Wooden Nickels: White Lightning Series, Book 1

by Debra Dunbar

  Vincent joined Hattie, shaking his head. “What are they seeing?”

  Hattie turned to Vincent, and he hopped back. Her eyes sizzled with an eerie green glow. She blinked it away and uncurled her fingers.

  The truck spun its tires as the driver attempted to escape the terrors flooding his mind. After a three-point turn, the truck careened off the gravel lane and smashed into a pine tree, ejecting one of the passengers through the windscreen.

  Hattie sucked in a lusty breath, then shook out her fingers. “I feel like I haven’t used my power at all.”

  “Me, neither. What just happened, do you think?”

  “I do believe our new friend, here, has something to do with’t.” Hattie turned to the demon…to find it gone.

  The flames still consuming Capstein’s corpse died abruptly and the only light remaining in the village was the glow of embers from the ring surrounding them. Vincent pointed to the burned-out shack by the waterfront as its door eased shut with a delicate clap.

  Vincent whispered, “Show’s over, I guess.”

  “Should we try to talk to it?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think it says much. And I don’t know why it helped us but right now, I feel lucky to be alive at all—and I don’t feel like pressing my luck.”

  “Fair enough,” she conceded. “We can make sense of it all some other day.” She frowned. “We should get to Richmond.”

  Vincent nodded at the wreck near the road. “Well, that truck’s in no condition to drive. I suppose it’s a long walk for us?”

  Hattie tapped his nose with a flick of her finger and a sassy grin. “As it so happens, boy-o, I know where we can find a boat.”

  Chapter 24

  The early morning sunshine flowed through the second-story window of a white clapboard house just outside Richmond. Vincent buttoned up the white shirt he’d liberated from the owner’s chest of drawers, examining his face in the mirror above the bureau. Both he and Hattie had washed up and borrowed clothes from the upstairs bedrooms. It was the third house they’d tried to enter with the aid of Hattie’s illusion magic, but the first which had an unlocked door. The residents weren’t home, and as luck had it the gentleman of the house was roughly Vincent’s build.

  He slicked back his hair and stepped out of the bedroom to find Hattie waiting for him near the stairs. She’d pilfered a tidy blue-and-white dress with a matching cloche. Locks of her red-blonde hair slipped from beneath the hat to curl forward in the hollows under her cheekbones. She had her bangs pushed to the side under the hat and as she looked up at him, he could see her clear gray eyes, her wide generous mouth, that determined pointed chin, the dusting of freckles that danced across her upturned nose. He’d never set eyes on her outside of those muddy trousers and her feminine appeal had eluded him until this point.

  She was very pretty—fresh-faced, with a gamine beauty that tugged on something deep inside him. She did look very much a Mary Pickford-type, if a man was partial to that sort of dame. Vincent never thought he was, but with her standing here in front of him, that open, honest look on her face, as if she were seeing right through the time pincher, through the gangster to the man underneath, he wondered…

  He cleared his throat and pushed the thoughts away. “Got yourself squared, I see.”

  She eyed him shoes to brow. “Hmm. You’ll do.”

  Vincent gestured for her to precede him down the stairs, and the two made a discreet exit of the building, their filthy and tattered clothing from the night before folded and tucked beneath Vincent’s arm. He tossed them into a trash bin on Broad Street and they stepped into the various stores to inquire after doctors. After a bit of investigation, they found that there was a man on the north end of the city who treated charity cases. And with about an hour’s walk, they arrived at a sprawling farmhouse with a wrap-around porch…and a familiar figure loitering beneath the eaves.

  Lefty called, “Hope you had a better night than I did.”

  “Fat chance of that,” Vincent replied as the other man trotted up the main walk.

  Lefty nodded to Hattie, then asked, “I’ll assume this magic man was a bust?”

  “A bust and change,” Vincent grumbled. “I’ll tell you all about it later.” Hattie eyed him hard, but he gave her a reassuring glance.

  “Where’s Raymond?” she asked.

  Lefty cocked his head at the front door. “Inside. The old man inside patched him up. He only got to sleep a couple hours ago.”

  “I’m going to see him.” Hattie brushed past Lefty and into the house, leaving the two behind.

  Lefty peered at Vincent with fatigue. “You’re shy a pincher?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Them’s the breaks.”

  Vincent glanced down the lane. “You remember where Capstein’s speakeasy was?”

  “More or less. Why?”

  “There’s a pincher left in this city who I might have better luck with.”

  Lefty shook his head with a snicker. “You’re going to try and poach Capstein’s woman out from underneath him?”

  With a sly smirk, he replied, “Might not be as hard as you’d think. I’ll be right back.”

  Vincent stepped inside to find a silver-haired fellow with spectacles reading a paper. He motioned toward the side room and continued reading. Entering the room Vincent found a pair of beds, one of which barely contained Raymond’s enormous slumbering frame. Hattie stood beside the bed, gripping Raymond’s hand in two of hers.

  “How is he?” he asked.

  She shrugged.

  “Listen, we never got a chance to discuss things since last night.”

  Hattie squinted and lifted her chin just a little. “Aye. Suppose it’s time for a conversation.”

  “So, about our deal…”

  Her shoulders stiffened and she shook her head. “You didn’t get your pincher, and I didn’t get a magic potion. Looks like we’re both empty-handed—unless you intend on hauling me in as your catch, that is.”

  No. He’d keep her secret, and hopefully, if no one else found out, she’d be able to keep her freedom.

  Vincent met her gaze squarely. “I want you to know, I have no intention of diming you out to Vito and the Crew. Your secret’s safe with me.”

  Her eyes softened. “That a fact?”

  Vincent grinned. “Hell, moment I met you, I was convinced I didn’t want your contentious self anywhere near me, or anywhere near Baltimore for that matter, but now I’m not so sure. Whatever that hocus pocus was last night with…” He checked over his shoulder, then whispered, “…you-know-who. That meant something. We’re connected, you and I.”

  Hattie slowly nodded. “Which means…?”

  Vincent continued, “Which means we’ll probably need to put up with each other more than either of us would like. Here’s my deal. You keep doing what you do. Work with Tony and your boss and keep the boat-legging business nice and brisk. And you keep living free as you like.”

  “That’s your deal?” She shifted her weight, biting her lip as she eyed him. “So, what’s mine then?”

  “I want to meet every now and then. Compare notes, catch up. From what Capstein said these demons, or whatever that thing was, were probably conjured up by a Hell pincher.”

  “Never heard of a Hell pincher before,” Hattie scoffed. “Sure he wasn’t just full of it?”

  “You have to admit, Capstein was far more connected than either of us. I intend to find one of these Hell pinchers, and maybe get to the bottom of this circus. I work on that, and you’ll meet me regular-like?”

  She stared at him, uncertainty in her eyes.

  “This is bigger than just booze and boats,” Vincent urged. “If there’s a secret truth behind what that thing in Deltaville is, and what we are? I want that truth. And I think you do, too.”

  He extended a hand.

  Hattie sighed, then shook it. “Deal. Every other Sunday?”

  “I can do that. Where?”

  “Ever h
eard of a club downtown called the Fontainebleau?”

  Vincent nodded. “Sure. Jazz joint, right?”

  “I’ll see you in two weeks.”

  As Vincent released her hand and stepped away, he nodded at Raymond. “Oh, by the way, you don’t have to keep your friend here in the cold. He knows what you are.”

  Her eyes shot wide. “What?”

  Vincent smiled, and turned to leave.

  An hour later, Lefty and Vincent had walked all the way back into the middle of Richmond. Vehicles putted along the lane, swerving around a clutch of dogs being walked by a young man who wasn’t up to the challenge. They wound around a law office and descended a series of steps to the speakeasy Capstein had brought them to the day they’d met him. Vincent rapped on the door, and a slot slid open as a pair of bushy eyebrows stared at them.

  “Yeah, so what do you want?” the doorman grumbled.

  “Is Betty working?” Vincent asked.

  “Who wants to know?”

  “Name’s Vincent Calendo. I’m a friend of Elmer’s.”

  Bushy eyebrows remained unmoved.

  Vincent asked, “Could you just ask Betty if she remembers me?”

  The slot rammed shut, and Vincent waited.

  Lefty asked, “What’re you gonna tell her? About Capstein?”

  “The truth.”

  “Sure that’s the call you wanna make?”

  “She’s been lied to enough. If we have any hope of talking her into moving to the Crew, then we have to be the opposite of what Capstein…”

  Vincent clammed up as the door inched open. The doorman nodded to Vincent. “Okay, you can come in. But only you.”

  Vincent turned to Lefty with a sigh. “Maybe you can get us a couple tickets back to Baltimore?”

  Lefty nodded. “Suits me. I’m ready to leave.”

  As Lefty trod back up the steps, Vincent ducked into the dim light of the speakeasy. Betty stood behind the end of the bar, her long blonde hair done back in a simple braid, rustic and unrefined. It made him wonder what sort of background she’d had before Capstein ensnared her on Bimini Island.

  “Well, there he is again,” Betty cooed. “I was hoping you would be back, although I hardly expected it would be so soon.”

  “Me either,” he said as he took a stool.

  She lifted an Old Fashioned glass. “Whisky?” With a smirk and twist of her fingers along the rim, the vessel creaked and lengthened into a skinny pilsner glass. “Or a beer?”

  Vincent smiled. “Neat trick. Liked your sculptures better, though.”

  She shrugged. “Gotta be useful, right?”

  His smile faded. “So, listen. I want to talk to you about Capstein.”

  Something sparked in the woman’s eyes, a sort of predatory hunger that made Vincent feel he was on shaky and unfamiliar ground. She leaned over the bar, rolling the pilsner glass between her fingers. “I’d rather talk about us.”

  Vincent tried not to let his eyes drift down the hang of her blouse, which had billowed quite on purpose. She lifted a finger and traced it down the back of his hand.

  “I could leave him,” she whispered. “Join you in Baltimore. Elmer would never know. You and me. I’d be of great service to your boss.” Betty glanced up at him from under her eyelashes. “And to you as well.”

  This…this was not how he’d expected the conversation to go. He hadn’t even laid out his proposition, and she was already agreeing to work for Vito. But as for the other…. Why did he feel like he was being manipulated? Stalked by some vicious big cat?

  Maybe he needed to step back a pace before telling Lefty to get this pincher a ticket to Baltimore as well.

  “Tell me, something.” He slid his hand away from her. “Are you and Capstein truly in charge of the Upright Citizens?”

  Her face pulled into a twist of shock before she released a long belt of laughter. “Oh…huh. What’s he been telling you?”

  “Grand schemes.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Sounds like him.”

  “So, the Citizens have the two of you under their thumbs just like everyone else?”

  Betty squinted at Vincent, then straightened up. “We’re treated fairly. They need us, value us. It’s been a mutually beneficial partnership. I’d rather be with you, though. I’m sure things are better in Baltimore. You and I—”

  “Can you come and go as you please?” he interrupted.

  A cautious expression settled on her face. “Elmer does what he wants. Try stopping him. The man has his ideas, and the rest of us need to fall in line with them, or else.”

  Vincent tapped the bar top. “What about you? Are you happy here?”

  Again, there was that predatory gleam in her eyes, there one second and gone the next. “No, I’m not happy here.” Her hand reached for his. “But then you came into the bar, I saw how happy I could really be if I just had the strength to leave him, if I just had a powerful man, a powerful family, to shield me and keep me safe.”

  He’d always been a sucker for a lady in need of a hero, but this made him uncomfortable. It sounded like a load of bushwa, but he couldn’t rule out that she might have been abused and was desperate to get away by any means. She had been kidnapped and forced to serve the Upright Citizens, after all.

  Either way, he had to give her a choice. He had to let her know it wasn’t about escaping Capstein anymore, but choosing which family to align herself with.

  “You should want to be where you are. Whether that’s here, with the Baltimore Crew, or free and on your own.”

  Her laugh was bitter as she twisted the glass in her hand. “Free? I used to think that was all I needed, but when free means running from city to city, trying to hide your powers, not sure where your next meal is gonna come from…well, that ain’t exactly free now, is it?”

  “He told me how the two of you met,” Vincent said. “Capstein told me how he captured you.”

  Betty stopped working at the glass and stared at him.

  He continued, “On the island. His test…the mousetrap with a fake water pincher instead of cheese.”

  “It’s true. Capstein captured me. I was his hostage until I gave in and did as he wished. You see why I want to leave? Why I need to leave and get away from him at last?”

  He needed a better motivation than her leaving Capstein. More than this strange damsel-in-distress seduction of hers that seemed so forced.

  “He’s dead,” Vincent stated. “Capstein is dead.”

  Her eyes stared blankly, before the words caught up with her. They widened, and she took a half step away, worrying away at the glass beneath the bar as it creaked and squeaked under her ministrations. “How?” she whispered.

  “He played with fire.”

  “Did…you…?” A tiny frown creased her forehead as she eyed him uncertainly.

  “He had me shot and beaten and hogtied. I wasn’t in a position to save myself, much less hurt him. And God help him, he tried his best to talk me into joining this Kingdom.”

  A calculating look scuttled across her face. “Was it quick?”

  Vincent nodded. “Quicker than he deserved.”

  This time the calculating look settled in to stay. “He’s gone.” Her eyes appraised Vincent. “Gone. And now I’m the only pincher here.”

  Vincent hesitated, wondering if he was making the right decision. “I would like you to join the Baltimore Crew, Betty. I want to make you an offer.”

  The squeaking of the glass ceased and a disturbing smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “Me, too.”

  Her motions were alarmingly fast, and she was so close. Her arm lifted over the counter and thrust at Vincent’s throat with such speed that he could barely pinch time before the blade of glass she’d wrought beneath the bar would have pierced the skin near his jugular.

  Vincent eased his head away from the weapon. It was a work of art, really. Faceted glass refracted the tortured beams of sunlight slipping through the windows along the tops of the walls, sending
rainbows spraying across her arm. Its blade possessed a single, deadly-sharp edge, recurved in the fashion of an Arabic dagger.

  He glanced up at her frozen face. It was cold, hard, manipulative. Her lips were pulled back to reveal a toothy snarl. This was a face bent on murder. Not just murder…self-advancement.

  Why hadn’t he seen it before? She had been desperate to flee Capstein, but not because she wanted to escape an abusive situation. The air pincher had been stronger than she was. She could never assert her place in Richmond with his thumb firmly placed on her head. She’d read Vincent as some weak Rueben to easily seduce then claw her way to the top in Baltimore. But with Capstein dead, there was no need to flee north.

  And if she had managed to kill him, Baltimore’s only pincher, how much better it would have been for her. Capstein had wanted to rule the eastern seaboard, and clearly Betty did as well, but what the air pincher hoped to accomplish through kidnapping and recruitment, Betty was comfortable doing through murder.

  Vincent nodded to himself as he slipped off the stool. There was clearly no recruiting her, and he had no stomach for harming the woman, though it would’ve been easy to do her in right now. He’d witnessed far too much death in the past two days. It would be better to return to Baltimore empty-handed, leaving her in power here, than shed one more drop of blood. So, he pushed in the stool and turned to make his exit, maintaining the time bubble until he was out of the speakeasy and out of sight. She would be left with her pinched glass dagger and sole responsibility for the Upright Citizens.

  It wasn’t Vincent’s problem.

  Chapter 25

  The Fontainebleau had a thin crowd for a Sunday. The weather was dreadful. Late spring rains had come to turn the streets into tracks of mud and grime. Hats and hair were doomed, as were fancy dresses and shoes. Hattie sat on a bar stool waiting for Leon to pop out of the back, and considering the dress she’d stolen from that house in Richmond. It was her second dress. It wasn’t a hand-me-down. It wasn’t inherited from her mother. It might have been stolen, but now it was simply hers, and happily it was short enough not to suffer from the muddy streets.