Unlike in the dark hours of last night, the city bustled around us. People strolled in all directions along the sidewalks. Picketers held signs as they paced in front of buildings. Women pushed baby strollers, men meandered along with the New York Times tucked underneath their arm, and families waited in the few soup lines.
Each person unaware of the crimes committed last night along the city streets of their hometown.
As we finally pulled into the parking area of the warehouse, a few young men were quickly sweeping around the delivery trucks.
Their heads craned over one shoulder and then the other every few seconds as though they feared another attack. A sense of rushed panic spurred their pace and each of them dripped with sweat.
Max stopped the automobile and hesitated before reaching for the door handle as he watched the unnerved boys rushing around.
“Stay close to me, all right?”
I bit my lip and nodded.
Max opened the door and slid out. My fingers trembled in the palm of his hand, a grip he kept for a moment as I followed close behind him around to the barn-like doors.
A man in a dark gray suit and long tweed coat paced the length of the building while he watched over the young men sweeping. He eyed us for a moment as we approached. His scarred face held an intense stare that curdled my blood.
Older and shorter than Max, his chunky, intimidating frame squared throughout his body. Dark hair, caramel skin, and dark eyes played off the sense of evil, ruthlessness in him as he flicked his cigarette on the ground.
“Giordano.” Max nodded toward him.
“Where the hell have you been?”
“That’s none of your business. Do you know who did it?”
“Stephano Maranzano.” As the man adjusted his stance, his coat shifted and exposed the Tommy gun in his left hand.
“Maranzano? Of the Bonanno family?”
Mr. Giordano nodded.
“And are you certain?”
“What do you think? You know, maybe if you were here instead of gallivanting around with this whore none of this would have happened.”
Max lunged forward, shoved the man up against the brick wall, and pointed a single finger in his scared face.
“This is your warning, Giordano, remember that you only get one. Never underestimate my capability to put you in a box in the ground.” Anger burned in Max’s eyes, fire hot and electric, his words hissed through his teeth.
Giordano slid away from him. His coat scraped along the brick as he retreated.
Max reached for my hand once again, and dragged me behind him around the side of the warehouse, up a set of stairs, and in through a small door that lacked a window. His pace with fervor I hadn’t seen in him before and the heels of his shoes stomped along the ground.
Vodka, whiskey, scotch, and gin fumes burned my nose and watered my eyes. The smoky haze of gunpowder suffocated me and clouded the light from the wide windows along the back wall of the building.
The entire floor was nothing more than a mess of destroyed wooden crates. Their boards broken from the sprays of bullets that pierced holes through the different letters branded into the splintered timber.
My shoes crunched through the piles of shattered glass from the thousands and thousands of broken bottles. Liquor pooled in several of the deep cracks in the floor. Each of the puddles reflected the dim light bulbs hanging high in the ceiling. A few of the bulbs flickered, either broken completely or from frayed electrical wires.
“Try not to look around too much,” Max mumbled, glancing over his shoulder.
Before my mind fully comprehended his suggestion, my eyes focused on a thick, red puddle of blood that pooled around a dead body.
A gasp left my lips. I flung myself backwards, slamming into one of the few stacks of wooden crates still standing. My hand slapped over my mouth and I spun around to shield my eyes.
“I told you not to look around.”
Max wrapped his arm around my shoulder to hide the view from me and I buried my face in his chest as he led me through the labyrinth of lumber and glass.
A few more bodies lay in different places, surrounded by blood and broken crates. Images that would, surely, haunt me for weeks or perhaps longer.
“This isn’t just an attack on me,” Vincent’s voice billowed through the warehouse, his Sicilian accent rumbled through the rafters. “This is an attack on every single one of you, too, and an attack that should not go unpunished.”
Max’s arm tightened around me. His pace slowed a little and tension stiffened in shoulders. As we came upon a clearing with three desks and three chairs, he stopped and gently pushed me into a small space hidden from view.
“Stay here and don’t come out until I tell you. Say nothing to no one and ignore anyone who passes you.” He paused and pointed to a gap between the boxes. “You can keep an eye on me through there and don’t forget, wait for me to call you.”
I watched him join the dozens of suited men standing in a circle while Vincent paced in the middle of them.
The angered mob boss dropped a cigarette butt on the ground and squished the burning embers with his shoe.
“This is a turf war, gentlemen,” Vincent continued. “A war where we need to come out of on top. I want Stephano Maranzano shipped back to Castellammare del Golfo in a box along with anyone suspected of working for him. I don’t care who they are. I don’t care how you know them. I don’t even care if they are your own flesh and blood.”
A few of the men glanced at one another, their expressions all different. Some nodded in agreement, some shook their heads, and a few cringed nervously as though the command frightened and shocked them.
“But, boss, how do we find out which guys are workin’ for him?” one man asked as he rested his hand on his hip.
“I don’t care how you find out. I don’t care if you make a mistake and kill someone who is innocent.”
“So you want us to just go around and start whacking guys for no reason?”
Vincent lunged for the man, grabbing him by the collar of his blazer. “Don’t tempt my patience or else you’ll be the first to join him.”
“Ye . . . yes . . . yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”
Vincent released the man and strode around the circle once more, lowering his voice to emphasize his seriousness. “Now, if I have made myself clear . . . then leave.”
With the last of his words, the men fled, leaving only two remaining by Vincent’s side: Max, and another, whose face I recognized from the party the other night at the mansion. The same gentleman who had caught Ester’s attention, knocking her senses askew as she fawned over him for one reason or another.
Ducky De Luca eyed Max, but said nothing, while Max ignored him completely. A battle of power that, if the two men engaged in, the Consigliere would win, and while both of them seemed to know it, Ducky didn’t look too happy about it.
“How much did we lose?” Max asked Vincent.
“Half to three-quarter million.”
Vincent poured himself a glass of scotch. He slammed the bottle down upon one of the desks so hard that the tiny lamp sitting on top wobbled on its base and nearly toppled over onto a few different record books sitting next to it.
“How many are dead?”
“Fifteen,” Ducky answered.
“I want you and De Luca to go to Chicago.” Vincent leaned against the desk and chugged every drop of the scotch in his glass. “And I want you to leave tonight.”
“Why?” Max asked.
“To remind Capone of his allegiance to this family.”
“Surely, Ducky can go by himself.”
“You have Al’s complete loyalty, Mr. Giovanni.” Ducky yanked a pack of cigarettes from his lapel and lit one. “He’s never been one to back down from a fight.”
“That doesn’t mean that I don’t want assurance.”
“And he can’t give that to Ducky?”
“Do you believe I’m asking, Catalano?”
“No.” Max growled.
“Then you’ll leave tonight.” Vincent poured himself another drink and with less force than before, he sat the liquor bottle down on the desk. He chugged the scotch in a few gulps and motioned to Ducky as he finished. “Leave us. I need to speak to Catalano alone.”
With a nod, Ducky obliged. His long gate slithered away from them through the maze of crates.
A cough tickled my throat from the smoky haze. My eyes watered and I struggled to fight off the scratchiness clawing at me.
Don’t you dare cough. Don’t you dare cough.
“Do you have the cash from last night?” Vincent asked Max as soon as Ducky strode out of earshot.
“Vinny, why are you sending me to Chicago?”
“Because I don’t trust De Luca.”
Max opened his mouth, but before he could utter a word, Vincent silenced him.
“Do you think he doesn’t wish to take my place or think he wouldn’t jump on the opportunity to take over the family? Not that I fear Capone in anyway, but those two aren’t to be trusted.”
“Oh, come on, Vinny, I know they are both loose cannon, hot heads, but seriously?”
Vincent lit a cigarette, drew in a long puff, and exhaled the smoke slowly.
“I need you there to make sure they aren’t planning to double cross me. Any hint that they are planning something behind my back and I need to know about it. Do you understand?”
Max rested his hands on his hips. His boss had drawn a line and he hesitated in crossing it, even though his job required it. With his eyes fixed on the ground, he shook his head as though battling a war with himself in his mind.
“All right. All right. I’ll go,” he finally barked.
“Now, do you have the cash from last night?”
Max withdrew an envelope from the inside pocket of his blazer. The thick, worn paper crinkled as it passed from hand to hand.
“Any problems?”
“I unloaded the truck and collected the money with no problem.”
“But?”
“We had a slight problem, but I took care of it.”
“Ah, yes, with Miss Ford. What happened?”
“Nothing you need to worry about. I took care of it.”
Vincent eyed Max for a moment. Doubt flickered in the deep blue hue as though he searched for a fib behind his words. “And where is she now?”
“Evelyn?” Max called out.
I flinched.
“Evelyn, come here, please.”
Heat flushed my cheeks. My pulse pounded as I crept out of my hiding spot toward the two men.
“Ah, good morning, Miss Ford.” Vincent nodded in my direction as he shoved the envelope into one of the ledger books and poured himself a third glass of scotch.
“Good morning.”
“I hear there was a slight problem last night.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “A small mistake was made, I’ll admit to it, but I won’t make another.”
“Then, you wish to continue running rackets instead of enjoying the finer things in life?”
I met his gaze. “Of course, I wish to continue.”
“Well, then, I will have the utmost confidence that you won’t make any mistakes tonight.”
“Tonight?” Max’s eyes widened as he jerked his attention to Vincent. “What do you mean tonight?”
“I’ve got a shipment set to deliver to Moe tonight.”
“But I’m leaving for Chicago with Ducky.”
“So?”
“So who is Miss Ford going to deliver with?”
“She can go with Bones. He’s made deliveries before and everyone else has to be here to clean up the place.”
“Bones? You’re sending her out with Bones? She can’t go with him. She’s still learning.”
Vincent swiped the glass off the desk and drained it. His eyes slit, snake-like, and he clicked his tongue as though a deep down an intriguing thought spun through his mind.
“My orders are final.”
With his words, he strode off. The heels of his dress shoes thumped against the floor until the sound vanished, leaving Max and I standing in the warehouse alone.
Max’s statue-like stance clawed against the anxiety beginning to bubble in my veins. Lost for words, questions rattled through my mind in an endless stream of ‘what if’s’ and ‘why’.
I didn’t want to think about running a delivery with Bones, didn’t want to think about the danger I faced with a stranger at my side, a stranger who Max said was trouble.
Vincent’s orders had just ripped the one and only person I trusted from me. He stole my security and robbed my solace.
“So, you’re headed to Chicago?” I whispered.
“And you’re running with Bones tonight.”
He brushed my curls away from my eyes and traced his finger down my cheek and across my lips.
“I’ll talk to Bones before I leave to make sure he knows exactly what will I’ll do to him if something happens to you.”
“Nothing will happen to me. I’ll be fine.”
As hard as I tried to sound confident, my voice cracked on a few words. My strength waned, although I desperately tried to hide it. I crossed my arms, hugging my own shoulders as I glanced all around me. Surrounded by danger and death, my thoughts only suffocated me more.
Max touched my chin and brought my stare to his.
“Just do your job and make the delivery tonight. I’ll return in a few days and everything will go back to normal.”
His words did little to ease my fears, and neither did the sincere look in his eyes. He was the calm in my storm, my rock in a field of unsteady ground.
And he was leaving me in just a few hours.
FOURTEEN
THE DELIVERY TRUCK bounced down the street as I held onto the side of the seat with a tight grip.
My body leaned away from Bones, cringing with each time his shoulder touched my own. My eyes fixed on the dimly lit road as the truck’s old headlights flickered with every pothole.
Once again, I sat next to a stranger. Once again, I sat next to someone I couldn’t trust.
“You better not get me in trouble tonight.” Bones flicked his cigarette out the window. “Cause any problem and I don’t care what Catalano says. I ain’t protectin’ you.”
“How gentlemanly of you.” Frustration spurred my inability to hold my tongue.
“Ha,” he snorted. “Don’t really know why he’s so concerned about you, anyway. Unless he’s getting in between those gams of yours.”
“I beg your pardon.”
He rolled his eyes and turned the truck around another corner. “Why be so concerned for your safety, then?”
“Yes, because that is the only reason to help a woman.”
“Well, I mean, at first we all thought you were one of Vinny’s molls, but he certainly didn’t come ranting to me about your safety.”
“One of Vinny’s molls? What’s a moll?”
“His girlfriend, his dame, his kitten, whatever you wanna call yourself. But I guess we were all wrong on whose broad you were.”
“I’m not anyone’s . . . not that, that is any of your business.”
“Lady, I really could care less what you do in that big mansion. You just better not get me into any trouble tonight.”
I opened my mouth to rebuff his comments again, but stopped myself before I said a word. What would be the point? Nothing I could say would change his mind. He was as rude as he was reckless with his driving.
He continued to speed down the dimly lit, empty streets. A different part of the city than I’d been in before, the vacant buildings only added the deepened sense of fear that burdened me.
Please let tonight go without any problems.
Bones finally pulled into a dark alleyway in between two brick buildings. A single light bulb flickered in the distance high above three doors. Two of them were large like the doors of a barn while the third stood alone and had only a tiny window.
&
nbsp; “Follow me.”
Without much consideration for our surroundings, Bones bounded out of the truck into the crisp, night air.
“Aren’t we supposed to wait for them? Or at least make sure no one is coming.”
“Lady, you just need to hush.”
After several hard knocks against one of the doors, it opened, and the night watchmen grunted an incoherent greeting. Standing in dirty overalls, the older gruff looking man had black motor oil smudged all over his face. His eyes caved in with a hollowness that dwelled in him.
“We’re here for the delivery. Where do you want ‘em, Mr. Smith?” Bones asked.
Mr. Smith grunted again and pointed to a corner barely visible in the dull light of the warehouse.
“You gonna help us unload?”
The old man chuckled, shook his head, and sat down in a rickety chair that moaned from his weight. He kicked his legs out as he leaned back and rested his palms on the top of his head.
“Crazy old man. Well, come on, lady, time to get to work.”
I followed Bones back to the truck and began to walk down the alleyway. The familiarity of the night before twisted in my stomach. I’d been here before, been in the intense struggle with my fear in the unknown of how the night would play out.
Would I make another mistake? Would the fates once again intervene to test me?
“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” Bones called after me.
“To look out for anyone coming.”
“It’d be faster if you just helped me unload. We could be out of here in no time.”
“What if a cop sees us?”
“If we both unload we’ll be out of here in a few minutes. Now grab that crate and start helping.”
Deepened worry bled through my veins as I strode toward the truck, yanked a crate from the back, and hauled the heavy box of wood and glass inside the building.
As we carried each container inside, the old man watched us from his chair. His stiff body moved only occasionally to either scratch his head of messy hair or his scruffy beard.
Every few minutes, he pointed toward the stack and counted each one repeatedly. It was as though he’d forgotten how many we had already brought in.
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