by Debra Dunbar
“You gonna talk now?” she demanded, moving to stand beside him.
“I don’t know what to tell you that you’ll believe,” he replied, still staring forward. “So, what say we give the fine print a pass and skip straight to the part where we all get home and go our merry ways.”
“I want to know what just happened,” she insisted.
“What do you think happened?” he asked with a wicked smirk as he turned to face her.
“I think you did something to time.”
His brow shot high. “You’re quicker than most.”
“You said you weren’t mafia, yeah? Not a full member of the Baltimore Crew.”
His smirk faded. “Your point?”
“It’s because you’re a pincher, isn’t it? One of their magic men?”
Vincent squinted one eye at her. “You know more about this sort of thing than the average boat-legger.”
“Maybe I’m not your average boat-legger, then?”
He snickered. “Well, alright. I’ll tell you. I pinched a bubble of time around us. Froze time. Really, it was a couple different pinches. Gets kind of hairy trying to pull that much power over that much space for one long stretch of time.”
She nodded, leaning forward a little, curiosity submerging the panic and fear.
He continued, “You felt the air thicken up. Right, like molasses? That always happens. Scared the guts outta me, first time I did it. You get used to it, though. You never really pass out from lack of breathing.”
“How often do you do this sort of thing?” she asked, unnerved. He stopped time. He stopped time. It made what she did seem like a cheap parlor trick in comparison.
“Maybe once or twice a month. Depends on how brisk business gets.”
“That’s amazing. What you do is truly incredible,” she told him with complete honesty.
Heaven help her, the man blushed. Vincent looked away, his cocky demeanor vanishing in a mess of boyish bashfulness. Then he nodded. “I try to be useful.”
She stared at him a minute, the sudden change in him throwing her off balance. Curiosity faded, the fear and panic roaring to the forefront, and with them a spark of anger. He’d done this on purpose. He’d let her see what he could do on purpose. He was showing off, trying to impress her with his powerful magic and fake humility.
“Does this bashful boy routine work for you?” she drawled, furious that she’d let her guard down, let herself almost be duped, enamored even, by this show-off of a gangster. He was good-looking. He was powerful. He’d spun an enticing web around her, the cocky bastard. Lord help her, she’d nearly fallen for it. Nearly.
He cleared his throat. “What?”
“You’ve got it shined to a spit polish, I’ll give you that. Completely fooled me for a hot second there,” she snapped.
Vincent straightened a little, his face devoid of mirth. “I’m puttin’ you off your feed, or something?”
“I think you’re very proud of yourself, and you figure a simple girl like me out on the river’d probably swoon all over your magic self.” She spat the sentence out, anger and hurt guiding her words instead of careful common sense.
“That’s what you think, huh?” His voice was wooden and cold.
She folded her arms. “Yes, that’s exactly what I think. I’ve got news for you, boy-o. I’m no Reuben on a boat. I’ve seen men like you before. Full of yourself, putting on the act so you’ll look all disarming and humble. You want to know what I really see when I look at you?”
“Go ahead. Let me have it.” He stepped in closer, his chest inches from hers, his face so close.
Hattie took a deep breath. “I see a gangster who’s trying so hard to impress everyone that he doesn’t realize no one really cares.”
He blinked rapidly.
She cocked her jaw. “So, don’t get any notions. I can see right through what you’re spinnin’ there.”
A million conflicting emotions raced across the man’s face, then his expression tightened. Vincent stepped into her. She sucked in a breath.
He whispered, “You want to know what I thought the second I laid eyes on you?”
“What?”
“I thought…that you were a boy. Didn’t even realize you were a woman until we were well underway. So, maybe you got me wrong.”
She pursed her lips, something deep inside her chest aching.
He continued, “If I were trying to impress you, I’d pick something that didn’t make you feel like you were suffocating. I don’t know why you weren’t affected. It wasn’t on purpose. I probably just lost focus. Accidents happen. It wasn’t intentional. And it sure wasn’t meant to sweep a rude little hayseed like you off your feet.”
Hattie snarled and leveled a venomous glare at Vincent. “Hayseed, is it?”
He curled a lip. “Hayseed. You look like a hobo that took up potato farming as a side gig.”
She slapped him across the cheek. Hard. With all her might.
Lefty jerked his head in their direction, his arm inching toward his vest holster.
Raymond eyed them, as well.
Vincent lifted a hand to wave them off. “Don’t mind us, gents.”
Raymond called out to Hattie, “You okay?”
“Fine,” she snarled.
Vincent added, “We’re arguing the virtues of barrel-aged rum.”
Lefty shook his head. “Idiot.”
Hattie took advantage of the moment to withdraw back toward the helm alongside Raymond. Vincent remained up front, silent for the rest of the trip.
Raymond nudged Hattie once Lefty had wandered off to join Vincent.
“What’d he say to you?” he muttered, his hands tightening on the tiler.
“Nothing.”
“That’s a damn lie,” he said with a dry chuckle. “I see the way he’s been looking at you.”
“You’re blind as a bat,” she snapped. “He…he called me hayseed! Said I looked like a hobo!”
Said he’d thought she was a boy. Hattie winced as she remembered his words, the look on his face.
Raymond chuckled again, shaking his head. “And why d’ya care, baby girl?”
“It’s rude,” she sputtered.
“You’re awful hot and bothered ’bout it.” Raymond grinned.
She sniffed. “Your point?”
“You goin’ and slappin’ a man when you never cared what nobody done thought ’bout you afore.”
“I don’t care,” she insisted. “But he deserved it.”
“Isn’t it better if he stops looking at you? Gonna slap a man, he’s gonna remember you, know?”
“There’s no reason to be rude, is all I’m saying.”
Raymond chuckled again. “There’s no reason to get blood up, neither.”
They continued up the Bay for a while, then Hattie said, “My blood’s not up.”
“Brat.”
“Bully.”
The sun rose to the east, spilling thin, pale daylight over the Bay from the Eastern Shore to the coast alongside Annapolis. Winnow’s Slip appeared around the third bend as Raymond piloted the craft beneath tree limbs. As they docked at the Slip, Hattie eyed Raymond’s pistol sticking halfway out of the crew console.
She’d completely lost her cool on this “time pincher.” And rightfully so. The man was an arrogant ass, as it seemed, but beyond that, she’d panicked. He was her first—the first pincher she’d ever met outside of herself. And the peculiar skill she wielded to pinch light suddenly became…secondary compared to his. What good was she, after all? Sure, he’d had his opportunity to impress her and he’d taken it. But, what could she truly do in comparison?
He seen straight through her illusions, to begin with. Was that the way it was with all pinchers? Were they all immune to one another? That couldn’t be right. Her father had filled her brain with stories of magic wars between ancient orders, and even the crime families in the New World. Pinchers had been at war with one another in the name of their masters for centuries.
So,
what then? Was he just better than her? Had he received more training? Maybe she’d just been tired. Maybe the illusion to hide the boat had been too soon after her last one to be completely effective. Like he’d said, accidents happen.
But he could stop time. It was frightening to think that someone held that much power, that this person was right there on the boat next to her. An entire ball of emotion had twisted in her chest as he’d spoken to her, and she’d lashed out in a provocative exchange of words. It felt poisonous to Hattie. She hadn’t really wanted to pick a fight with the man. But once she had, he’d taken up the gauntlet and stuffed it right back down her throat.
And Raymond was right. She didn’t want the attention. Especially since he worked for the crime families. This was her worst nightmare; the very thing her parents had worked so hard to protect her from. Had she betrayed herself somehow? Had he seen through her light pinch and figured out what she was? Once they were off the boat, did he plan on sticking her into a car and taking her at gunpoint to his mob boss? Hattie tried to steady her breathing and looked at the pistol beside the console.
Vincent hopped onto the land and gave Raymond a hand mooring the boat. Raymond pulled the tarp loose bit by bit, while Hattie reached down to grip the pistol. She tucked it against her body, pinching light with a very slight illusion. It was cheap magic…probably cheap enough to keep up for an hour without feeling the cost. This one wouldn’t be like trying to hide an entire boat hours after she’d been passed out in a pool of her own blood.
As the gangsters stood indolently by the dock while Raymond jerked the tarp aside, Hattie kept the gun close to her side.
She shouted, “The two of you feel like lending a hand, or are you going to stand there gawking at honest labor like a couple o’ tourists?”
Lefty lifted his hand. “I fear I’m not much good to you.”
Vincent laughed.
She glared at him. “Don’t be rude, you ass.”
Vincent shook his head. “You think that’s rude? You should see how he treats me on a Sunday.”
“I don’t care how he treats you on a Sunday. I only care about those ten barrels what’re headed to your masters in the city.”
Vincent winced at the word “masters.” She grinned to herself, sensing the only weak spot she’d seen in this overconfident man since she’d met him.
Raymond and Vincent lugged the barrels ashore, storing them in one of the Winnow’s warehouses. Once the cargo had been stored and Raymond had negotiated a lock from the dockmaster, the four of them stood facing one another.
Hattie kept the pistol in her hand, shrouding it in her light pinch as the gangsters nodded to them.
“So,” Vincent declared, “our car’s stuck down in Virginia. Would either of you have an auto to take us back into town?”
Hattie lifted her chin. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. We’ll leave. They’ll wait for their car. They’re not going to grab me and haul me off. “Don’t you have people who can ferry you about?”
Lefty shrugged. “We do, but it would save us considerable effort if we could simply hitch a ride. We would pay you, of course.”
Raymond nodded instantly. “Where you fellas need to be?”
Hattie tapped the gun against her leg, reassuring herself, forcing the panic down.
Vincent eyed her, then his eyes drifted down to her hand. “You, uh…feeling like putting that piece to use, or what? Because if it’s all the same, I’d rather walk than ride with a gun to my head.”
Hattie’s hands and feet tingled as her stomach dropped. Again? Her illusion had failed utterly. She was defenseless against this man. He could do anything to her. He could drag her off right now and she’d be powerless against him. Terror swamped her and she took a step back, turning to the side.
Lefty rammed his arm into Vincent’s side, drawing an audible groan from the young man. “What’re you gabbing about?”
He nodded at Hattie. “The iron. She’s packing.”
Hattie slipped the gun into her pocket while Vincent’s attention was diverted. What to do now? Her illusions seemed to be useless against this man.
Lefty turned to face her, and she lifted both hands. “I think he’s had enough of the water,” she said, hitting back with the only weapon she had left. Vincent shot her a glare in response.
Lefty lifted a brow. “Shall we, then?”
Hattie drove the truck into the city, with Raymond shotgun. Her palms were sweaty on the steering wheel, barely staying on the road with the amount of times she’d looked into the rear view mirror to eye their passengers with barely hidden anxiety. The gangsters asked to be cut loose at the front of the Old Moravia Hotel and she felt herself begin to breathe a bit easier as they took their leave.
Hattie eyed Vincent as he stepped onto the street, adjusting his jacket. Go away. Go away. By the time you come for me, I’ll be long gone. “You tell your lords and masters that their rum will be delivered by sundown,” she told him, panic making her lash out once more. “You’ll do that, won’t you?”
Vincent stood stiff, jaw set, eyes hard.
Hattie turned to stare forward again, hammering the accelerator to steer the Runabout to her neighborhood. Why had she said that? Why hadn’t she just let the man be and driven off into the distance? Why did she feel the need to verbally jab at him every chance she got? By the time she arrived home, she was close to hyperventilating. Pulling up to the curb, she set the brake and hopped out.
Raymond asked, “We’re not going to Lizzie’s?”
“You take the truck on in,” she replied, her face tight and twitchy.
“You okay?”
“I’m…fine.” She held the door for him as he switched seats. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she lied.
Once the truck had slipped back down the street on its way to Locust Point, Hattie bolted through the front door of her red-brick apartment and bounded up the stairs.
She found both of her parents in the kitchen eating an early dinner.
“Ah!” Alton declared. “’Attie’s finally home.”
His beaming face melted into concern as Hattie stood in front of them, tears falling from her eyes.
“What’s the matter?” he prodded.
Her mother stepped up to take her by her shoulders, guiding her into the room.
Hattie sniffled. “We have to leave. Tonight.”
Branna eyed her in concern. “What happened?”
“A pincher…another one. He was there.”
Her parents exchanged uneasy glances.
“Who, now?” her mother prodded, easing her into a chair. “Tell us what happened.”
Hattie sucked in a few breaths to stave off hyperventilating. She’d been fighting to keep her calm as long as she could around the man, but now it was time to run. “One of the gangsters. From the Crew. He was their pincher…their slave. He was on my boat all night.”
Alton stood and began to pace the room. “How?”
“The Crew sent him to help us out of a tight spot. We were pinned down halfway up the Rappahannock. The mob sent their pincher to do what he does. I…I think he knows.”
“What happened? How does he know?” Alton asked while Branna got up and yanked a button box from the cabinet, behind the oats.
“I tried to pinch light around him. Twice. He wasn’t fooled either time. Saw right through’t. I think he knows I’m like him.”
Branna set the button box on the table and flipped the lid open, her mouth tight. “How do you know that for sure? We have to know, Hattie. Have to know whether they’ll be coming for us now or in a few days.”
“Are you sure he knows?” Alton asked.
“If there’s even a chance,” Hattie gasped, “then we have to go. Tonight.”
Her mother upended the box, coins and a few slips of paper falling onto the table. “Three. That’s all we have. If we can wait until next Friday when I get paid, we’d have more.”
Alton stopped his pacing and stood over the table, both pa
rents staring down at the money. Hattie’s heart suddenly sank. Three dollars. Plus, few coins that she had on her. It wasn’t enough to start a new life somewhere else. They’d have to leave everything behind and take only what they could carry on foot. They’d have to sleep in fields or abandoned buildings, hoping to find jobs along the way to pay for a meal and occasional lodging. Her parents had sacrificed everything for her, and here they were about to do so again—at their age and with her father’s poor health.
It would be the death of him. What right did she have to ask them to do this again for her? They’d done enough. Just then Alton nearly doubled over with a fit off coughing, making her decision all that much easier.
“I…I think we can wait until next payday,” she said. “Maybe he doesn’t know. Maybe I’m just panicking over nothing.”
Her mother gave her a sharp look. “We’re not risking your safety. We’ll leave. It will all work out somehow. We’ve managed before.”
“I promise if I have any notion that they’re coming for me, I’ll leave and you both can catch up to me later. Or maybe you can stay, and once things cool off, I can come back.” Hattie got up and started to put the money back into the button box. “I just panicked. I don’t know for certain he’s onto me, so there’s no sense in us running off like this.”
“You go, ’Attie,” her father told her. “Head west and cross the river into West Virginia. We’ll meet up with you once your mother collects her pay.” Alton went to sit back down, but as he did, another coughing fit wracked his body. He dropped into his seat and gasped for air between hacks.
His face turned dark red, and Branna wound around the table to rub his back. When the coughing fit finally subsided, she crouched down to the toe of the cabinet, pushed in one side to pivot the false panel out, and pulled out his bottle of blended Canadian whisky.
“I don’t like you going on your own,” Branna said as she poured Alton a finger, “but if your instincts say this man is going to come after you, then we want you to be safe.”
Hattie stood in misery, watching as her father held his glass with trembling hands. He said nothing, balancing his efforts between sipping the whisky and struggling for breath.
How in the hell could she possibly leave them here? Without her income from Lizzie, they’d be homeless…and probably unemployed. Her father’s health would never survive without her contributions. Besides, with the new spate of business Lizzie claimed they were facing, there might be a rare chance for them to save some back for a proper move. Somewhere with a roof. Somewhere away from the steel mill.