Wooden Nickels: White Lightning Series, Book 1

by Debra Dunbar

  Vincent harrumphed. “Hadn’t thought of it like that. Imagine being able to take a drop or two of some tonic, and you keep extending your powers? That’s money, is what that is.”

  They walked in silence for several steps before Vincent said, “When I was out of it, you had a chance to do me in.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Coulda put a blade between my ribs, dumped me in the water. Covered it up with one of your illusions. No one would know. Your secret would be safe.”

  She nodded. “I suppose so.”

  “Why didn’t you?” he asked.

  “Not everyone on this dock is a cold-blooded killer.”

  Vincent sniffled. “Death comes with this job, Hattie Malloy. Cost of doing business.”

  “You asked a question. I answered.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Hattie stopped, grabbing his arm. “These Fiore people…they’re monsters. You know that?”

  “Agreed.”

  “Just another group looking over my shoulder. I’m used to it by now, but lately it just feels like the sky’s closing in on my head. You’re the only one I can call out for it, so if I do that, you’ll understand?”

  He nodded.

  Hattie added, “I didn’t want to find that boat. I wanted to spend two days hauling your sorry hide around, then dropping you off and taking your money. But knowing what you know about me… I feel like you’ll never leave me be, not as long as you have masters to serve.”

  Vincent didn’t respond.

  “So,” she declared, “this can’t ever end, can it? Not until you get your pincher.”

  “That’s why I’m looking for this Freedman character. Did those hoboes actually point you at this boat? Or was that all bushwa?”

  She nodded. “They did. Probably on the hunt for him, since he’s creole.”

  “Maybe Lefty got something about Freedman out of them before…”

  Hattie gripped his arm. “I need something from you, Vincent Calendo. I need you to listen.”

  He turned to face her fully. “I’m listening.”

  “I don’t know you,” she stated. “And I don’t trust you. But I feel I do understand you. We are unique, and that means something.” She stepped closer. “I need this water pincher as much as you do. More to the point, I need that elixir.”

  “For the magic sickness?” he asked.

  “It’s not for me,” she said. “It’s for my da. Now, I’m telling you this because I want to change our arrangement. My da is sick, and this elixir may be the only thing that can save him. He’s sacrificed too much for me already. It’s time I gave back. So, I’ll help you find this Doc Freedman—more than just two days. I’ll even help you recruit him. In exchange, I want access. I want access to his elixirs. And I want your masters to stay the hell away from me and my family.”

  Vincent took a step away from Hattie. His face roiled with emotions. Anger. Confusion. Accusation.

  What had she said? This should’ve seemed like a peace gesture.

  He sputtered over words for a moment, all dignity leeching out of his posture. Finally, he managed, “You know your father?”

  Hattie nodded. “Of course.”

  Vincent scowled and turned away.

  She said, “He’s a good man. He deserves a longer life. A better life.”

  Vincent lifted his hand for her to hush.

  Hattie ran her last few words over and over, trying to figure out what had hit a raw nerve.

  Vincent asked, his back still turned, “Your mother, too? You know her as well?”

  “Yes. They’ve given everything to keep me free.”

  Vincent shuffle-stepped in a slow circle to face her. His face was leaden.

  “My parents sold me to the mob when I was two years old,” he said in a quiet, clear tone.

  She winced but held her tongue.

  He continued, “The family has been my life. Not my family, but the family. If you’re all torn up over your father’s health, then perhaps you do understand me.” He lifted his eyes to her. “The family is in trouble. We’re surrounded by sharks and rats, all trying to eat away at everything we’ve built. You want to give back? So do I.”

  She ventured a step forward. “Then we are agreed? I help you, you help me?”

  He stared at her hand, then turned away. “It’s dark.”

  Hattie stood as Vincent stormed up the pier, the oil lamp swinging in his hand with his long strides. With a sigh, she followed him up to the inn.

  Chapter 20

  Vincent stared out the window of the room Lefty had rented from the innkeeper. There was barely enough space to walk between the wall and the bunk-style beds, much less gain any privacy. It didn’t matter, really. Lefty fell asleep quickly and stayed that way the entire night.

  Vincent, on the other hand, was out of luck. The conversation he’d had with Hattie that night had upended all his thoughts, dragging him awake. Memories of his years under close guard by the priests at his parochial school flooded his brain along. The attic space he’d called home for twelve years. The time upstate where he’d been “trained” to serve the family. The grimy grotto apartment he’d slept in for another four years before the Crew put him on his official stipend. The day he’d gotten his own place with a kitchen and a real living room.

  The whole time it was only ever Vincent.

  Lefty stirred in bed, shuffling off the scratchy wool blanket they’d found in a footlocker near the beds—only one blanket in a room rented for two.

  After a loud yawn, a few coughs and a snort, the man peered up at Vincent. “How long you been awake?”

  “Not sure,” Vincent replied.

  “You gonna be dead on your feet today, or what?”

  “Don’t get antsy. I’m steady.”

  Lefty got out of bed to stretch his one arm up to the ceiling. Vincent watched the fishermen on the dock below. Several had emerged from their boats and had filed along the warped boards toward the inn for breakfast.

  “Hey, Lefty,” Vincent said. “You know anything about my parents?”

  “Your parents?” Lefty repeated with annoyance. “What’s got your parents in your noodle?”

  “Just wondering about them. Whether they made out good with the money the mob paid for me.”

  Lefty chuckled. Then he frowned. “Vincent, this ain’t nothing to get your head wrapped around. They’re out there somewhere, living their own lives. Or, maybe not. You know? They might be long gone.”

  Vincent nodded. “Wasn’t sure if you knew their story, or what.”

  Lefty approached Vincent and put a hand on his shoulder. “You was born in, what? ’99? Got real work with the Crew just about six years ago. Right?” Lefty stared up at the ceiling. “I came home around 1919. Met you the next summer, when Vito put me in charge of you. So, no. I was only around for about a year before they put you to work.”

  “Yeah, I guess it’s a dumb question. Huh?”

  “Not so dumb,” Lefty said, stepping away. “Wondering about your heritage is perfectly normal. It’s just that your heritage don’t figure into your life the way it does for the rest of us. That’s just the way it works for people like you.”

  Vincent winced. People like him. There was another “person like him” somewhere downstairs, and she still had a family.

  Lefty added, “I suppose it don’t seem fair to you.”

  “No one asked my opinion.”

  “Yeah. Well, if they got paid, then they got paid top dollar.”

  Vincent turned to Lefty. “And what if they didn’t get paid?”

  Lefty squinted. “Then, I suppose you shouldn’t worry about them. Look, Vincent. You got real value to the family. Never forget that.”

  “Value? Like some race horse?”

  “More like a weapon.”

  Vincent shook his head. “Well, this weapon’s getting tired of giving away credit for what he does.”

  Lefty shook his head. “That’s what you want? Credit?”


  “Maybe a damn ‘thank you’ every now and then wouldn’t kill anyone.”

  “If you’re waiting for Vito Corbi to call you up in front of the Crew and shine your knob in front of everyone, you’re gonna die frustrated. He’s too worried about his own sad story to give anyone else the time of day. He’s got the other families breathing down his neck. No one thinks he’s up to the challenge here. Now there’s bootleggers in West By God giving him the works. Tony’s letting the Bay business slip through his fingers. And sure, he’s got just the one pincher to speak of. You think booting us out here to sniff out another pincher is busy work? You think it don’t matter to him?”

  Vincent said, “I know it matters. I’m just not sure that I matter.”

  Lefty thought it over for a moment, then simply turned for the door. “I gotta wash up.”

  Vincent looked back out the window, releasing a long breath.

  Pausing with the hall door half-open, Lefty said, “If you feel like you need credit, then you’ll get it from me.”

  “Thanks.”

  “If it feels like you got a raw deal, consider maybe it’s not because Vito hates you. Maybe he’s afraid of you,” Lefty added.

  “Afraid? You’re yanking my chain.”

  “Well, a man’s got two options when he’s faced with someone of rare quality. Either he puts him on a pedestal and lets him shine brighter than anyone else. Or, he puts a lead weight around his neck and keeps him grounded. Either way, it’s not about being fair.”

  Vincent nodded, and Lefty exited for the washroom.

  Rare quality. He smirked.

  After the morning’s ministrations, Vincent haunted the front dock while the rest took their breakfast. He hadn’t made a face-to-face with Hattie just yet and was taking his time to frame a response. He wasn’t particularly interested in apologizing for storming off the previous evening. In fact, the woman’s entire attitude about him and his upbringing still rankled his guts. But, that didn’t mean he should act the fool. In fact, it meant he should have risen above. And he hadn’t.

  Footsteps approached.

  Vincent turned, but instead of finding Hattie approaching, he saw Lefty, shaven and changed back into his clothes.

  “You got your head outta your ass?” Lefty asked as he stepped alongside Vincent on the pier.

  “Tell me something,” Vincent said without acknowledging the question. “Those sheet-wearing Reubens pony up any useful information while you gave ’em the works?”

  Lefty nodded. “Doc Freedman, whoever this joker is, apparently hangs his shingle someplace called Bimini Island.”

  “Bimini Island,” Vincent repeated. “Ring any bells for you?”

  Lefty shook his head.

  “Yes,” a voice called from behind them.

  Vincent turned to find Hattie and Raymond standing behind them, packed for pounding.

  Vincent nodded at Lefty. “Give us some space, huh?”

  Lefty gestured at Raymond, and the two retired for the boat. Hattie stood stiff-armed, watching Vincent with hooded eyes.

  Vincent asked, “So, you know where that is?”

  She replied, “I might.”

  “Feel like cutting me in?”

  Hattie held up a hand. “First, we need to cinch up our conversation.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking on that. Look. The way I walked out—”

  “Forget it,” she grumbled.

  “Wish I could, but I was coarse and rude, and you deserved better than that.”

  Her face twisted into a question mark. “Beg your pardon?”

  “Shouldn’t a walked off the way I did,” he explained. “You hit a nerve, and I recognize that. If you can see past that, then maybe I can see past you having…being what you are. For the time being.”

  “The time being?” she prodded.

  Vincent smirked. “Well, we have a water pincher with some potent horse liniment you need to deliver to your father first. Or did I read you sideways?”

  The faintest of smiles flickered in the corner of her lips. She whispered, “Aye. We do.”

  “So. Bimini Island. You got the bead on that little slice of Heaven?”

  Hattie walked past Vincent toward the boat. “I think so, at any rate. Had a moment not long ago with one of my competition. He fed me a line about this Doc Freedman and Bimini Island. Gave me a rough direction. And whether it was God above or sheer, dumb luck, I might’ve stumbled over the damn place on my own without knowing where I was.”

  Vincent trotted up to join her. “Think you can roll those holy dice one more time?”

  “I’ll give it a go, but you have to know this was the middle of the night, and my information came from a place of…” She winced. “Desperation.”

  Vincent grimaced. “The poor bastard. Where is he now?”

  Hattie looked over the water, then shrugged. “Either at the bottom of the Bay or floating on top of’t.”

  They set off south along the Chesapeake, bound for a point that existed in the recesses of Hattie’s memories. The journey should take only a few hours, and there was copious light left in the day. Lefty lingered by the driver, involved in another deep-seated and arguably sterile religious conversation. Vincent kept to himself amidships, lingering by the railing as the spray of the water misted his outstretched hand. That boat-legger woman was correct about one thing. Life out on the water felt simpler. Cleansing. Though Vincent was certain it was little more than a passing sensation. No real sort of life could be led out here. There was nothing on this boat but rote errand-running. Hours whiled away amidst this vast, murky expanse of water. Where were the clubs? Where was the music? It was good for the moment, but ultimately, he needed more. More lights. More sound. He needed…consequence.

  Vincent caught Hattie watching him from time to time and put it out of his mind. More than ever, he was convinced that it would be impossible to share a city with a woman like this, let alone work with her. She was smart, and he had no doubt she had skills, but he’d never met anyone so stubborn, so independent and plain-spoken before. The woman was downright disruptive. She’d upset the structure of his life in short order and leave him standing in the middle of the wreckage. No, having her as Vito’s second pincher would be a disaster—for him and the family. Hopefully this Doc Freedman would be a better fit.

  The border between Maryland and Virginia approached, and Raymond pointed out the mouth of the Potomac River as they passed. Both Vincent and Hattie advanced toward the bow, eyes on the western shoreline as they watched the scenery go by.

  “Lose something?” she jibed as he eventually took a step away.

  “No. Just wondering about…wondering where we were. Exactly.”

  “Past the Wicomico, just north of the Rappahannock and Deltaville,” she said.

  He nodded. “Ever been there? Deltaville, I mean.”

  “Once. You?”

  “Yeah, just the one time.”

  Hattie peered at Vincent with a wrinkled brow. “What brought a man like you out to a thin bar of mud and pine trees?”

  “Lots of dead people,” he replied. “There’s a fishing camp there. Boat-leggers like you tend to use it to store—”

  “I know what it’s used for.”

  Vincent sighed. “Not sure that place is…right. You know?”

  Hattie looked over the water at the advancing jut of land slicing into the Bay. “I do, at that.” She turned and whistled at Raymond. “Eh, boy-o! Let’s let in.”

  Vincent asked, “Is this where you found Bimini Island?”

  “No,” she said. “I just want to take a look.”

  “At what?”

  “That fishing camp.”

  Vincent winced. “You sure that’s a good idea? Maybe there’s some of your river-running competition out there? Maybe the Richmond boys?”

  She grinned and thrust a finger into his shoulder. “You scared, Vincent Calendo?”

  “Nah. Just more interested in water pinchers than Hell…”
He didn’t finish the comment. That was too much information.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Than Hell?”

  Vincent glanced back at the helm, and the others waiting for some sort of consensus from the bow. He turned to Hattie, and muttered, “Did you see a shack? Old piece of work, nearly burned out?”

  She nodded. “I know what you’re talking about.”

  “Word from the Richmond people is there’s something called a Hell pincher holed up in that old heap.”

  “Hell pincher? What in the name of Jesus Henry are you on about?”

  Vincent eased closer. “I met the pincher from the Upright Citizens. Guy by the name of Capstein.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “Probably a good thing,” Vincent said. “He’s a bit of a windbag and a true believer, if you take my meaning. Anyways, he and Lefty and me gave that shack a once-over. Found lots of weird symbols carved into the wood. Capstein says it’s probably someone who studied forbidden text, or some horse crackers like that. Called him a Hell pincher.”

  Hattie asked, “It’s one of us?”

  “Nah. Not like us. Not born to it. More like a goon what got delusions of grandeur and sold his soul for the real deal.”

  Her face soured. “I don’t think that’s right.”

  “Yeah? Why’s that?”

  “Because,” she said, “I saw him.”

  Vincent took a moment. “You saw him?”

  “Aye. Him. It. Some sort of thing, any rate.”

  “What happened?” As she didn’t answer, Vincent prodded, “Were you there? That night, when everyone got burned alive out in the mud?”

  Hattie turned away, crossing her arms.

  Vincent pursued. “You were, weren’t you? I maybe missed you by a day, tops.”

  “Good for you.”

  “You’re telling me you laid eyes on this Hell pincher what did that to those men?”

  She nodded. “It wasn’t some goon with book learning. Whatever it was…wasn’t human.”

  Vincent checked the others again. Both Lefty and Raymond were watching them with gathered annoyance. “I think we should drive on. Go find Freedman. I mean, this is interesting and all, but—”

  “Don’t you want to see it?” she asked. “See if it’s still there?”