“Over my dead body,” she said.
“Easily arranged.” Violet’s finger compressed the trigger.
Betty leapt, but not fast enough. It was a blur beside her that got there first, grabbing hold of Violet’s hand as the pistol fired and forcing it aside. The bullet meant for Adina lodged in the wooden front door as Nancy and Violet crashed to the ground.
Violet screamed with rage.
“Kill them all!”
Felipe flung Adina backward into a wall like a rage doll. His eyes were empty, rapt on Violet’s directive to kill. Bleeding fists were weapon enough. Nancy leapt to Adina’s defense and took the man on, as Betty found herself sliding across the table to reach Violet. The lab rats who had been at Tin Man’s disposal came crashing back through the mess of the warehouse and threw themselves on Betty. Violet had taken their minds.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The front door rattled, thudding with the heavy force of a fist. From the other side of the front door, someone was shouting.
“NYPD! Open up!”
Thump! Thump! Thump! Somebody was ramming it from outside.
Violet pushed back against the door, floored on the inside. She scrambled to her feet and dove for the cover of the steel bench as the door broke open. Officer Malcolm Parker burst into the room. Violet was already running for the back door.
“Get her!” Betty shouted at Parker, as she roundhoused one of the lab rats who brought an empty ceramic bowl smashing down on her head. They both fell, Nasir Kader with his broken arm swinging, and Betty under the weight of the second cook as he hurled himself blindly at her with dead weight.
Parker paused only a moment to take in the scene, before spotting Violet racing for the back door. He took off after her, skidding across the bench of smashed objects.
Nancy had Felipe at Violet’s desk now, jumping across furniture as she kicked off his attempts to subdue her. The fingerless hatchet man caught her ankle and she fell. The side of her head met his boot in full force and the girl dropped with a thud, unconscious, to the floor.
“Nancy!” Adina cried out. Betty spun full circle, striking Matias the heroin cook with the lid of a crate. She looked over. Her daughter was slumped on the floor. Felipe was standing over her in a stupor, ready to kick again. With a scream of rage, Adina ran at Felipe with a chair, swinging it around her head and slamming it into the man’s back. He crashed forward, smacking his forehead against the concrete wall. He didn’t get up.
“Get her out!” Betty shouted. She swung her arm out as she fought, pointing, trying to get Adina to see what she had seen. The single Bunsen burner that was aflame at the far end of the bench, heating a large bowl of morphine and acetic anhydride as it slowly refined the mixture to heroin, wobbled precariously. The metal frame holding the bowl above shuddered with it, ready to fall. The volatile gases that had been releasing as it boiled, unmanned since Betty’s arrival, had concentrated to fill the warehouse. If the flames spread, the very air would combust. “Run! As far as you can!”
Adina gasped. She turned, bent down and heaved the unconscious thirteen-year-old girl into her arms, bowed under the weight. Adina stumbled over the prone leg of Felipe. She ran for the front door.
“Enough!” Betty growled, throwing Matias to the concrete, disarming him of a crowbar he’d scavenged from somewhere to belt her with. He was fighting as if no pain touched him. There was no sense in him, no self-preservation as he attacked. Only the directive Violet had implanted in his brain. Kill them all. Betty drew herself up. Matias buckled and screamed as the crowbar found his legs. She threw it aside and looked around for the other heroin cook, the one with the broken arm. Nasir was at the far end of the bench now, dancing behind the flames of the Bunsen burner. His fingers were on the brass cylinder, no thought for his blistering skin. He stared, seeing nothing, with the smile of a madman as he lifted the flame above the ceramic bowl, then smashed it down into the mix, collapsing them together on the benchtop of stewed poisons and smashed glass.
Whoosh!
The blaze swept the steel surface, combusting the violent gas it craved.
Betty didn’t hear the explosions. She was already moving.
She leapt ahead of the flames as they reached for her.
Dove over the steel bench.
Burst through the broken front door.
Escaped into the blinding afternoon sunlight of the alley.
Betty ran.
Behind her, the warehouse exploded in a violent ball of flames.
There was no one in sight as Betty sped past the row of derelict warehouses. But as she rounded the corner that led to the docks, she found Adina, curled on the concrete in the alcove of an abandoned doorway, her body curled protectively over Nancy, who was still out cold. Over them both, Officer Malcolm Parker had his back to the blast, his navy woolen pea coat stretched as he held his arms out and around Adina, shielding her and Nancy from the rolling wave of heat that swept the alley in Betty’s wake. He looked up as Betty reached them, her hair frayed, her lilac day dress burned and torn, sporting the scrapes and bruises of a horribly eventful afternoon. The apology in the young officer’s eyes spoke for him.
The Tin Man and Boudoir Butcher had escaped.
Betty sat on her bed. Soft jazz floated on winter’s breath through the lace curtains at her bedroom window. She had work to do. Quiet, solitary work. There were new memories in her head now, but not her own. They were the memories she had stolen from Violet Mills in that warehouse. Memories of a lost and vulnerable young woman. Betty had been surprised when she’d uncovered them in her digging. Even more surprised when a familiar face had emerged within them. It seemed Betty had more in common with the Boudoir Butcher than she had realized. Betty needed to unravel these stolen memories. She needed to understand.
She closed her eyes and brought Violet’s memory back to mind.
*
“A grand a piece. I’m not paying you to mess around over there, Vlad. You make sure every shipment is clean. I don’t want some bluecoats from Cali turning up on my doorstep riding a crate of bootleg Havanas.”
“Sure. Sure.” The blond man nodded, a faint smile playing his lips. “A grand a piece. And in return, I expect payment on time. Always. I don’t do I-owe-you’s, Mr. Pinzolo.”
“You kiddin’? You’re working for me, pal. You got that? I said I’d pay you a grand a piece and I’ll pay it on time. You just make sure your boys re-route the shipments with that address I gave you. Never send them here, you got it?”
“Of course.” The Russian looked around the warehouse. “I like your office. It’s minimalist.”
“I call it the hole,” Marco laughed, standing up from the small card table he had set with chairs in the center of the room. He looked around the sparse warehouse, dotted with crates of weapons and stolen goods. It’s my new headquarters, I’m branching out.”
“Every man must step out from the shadows of his father, yes?” Vladimir said. Though his smile seemed sincere, his eyes were, as always, unreadable. Marco Pinzolo frowned, unsure of whether he was being mocked. He must have decided the Russian wouldn’t dare.
“That’s right,” he grinned. “No harm in spreading my wings a little is there? I keep plenty busy with the docks and can-houses, but the hole is my own project. I’m gonna fill ‘er up with some new business.”
“Like these shipments of cigars?”
“Sure, like the shipments,” Marco said, waving his hand at the empty space. “Cigars, reefers, hooch, whatever falls off the truck, right? I’ll bring it all in. I’m an entrepreneur, see? I know a good deal when I steal one.” Marco laughed uproariously at his own joke. Vladimir smiled politely and smoothed back his long hair. He looked across toward the side door, where Violet sat on a crate, quiet and distracted, waiting for Marco to be finished. She was young, early twenties, with long dark hair and dazzling blue eyes that were worthy of her namesake. Vladimir’s eyes flashed at the sight of her.
“You keep impressive company,” he remarked quietly.
Marco followed his gaze across to Violet. He waved her over.
“Vi, get your pretty pins over here and meet Vlad. A new associate from California. He’s doing a bit of business with me for a while.”
“A long while I hope,” Vladimir said, reaching out. “Charmed.” As soon as Violet took his outstretched hand, the blond man pulled her closer. He trapped her hand in his own, studying her face, his unfathomable eyes sensing something in her that the bombastic manners of Marco Pinzolo could never comprehend. “You are – something special, aren’t you, prekrasnaya dama?” he said to her.
Violet stepped back, uneasy under the Russian’s intense gaze. He let her hand loose.
“She’s something alright,” Marco said, shooting Vladimir a dirty look. He stepped toward Violet, grabbing her on the backside and reeling her in. “Gets lonely pulling an all-nighter in the hole, waiting for Ernie to bring in the collection plate,” he said. “Gotta keep busy.”
“Mmm.” The Russian turned away, unimpressed. “Well, I must go. I look forward to doing business with you Mr. Pinzolo.”
“You just make sure you don’t make no mistakes on that address, right?” Marco said. “This ain’t no trip for biscuits. I want a delivery every other week, more if you can get it, right?”
“I never make mistakes, Mr. Pinzolo. You can be sure of that.” The Russian turned back, fixing his intense gaze on Violet as if he might swallow her with his eyes. “Do come visit me if you are ever in California, won’t you?” He added as an afterthought to Marco, “Both of you, of course.” The front door clicked behind him.
Marco sat back down at the card table.
“Cheeky bastard.” He drew up a line of whizz and looked around the warehouse. “Minimalist.” He looked over to where Violet was still staring at the closed front door. “I’m goin’ to meet Vito. Stay here. I’ll bring you back a frankfurter from Nathan’s.”
Violet walked over, smiling to hide the bile that had risen in her throat at the thought of eating a hot dog. She took a deep breath.
“You know I love you, don’t you Marco?”
“Sure.” He looked at her, amused, then bent to take a snort.
“Wait, I need to talk to you about something.”
“Yeah? Well, spit it out, I gotta go.” He straightened up again, annoyed.
Violet paused. She should have caught him before he spilt the snow.
“The thing is – I’m pregnant.”
“What?” Marco frowned.
Violet nodded, the movement giving her the Dutch courage she needed to give her boyfriend the good news she’d been hiding for over a month.
“It’s for real, Marco. I’m pregnant.”
Marco looked at her. He leaned back in his chair.
“You’re sure?”
“Of course I am.”
“Alright,” he shrugged, “So, sort it out.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean sort it out, don’t I? Go see Trixie at the Kat House. She knows a bird.”
“You want me to get rid of it?” Violet wrapped her arm protectively across her belly. “This baby’s ours, Marco. It’s the only family I’ve got. I thought –”
“Thought what?” Marco growled. “You know I’m married, Vi. I’ve already got two toe-rags at home. What’d’ya think Delores would say if she found out about this? She’d friggin’ lose it, that’s what.” He stood up, kicking back his chair. He took her by the shoulders, his meaty fingers lost in her dark hair. “You and me, we’re a good thing Vi, but I never promised you I’d take care of a kid. So, sort it out.”
The young woman stood for a moment, pale, stunned. She resolutely wiped her eyes.
“And what if I don’t want to?”
Marco studied her defiance. He let her shoulders go, stretching and clenching his fingers, then stepped back. He shrugged and shook his head.
“Then you take your little problem somewhere else.”
Violet took a deep breath. Her eyes hardened against Marco’s bullish frame. The one she’d thrown her affection to every night since he’d picked her up at the docks almost a year ago after he’d come across her alone, drowning her anger in brandy stingers. That night Marco had slopped over to her like an overgrown puppy, full of bourbon and jokes, throwing money and compliments at her, as if she was just another girl. A normal girl. And when he’d brought her back to this warehouse and made promises that spilled into the next day, then the next, and the next, she’d wanted to believe it. She’d been alone for five years. No family. No friends. Violet usually played her cards close to her chest. But this card, she’d given him, fair play. And he’d played her.
She felt like a fool.
“So, where should I take my little problem? To your pops?” Violet asked, lifting her chin. “Maybe Donald Pinzolo should know a few other things while I’m getting to know him. Like how you’re skimming the till at Kitty’s every night? Or how you screwed up the Veller job and got Paulie put in the tank for it? Or how you’re setting up a deal with that creepy Russian guy and keeping it off the books?”
Marco’s neck turned a blotchy red. He raised a fist. Violet stepped back. Marco had made good on his threats before.
“You tryin’ to make a monkey outta me?” he snarled. “Don’t do it, Vi. Pop ain’t gonna give a rats’ what you say about the bun in your oven. He’s a family man, see, and you ain’t in the family. Those grandkids I gave him, they’ve got him wrapped around their snotty little fingers. I did that already. I’ve got Delores for takin’ care of that shit. You think some chippy with a smart mouth is gonna make him turn against his favorite son? You think it’s the first time this has happened? You’re a friggin’ joke.” Marco sat back down, watched her for a moment, then laughed, derisively. He pulled his wallet from inside his coat pocket, flicked out a pile of greenbacks and tossed them at her. They fluttered to the concrete floor.
“You were good.” His eyes scraped across her blue silk dress, now hugging in places it hadn’t a few months ago. “I might even miss ya while I’m doing time in the hole. But you weren’t that good.” Marco bent forward, finally taking the snort of cocaine he’d left waiting. He sat back in his chair, eyes watering and swayed a little.
Violet’s face was burning. Her eyes stung. Her fingers touched her belly. For just a moment, she’d thought she was going to be a normal girl. The sort with a boyfriend and a baby. Or maybe, if Marco had ever pushed off that sap Delores, the sort of girl with a proper husband. A husband with money and protection. Someone worthy of her.
No.
The stage lights had fallen, and she was back in the dark. Violet was drowning again. Alone again. She squeezed her eyes shut. Clenched her fists. Fought the overwhelming urge to punish him. To take his mind and use his body the way she knew she could. To walk him off the pier and watch him sink. I’ve been so stupid. I let him in. I even loved him.
“You’ll regret this,” Violet said bitterly. Even so, she knelt and picked up the sheaths of paper money, feeling like a beggar.
“I already do.” Marco stood up, shoved his sausage fingers into his gloves and walked to the front door. “Vito’s waitin’. Lock it when you leave.”
*
Betty opened her eyes. She was exhausted. Having to witness Marco Pinzolo’s cruelty once again stirred her own bad memories and left a nasty churning in her gut.
So, little Teddy is Marco’s son. I wonder if Donny ever found out.
Betty sighed. It wouldn’t surprise her if Donny had known; Marco was right, there was no advantage in taking ownership of an illegitimate child. No doubt there were others floating around too, Marco had alluded to as much. But Violet. What on earth could have possessed her to make such a match? Betty only wished she’d had more time to dig. To find out where Violet had come from and why she was so alone. So angry.
Betty could assume Violet’s moveme
nts after Marco had rejected her, pieced together with what she knew from Abraham Lawrence. At some point, she had run off to California. Betty stood up, went to her dresser and found the note Violet had written for Adina at St. Augustine’s Home for Unwanted Boys.
Theodore Mills, born 7th of July 1938 at the West 63rd Street Magdalen Home for Unmarried Mothers. Adina had added a line underneath at Betty’s request. Father unknown.
After Teddy had been taken against Violet’s will by the nursing sisters after a traumatic birth, she had spent the better part of five years searching for him. It was a miserable business, and one Betty had escaped only through good luck and the kindness of strangers when she was, herself, unmarried, penniless and pregnant at only fifteen years old.
At what point then, did Violet track down the blond Russian? How did he convince her to reveal the powers she obviously hid from Marco? What had he promised her, to help him build his empire? Revenge on Marco? On Donny? The money and resources to find her baby? That last one was certain. Violet had amassed a small fortune for her efforts working for Vladimir. It was she who bought that warehouse under a private company name after Marco was dead – Abraham Lawrence had confirmed its sale, he just hadn’t known who the buyer really was, or why.
One thing seemed certain – Violet Mills had finally embraced her gift for mind-control at Vladimir’s behest. She murdered for him and profited from it. And there was no limit to what she would do to get what she wanted. Teddy.
Ding Dong!
Betty put down her cup of tea and hurried to the front door, smoothing her apron. Little Georgie was next door playing with Teddy and Nancy was upstairs in her bedroom. Her daughter had recovered well enough over the past few days, but was still a little withdrawn. Betty was giving her time to rest. Meanwhile, Betty was expecting a delivery of cosmetic samples – the first in the new Spring line and was pleased to see Cliff, the postal worker, bouncing on his toes on her doorstep, a large box under one arm, and a letter in his hand, with George’s handwriting across the front.
Lady Vigilante (Episodes 16 – 18) (Lady Vigilante Crime Compilations) Page 22