Speak Low

by Melanie Harlow

  Half furious and half elated, I slammed the door loud enough to interrupt.

  Sure enough, a minute later, Enzo appeared in the bedroom doorway wrapped in a sheet, and holding a pistol.

  “Tiny? What the fuck are you doing here? You said you couldn’t come tonight.”

  “Clearly I was the only one. Who’s in there?”

  “Enzo? What’s going on?” The squeaky voice from the bedroom was unmistakable.

  I raised my eyebrows. “Your fiancée. How refreshing.”

  “Just wait a minute.” Enzo disappeared into the bedroom for a moment and returned without the gun but wearing pants. Only pants. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair and pulled the door shut behind him.

  I was delighted to find that in fact I did not find him as attractive as I feared. Yes, he still had the face and the body, but underneath lurked deception and a darkness I’d never again find beautiful. I threw the apartment key at his head, and he caught it before it struck his cheekbone.

  “Tiny, what the hell? Why are you doing this?”

  “What a laugh. Why are you doing this?”

  “Doing what?”

  My eyes popped. “Doing what? Fucking another girl in the apartment you just offered to me!”

  “It’s my apartment!”

  I folded my arms. “And it’s going to stay your apartment.”

  “Don’t be like that,” he said quietly, moving deeper into the front room. “This doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

  He probably believed that. “You’re right, it doesn’t. Because I no longer care what you do.”

  “I don’t understand you. I thought we agreed about exactly what we could be and what we couldn’t.” He moved closer to me, too close. I could smell Gina’s perfume on his skin.

  I took a step back. “Maybe we did. But I’m no longer interested in it.”

  “Oh no?” A seductive smile crept onto his lips and he came toward me again. “Bet I can change your mind.”

  “No.” I tried to take another step back but bumped into the sofa. “You’re insane. Your fiancée is in the other room. Probably naked.”

  “And she’s going to stay there if she knows what’s good for her.”

  From my purse I took out the necklace box and slammed it into his waist. “Go back to her, Enzo. You don’t care about me or anyone else. You just want what you want when you want it.”

  “Until now you felt the same way. That’s why it worked between us.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Tiny, I want you,” he breathed, tossing the box on the coffee table and reaching for me. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you. You know that.”

  I put my hands out to stop him from touching me. “And I wanted you. And we had each other, and it was fun for a lark, but now it’s done. You’ve got everything you want—the drugs, the whisky, the club, the car, all of it. I just want you to let me go now.”

  “What if I don’t want to let you go?”

  “You have no choice.”

  His eyes flashed with anger. “It’s Lupo, isn’t it?”

  “I didn’t tell him what you told me,” I said quickly. “I kept the secret.”

  “Bravo, darling. You passed the test.”

  “Damn right I did. I never lied to you.”

  “You told me there was nothing between the two of you. That was a lie.”

  “There was nothing between us then.”

  “And now?” His breaths were controlled.

  “And now…” I swallowed. “Now there is something.”

  To my surprise, he laughed. “You want that fucking boy?”

  Rage exploded inside me, and I shoved his chest. “Go to hell! It’s none of your business who or what I choose! It never was.”

  “You’ll change your mind. You’ll want what I can give you—I know you, Miss O’Mara. Don’t forget that.”

  “No, you don’t. You knew a girl who chased danger for a while, that’s all.” I backed toward the door.

  “You chased more than that, darling.”

  My face burned. “Maybe I did. But that’s done.”

  He moved toward me, slow and sleek, unfairly handsome. Before I knew it, he had me up against the wall, a hand on either side of my head. “And I say, it isn’t done. I still want you.”

  “You’ll find another girl.”

  He moved a lock of hair off my face. “I don’t want another girl. I want this face, and these lips, and this body.”

  I turned my cheek to prevent him from kissing me. “You can’t have me. Leave us alone.”

  He slammed a hand into the wall and backed away from me, rage radiating from his body. “Go, then. But if you thought I’d let him go unpunished, you were mistaken. He stole from me.”

  Panic screamed through my veins. “Enzo, please don’t do anything to hurt him.”

  His lips tipped up. “You’re too late, darling. It’s already done.”

  It was the smile that frightened me most.

  #

  I drove straight to Joey’s. The restaurant was closed, of course, and the block was dark and deserted. As I parked along the street, I glanced up to the apartment. No lights were on. I had no idea if there were any guests staying in other rooms or renting other apartments, but I wasn’t going to be able to get into the building if no one was inside. Chewing my thumbnail, I looked up and down the block. This area was not well lit at night, and I had no weapon of any kind.

  Or did I?

  Frantically, I looked around inside Daddy’s car. Nothing on the floor, nothing under the seat. Standing on the seat, I leaned into the back and checked the secret compartment in the floor, used for hauling whisky.

  Nothing.

  Dammit, Daddy, you were a bootlegger. Couldn’t you at least be the kind that carried a gun? But he wasn’t. Bootlegging hadn’t been violent until recently, and Daddy’s favorite weapons were his fists, anyway. Slumping back down in the front, I looked at my own fists. Pathetically small. I had nothing to fight back with.

  But I had to find Joey.

  Exiting the car, I gritted my teeth and took the steps up to the double doors at the recessed entrance. I was completely in shadow. My teeth chattered as I rang the buzzer.

  No one came.

  Cupping my hands over my eyes, I peered inside and saw the silent lobby, the dark wood staircase. I pounded on the glass pane with the heel of my hand.

  No one came.

  Tears welled. Where was he? Had Enzo done something to him? Why did one man have to be so greedy? I knew it was futile but I tried opening the door before I pushed the buzzer again, three times. Now don’t get hysterical. He’s probably just still out. But I wasn’t going to feel better until I saw him, held him, safe and sound. Weeping openly, I rushed down the steps and around the side of the building. Maybe I could climb the fire escape.

  In the alley, dark and silent and smelling of rotting food, I held my breath and said a prayer I’d be tall enough to pull down the ladder.

  But it was already down.

  Something about that seemed off, but I climbed it and then raced up the steps to the third floor—oh, shit.

  The back door was open.

  “Joey?” I peered into the kitchen, my heart knocking painfully against my ribs. It was dark, but my eyes adjusted fairly quickly—no one was there. I entered and crossed to the swinging door to the dining room.

  But before I pushed it open, I heard Joey’s voice. “No! Just let her go, Sam, she has nothing to do with this.” His words sounded muffled and strange, as if he had a mouth full of cotton.

  “Shut the fuck up, Lupo. I should cut you right now for hiding that dope from me.”

  I pulled my hand off the door as if it had burned me, backing up until my butt hit the kitchen cabinet, which rattled noisily.

  Shit!

  In a panic, I grabbed a butcher knife from a block on the counter, darted into the pantry and shut the door almost all the way. In a moment someone swung into th
e kitchen.

  “Nobody in here!” I heard a voice say over the galloping of my heart.

  But it would only be a matter of seconds before whoever it was checked the pantry, and I begged God for the strength I’d need to plunge the knife into human flesh. I didn’t want to kill anyone, but I’d need to injure him badly enough so he couldn’t hurt me. Aim for his right side, maybe a shoulder. My hand shook horribly, and I tightened my grip lest the knife clatter to the floor.

  And then I remembered the pistol. I swept my left hand along the shelf.

  It was still there.

  I dropped the knife, swiped the gun into both hands, and screamed as the pantry door opened, revealing the stocky, thick-necked outline of a guy. More than either of the weapons, I think it was the scream that stunned him. He faltered a little at the noise, and I took advantage of his surprise to draw back one foot and kick him in the balls as hard as I possibly could.

  Grunting, he went down hard, his own gun clattering to the floor. I couldn’t bring myself to shoot him, even though he might have been willing to shoot me, but I did kick his gun away and clock him over the head with my own.

  A few times.

  When I was positive I’d knocked him out, I burst into tears and shoved open the door to the dining room.

  “Tiny, get out of here!” shouted Joey. But his words still sounded muffled.

  Disoriented, I looked through the archway into the front room, where one lamp burned.

  My knees nearly buckled.

  Joey sat on a chair, the same chair I’d sat in before Sunday dinner, while Sam Scarfone stood to his side, holding a straight edge razor to his throat. His face, his beautiful face, was bruised and bloody, and his wrists and ankles were tied with rope. Just like Daddy.

  Instinctively, I tucked the pistol I held behind me.

  “You heard him. Get the fuck out of here,” said Sam. “Where the fuck is Freddy?”

  “I…” My voice stuck in my throat. Fear had totally paralyzed me. Somewhere in my mind, a voice said shoot him, but I wasn’t sure I could do it. I locked eyes with Joey, who silently begged me to go. I could see the desperation in his face, but I wasn’t about to leave him. My fingers tightened on the pistol.

  Sam glared at me. “Get the fuck out of here, I said, before I show you the way myself.”

  “You lay one finger on her, and I’ll rip you to fucking shreds,” Joey said, the clearest words from him yet.

  “You got a lot of nerve talking to me like that, Lupo, after what you pulled. I ever hear you held back again, I’m gonna lay more than my finger on her and make you watch.”

  I saw the rage erupt in Joey and he vaulted out of the chair and hurled himself at Sam, butting his head into Sam’s chin.

  “Joey, no!” I cried.

  Sam was easily able to shove Joey down to the floor, and he grimaced, touching his tongue to one bloody corner of his mouth. “You’re gonna pay for that,” he said. “I thought you were smarter than Angelo, but I guess I was wrong.” He brought the blade to Joey’s cheek, and I snapped.

  Rushing forward with the pistol out in front of me, I took aim at Sam’s chest.

  And I pulled the trigger.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Turns out, I did have it in me to shoot someone.

  It also turns out that I’m a horrible shot.

  I missed his chest by a mile, putting a bullet in his leg instead. But it was enough to knock him backward, and as he staggered I pulled the trigger again. This time I caught him in the shoulder, and he dropped his blade, groaning in pain. I raced into the room and scooped it up.

  To my utter shock, he actually stumbled for the kitchen door and disappeared through it.

  “Oh no!” I cried. “Should I go after him?”

  “No!” Joey struggled to sit up. “Let him go. Just let him go, he won’t get far.”

  I rushed over to him. “Oh my God,” I said, breaking down again. “Are you OK?”

  “I’m fine, baby. Where’s the other guy—Freddy?”

  “He’s in the kitchen. I kicked him in the balls and knocked him out with your dad’s gun.”

  Joey actually tried to smile. “He’d be proud of you.”

  I untied Joey’s wrists and ankles. He threw his arms around me and I wept into his chest, relieved and grateful. “Shhhh, it’s OK now. It’s OK, cara.” Then he murmured something in Italian, I had no idea what, but his voice was soothing and the lilting, rhythmic words were so beautiful, I grew calmer immediately.

  Joey took one of the guns and went into the kitchen, where he discovered Freddy had disappeared as well. However, he must have been too cloudy-headed to handle the fire escape because the police found him in a heap of broken bones beneath the iron staircase as if he’d fallen. Either that or Sam had pushed him.

  Turns out there had been someone else in the building, and though she’d been too scared to answer my knock after hearing the shouts from Joey’s apartment, she’d called the police. Freddy lived through the fall and was promptly arrested after being released from the hospital.

  Sam Scarfone was not so lucky—but it wasn’t my bullets that killed him.

  Joey once told me that friendships and rivalries change with the wind in organized crime. You can never be sure exactly who your allies or enemies are at any given moment. Someone might shake your hand one day and sign his name with your blood the next. That summer, there were a lot of shifting alliances as the top figures in Detroit’s underworld sought to position themselves to make the most money and gain the lion’s share of the criminal rackets.

  Enzo, unable to handle his jealousy of Joey and seeking to punish him for the hijacking, had extended an offer to Sam Scarfone, unbeknownst to me. If Sam would run booze for Enzo’s clubs, Enzo would tell him about River Gang members who’d screwed him out of thousands of dollars on a drug heist. Sam responded by confronting Joey the evening I showed up, and might not have killed him, since they had been friendly before, but I don’t know for sure. In their business, there was no greater crime than not paying up.

  However, earlier that day Joey had reached out to the old guard of the Scarfone faction, the men who’d split with Sam over control of the Scarfone territory after Big Leo’s death. To get even with Sam for ordering the hit that had killed his father, Joey spilled what he knew about Sam’s role in his uncle’s death, and the old guard agreed—Sam had to pay.

  His bullet-riddled body was found in the river a few weeks after the incident at Joey’s.

  No one was convicted.

  Angelo, who had agreed to Joey’s offer of a cut of his bootlegging spoils, had been roughed up pretty good by Sam and wore a necklace of scars the rest of his life, but he survived. The River Gang disbanded once Sam was gone, and the leaders of the various powerful outfits in Detroit and the rest of the Midwest got together and agreed on a distribution of territory to cut down on violence. Eventually, even the outfits on the East Coast reached out to make a deal that would set up mutually beneficial smuggling operations.

  Joey and Angelo decided to partner up and bought a boat together, and they ran whisky from Canada across the river on a regular basis for ten more years under the protection of the Scarfone outfit—until Prohibition ended. Eventually, they had enough money to buy an airplane, and they partnered with a few Canadian farmers who agreed to let their fields be used as landing sites in exchange for some booze and a fee. I wasn’t crazy about Joey staying involved in organized crime, but he promised me it would only be bootlegging, and he’d stay out of trouble. After all, he wanted to dedicate most of his time to running the restaurant and raising a family with me.

  As soon as his injuries healed, we were married at Holy Family and feted by friends and family at a reception at the restaurant. The morning of the wedding, a beautiful September Saturday, my sisters and Evelyn helped me dress in my old bedroom.

  Bridget, dressed in soft blue, fastened the row of buttons at my back and we exchanged a look in the mirror remembering what she’
d said about Joey getting them undone later. Molly and Evelyn, also in blue, settled the veil’s crown on my head and adjusted the tulle to fall around my shoulders. Mary Grace, in a sweet white dress, brought me my satin shoes and helped me into them. Bridget and Evelyn were teary-eyed, but I felt nothing but pure joy.

  At the back of the church, I stood with Daddy, waiting for the processional to begin. He’d been mostly silent throughout the wedding preparations, grumbling at the price of things here and there, but never denying me something I really wanted. Now, we stood aside in the vestibule with our arms linked, my fingers tight around the stems of white roses.

  “Tiny,” he said, his voice gruff, but soft. “I need to say something.”

  “Now?” I whispered, glancing nervously toward the aisle.

  “Yes, now.” His jaw was set.

  “All right, Daddy.”

  He swallowed. “I’m not good with words or affection like your mother was.”

  “It’s OK.”

  “Let me finish,” he said as the organ bleated the first notes of my processional music. The church coordinator began sending my sisters up the aisle as Daddy tugged me back. “When your mother died I did the best I could, but I know most of the raising fell on Bridget and then you. I could’ve done better to help.”

  His voice caught, and I squeezed his arm. When he looked at me, I was stunned to see tears in his eyes. My throat immediately tightened.

  “Of all the girls, you’re the most like me, Tiny. You’re the spittin’ image of your mother, but you’ve always been the most like me and I suppose that’s why I’ve let you get away with more, the whisky and everything, and why I’ve been harder on you.”

  “I understand.” I shot a nervous glance up front. Was Joey there yet?

  “I’m sorry for the things I’ve done that have hurt you or put you in danger, and I’ll always remember how you—did what you did for me. I might not’ve come through without you.”

  “I’d do it all again. And you’d do it for me.”

  “I would.” And he put a hand over his heart.