“How many are there?” Niklaus asked.
Emilio handed him the first two bottles and reached into the darkness of the bottom shelf. “If all of these are rum, then eight.”
“More than enough,” Steven whispered. “And I found these.” He held up a stack of folded white napkins. “Let’s get to work.”
“Is she ready?” Abbadelli paced the strip of dance floor in front of the stage. “I want to see what our new piccolina looks like all dolled up.”
“These things take a little time. A little makeup, a few finger curls in her hair, a few spritzes of perfume.” Magdalene strode between the tables toward Abbadelli. “By the way, in case you were wondering, the dress you had just laying around happens to fit her perfectly.” Her eyes narrowed. “Funny how it wasn’t in my size.”
“You’re not our only performer, my dear.” He pulled Magdalene into his arms and nuzzled her just below her ear. “And, as you know, I’m always prepared.”
“Oh, you are that.” Magdalene turned her head to one side, leaving the kiss Abbadelli intended for her lips exiled to her high cheekbone.
“I put on the dress.” From the women’s washroom across the way, Lena stood framed by the doorway, hands on her hips and mouth pulled to one side. Her simple street clothes exchanged for a slinky white dress with accents the color of ripe cherries, she clearly had Abbadelli’s undivided attention. “What do you want me to do now?”
“Ah, I knew something special hid buried underneath those tomboy togs.” He motioned for her to join him by the piano. “Come over here. Let’s see if our newest cigarette girl knows how to sashay across a crowded room.”
Fuming, Lena stalked toward Abbadelli, fists at her sides.
“Stop.” Abbadelli shook his head. “I said sashay, not stomp.” He swirled his finger in the air. “Now, give me a spin.”
Lena raised a finger of her own before spinning around and grabbing a chair from a nearby table. With as little grace as possible, she sat backward on the cloth seat and rested her elbows on the back of the chair. “You don’t know it yet, Mr. Abbadelli, but you’re going to regret this.”
“Regret?” He laughed once, his lips pursed in a contemptuous smirk. “I don’t know the meaning of the word.”
“You will.” Lena raised an eyebrow and returned Abbadelli’s disdainful stare in kind.
“Your friend is dead and no one else on the planet knows where you are.” Magdalene glided over to Lena’s table, showing her, no doubt, how a “sashay” was done. “We could chop you up and feed you to the dogs and no one would be the wiser.”
“Overconfidence always was your Achilles’ heel, Maggie,” Lena said, granting the someday Black Queen half a second before returning her attention to Abbadelli. “And now—”
Magdalene pounded her fist on the table. “Do not presume to speak as if you know the first thing about me, child. You don’t know anything about who I am or what I’m capable of.”
“Don’t I?” Lena rose from her seat. “You talk a big game, Mags, but that’s pretty easy when you have your mobster boyfriend here with all his men and guns to back you up. Not to mention, of course, that you still let him touch you even as he’s flirting with a sixteen-year-old girl right in your face.” Lena’s eyes went up and to the side, as if deep in thought. “Cockiness mixed with low self-esteem. Must suck to be you.”
“Shut your insolent mouth.” She rushed forward and slapped Lena across her face. “I’ve had people filleted for less.” She grabbed one of the champagne flutes from the table and smacked it against the back of a chair, leaving a crystal dagger in her trembling hand. “And, most importantly, you stupid cow…” Her green eyes went glacier cold. “My name…is Magdalene.”
“Now, now, my dear,” Abbadelli intoned. “No need for such dramatics.” He calmly strode up behind Magdalene and took her by the shoulders. “The cleaning ladies only come once a week.” He motioned to the far corner of the room where the quartet of woman continued to dust, sweep, and otherwise refine the room’s decor, all the while doing their best to ignore the scene taking place at the room’s center. “Let’s not make them even more of a mess to clean up.” He cast an angry glance in Lena’s direction. “Would be a real shame if we got blood all over the place, don’t you think?”
Jimmy stepped in from the kitchen. “Everything all right out here?”
“Nothing we can’t handle.” Abbadelli returned his attention to Lena. “A little less attitude from you and I think you might actually fit in quite well here.”
“What makes you think I’d stay here a second longer than I had to?” Lena glowered in Abbadelli’s direction. “Much less work for you?”
“Oh, people have a way of coming around to my way of thinking.” Abbadelli pulled Magdalene into him. “Isn’t that right, my dear?”
Ignoring Abbadelli, Magdalene grasped Lena’s chin in her taloned hand. “Just try and escape. The last person who did met the same end as your friend. You want to bleed out in a back alley like him?”
Abbadelli shot a concerned look toward the rear of the club. “Where is Milo, anyway? I know I gave him permission to work out a little of his frustration on Mr. Bauer’s face, but he’s usually a bit more efficient than this.” His eyes flicked to Jimmy. “Can you go check on—”
“Fuego!” The heart-stopping scream came from the Latina cleaning woman, her ample face pale with terror as she pointed toward the front of the club and the thick black smoke pouring under the door.
“What the hell?” Jimmy sprinted to the door, stripping a tablecloth from a bare table and snagging a pitcher of water from another as he ran. The quartet of cleaning women nearly bowled over the club’s owner as they bolted as one for the kitchen.
“What have you brought upon my place of business?” Abbadelli pushed Magdalene out of the way, grabbed Lena’s shoulders, and shook her. “Who’s doing this?”
Magdalene’s face fell, even as the color rose in her cheeks and the anger in her eyes. “Bauer.”
“Give that lady a prize.” The door to the kitchen flew open as Steven stepped out into the club. In one hand, he held a bottle of Abbadelli’s best rum, its mouth stuffed with an alcohol-soaked rag; in the other, a lit Zippo lighter.
Magdalene drew back even as Abbadelli stepped forward. “You are far more resourceful than I imagined, Mr. Bauer. What a shame that fate has set us on opposite sides.” Any joviality left the man’s features as he crossed his arms, a cool detachment oozing from his every pore. “I suppose the only thing left to ask is, what now?”
“Now, Mr. Abbadelli.” He held the makeshift torch high above his head and brought the lighter dangerously close to the cloth. “We talk.”
28
Threaten & Defend
“All right, Mr. Bauer.” Abbadelli released Lena and took a step in Steven’s direction. “You are understandably upset, but let’s not do anything rash.”
“You mean like kidnapping and attempted murder?” Steven moved to a table covered with folded cloth napkins and allowed the lighter’s flame to flirt with the rag hanging from his makeshift bomb. “Just making sure I’m clear on what we’re discussing here.”
Abbadelli froze in his steps. “Fine.” He raised his hands before him, palms out. “You have my undivided attention.”
“Hey, boss.” Jimmy worked to stuff the wet tablecloth beneath the club’s main door. “I’ve got the smoke stopped, but the door is hot as an oven.” His voice dropped a few decibels. “We’re not getting out that way.”
“Only one way out of here, then, and that’s through me.” Steven held the bottle-made-bomb before him. “Let me leave with Lena unless you want to see this place go up in flames.”
“You strike me as a moral man, Mr. Bauer. What of the cooks in the back? And the waitstaff?” Abbadelli crossed his arms, defiant. “Would you endanger their lives as well?”
Steven tilted his head to one side and slid into a snide grin. “I talked all your employees into taking the rest of
the evening off.” He brandished the bottle of rum before him and threatened again to set the cloth alight. “Strangely enough, they didn’t need much convincing.”
Jimmy pulled up alongside Abbadelli, the trained placidity of his expression at odds with the beads of sweat coursing down his forehead. “What now, boss?”
“Simple.” Magdalene stepped in front of both men, grabbed Lena by the hair, and brought her champagne glass shiv to the girl’s jugular.
Lena jerked away instinctively, leaving a small line of blood beneath the angle of her jaw.
“You want the girl to live, right?” Magdalene’s lips parted in an all too familiar smile. “Then put down that bottle before you blow yourself to smithereens.”
Steven set his jaw. “Do you really want to see this place burn to the ground?”
“Not especially.” Magdalene’s eyes narrowed. “Do you really want to see this beautiful girl bleed like a stuck pig?”
“Lena!” Emilio charged from the kitchen. “Get away from her, bruja.”
Dammit. Steven ground his teeth in frustration. He was supposed to stay out of sight.
“Emilio,” he whispered. “Stand down. I’ve got this.”
Magdalene’s gaze flicked to Emilio and then back to Steven. “Ah, so this is Miss Cervantes’ little lover boy. Excellent. I must admit, Mr. Bauer, handsome though you are, the thought of you with such a young thing frankly turned my stomach a bit.”
Emilio’s fists went white at his sides. “Says the woman who’s screwing a man old enough to be her father.”
“Careful, boy.” Abbadelli raised a conciliatory hand in Magdalene’s direction, his voice shifting into a quiet sing-song. “My lady love has quite the sharp sliver of crystal less than an inch from your girl’s neck. Magdalene Byrne may be known for many things, but an even temper isn’t one of them.”
Emilio shook with anger, but one look into Lena’s terrified eyes convinced him to keep his tongue.
“So, Mr. Bauer. It would appear we have reached an impasse.” Abbadelli studied him like a pool shark lining up a shot. “A stalemate if you will.”
Stalemate. Steven tasted bile. As if there were any question all of this was still somehow part of the Game.
“Mr. Abbadelli.” Steven worked to keep any hint of emotion from his voice. “It’s clear that you’re a man who understands the fine art of negotiation. All we want is Lena. Give her to us, and we’ll leave this place without another word, never to be seen or heard from again.” He clicked the Zippo lighter closed. “I have no desire to leave this place a smoking cinder.” He reopened the lighter, and with a flick of his thumb, the flame returned to its previous glory. “But make no mistake, hand her over, right now, or this place goes up like the Fourth of July.”
Abbadelli glared, a war playing out on his face.
“Let her go,” he said after what seemed a century.
“B-but—” Magdalene sputtered. “We can’t let him win.”
“Do you want to see everything we’ve built go up in smoke?” Abbadelli’s voice grew as sharp as a barber’s razor. “Let. The girl. Go.”
Magdalene considered for a moment, a battle raging in her own furious gaze, the crystal edge drawing blood anew from the skin beneath Lena’s ear.
“Emilio,” Lena whispered. “I love you.”
“Mr. Abbadelli.” Steven lit the cloth hanging from the mouth of the rum bottle. “Last chance.”
“Enough.” Abbadelli grabbed his lover’s hand and pulled the shattered champagne flute from Lena’s neck, a single drop of blood flying from the crystal’s razor edge and staining the pristine white cloth atop the nearest table.
“Lena!” Emilio shouted, not moving an inch.
Abbadelli knelt by Lena’s side. “Get up, Miss Cervantes, and go to your man.” When Lena hesitated, his voice dropped to a low growl, his gaze locking with Steven’s. “Now, before I change my mind.”
Lena ran to Emilio’s arms. “Thank God, papi. I never thought I’d see you again.”
“You’re safe now, mami.” Emilio held Lena tight in one arm and leveled an accusatory finger at Magdalene with the other. “As for you, if we ever cross paths again…”
“Don’t you worry, boyo.” Magdalene stepped forward, a snake drawing close to strike. “If we do indeed cross paths again someday, only one of us will walk away.”
“Come on, you two.” Steven stepped backward toward the kitchen, holding the lit bottle of rum like the grenade it had become. “Let’s get out of—” His words cut off by a pinch at his left chest, he cast his gaze left and right looking for the cause of Amaryllis’ warning.
“Steven,” Emilio shouted. “Look out!”
“Milo, no!”
Abbadelli’s bellowed command barely registered in Steven’s mind as a force like a flying cinderblock impacted the back of his head, sending him to his knees. His vision went black and his ears roared as the flaming bottle flew from his hand. Somewhere in the distance, a cacophony of shattering glass ended in a blood-chilling scream.
Seconds to centuries later, Steven’s senses returned, and everything had changed.
Milo lay on the floor as unconscious as they’d left him in the alley half an hour before, the scattered pieces of one of the dining room’s chairs lying about his fallen form in disarray.
Emilio and Lena had an arm beneath each of Steven’s shoulders and were dragging him backward toward the kitchen.
And not ten feet away, Jimmy and Franco Abbadelli worked frantically to put out a fire that had engulfed one of the club’s tables.
No.
Not the table.
The person atop the table.
Magdalene, her satin dress rendered into so much ash, lay atop the charred tablecloth as naked as the day she was born. Her skin blistered and red, her face had taken the brunt of the flame, no doubt from the fur collar that had caressed her neck and cheeks moments before. Her hair as well, perfectly coiffed with whatever product was the rage in 1936, had gone up in flames, leaving her scalp barren and charred. Her breathing ragged, every inhalation came coupled with a whistling sound that raised the hairs on Steven’s neck.
He wasn’t sure which unnerved him more, the stridor in her every inhalation or the screams that fell between.
“Good God,” Steven whispered, finally able to form words. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Get the hell out of my club,” Abbadelli shouted as he threw pitcher after pitcher of ice water onto Magdalene’s exposed body. “And God himself have mercy if I ever lay eyes on any of you again.”
Emilio and Lena pulled Steven into the kitchen, the door swinging shut on the terrible sight of Magdalene’s immolated form. They were halfway to the stairs leading to the alley when the strength finally returned to Steven’s legs.
“Hold on a second, you two.” He got his feet beneath him and stood. “I think I’ve got this.”
The room spun for a few seconds before stabilizing just a couple degrees askew. Steven took a few careful steps before leading Emilio and Lena for the exit leading to the club’s back alley. Only the subtle hiss of the gas burners and the sputtering of the various abandoned pots and pans filled with food no one would ever eat broke the kitchen’s strange silence.
As he rounded the corner and hit the club’s back hallway, the answer as to where Niklaus had gone became apparent.
“Nik!” Finding his friend’s massive form crumpled at the bottom of the stairs leading out, Steven rushed to kneel at the man’s side. “Are you okay?”
“I think so.” Niklaus looked up at Steven, his eyes glazed over in a bemused stare. “Did you save Lena?”
“She’s fine.” Steven stepped aside, revealing Lena’s flustered half-smile. “But there’s no time for reunions. We’ve got to get out of here.”
Emilio knelt with Steven at Niklaus’ side. “What happened to you, Nik?”
“I set the fire at the front door like we talked about and then sprinted back to the alley to join you guys. Halfway
down the stairs there, I ran into a group of old women rushing for the exit. I dodged to one side to let them pass when out of nowhere, one of them tagged me with a punch to the chest that dropped me like a rag doll.”
“A single punch?” Lena asked.
Niklaus nodded. “She hit me, square in the breastbone. A second later, I got really hot and my legs went out from under me.” A few blinks allowed his bleary eyes to focus on Steven’s. “She followed the other women out, leaving me in a pile at the bottom of the stairs. A minute later, that big lug from the alley came back inside looking ready to rip someone’s head off. Stepped right across me like I wasn’t even there.” Niklaus’ disjointed gaze dropped to his chest in defeat. “I tried to stop him, but I couldn’t move.”
“That must have been some punch.” Steven rubbed at the back of his head. “I can relate.” He offered Niklaus a hand. “Think you can get up? Not sure how much of a head start we have.”
Niklaus offered Steven a weak smile. “I’ll give it my best shot.”
Steven helped Niklaus to his feet and, with Emilio’s assistance, they made it up the stairs to the door leading to the alley.
“None of this makes any sense,” Emilio said as Steven opened the door. “Why would a random cleaning woman in 1936 even know who Nik is, much less hit him?”
“And what did she do to you?” Lena waited until everyone made it out and closed the door behind them. “I mean, you’re a pretty big guy. Did she—I don’t know—drug you?”
“No,” Niklaus groaned, “but that was one hell of a punch.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Dropped me like a puppet with its strings cut.” He leaned against the brick and turned to Emilio. “And her appearance here today was anything but random.”
“What do you mean?” Steven asked.
Niklaus pulled an envelope from his coat pocket. “After gorilla boy came through, she returned just long enough to leave this with me.”
“Another letter.” Steven took the envelope and peered inside. “Did you read it?”
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