A Veil Removed

by Michelle Cox

  “Let her go!” Clive shouted, taking a step toward Neptune.

  Neptune, in response, shot a bullet into the ceiling, causing Henrietta to scream. “I said stay back!” he shouted at Clive.

  “Okay, okay,” Clive said hurriedly, his hands in the air. “I’m back.”

  “That’s it,” Neptune wheezed. “Nice and easy. I don’t want to kill you willy-nilly. I want to have some fun with it, which I’m gonna do in a minute. Then you and me is gettin’ outta here,” he said to Henrietta. “It won’t be the same, ’cause you ain’t no virgin anymore, but I have things I can do,” he cackled again.

  Henrietta’s heart was racing, and she felt herself succumbing to panic. If only she could get Rose’s gun out of her handbag, she thought, suddenly remembering it. Why hadn’t she thought to take it out before she came in?

  “Come here, Cherry,” he said pulling Henrietta by the hair so that she stumbled forward. “I’m gonna call you Cherry from now on. Like that?” he asked her with a wicked grin.

  Henrietta did not respond.

  “I said, like that?” he repeated, yanking her hair again.

  “Yes,” she gurgled.

  “Stop it!” Clive shouted.

  “You have no say in this anymore, Copper, so shut the fuck up!”

  Henrietta took the few seconds afforded her by Neptune’s distraction to avert her eyes to where Davis lay. His eyes were closed now, and she feared that he might have already died. Frantically she fought the tears that threatened to well up. With his hands still raised, Clive said, “Look, Neptune, or whatever your name really is,” his voice filled with more anxiety than Henrietta had ever heard from him, though she could tell he was fighting to sound in control, “we can surely come to some arrangement. Let us go, and you can name any sum. I can easily raise it,” he offered eagerly. Henrietta could hear the desperation in his voice, and it cut her to the quick.

  “That ain’t what you told me before,” Neptune said coolly. “Singin’ a different tune now, ain’t you? Nah, I ain’t never lettin’ this one go,” he said, tugging Henrietta’s hair again. “She’s mine now,” he said, giving her head a little shove as he released her finally and pointed his gun at Clive, gripping it with both hands. “And I can’t let you go. You’d never stop chasin’ me. Yer just like me, see? Obsessed,” he whispered. “We’re both obsessed with the filly. That makes us the same, don’t it?” he asked with a grin. “No, we got to go now. Rodge!” he shouted suddenly, causing Henrietta to jump.

  No one appeared in response to this call, so Neptune turned his head toward the door that Henrietta had come through just a few moments ago, though it seemed like an eternity. “Rodge!” Neptune shouted again.

  Still no one appeared.

  “Where the fuck is he?” Neptune said irritably. “I tell him to do one fuckin’ thing . . .” Neptune moved sideways toward the door. When he reached it, he kept the gun trained on Henrietta, and Clive beyond, and looked out briefly into the darkened tavern. He spun his head back then and snarled, “No funny business, Copper.” He took a step backward so that he was half in and half out of the room. “Rodge!” he called into the darkness again.

  Instinctively Henrietta knew she had to act. Their only chance was Rose’s gun. Quickly she unzipped the handbag, hoping that if she did it fast it would not make as much noise, but it did, and Neptune heard it.

  “What was that?” he snapped, turning his eyes toward her.

  Before she could answer, a man barged into the room, almost knocking Neptune’s gun out of his hand as he did so.

  “Cops, boss,” the man almost whined. “Fucking cops!”

  “You bastard!” Neptune shouted at Clive, his face flushed a deep red with rage. “You double-crossing fucking bastard!” He cocked his gun and aimed it at Clive.

  “It wasn’t me! I swear it!” Clive said, taking a step back.

  “Boss, come on. We’ve got to get out of here. Shoot him, take the dame, and let’s go,” Rodge urged, making a move toward Henrietta, presumably to grab her.

  “Stay back!” Henrietta said, her voice wavering as she shakily held Rose’s gun in her hand. She dropped the handbag she had been holding and gripped the gun with both hands now to try to hold it steady.

  “Is that a toy?” Rodge asked, an amused sneer on his face. He had stopped in his tracks at the first sight of the gun, but now he continued toward her. Henrietta took a step back, raising the gun higher until it was aimed straight at Rodge, internally panicking as she realized that she didn’t actually know how to use it. Well, it was too late now. Squinting her eyes and bracing her shoulders, she squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened.

  “Give me that,” Rodge said and lunged for her, stepping over Davis’s inert body to get to her. Just as he did so, however, an apparently still-alive Davis managed to raise his leg and weakly kick him, which was enough to catch the goon off-guard and cause him to at least stumble.

  “Henrietta!” Clive shouted, holding his hands as if to catch something. Swiftly she understood and tossed him Rose’s gun.

  Neptune, momentarily distracted by Rodge’s stumbling movements and Davis’s apparent resurrection, spun toward Clive, but it was too late. Upon catching the gun, Clive instantly cocked it as he ducked low and expertly fired three shots into Neptune’s chest, causing him to instantly collapse. He quickly turned the gun on Rodge, then, who had recovered enough to raise his gun at Clive. Before he could fire, however, Clive shot, and Rodge’s big body slumped to the ground, causing Henrietta to let out another scream. Both Clive and Henrietta remained frozen for a moment or so after, the reality of what had just happened taking several seconds to sink in, before Clive moved. After a quick glance at Henrietta, frozen with her hands over her mouth, he raised himself up from his crouched position and hurried over to where Neptune lay in a pool of blood and kicked him over with his foot. He was obviously dead, with three holes gouging his chest, but Clive, standing over him, cocked the gun again and, aiming it at Neptune’s chest, fired again, causing the body to lift slightly off the ground from the force of it at such close range. “That’s for my father,” he said, bitterly.

  Henrietta could hear Clive’s voice speaking, but it was as if it were from a far distance, as if she were in a tunnel and the light at the edges of the room was beginning to close in on her. She felt suddenly weak, as if she could no longer stand . . .

  “Henrietta!” she heard Clive shout and then gratefully felt his arms go around her. She sank into his arms and breathed in his scent, as he ferociously deposited kisses on her head. “Darling, are you all right? Are you hurt? You were marvelous,” he said in a choking voice. “I’m going to kill you, though, you know. How could you do such a thing?”

  Henrietta wanted nothing more than to be held by him, to retreat into him and let him take care of her, but something was niggling in the back of her mind. “Davis,” she croaked. Clive released her, then, and they hurried, Henrietta practically crawling, to where Davis lay, his eyes closed.

  Henrietta was no nurse, but even she could see that it didn’t look good. The wound was on his left side, just under his ribs, and he was losing a lot of blood. She had seen her share of bar fights over the years but had never seen a gunshot wound. There was so much blood pooling around him that she thought she might be sick. She didn’t see how he could possibly live through this, and she fought back tears.

  “Davis, you bastard,” Clive said, his voice thick.

  “Oh, sure. Blame me,” Davis rasped, his eyes still closed.

  Henrietta let out a little cry. “Oh, my God, Clive. Do something. Quickly!”

  Clive had already positioned himself on Davis’s other side, squatting beside him and putting a finger to his neck to feel his pulse. “Jesus. Hang on, Davis,” he said, pressing his hand on the wound. “Where are these goddamned cops they were talking about?” he muttered, looking over his shoulder as if they might appear. Bizarrely, as if on cue, sirens were heard wailing in the distance.

&n
bsp; “Davis!” Clive said, lightly slapping him on the face. “Stay with me. Was it you who arranged for the police escort?”

  “Of course it was me,” Davis muttered, his eyes still closed. “I’m not stupid enough to go into a mob bar alone without backup. Can’t speak for others, though,” he said, coughing blood now.

  “Stay with him,” Clive commanded. “Put your hand there,” Clive said, indicating the wound. Upon removing his hand, blood began to ooze again. Henrietta felt the vomit rise in the back of her throat, but she forced it down and made herself put her hand on the wet, warm hole in Davis’s abdomen. “Harder!” Clive commanded as he rose. “I’ll be right back,” he said, running through the door, presumably to direct the police.

  With her free hand, Henrietta struggled to find her handkerchief in the pocket of her skirt. She finally dug it out and pressed it onto Davis’s wound, struggling to hold back her tears. Oh, please don’t die, she prayed desperately. It would be all her fault. Her mind was going in so many directions at once. Had Clive really just killed Neptune? she thought next and looked over her shoulder at the lifeless body only a couple of yards from her and felt herself begin to shake. She looked back to Davis now, who was deathly pale and unconscious, his breathing becoming more and more labored. “Come on, Frank,” she begged, terrified all over again, her hands full of sticky, red blood. “Hold on.”

  Chapter 22

  Elsie bit her hangnail again, causing a tiny bubble of blood to well up in the corner of her thumb. Instinctively, she sucked it, the familiar metallic taste filling her mouth as she walked among the tropical greenery of the hidden greenhouse on the seventh floor of the Skyscraper. She had nearly forgotten about this place, having only seen it once on her initial tour of the grounds with Henrietta. Sr. Bernard had explained at the time that it was a “living laboratory” for the private use of the botany students. And while it was not officially off limits to other students, its use as a recreational spot was certainly not encouraged, lest any of the plants or specimens be damaged, Sr. Bernard had further explained at the time. In fact, most of the girls didn’t even know of its existence.

  It had therefore taken Elsie not a little detective work to actually find this small Eden again on her own, but she had eventually been successful and wandered now along the narrow pea-gravel paths between the different shades of vegetation. She hoped no one would mind her merely walking here, and she clasped her hands behind her back lest she give in to the temptation to reach out and touch something alive and growing. She had woken this morning feeling very unsettled and utterly sick to death of the miserable weather, and the greenhouse had somehow come to her mind from almost the first moment she opened her eyes. Normally, she would have pushed away such fanciful thoughts, but today, after a small cup of tea, she decided to seek it out, like a warm, green beacon in a frozen landscape of white and gray.

  She sighed heavily and sat down at the feet of a statue of the Virgin Mary, which doubled as a fountain, softly gurgling water and oddly soothing, in the center of the garden. Elsie sat on the low cement wall that surrounded it, tracing the rough grooves of the grout with her finger. She knew she should probably be thinking about what had happened between her and Lloyd last night and how she was going to explain it to Aunt Agatha, but as worrisome as that situation was, something else was pressing on her more.

  After Lloyd left last night, Gunther asked her if she still wished to go see her mother and offered to still accompany her. At first, she was inclined to refuse, but he encouraged her, saying it would be good to get some air. She agreed, then, thinking that he might be right, and signed out under Sr. Bernard’s watchful eye.

  Luckily, they did not have long to wait for a motorbus to come lumbering up Sheridan, but they had to ride along in the dark, the interior bus lights being out of order for some reason. At first, the darkness and the fact that there were so few people sitting near bothered Elsie, but as they rode along in silence, Elsie listening to Gunther’s quiet, rhythmic breathing beside her, she welcomed it, and a confessional mood stole over her. It somehow seemed necessary after what he had witnessed between her and Lloyd, as if she needed to explain the situation and herself, and so she began to talk, haltingly at first. But then, as if some sort of stopper had been uncorked, she found herself going on and on. She told him all about Stanley and even Harrison, though she stopped short of actually saying they had had “relations,” just that he had . . . well, taken advantage. She had even gone so far as to tell how she had agreed to elope with Harrison, but that Clive’s sister and father had intervened. That was before he had died—Alcott, that is.

  She stopped here, rather abruptly, not knowing what else to say. Silence descended upon them again, and she began to fear that she had said too much. Gunther had not said anything at all during her long exposition, and he didn’t say anything now, but he gave her hand a long squeeze through their gloves. Elsie could not feel the warmth of his hands, but she at least felt the pressure and somehow knew from that simple gesture that he neither judged nor condemned her. Even when they finally disembarked and began to walk toward Palmer Square, he still did not comment on her story, but instead, mercifully, began talking about all of the strange people who had at times rented rooms from his mother back in Germany, as if he could sense she needed him to talk now.

  “It must have been a big house,” Elsie said encouragingly, grateful for his perception.

  “It was, yes. Very old and rambling. Like big barn with many geister . . . ghosts . . . living and dead, in it. Many times,” he said, looking over at her, “the lodgers would leave things behind, even very valuable things.” He said this last part slowly, deliberately.

  Elsie had just been about to ask what type of things, but, looking up, she saw that they had unfortunately already reached the house. She felt self-conscious, then, not knowing what to do, as they had both understood that he would not be coming in, but she felt she could not turn him away now. What was he to do? Simply turn and walk back to the bus stop? She had not thought this far ahead. She contemplated asking him in—he already knew so much about her, what would it matter now if he were likewise exposed to Ma’s eccentricities? However, after her heated conversation with Lloyd not an hour ago, she wasn’t sure she could endure another confrontation, the chances of which, considering it was Ma, were very high if she were to bring in a stange man. Elsie reluctantly said good-bye to him, then, and was touched by the fact that he did not press to be invited in, nor did he make her feel guilty about it.

  “Well good-bye, Gunther,” she said awkwardly. “Thank you for walking me home.”

  “It was my pleasure. I like talking with you.”

  “I’m sorry . . .” she said, listlessly gesturing at the house behind her.

  Gunther gave her a warm smile. “Do not fret on my account. I must go, anyway. Auf wiedersehen.”

  Just as he was turning to leave, the front door unexpectedly opened to reveal none other than Ma herself standing there. Elsie wondered where Karl might have gotten himself off to . . .

  “Elsie? Is that you?” Ma called, peering down at her and wrapping her sweater around herself as she did. “Why are you standing out here in the cold? I’ve been waiting here for you for ages. Thought you weren’t coming. Who’s that with you?” she asked, trying to get a better look at Gunther. “Stanley! Is that you?” she asked with so much eagerness that it pained Elsie.

  “No, Ma,” Elsie explained with a muted sigh. “This is my friend Gunther. He’s from the college. He walked me here.”

  “Don’t tell me you walked all the way from Roger’s Park?”

  “No, we took the bus.”

  “Well, no use standing out there catching pneumonia. Get in here, if you’re coming.”

  Elsie sighed. She had been so close to escaping inside! She looked over at Gunther now, who surprised her by giving her a little wink, and she felt tempted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

  “Come on! What are you waiting for?” Ma s
aid, louder this time. Looking at each other one last time, they seemed to come to the same conclusion at the same moment and proceeded up the steps in unison, Elsie bracing herself for what might happen once inside.

  As it turned out, they spent a very unusual evening of pleasant domesticity with Ma, with only a few minor embarrassments, the greatest of them being Ma’s repeated reference to Gunther as Stanley. Elsie attempted several times to explain to Ma just who Gunther was, but she wasn’t sure Ma fully understood. It didn’t help when Doris and Donny made a short, excited appearance in the parlor before being whisked off to the nursery for bedtime, and Gunther had somehow produced a sweet for each of them from the depths of his pocket, further reminding Ma, so she said, of Stanley. This faux pas aside, however, the evening passed without any further embarrassments, except when Ma suggested they play rummy, of all things!

  Gunther seemed to take this suggestion in stride, however, and readily accepted, though he said he didn’t know how to play. Elsie managed a small smile, then, and offered to teach him the rules, if he were really serious, that is, about wanting to learn, she said. He accepted her offer and returned her smile, and Elsie found she enjoyed the process of teaching him very much. She liked knowing something he didn’t. After they played a few rounds, which he was suspiciously good at, he had revealed that it was similar to a game they played in Germany called Telefunken.

  When they finally left Palmer Square, later than Elsie had intended, Ma was in a good mood and entreated them to come back soon. At that, Gunther merely looked at Elsie, who blushed at the thought that Ma obviously thought them a couple. She was at a loss for what to say to this, so she simply gave Ma a quick kiss on the cheek and said good-bye.

  In silence they walked back toward the bus stop, the frigid air perhaps preventing them from speaking. Before they walked very far, Elsie stopped them.

  “I . . . I could have Karl drive us,” Elsie shouted over the wind. “I forget sometimes . . .”