers are yanked open and thrown to the floor.

  Struggling in the grip of the red-headed man, Leroy’s arms and legs flail. The man shakes him and cuffs him hard on the side of the head. Leroy’s head snaps back and he goes limp. The man lets the boy’s body drop to the floor.

  Edith howls and throws herself toward Leroy, but is yanked backward when she’s grabbed from behind, the grip on her arms tighten as she struggles.

  The red-headed man steps over Leroy’s body. He raises his hand to Edith. Her eyes are blazing; she doesn’t flinch. He slaps her hard, snapping her head to one side.

  “One more time. Leave town. This is the only warning you’ll get. If we have to come back, you and the boy will regret it.”

  Laughing, the red-haired man and the man with the gun leave. As soon as the man behind her releases her, she is on her knees beside Leroy. “Leroy? Honey, can you hear me?”

  Edith’s still crouched beside Leroy, who is groggy and trying to sit up, when Zeke comes in. “The bastards hit you?” He finds a towel from a nearby table.

  She grabs it, then lifts Leroy to a chair. “Animals. It wasn’t a robbery. It was a warning.”

  “Might be a good one to heed, Miz Edith. It looks like they mean business,” Zeke says, his sweeping arm taking in the injured boy and the mess of broken glass and spilled liquor at the bar.

  * * * *

  Edith bathes Leroy’s wounds and tucks him into her bed. Then she and Zeke begin to clean up the smashed bottles.

  “Where the heck were you when all this was going on?”

  “I saw th
em come out and chased after them. You’d better do what they say, Miz Edith.”

  “I’m not going to close. I haven’t even had a chance to open yet,” Edith says, sweeping broken glass into a box.

  “That’s just foolish, Miz Edith. They said they’d be back if you don’t listen. You or the boy could be really hurt next time.”

  Otis pokes his head around the door and whistles. “Looks like I missed a good bar fight. Or maybe you and the missus are having a lovers’ spat?” He points to Edith’s cut lip and bruises.

  Zeke shoots him a look. “Shaddap, Otis. Let’s get some ice on that lip of yours,” he says, turning to Edith and taking hold of her arm.

  Edith shrugs him off. “I’m fine. Mad as hell, but fine.”

  Zeke grabs some ice from the cooler and wraps it in a cloth. “Here.”

  He looks at Otis. “The Wharf Rats were here with a message for Miz Edith. To leave, or else.”

  “Sounds simple enough. So, when are you going, Miz Edith?”

  “Like I told Zeke. I’m not turning tail and running. If someone is strong enough to bring you down, show them that you’re stronger by getting up.”

  “Stronger or stupider?”

  “Enough.” Edith snaps. “Let’s get this place cleaned up. I’ll be damned if anyone is going to tell me what to do. Nobody hits me and gets away with it. They say success is the best revenge? Well, we’re going to open Saturday and they’ll be lined up out the door.”

  * * * *

  Zeke checks the locks on the door as he says goodnight to Edith. He and Otis trudge up the road into town.

  Once out of sight of Gator’s, Otis grabs Zeke’s arm. “What’s up with you? Helping clean up? Ice for her fat lip? Next thing I know you’ll be making her a nice pot of tea. You’re not having a change of heart, are you? The Boss won’t like it.”

  Zeke jerks his arm away. “Too bad for him if I am. Never could stomach seeing a dame getting hit. Never would hit one myself. You?”

  Chapter 27

  E asy enough to say—I’m not leaving—but hard to do. How can I go up against the Wharf Rats?

  Edith’s been sweeping most of the night, the same spot polished to a shine. The images of the attack continue to churn in her mind. The masks. The smell of the man who held her. The strength of his grip forcing her to arch her back over his belly. The look in Leroy’s eyes before that hairy, meaty hand violently shook him. Everything from a few hours ago is muddled with memories of Mickey: violence, coarse laughter, fear.

  The band around her chest tightens. She props the broom against the wall and rubs her chest.

  “I don’t even have a couch to sit on. Why am I here? What am I doing?” She begins to wail.

  “Miz Edith? You okay. You’re not hurt are ya?” It’s an ever-so-small voice behind her.

  She gasps, whirling around, afraid. “Oh, Leroy. Honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you get up. Do you need anything? A glass of water?”

  “No. I just woke up and was in your room. I didn’t know where you were.”

  Edith crouches down, arms out. “I’m right here, sweetie. Come here.” She wraps her arms around him, taking a deep breath of his earthy boy scent. The last child she held like this was her friend Maggie’s son, Tommy. The memory of her friend’s home in Philadelphia is a comfort. Her heart slows to a normal beat. “Let’s get you back to bed. You can stay in my room tonight. It will be morning soon anyway. I’ll dig out another pillow and blanket if I get tired.”

  One last squeeze and she leads him back to bed.

  “Who were those men, Miz Edith? Why did they want to hurt you?” Leroy’s pale face is swallowed by huge, wide eyes.

  Edith leans down and fusses with the covers tucked under his chin. “Bad men, sweetie. They don’t like me being here at Gator Joe’s.”

  “Does that mean you’re going to go?” Leroy’s lip trembles. A deep bruise is beginning to bloom on the side of his face.

  “Not a chance, Leroy. Only failures give up and I’m no failure. I just gotta figure out how to fix this. Now, do you want me to leave the light on?”

  Leroy shakes his head. “Maybe just leave the door open so I can hear you.”

  Edith turns on the hall light and sits at a table in the barroom. Restless, she gets up and goes back into her bedroom where Leroy is already asleep. She quietly opens the door to the cupboard, taking care not to wake him, and pulls out the half-finished bottle of Mickey’s whiskey from the box.

  Back at the table, she pours herself a stiff shot and downs it. The whiskey burns the back of her throat and she can feel it travel down to her stomach.

  Okay Mickey. What’s the play? I can ignore them, or I can try and do something about it. It doesn’t sound like they’re going away anytime soon, so I’m going to need a plan. Plan A could be talking to the sheriff again. Sweet lot of good that did me last time. No, no sheriff. The law is never on your side. Plan B. What could be a good plan B?

  She picks up her glass and stands by the window. Perhaps the night has answers. The glass pane reflects a woman’s pale face and dark eyes, and a large bruise. She raises one hand to the bruise and uses the other to bring her glass to her lips.

  Plan B could be to talk to the head of the Wharf Rats. Find out what’s going on. Maybe strike a deal? Facts are the first line of defense according to Henry. And he’d know. He and Mickey fought some battles in the day. A decent gangster if there ever was one. Always kind to me.

  Across the water, the dawn is beginning to lift the black sky into a deep blue. It’s now brighter than the black ink water.

  Mickey hated talking. He’d joke that he was more of a man of action. Could I take the fight to them? Maybe plan C is asking Mae to find me some muscle. She’d love to find me some muscle. Do it old school.

  At the thought of the bullets, the blood, the mayhem of machine gun fire, her hand starts to shake. She returns to the table to put the glass down. No guns.

  Her body trembling, Edith collapses into the chair. She tops up her glass, spilling a few drops on the table. It sure won’t be me pulling the trigger. I couldn’t hit the side of a barn like this.

  All right, plan B it is. I’ll talk to the head of the Wharf Rats. I’ll ask Zeke tomorrow if he knows anything about them. Find out what they want. If I can, I’ll give it to them. It’s probably money. Although if this is the shakedown to soften me up, it’s going to cost me a lot more than I expect.

  Chapter 28

  I t’s warm, even for late February. Sitting in the shade of the chickee, Cassie pulls a card showing a giant man standing astride a river. He’s holding a sprouting staff in both hands as if to defend himself. Six other wands rise before him, but he is ready for all comers.

  “Now, this looks interesting. I wish I could be a fly on the wall right now. Take care, ah-ma-chamee. You’ve worked hard to get to where you are, but some folks covet what you have and are prepared to fight you for it.

  “This won’t come as a surprise, but you’re going to have to always be proving yourself. When that Seven of Wands comes calling, you can expect to see an increase in ‘haters’ and people who disagree with you. Nothing else to do but secure your territory and fight for what you believe in. Oh, and you’d better put some thought into mapping out any potential threats or risks before moving ahead with your plans.”

  She pulls the cards together and wraps them in silk. “And you remember to keep an eye on Leroy. You stood up to the Preacher-Man, and he’s one evil fella. I’m not sure what you’ve got going on, but I’m trusting you to keep my boy safe.”

  * * * *

  Edith finds a card with a picture of a man and seven sticks or poles in the cash drawer. Picking it up, she fingers it absently. That looks like me last night. Taking on all comers. I should have known better.

  “Whatcha got there, Miz Edith?” Leroy asks, coming into the barroom.

  Edith turns. His bruise has blossomed into a dark purple mark next to his eye. “That hurt?”

  Le
roy touches the bruise and winces. “Some. How about you? We look like twins.”

  Edith rests her cool hand on her own throbbing bruise. “Only when I laugh.”

  Leroy climbs up on a barstool. “What’s that?”

  Edith tucks the card back in the drawer. “Nothing.”

  Leroy scoots past her and pulls the card out of the drawer. “It’s the Seven of Wands. Things are going to be tense for a while. Somebody wants what’s yours.”

  “Not a surprise. I think that’s what the point of last night was. You work hard to build something, and then somebody comes along and tries to take it away from you.”

  “I got your back, Miz Edith. Don’t you worry.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, Leroy. A gal always feels better knowing she’s got a strong fella looking after her.”

  Leroy flexes his chicken-wing muscles for her in the classic muscle-builder pose, making Edith laugh. “After what happened last night, I thought you might change your mind about sticking around.”

  Leroy snorts. “Nah, they’re just dumb. Hey, dumb-nuts from Coco-nut Grove,” Leroy says, grinning.

  “Coconut Grove is proving a tougher nut to crack than I thought,” Edith says with a wink.

  Leroy giggles.

  “You’re all right, Leroy. And thanks for running in last night to help. Although, maybe next time hide or something? Your Aunt Cassie would not be pleased with me if she saw your face right now. Say, have you seen Zeke yet this morning? I need to talk to him about something.”

  Leroy shrugs. “Nope.”

  “Well, if you do, tell him I’m looking for him. Now, how’s that head? Are you up to working on that path some more?”

  “Sure. I’ve got a tough noggin. Cassie says so all the time.” He knocks on his forehead and then heads outside.