The Canary Club

by Sherry D. Ficklin

  Now it’s my turn to shrug. “I’ll be fine. Miss you though.”

  He groans. “Benny, don’t go all sappy on me.” Then, after a chuckle, he adds, “I will miss mooching off ya, though.”

  I grin, knowing that’s as close to a teary farewell as I’m going to get.

  Two cars pass by, then a third, which swerves to a stop right in front of us, across the street from Masie’s door.

  “Listen,” he begins. “I know I ain’t said it before, well it kinda goes without saying. But what you did for me before, taking the wrap on that heist—” He doesn’t get to continue.

  I raise a finger, gesturing for Dickey to quiet, and we draw back further into the shadows. A man steps out of the car in a long trench coat and brown fedora. He slams his door, then stares up at the top floor of the building. A breeze blows past, ruffling his open jacket, exposing the telltale glint of a gun in his hand.

  Dickey lifts the Louisville Slugger he’s brought with him, and I raise my own gun as we slowly approach the man from behind. I whistle, and he jerks my direction, giving Dickey a clear shot at him.

  He makes the most of it, the wooden bat colliding with Coll’s skull with a sickening crunch, followed quickly by the sound of his body crumpling to the ground.

  “Quick,” I say, holstering my gun. “Help me get him in the car.”

  Dickey abandons the bat next to a trash pile and grabs the gun at his feet, sticking it in his belt before taking Coll’s legs in each hand. I open the back door of the car, then grab his arms. We barely manage to get him across the backseat he’s so bulky and awkward. I have to climb back over him to get out, holding my hand in front of his face to see if he’s still breathing. There’s a lot of blood pretty much everywhere, soaking my suit jacket, shirt, and the leather seats.

  To my relief, he’s still alive.

  Not that it matters, because he won’t be for long.

  Dickey slides in the driver’s seat, and I give him directions to our destination. We drive slowly, careful not to draw any unnecessary attention to ourselves as we make our way to the outskirts of the Bronx.

  “I’m just sayin’ thanks is all,” he finally finishes.

  Nodding I look back down at the unconscious man. “Oh, I think we’re about even.”

  I’m jolted awake by a stern knock at my bedroom door. Sitting upright, I flick on my bedside lamp and swing my legs out of bed.

  “Who is it?” I call, the breath hitching in my lungs as I wait for the sound of Benjamin’s voice.

  “It’s me,” JD responds, and I exhale a disappointed breath.

  Quickly grabbing a robe, I cover myself and open the door.

  “What is it?” I demand, suddenly very awake. He never comes to my door in the middle of the night, which means something must be very, very wrong.

  “It’s Benny. Dutch found out he’s been talking to the cops.”

  I take a step back, waving him into the room. “What? That can’t be right.”

  There aren’t many things I know with every fiber of my being, but one of those things is that Benjamin is no rat.

  “He says they threatened his family.”

  For a moment, the room around me launches into a tailspin and I have to sit on the edge of my bed to steady myself.

  “Did you know anything about it?” he asks, watching me intently.

  I shake my head.

  No, he never told me. Why didn’t he tell me? Unless he planned to sell us out all along. Is that all this is? Is our entire relationship just so he could get the goods on Dutch?

  As soon as I think it, I dismiss the notion.

  “I don’t believe it.”

  JD sits beside me, patting me on my uninjured shoulder. “Believe it. Artie saw him. He’s the one who told Dutch.”

  I blow a raspberry. “Well, now I really don’t believe it.”

  “He admitted it to Dutch when he was confronted tonight. And that’s not the worst of it,” he continues. “Dutch has sent him to take out Mad Dog Coll.”

  I sit, stunned into silence. Either Benjamin will go up against Vincent and be killed, or he’ll be exactly what Vincent was—my father’s personal assassin. The thought sickens me and I lean forward, cradling my stomach.

  It makes sense, in the twisted way only my father can.

  “You can’t let him do this,” I beg, grabbing the lapel of his jacket. “JD, please. You can’t let Benjamin do this.”

  He takes my hand, pulling it free gently. “It’s too late, him and his friend Dickey are already on the job.”

  I lick my lips, the world no longer spinning. Instead, it focuses onto a singular, pinpoint truth.

  I’ll have to stop him.

  “Where will they take him?” I ask. I’d never wanted to know the details before, but I’ve overheard enough over the years to know there’s a place they take people to face their maker. JD looks at me, clamping his mouth shut stubbornly.

  “I mean it, JD, you tell me right now or so help me, I’ll spill every nasty secret you’ve ever told me, I’ll tell June about the heiress, I’ll tell Daddy about the secret accounts, all of it.”

  When he still doesn’t speak, I change my tactic. “Please, JD, I couldn’t live with myself if I don’t at least try.”

  “Try to what? If you save Mad Dog, then Benjamin is as good as dead. Dutch won’t let him live if he refuses. And you know it.”

  “Where?” I demand again. He is right, of course, but I can’t force myself to care about the consequences right now. I promised him I wouldn’t let him become my father’s monster, and whatever it takes, I’m going to keep that promise.

  JD rubs his hand down his face. “Saint Raymonds.”

  Throwing my arms around him, I squeeze him tightly, ignoring the pain shooting though my still-injured arm. “Get dressed and we’ll go together,” he says when I draw back. “My car is parked out front.

  I dress quickly in a black chiffon pantsuit I purchased for Mother’s phony funeral. Slinking down the hall and into the kitchen, I quietly unlock the service entrance and slip down the rear elevator. As good as his word, his car is parked at the curb and—typical of JD—he’s left the key in the ignition.

  I crank it quickly, speeding off before anyone can stop me.

  It was kind of him to try to come, but an altogether terrible idea. If he’s involved, there’d be no limit to Daddy’s rage. At least if it’s just me, then no one can blame him for any of it.

  I speed down the roads, zigzagging my way across town into the Bronx.

  The cemetery is dark when I pull in, quickly dousing the headlights as I roll through the rows of headstones toward a car parked in the distance. It’s Vincent’s. Even in the moonlight, the automobile is unmistakable—a deep navy-blue Studebaker with whitewall tires and mint-green leather seats, the only one in the entire city.

  Pulling up alongside, I cut the engine and carefully open my door. A few feet away, there’s a tall equipment shed with a flickering light visible from beneath the closed doors.

  Slinking around the cars, I head for it, pressing my ear to the door and struggling to hear.

  “Make sure the rope is tight,” Benjamin orders.

  “I don’t see why we’re wasting time with this. Let’s just plug him and be done with it,” Dickey’s voice answers.

  A knot in my chest loosens. They’re all alive. It’s not too late. My hand is on the door handle when another voice freezes me in place.

  Vinnie spits, then offers a wet, choking laugh. “You ain’t got it in ya, kid. I can see it in your eyes. You aren’t like me and Dutch—hell, Masie has more ice in her veins than you. You really think you can pull that trigger? Nah. I don’t think so.” He hesitates and I lean closer, straining to hear the soft voice that follows.

  “You don’t know me,” Benjamin whispers. “You have no idea what I’m capable of doing to keep the people I love safe.”

  More laughter. “Sure I do, kid. I was just like you once. Young and green and willing
to go as far as I had to, to get the job done. Willing to do anything to keep my family safe. To give them what they needed. I made myself a monster for them. You think you’re different? Better? You ain’t. You just don’t know it yet.”

  “Shut your trap,” Dickey snaps, his feet scuffling across the dirt floor, passing so close to me that I jerk my hand from the door. “Let me do it, Benny. I got no problem making swiss cheese outta this jerk.”

  “If you want to live, give me an option, Vincent.” Benjamin’s tone is calm, too calm. The kind of calm my father gets right before he lashes out. It’s enough to send a shiver through me. ‘I know you care about Masie. She considers you family. I don’t want to hurt you, for her sake. But I will keep her safe, no matter what it costs me. So give me another option. Tell me you’ll leave town tonight and never come back. Start over again somewhere far from New York. Tell me you’ll do that, and I’ll put you on a train myself.”

  Relief floods through me, making my knees weak and my stomach roll. Benjamin, my Benjamin. How could I ever compare him to my father? How could I ever doubt the goodness in his heart? When everything else is stripped away, he’s still there, my light. My path through the darkness.

  “I will break her. I’ll break her in every way a person can be broken, then I’ll lay her bloody body at Dutch’s feet so that he will understand what he’s done to me, so he will hurt like I’ve hurt. I will take every good thing away from him and leave only ruin in return, then, when he’s at his lowest, I’ll put a slug in the back of his skull.” Vinnie’s words flow from his lips like gasoline on water, igniting something deep within me. I hear the cock of a hammer being pulled back on a gun and I’m moving, rage burning inside me.

  There’s only one person in that shed worth saving.

  Grabbing the handle, I slide the door open. Benjamin spins, leveling his pistol at me, then, the instant he realizes it’s me, he lowers the barrel to the ground.

  “Masie, what are you doing here?” he demands, circling behind me and closing the door. “Did you come alone?”

  “Yes, I’m alone, and I told you I wouldn’t let you do this—become this—and I mean to keep my promises, even if you don’t.”

  “How’d you know where to find us?” Dickey asks, and I shoot him a sour look.

  “Wait, whadda you mean even if I don’t?” Benjamin cuts in.

  I glance over his shoulder to where Vinnie hangs from a rafter, his hands tied together over his head. “JD told me you’ve been talking to the cops. So I gotta know…was any of this real? Or was it always just about informing on my father?”

  Holstering his gun, he takes me by the arms. “How can you ask me that? How can you still not trust me, after everything?”

  “I don’t want this. I never wanted this. You know that,” I snap, pulling free of his grasp.

  “He was outside your place, Masie. He was coming for you, and he would have killed you—or worse. I wasn’t going to let him hurt you. I’m still not.”

  “You hurt me,” I bite back, feeling the sting of my words as they strike him. “You told me you loved me.”

  “This is insane, of course I love you. Can’t you see I’m doing this for you? To keep you safe?”

  I step back again, the blood turning to ice in my veins. “That’s what my father says, too, to justify doing terrible things.”

  At Benjamin’s back, Vinnie wriggles furiously, tugging on his restraints. “You can’t save him, Mas. Can’t save any of us. It’s too late for that.”

  I slide past Benjamin, who has been rendered mute by my accusation.

  “I heard you talking about what you were going to do to me, Vincent. To my family. I didn’t realize you hated me so much,” I offer softly, holding his gaze until he stops struggling.

  He hangs mute, then spits a mouthful of blood onto the dirt floor. “I can’t let you marry that kid, Mas. It gives them too much power. Do you have any idea how dangerous this alliance makes him? Makes them all?”

  I step around him, forcing him to swing around to look at me, walking until I can hardly see Benjamin in the corner of my eye.

  “He came to Dutch demanding to be a full partner. When they refused, he threatened you. That’s why Dutch sent me to whack him,” Benjamin says, stepping a bit closer to me. “That and…Dutch knows…how we feel about each other. He thinks if I get my hands dirty, you won’t want me anymore, that you’ll marry Artie without complaint.” He pauses. “And I’m beginning to think he’s right. He knows you hate him, Masie. And he wants to make me like him, so you’ll hate me too.”

  I shake my head. “And yet, you agreed?”

  His mouth hardens into a firm line before he finally answers. “Yes, to keep you safe, I would do anything. Don’t you get that? I love you enough to lose you if I have to.”

  “Don’t you dare, Benjamin. Don’t you dare lay this on me. You’d lose me to protect me? What a crock. I don’t need it. And I don’t think I could live with myself if you did,” I say, grabbing the small pearl-grip pistol hidden in my garter. “Besides, I’d rather do this myself.”

  Before I can think twice, I point the gun at Vincent. I’d rather shoulder this burden, scar my own soul, than lose Benjamin to the darkness.

  Just as I fire, Benjamin hits me full force, driving us to the ground with a thud and a puff of dirt. The gun flies from my hand and I cry out as my wounded shoulder gives, a fresh fire licking its way through my arm and chest.

  “Masie, oh God, Masie, are you alright?” he asks, crawling off me.

  It takes me a full minute to remember how to breathe through the searing pain.

  Several things happen at once now. Vincent falls free of his ropes. I must have shot the rope accidentally when Benjamin hit me. He scrambles, his hands still tied together in front of him, to grab my pistol from the dirt. Standing, he levels it at me and I hold his dead, remorseless gaze. Benjamin rushes him, raising the gun over his head and firing a shot that hits the single light bulb—plunging the shed into darkness.

  I squint, unable to force myself to stand through the pain and unable to force my eyes to adjust to the darkness.

  Then a flash of muzzle fire, followed almost immediately by a second flash.

  The sound of multiple bodies hitting the floor.

  A scream rips its way out my throat.

  I don’t move until Masie screams. The weight atop me is too great, the desire to lie there in the dirt equally strong.

  Her voice cuts through the darkness and I heave, rolling Coll’s limp body off mine. I feel for a pulse on his neck, but there’s nothing. Just a wet, sticky stillness.

  “Benjamin,” Masie calls again.

  I crawl toward the sound. Has she been hit? I’d distinctly heard two shots. When my hand finally clasps onto her leg, she squeaks.

  “It’s me. I’m alright,” I assure her, feeling my way up her body until I can cup her cheek in my hand. “I’m alright,” I repeat over and over as I feel the first damp drops roll down her cheek and into my palm.

  “Dickey, you alright?” I call into the darkness.

  No response.

  “Dickey? This isn’t a gas; you better answer me.”

  Silence.

  Releasing Masie, I pull myself to my feet, stumbling toward the doors. When I slide them open with a groan, the moonlight pours in, offering me at least some vision. Masie lays to my left, Coll not far away toward the center of the floor, and to the far right, Dickey lies in a crumpled heap. I rush to his side, one leg slow and aching at the knee from Coll landing on top of me at an odd angle.

  When I reach him, I pull him to his back. His eyes, glassy and lifeless, reflect the blue moonlight. Rocking back on my heels, I fall to the ground, an inhuman cry escaping my throat.

  Soon, I feel Masie at my back, her arms wrapping around me, her head resting at the base of my neck while she softly hums her familiar lullaby.

  We sit like that for what feels like hours, until the first tendrils of morning crawl into the sky, the
moonlight vanishing in the early yellow glow.

  “We have to go,” Masie says, releasing me finally.

  “I know,” I say, wiping the last tears from my cheeks. There’s nothing else we can do now, nothing but run. We’ll run so fast and so far we might be able to outrun the devil himself. “You need to take your car and go, before someone notices you missing and comes looking.”

  I can feel that she’s about to protest, so I turn, stopping her with a kiss.

  When I pull back, I notice there’s dry blood smeared across her cheek, and I look down at my hands, which are caked with dry blood and dirt.

  “What will you do?” she asks quietly.

  “The gravedigger will be expecting a body,” I say quietly. “So I’ll give him one. As far as your father will know, I did as he ordered. Everything is in place for us to get out the night of the grand opening.”

  For a moment, she says nothing, then she pulls herself to standing, offering me a hand.

  “I’ll be ready,” she says, her voice strong.

  “It’s only a few days,” I reassure her. “We can do this.”

  “We can do this,” she agrees.

  * * *

  Once she’s gone, I clean up as best I can. Carefully, I drag Dickey’s body to the corner of the shed and drape a canvas tarp over him. As soon as I do, the first crimson spot appears, spreading like a blossoming flower over the hole in his chest.

  The sickness hits me too fast to swallow back, and I rush to a corner, heaving up the contents of my stomach onto the dirt floor.

  It hurts in ways I don’t expect, deep down into my bones.

  What will I tell his family? They’ve been estranged for years, but even so, they deserve to know what happened to their son.

  When I finally stop the rolling in my stomach, I kick some dirt over the pile of vomit, more to hide it from myself than from the gravedigger likely to stumble upon it tomorrow.

  Turning my attention to Mad Dog, I roll him onto his side, tugging the billfold free from his jacket pocket. I leave the cash. Pulling O’Hara’s card from my own pocket, I slip it inside before returning the wallet to its original place.