by Debra Dunbar
“If this son of a bitch really exists, and if he has some magic potion that can deal with this, then we’ll find him,” he told the other man. “And we’ll bring it back. In the meantime, you have to get him to real doctors.”
Lefty shook his head and drew a breath for a retort, but Vincent lifted a hand.
“I know it’ll be work. And that’s why I’m asking you to do it. You can talk to those backward pieces of work. I’ll just get in their faces. We can’t gamble everything on Doc Freedman. If we get that elixir, we’ll find you, and we’ll solve the problem. But if we don’t?”
Lefty nodded. “I get it, I get it.”
“Do you know how to operate the boat?” Hattie asked him.
Lefty peered at the craft over the grass. “How hard can it be?”
She sighed, then reached to Vincent for a hand as she got to her feet. “Come on, old-timer. We’ve a quick bit of learning to work through before I trust you on the water alone.”
Vincent remained with Raymond as the two rushed back to the boat. He gripped the man’s hand in his own fist, searching for something in him that was still awake and aware. Raymond’s fingers slowly clamped down onto Vincent’s.
Peering down at Raymond, Vincent’s heart leapt several beats as Raymond opened his eyes. “You…get her…to that island.”
Vincent lifted a finger to his mouth to urge Raymond to silence, but the stubborn bastard gripped his hand tighter.
“You…keep her…” The man sucked in several breaths and closed his eyes for a few seconds before saying, “Free.”
“I will,” Vincent immediately replied, gripping Raymond’s fist with both hands.
“Good.” He opened his eyes with a slight smirk. “’Cause I’ll bust your jaw if you give ’er any grief.” Raymond jerked Vincent’s arm with enough force to drop his face inches away from the other man’s. “I know…what you are. I know what she is.” He coughed, then added, “No one…puts a collar…on Hattie Malloy. You heard me?”
Vincent eased away, then grinned. “That’s the plan, my friend.”
Raymond nodded before his eyes fluttered closed, and his fist relinquished all its strength to drop against the mud.
Lifting Raymond by his shoulders, Vincent hauled him back to the shoreline just as Lefty fired up the boat engine. Then he and Hattie hoisted the injured man over the railing, settling him comfortably along the deck beneath the helm.
Vincent wiped his hands off on his trousers and caught his breath as Lefty made mental notes while he touched the helm and the throttle.
“You set?” he asked the other man.
Lefty shook his head. “Better if I had this one driving.” He nodded at Hattie.
“The question is can you manage this boat to Richmond?”
Hattie shouted, “He’s as good as I’d be, ya daft twit! Let him shove off. We have to find that other boat.”
Vincent exchanged glances with Lefty. This was, as far as the family was concerned, a minor matter. The only real problem if this boat driver perished on his way to dry land was that the Crew would be less one boat-legger. With any luck they could replace him by the weekend and be back in business without so much as a hitch. But Hattie and Raymond had become more than just a couple of freelancers to Vincent. They’d all shared a day or two of life-or-death in the pursuit of a phantom, and thus this meant much, much more to him than just Crew business.
Vincent steeled his nerve, then told the other man, “Get moving! Get him to a doctor.”
“Easier said than done,” Lefty replied. “What am I supposed to do when they turn us away?”
“Capstein will probably be there. He always is. But in case he isn’t…just do what you do. Throw your weight around.”
Lefty sighed. “That works in Baltimore. Not in enemy territory.”
Vincent waved him on. “Make it work, then. In case we don’t pan out.”
Lefty raised his hand in the air. “Yeah, fine. Whatever. You’ll catch up with me, in case this tall tale spins itself into something real?”
Vincent nodded. “That boat of theirs looked light and quick. We’ll probably beat you back to Richmond.”
Hattie crossed her arms. “Assuming we find it.”
“Oh, I know where it is,” Lefty chimed.
Both Vincent and Hattie shot him a look.
Lefty explained, “While you three were thundering through the grass for that burning building…” He hopped atop the bench behind the helm and nodded to the north. “I bothered to read the land.”
Vincent followed Lefty’s gaze up the shoreline, and a tiny metal hull bobbing along the side of a felled tree.
Lefty spat into the water over the side of the boat, then said, “Best get moving. I’m hauling ass to Richmond if this man wants to see his son again.”
Vincent’s chest tightened with a flash of panic, and he nodded. “Go.”
Lefty reached across his body to edge down the throttle, then reached quickly for the helm. The boat churned its way into the Chesapeake, and was soon out of sight.
Hattie rushed along the shoreline for the speedboat, and Vincent sprinted to catch up. They reached the small craft, took a quick inventory—no weapons aboard—checked the fuel, then set out. Hattie took the helm while Vincent sat behind her.
“Any ideas?” he shouted over the motor.
“I’m coming at it from a completely different angle,” she replied. “I’m groping in the dark.”
“Doesn’t sound like much.”
She nodded. “I know, but it’s all I’ve got. Last time I saw the island, it was like it knew I needed it. I’m hoping for the same luck.”
Hattie sliced the boat toward the middle of the Bay, weaving in long angles to view more of the horizon. Before long, a shadow appeared in the distance, long and inky.
Vincent stood up. “Is that land?”
“Aye,” she muttered.
“Could it be…”
“I believe that’s Tangier Island. Which means we’re too far north, already.” She kicked the deck. “It’s like hunting for Avalon.”
Vincent shook his head, unsure what she was referring to, then turned back to the south. “And you’d never heard of Bimini Island before that competitor of yours mentioned it?”
“Some of the smaller bars don’t have proper names, so people just call them what they will. It’s not uncommon.”
She steered to the right, easing the boat a full turn to head south again.
Vincent blinked as a something caught his eye. The speedboat wove a neat half-circle as Vincent turned against it, cupping his hand over his eyes.
“Hey, hang on,” he shouted.
Hattie eased up on the throttle. “What is it?”
“Do you see that?” He pointed due east to a point of light in the distance.
She shook her head.
Vincent crouched a little, and the light disappeared. When he straightened his legs, it popped back into view.
“Here,” he said, holding out a hand. “Climb up.”
Hattie eyed him dubiously, then took his hand and planted a boot onto the side of the hull. As she lifted herself, her eyes widened. “I…see it.”
“Maybe you weren’t crazy, after all?” he offered as she dropped back down.
“Little Teague’s boat sat higher in the water,” she said, rubbing her forehead. “I hadn’t realized.”
Vincent squinted into the distance. “Looks like a campfire. Must be something on the ground covering it from a certain angle.”
Hattie turned the boat back around, taking guidance from Vincent. As they approached a long, narrow bar just east of Tangier the campfire became visible, its flames lighting the smoke lifting into the night. The fire was housed in a neat circle of bricks with an empty spit swung clear of the flames. Beyond the fire pit stood a lone structure, a well-maintained shack. Near the far end of the shack was a post-and-beam pavilion covering what looked like a still.
Vincent muttered, “I think we found
our potion maker.”
“Think he’s here?” Hattie asked.
“Well, someone started that fire.”
Slowing the boat, Hattie drove it gently onto the beach. The sloping hull rushed along the sand until the boat stuck. Hattie killed the engine and hopped out along with Vincent. Together, they pulled the boat farther against the sand to situate it, then splashed through the ankle-high surf onto the muddy sand.
“Should we just walk up?” Hattie asked. “He might have a gun, or worse. Not sure what a water pincher would do to defend himself, and I’ve no interest in finding out.”
“Good point.” Vincent stepped up the berm of sand and cupped his hands around his mouth to shout, “Hello?”
There was no response.
He tried again.
Hattie joined in. “Doc Freedman? We need your help!”
Vincent shrugged and approached the campfire, his eyes on the shack.
Hattie crouched down near the fire pit. “Footprints. Someone’s here.”
“Maybe he’s shy?”
“I’d be.”
“We mean you no harm. We have a friend who’s injured. Badly.” Vincent peered over to Hattie, whose face twitched with impatience. “We’re like you. Pinchers, or whatever you call yourself. I understand if you’re short on trust, but it’s important that we speak to you. A man’s life depends on it.”
Hattie stood up and wound around the fire pit, mumbling, “We can’t wait.”
Vincent said, “Be careful.”
As she took several steps toward the shack, the door cracked open. Hattie froze. “Doc Freedman?” she asked in a half-whisper.
The door swung slowly on its hinges. The interior was completely dark. Vincent stepped up alongside Hattie, ready to duck for cover if a rifle appeared.
A voice called from inside the shack, “Well, well. Found yourself a pincher, huh?”
Vincent blinked. That voice… A figure emerged from the shack, and Vincent’s stomach twisted.
Capstein.
“What are you doing here?” Vincent muttered.
Capstein grinned. “My job.” He removed his hat and ran a hand through his blond hair. “Please understand, it’s nothing personal.”
Hattie took a step backward and the man nodded to her. “Ma’am. You’ll want to stay where you are.”
Vincent narrowed his eyes. “What is this, Capstein?”
“So, you said ‘we’re pinchers’ out there by the fire.” The man ignored the question and eyed Hattie. “Where did you find this pretty little thing? Took my words to heart, I see.”
Vincent watched the air pincher warily. He and Hattie were in his territory. He’d need to tread cautiously. And there was only one reason he could think of for Capstein to be here—the man had decided to take the rumors seriously and scoop up a third pincher for the Upright Citizens.
“What have you done with Doc Freedman?” Vincent asked him. “Have you hauled him back to Richmond already? If you have, perhaps you’ve got some of his elixir we can purchase?”
Capstein laughed. “Oh, Vincent. You are not nearly as clever as I’d thought. In truth, there is no Doc Freedman. Or Bimini Island. It’s all a myth.”
“What?” Hattie gasped.
“Boat-leggers and watermen are a chatty group,” Capstein explained. “You drop one rumor into that pond, and the ripples spread all the way from Newport News to Dover. Keep dropping the same rumor into different ears, and the myth becomes common knowledge. It’s proven useful in scaring up free pinchers.”
Suddenly it all made sense. “Is this how you found Betty?” Vincent asked.
“It is, in fact. I’ve been at this for a while. Sometimes I lose them here on this beach when they get punchy. It’s a terrible waste of resources, but at least it keeps free pinchers from going to the Italian mob.”
“So, this was all a lie?” Vincent groaned.
“Yes, but a very useful lie.” Capstein nodded at Hattie. “So, my dear. What is it that you can do?”
She lifted her chin and glared at Capstein in silence.
“Come, come,” the man urged as he stepped out onto the beach. “We should treat one another as equals. Despite what you may think, the Upright Citizens would be a far better home for you than the Baltimore Crew. We value our pinchers. We give them purpose. You could thrive among our numbers, not simply survive.”
Hattie shook her head with wild, incredulous eyes. “You’re trying to recruit me?”
Capstein lifted a calming hand. “I am. I can offer you more. Both of you.”
Vincent thrust a finger at Capstein. “How’s anyone supposed to believe you, after this…” he waved his hands around, “…stupid lie?”
“It is a lie, yes,” Capstein replied. “But far from stupid. It is equal parts ruse and test of will. It takes knowledge and cunning to root out the truth from the threads I’ve sewn throughout every waterman village on the Bay. To make it this far demonstrates aptitude that we require among our numbers.”
“And yet you’ve only managed to nab one,” Vincent commented. “I suppose this test of yours is washing out every free pincher you’ve ensnared.”
Capstein laughed. “Free? No pincher is ever truly free.”
“I am,” Hattie snapped. “And I intend to stay that way.”
Capstein’s eyes shifted back and forth between Vincent and Hattie. “Have you not snatched this one up? I thought she was yours.”
“I don’t belong to him, or anyone,” Hattie shot back.
“Yes, she does belong to me,” Vincent blurted out. “I’ve already claimed her for Baltimore.”
Hattie took a step away from him, eyeing him uncertainly.
“Tsk, tsk. And here you are trying to recruit Doc Freedman as well. Greedy much, Vincent?”
“We’d mainly come for the elixir, although if Freedman had been amenable, I was prepared to pitch him an offer.” Vincent shot Hattie a warning glance. “But this one…she’s already claimed. She’s mine.”
“The lady seems to think otherwise.” Capstein waved a dismissive hand. “All this doesn’t matter. It is not too late for both of you. Imagine it, Vincent,” he said stepping forward, “you’ve seen what we have to offer. We’ve discussed this. Legacy!”
Hattie scowled at Vincent. “Discussed?”
He shook his head. “All I heard was a man asking me to exchange one master for another. Treating us like brood mares. It was sickening.”
Capstein winced. “That…that is hurtful.”
“So sorry.”
“You still don’t understand, Vincent. There are no masters. We are the masters. We decide.”
Hattie watched him warily. “The Upright Citizens is a mob like any other. And they own you, just like any other.”
“That is where you’re mistaken,” Capstein said with a wag of his finger. “Sure, there are two-bit rumrunners and hash den proprietors in the organization, and perhaps they feel as if they are the ones who make the decisions. But they have come to rely on my power—perhaps too much. They have given me all I need, and I have taken every inch and more. Betty and I are the real Upright Citizens. And you two could join us.” He turned to Vincent. “I know you have no real love for Vito Corbi. You were born into servitude. I’m offering you your first taste of what your quarrelsome friend calls freedom.”
Vincent felt Hattie’s eyes on him. “That is not my idea of freedom. Thanks, but no thanks. If there is no Doc Freedman and no elixir, then we’ll be taking our leave now.”
“I’m afraid I can’t allow that.” Capstein brushed the dust from his sleeve. “You should know that I have several men in the grass all around us. They’re good shots—better than the ones I left at Maudite’s.”
“That was you?” Hattie’s eyes widened.
“By association, I suppose,” Capstein replied. “In any event, I’d prefer we speak with civility.”
“You sent goons to gun us down, and now you want to speak civilly?” Hattie snarled.
Vincent reached out to grab her arm, giving it a quick squeeze as he sent her another warning glance. “This isn’t wise, Capstein. You don’t want to mess with Vito and the Crew. Just let us go, and we’ll keep the peace between our two families.”
Capstein laughed. “You must be joking. They’ll never know what happened to you, never find your bodies. But there’s no need for this. Join us. Between the four of us, we’ll rule the east coast from the Carolinas to the Jersey Shore.”
Vincent kept a firm hold on Hattie’s arm and dragged her a step backward, raising his hand.
“You can pinch time if you like,” Capstein warned, “but you’ll never hear the bullet coming. And knowing what I know from the Baltimore Crew I’ve chatted up these past years, there’s a limit to how long you can hold your power. You’ll never find all of my men.”
“I know where you are,” Vincent said. “That’ll be a good start.”
Capstein laughed. “Yes. You could kill me. And then you’ll die, as well. As will your friend who is in such dire need of a magic elixir. Tell me, it wasn’t Mancuso, was it?”
“No. It was my friend,” Hattie spat.
“The colored fellow? Ah. Well, I suppose that figures. These Bianco Fiore boys aren’t the most reliable resource, but they are predictable.”
“Two against one,” Vincent informed him. “You’ve no idea what her powers are, and I’m far stronger than you think. Could be we’re both willing to take the chance, knowing at the least we could kill you and maybe half your men out there.”
Capstein shook his head, a bewildered expression on his face. “But why? I’ve delivered you an offer with incredible opportunity. Don’t risk your lives when you can align yourself with those who will win the eventual conflict between our groups. It’s an easy choice.”
“This isn’t a choice,” Hattie retorted. “It’s a demand. How can anyone call this a choice when the only other option is to be murdered on a beach?”
“And what choice would you have given Freedman?” Capstein lifted an eyebrow.
Hattie shook her head, then glanced at Vincent who scowled back.