The Prince of Broadway

by Joanna Shupe

  He hit the bag so hard pain radiated up his arm and into his shoulder.

  No doubt she fended off suitors everywhere she went. A woman like her, beautiful and vivacious, would attract attention at every turn. I am not innocent. Christ, why would she tell a man like him such information?

  “Here you are.”

  Anna strolled into the cellar, her skirts rustling as her heels clacked on the hard floor. How had he missed her coming down the stairs?

  She’s got you distracted. Get your head right, Madden.

  “I’m busy.”

  “Sorry to interrupt, but I had to see you right away. Jack told me I could find you here.”

  He wrapped his arms around the heavy bag and leaned against it, his chest bellowing to bring in enough air. “Oh?”

  Anna perched on top of a wooden crate. “Do you remember Charity? William Coogan, from the police commission, is a regular of hers.”

  Ah, one of the few commissioners not on Clay’s payroll—but only because Coogan was already on Mulligan’s payroll. Mulligan ran everything in town that Clay didn’t. “I know him.”

  “He told Charity tonight that the Bronze House would soon have a new owner.”

  Clay made an exasperated noise. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “You aren’t selling, are you?”

  “If I intended to sell, don’t you think you’d know about it?”

  She studied his expression. “I’m not certain. You’ve never kept secrets from me, but there’s a first time for everything, I suppose.”

  “You have my word that I would tell you, Anna.”

  “All right, you’re not selling the Bronze House. So do you have a clue what this is about?”

  He bent and grabbed the cloth he’d placed on the ground earlier. He used it to wipe the sweat off his face. “I might.”

  She waited a beat then rolled her eyes. “And?”

  “Big Bill is a prick. Nothing I can’t handle, though.”

  “I see.” She glanced down for a long moment. “Should I be worried?”

  “Not in the least. I’ve got him locked down.”

  Anna absorbed this information then slid off the crate. “I’m glad to hear it. I don’t need to remind you what my investment in this place means to me. It’s my chance at a retirement, at living in some nice house upstate, away from the filth and disease in this city.”

  “I am perfectly aware, and I won’t fail you or any of the other investors.”

  Her expression instantly softened. “I didn’t mean it that way. You’re more than an investment to me. You’re my friend. And I can’t be worried about you, too, in addition to the other multitude of worries in my day.”

  He tossed the cloth to the ground. “You don’t need to worry. I have everything under control here.”

  “Yes, I can see that.”

  He flicked a glance at her before lining up for another swing. “What does that mean?”

  “It means you never come down here unless you’re upset or bothered.”

  “That’s not true,” he lied. Yes, this was one of the outlets he used to let off steam. These days, without a regular woman, it was either hitting baseballs or boxing. “And how would you know? You’re hardly here.”

  “You are not the only one who gathers information, Clay.”

  “In this case, your information is wrong.”

  He continued his series of punches and hooks. When he finally stopped and turned, she raised an eyebrow.

  “Does this have anything to do with your missing uptown debutante?”

  “Fuck no. And she’s not missing.”

  “What was it Shakespeare said about protesting too much?”

  “I never read Hamlet,” he snapped, “and whatever he said was wrong.”

  “Then how did you know the reference was from Hamlet?”

  Growling, he faced the bag once more. “Aren’t there men next door, customers who need coddling?”

  “They can wait. I’m too busy coddling a man over here.”

  “I do not need coddling. Leave me alone. You’re as bad as Jack.”

  She shook her head and started for the door. “I hope Miss Greene returns soon, for all our sakes.”

  “No doubt your spies will inform you the instant she reappears.”

  “No doubt. Of course, there is the possibility that she won’t. Jack said she left in quite a state.”

  Clay’s chest squeezed, unwanted emotions burning at the idea that he might never see her again. It was an absurd reaction. He didn’t care whether she returned. There were more important things to concern himself with, like expanding his business. Getting revenge on Duncan Greene. Ensuring Big Bill fell in line. Discovering why the casino had experienced a flurry of cheaters in the past two weeks.

  So, yes. He had far more pressing concerns than Florence Greene.

  He forced himself to relax his shoulders. “Unless she’s changed her mind about opening a casino, she’ll be back.”

  “I admire your confidence, Clay. And I’d almost believe you meant it if I hadn’t been watching your face when I said she might never return. You looked as if you’d been punched in the stomach.”

  “Get the hell out, Anna.” He pummeled the bag with a left and right hook combination, her laughter ringing in his ears as she departed.

  “Hurry, Mamie.” Florence tugged her sister’s elbow. She was full of energy, unable to calm down. Like there was a buzz under her skin that couldn’t be ignored. Whenever she got this feeling she knew she had to escape and find some excitement. Distract herself with dance or cards, music and raucous laughter. Live. Usually Mamie was game to accompany her on these outings, though tonight Florence had used a little blackmail. “We must get there before they switch to the watered-down alcohol.”

  “I don’t understand,” Mamie said as they trudged along Thirty-First Street. “Why are we not going to the Bronze House?”

  Because I am a coward.

  Florence hadn’t visited the Bronze House in two days, during which time she’d tried to wrestle with her fascination over Clayton Madden. Her feelings were complicated and twisted, like an ever-tangling knot she couldn’t straighten. It was embarrassing, really. He probably had scads of women at all hours in the upstairs chambers, serving his every whim.

  I’m attracted to you.

  Was that why she couldn’t get her mind off him? No, she discounted that idea straightaway. A few men had professed their desire to her over the past few years. Goodness, Archibald Warner had begged to “shag her silly” at Granny’s last ball. Such words had never affected her before—so why would Clay’s?

  “Florence, are you even listening?”

  “I heard every word, and we’re not going to the Bronze House because I want to win some money tonight. I cannot gamble there any longer. We must go somewhere else.”

  “I’m just uncertain why we are racing to this place as if we’re being chased. I wish you would slow down.”

  “Stop complaining,” Florence said. “You owe me for skipping out on the Van Alans’ dinner. Headache, my foot.”

  “I’ve already apologized for stranding you alone at that event. There’s no need to torture me with a sprint across town, Florence.”

  At the corner stood Donnelly’s saloon. A side door led to the upstairs rooms, where the gambling took place, away from prying eyes and police notice. Florence had played here twice before. A few women frequented Donnelly’s to play roulette, cards, dice and other games, so the Greene sisters likely wouldn’t stick out as the only females. Though, despite dressing down this evening, they would gain notice as the only ladies.

  That couldn’t be helped.

  She slipped the man at the door a dollar and he allowed them in. Mamie followed her up the stairs and into the single large gaming room. Tables were spread out on the bare wooden floor, the cracked plaster on the walls giving the place a haunted appearance. Rough-looking men walked the perimeter, their keen eyes on the tables. The place smelled of s
weat, perfume and damp. Florence nearly rubbed her hands together, eager to get to it.

  “Well, this is charming,” Mamie drawled under her breath. “How did you ever find this place?”

  “Never mind that. Let’s play.”

  Mamie started for the roulette tables but Florence paused. She thought about her lessons with Clay. If she wanted to win, perhaps she should stick with twenty-one. After all, that game had the best odds. She touched her sister’s arm. “I’m going to play over there.”

  “Not roulette? You love roulette.”

  “I know, but I thought I’d test my skills at cards instead.”

  “I’m sticking with roulette.”

  They split up, Mamie walking to the far side of the room toward the roulette tables, and Florence to the card tables. Two older men were currently playing twenty-one. Florence took an empty chair, withdrew a small pile of bills from her handbag and turned them over to the dealer for chips.

  The play went at a steady pace. Florence recalled Clay’s advice, that each hand had its own odds and never to think beyond what was in front of her. It was relaxing, the shuffling and dealing, the watching and betting. Easy to lose track of time. She won more than she lost, and soon found herself in possession of an enormous stack of chips.

  “You’re doing well,” one of the men playing at the table said. “You must tell us your secret.”

  Florence smiled as she peeked at her cards and discovered a total of nineteen. “There is no secret. I’m just lucky, I guess.”

  The dealer observed her carefully, paying more attention to Florence than the other players. Unsurprising, as Florence was the player consistently winning. The other two had hardly any chips left. “Another card, miss?” he asked.

  “No, I’ll stay.”

  The other two players both asked for cards and ended up busting out. The dealer took one card and totaled over twenty-one. Florence won again.

  As the dealer counted out her winnings, she noted the way his gaze searched the room. What or who was he searching for? When he seemed to find his quarry, she glanced over her shoulder. The man who’d been pacing the floor, overseeing play, was staring at the dealer, some message communicated between them. Florence paused in stacking her chips, uneasiness skittering down her spine. She’d done absolutely nothing wrong. What reason had she to worry?

  After another hand, the same man appeared at Florence’s elbow. It was the floor manager. “Miss, come with me.”

  She blinked at him. “Me? Whatever for?”

  “You’re counting cards and we don’t allow that here. You need to get up and follow me. Now.”

  “Counting cards!” Her voice went high, carrying over the cavernous room. “I am not counting cards. It’s pure skill. I have no need to cheat.”

  He took hold of her elbow and roughly pulled her to her feet. “No woman has this much skill, not without cheating. I’ve been watching, remember. Come along.”

  “But you’re wrong.” She tried to grab at her chips, but the floor manager nodded to the dealer.

  “Take those chips back. She won’t be needing them.”

  “Those are my winnings!” Now she was shouting, digging her heels into the old pine to prevent him from towing her out of the room. Only, he was stronger and her resistance meant little more than an annoyance. Where was her sister? Swinging her head about, Florence searched for Mamie.

  “Stop right there!” Mamie yelled, closing in quickly. “Unhand my sister.”

  “You’re her sister?” The man turned and waited for Mamie. “Then you can come along, as well. Both of you.”

  Mamie exchanged a concerned glance with Florence before lifting her chin in that imperious way she had. Mamie was downright regal when she chose to be. “Where are you taking us?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Florence struggled to free her arm from the man’s grasp. “Let me cash in my chips and I’ll leave, I swear.”

  “Afraid I can’t do that, miss.”

  “Dash it, release me.” She tried to kick his leg but her damned skirts hampered her. “This is outrageous. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “Tell it to Donnelly.”

  He dragged her over the threshold, a locomotive sweeping her along for the ride. Her pleas and attempts to get free were for naught. When they reached the end of the hall, he opened the door and practically tossed Florence inside. Mamie came in right behind her, thank God. Florence didn’t think these men would hurt her, but she was grateful to not be alone.

  “What do we have here?” A man stood up from behind the desk. Large stacks of money were spread out over the surface, more bills than Florence had ever seen in one place.

  “Donnelly, we got ourselves a card counter.”

  “No, I never—”

  “This little thing?” Donnelly drew closer, a slow smile emerging as his dark gaze raked Florence from head to toe. His lips were dry and cracked, with dried spittle around the edges. His nose spoke of overindulgence in spirits. Fear sprinted along her veins. “I don’t care much for cheaters in my club.”

  “I wasn’t cheating.” Why would no one believe her? “I just happen to be very good at twenty-one.”

  “So good that she was up four hundred on Biddle.”

  Donnelly’s smile faded as his brows flew up. “Four hundred? Jesus fuck, that’s a lot of money.”

  “It’s how Biddle knew she was cheating.”

  “I wasn’t cheating,” she ground out.

  “Sirs,” Mamie said as she stepped forward. Logical, reasonable Mamie, ready to save Florence from another disaster. Even as Florence appreciated it, she resented the need for rescuing all the same. “Let’s remain calm. My sister is quite accomplished at cards. I have never seen her cheat, not once.”

  “Just because no one notices don’t mean it ain’t happening,” Donnelly said. “I’ve never known a woman to win that much from Biddle, even one as fancy as you.”

  “Well, you’ve never met anyone like my sister.” Mamie sounded almost proud. “She’s been tutored by—”

  “Mamie, no!” Florence said, but it was too late.

  “Mr. Clayton Madden,” her sister finished.

  Donnelly’s jaw fell as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Wait, this little blonde thing right here has been tutored by Clayton Madden? The Clayton Madden? Of the Bronze House?”

  Florence closed her eyes. The last thing she wanted was to drag Clay into this mess. It was mortifying enough that she’d been accused of cheating. To have Clay witness this humiliation would multiply her misery tenfold.

  “Yes, that same Clayton Madden. Tell them, Florence.” Mamie elbowed Florence in the ribs.

  “She’s mistaken,” Florence told Donnelly. “Clayton Madden doesn’t know me.”

  “Why are you lying?” Mamie asked. “You told me that the other night he agreed—”

  Donnelly held up his hand to the sisters and addressed his guard. “Send a note over. Let’s see if this story holds water.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Florence told them.

  “Oh, I think it is,” Donnelly said. “It’ll prove if you’re a liar as well as a cheater. Have a seat, ladies. You’re going to be here awhile.”

  Chapter Seven

  The wait was unbearable. Florence and Mamie sat in Donnelly’s office, silent, speaking only with their eyes, as Donnelly counted money at his desk. Mamie was apologetic for evoking Clayton Madden’s name and Florence let her know she wasn’t upset. The wheels had already been set in motion and now they had to see how the night played out. Florence apologized for leading them here in the first place and Mamie waved that away. It was amazing how much the two sisters could say to one another without words.

  Florence wanted to die from embarrassment. Clay would admonish Florence for being careless. She should’ve paid more attention to the dealer, keeping her winnings reasonable so as not to attract notice. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  Finally, after what felt like years, the door
opened. Jack walked in, a derby held tight in his fist. She blew out the breath she’d been holding. At least it wasn’t Clay who’d arrived.

  Jack’s gaze swept the room until it landed on Florence. When he saw her, his shoulders relaxed just before he gave her a quick nod. Had he been worried about her?

  “Bald Jack,” Donnelly said as he crossed the room. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Hello, Donnelly. Madden sends his regards.”

  Florence cringed at the mention of Clay’s name. He must think her an idiot, even though she’d done nothing wrong.

  “What seems to be the problem?” Jack asked as the two men shook hands.

  “I caught the blonde cheating at cards. Sister says she’s been tutored by your employer.”

  “She did, did she?” Jack cast Florence an enigmatic look. “What makes you think she was cheating?”

  “I wasn’t cheating—”

  “She was up four hundred on my best dealer. No one wins that much off Biddle.”

  “Ah. It’s her skill you’re questioning.”

  “Do you expect me to believe this girl could win four hundred dollars? Off Biddle? Even if she had been tutored by Madden, it’s impossible.”

  “This is ridiculous,” she said. “I am an excellent card player.”

  “She is,” Mamie put in. “I’ve seen her.”

  “Madden has taken a shine to the girl,” Jack said. “She’s quite talented.”

  “Are you . . . She and Madden?” Donnelly’s face slackened. “Are you pulling my leg?”

  “No, I most definitely am not.”

  Florence almost spoke up to deny it. After all, she and Clay were teacher and student, not lovers. They would never act on the attraction between them, not if Florence could help it. However, if Donnelly believed her under Clay’s protection then that could aid in her release. Surely Donnelly would not wish to anger Clayton Madden.

  Donnelly frowned at Florence as if trying to figure this all out. “He didn’t send her here to steal from Mulligan, did he?”

  “Careful,” Jack said, his voice laced with menace. “Think before you go making accusations. You know my employer has only the highest regard for Mulligan.”