“Yes. There’s illegal liquor being run through this area from the port in New Orleans. We believe this gang is involved. They probably thought of the bank as a way of getting some quick cash while they set things up.”
“What if you catch them? Can’t Uncle Enzo come home then, too?”
Tommy crossed his arms and stared at the floor.
Cranch did the same but then raised his eyes to Sal again. “Your Uncle Enzo may not ever be able to return home.”
Sadness choked Sal like muddy river water, all dark and cold. This couldn’t be happening. He didn’t even get to tell Uncle Enzo goodbye. He blinked back tears and shook his head. “No. No!”
Mama squeezed Sal’s arm, her face taut.
Sal wiped knuckles across his eyes and tried to steady his voice. “Can I at least talk to him?”
Cranch ran a hand over his hair and looked Sal straight in the eye. “We can’t risk Angelo finding out where Enzo is. Angelo is a dangerous man, and your uncle crossed him. He’s already killed his own boss to gain control of their local operation.”
Sal swallowed. He didn’t feel bad for the boss, but the murder of Mr. Costa’s murderer brought little consolation.
“The word is there’s a price on Enzo’s head. Do you know what that means?”
“A contract.” Sal’s voice deepened. “Somebody was paid to kill him.”
Mama made a small birdlike sound and covered her mouth.
Cranch glanced at Mama, and his tone softened. “I’m sorry, Sal. We’ll do everything we can to help hide him and keep him safe. But Enzo may have to stay on the move the rest of his life.”
Sal’s face burned. Uncle Enzo was alive and safe, but those crooks had managed to take him from his family just the same. Sal might never see him again. And they stole Uncle Enzo’s freedom as surely as they stole him from Sal. He hated Angelo, hated all of them. It took every ounce of control to keep his voice even. “Do you know where the gang is now?”
“We have a pretty good idea. And there’s something new that can help prove we have the right men when we catch them.”
Which shouldn’t be taking so long. “What’s that?”
“Fingerprinting.” Cranch extended the palm of his hand.
Sal dispensed with politeness and stared at Cranch’s hand.
“Let me show you. Give me your hand,” Cranch insisted.
Sal held out his hand, and Cranch turned it palm up. “See, each of your fingers has a unique pattern on its tip, different from anyone else’s. Copies of those fingerprints are left when someone touches something. Now there’s a way of finding and recording those patterns.”
Sal held his fingertips closer to his face. “Yeah, I see them.”
“The Bureau of Investigation in Washington started a fingerprint identification system last year. If these crooks have been involved in other crimes anywhere in the country and left fingerprints, we can match them up. And match up face and body descriptions by witnesses of different crimes, too. Then we’ll be able to determine not just what they’ve done, but who else they’ve been working with—or for.”
“The Bureau. That’s run by Mr. J. Edgar Hoover, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Do you have their fingerprints? For the men I told Tommy about?”
“Yes, they were all over your father’s tools.”
“Have you gotten any fingerprints from other crimes committed around here?”
“Sure have.” Cranch narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
Summerfield. Sal took a deep breath and braced his back. “There’s something else I need to tell you.”
Sal couldn’t talk with Mama in the room, especially after the way she reacted to the news about the Summerfield Savings and Loan. He couldn’t cause her more hurt or disappointment—or scare her either, which was what this would do. “Mama, I haven’t fed Bruno or the chickens yet. Would you please give Bruno my eggs?”
Mama hesitated but smiled. “Of course, Sal. You need to talk to the men.” She went into the kitchen.
“Maybe we’d better sit down.” Tommy indicated a chair for Sal and then withdrew his notebook and pen from his pocket. Husser and Cranch selected their seats.
Sal gritted his teeth. He had to get this over with and then it would be done. Finally, there would be nothing left holed up inside him, nothing else to feel guilty about. If only he’d worked up the courage sooner.
“Go ahead.” Tommy’s blue eyes summoned the information as if Sal had no control over it.
“I knew the gang was planning to go to Summerfield.” Sal grimaced. “Antonina and I heard them talking about it.” Sal took a fleeting look at the other men’s faces.
“When?” Thank goodness Tommy was asking the questions.
“It was soon after Mr. Costa’s funeral.”
“How did you happen to hear their plans?”
Sal swallowed hard and looked straight at Tommy. “We pretended we were going fishing so we could walk all the way from the restaurant to Mr. Robinson’s old shack in the woods. I’d figured the gang might be hiding out there. It was close to where they’d taken off when our car ran out of gas the night of the crime.”
“Were they there?”
“Yes. We crawled under the shack and stayed below a window where we could listen. We heard the boss, Angelo, and Emilio talk about getting a car and going to another town. They considered Summerfield and Greenville, but the boss seemed to like Summerfield better.”
“Did you see any of the men that time?”
“Only a shadow going past the window, but I’d know those voices anywhere.”
“Is there anything else you need to say, Sal?”
He had a question, even if asking it made him want to throw up. “The teller who was shot at the Savings and Loan robbery—is he …?” He held his breath.
“He’s going to live.”
Sal exhaled and closed his eyes.
Sal grabbed a bar of soap and stepped into the galvanized washtub he and Mama had dragged into the kitchen and filled with warm water. It was time, she’d said. Sal agreed. His last full bath had been a week ago. And a good soak was just what he needed to relax. Maybe he’d be able to stop thinking about mobs and gangs and shootings for a while. He lathered the soap between his hands and washed his face and neck and then splashed water over them. He closed his eyes, arms draped over the sides of the tub. He stretched his legs all the way across the bottom until his toes touched the steel wall. He couldn’t do that a month ago.
How could something like alcohol make so much trouble for everyone? Mr. Labato ran a bar not too long ago, and that was fine back then. A lot of men in town stopped in, had a drink, and went home. Even Uncle Enzo drank wine, and he wasn’t a bad man. He was probably one of the best men Sal knew. Sure, he’d seen drunks lying in the street before the Prohibition law, but he still saw them. And that was probably the worst trouble Freedom had before the law was passed. Then strangers moved in to make some fast money trying to rob a bank on their way to bootlegging. Seemed like the law was causing more crime.
But the law was the law. Like Papa, he would obey. And he would try to do what Tommy wanted him to do.
The hardest part about staying away from town was not talking to Antonina. She was such a good listener and always came up with ideas for solving problems when Sal couldn’t think of any. And she looked so pretty the last couple of times he saw her. Like the other night, and in the restaurant, even though it was for only a second. Her eyes, big and green, had told him she was sorry Mr. Labato treated Mama and him so badly. And that morning at the jail, her eyes spoke so kindly, and she looked so nice in that dress—
Sal got a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. Sort of like the time he touched a baby alligator and it leapt at him, its little jaws snapping at his hand. He sat up and opened his eyes.
What was coming over him? Was he losing his mind? He grunted and shook his head as if to eject a bee from his hair. With everything that had
happened—the robbery, the murder, Papa going to jail, worrying about mobsters, and losing Uncle Enzo—maybe he was cracking up.
Sal covered his ears with his hands and let his head slip below the water until he had to breathe again.
Chapter 20
A Different Kind of Prison
Having a deputy sheriff around took Sal some getting used to. Jim was okay most of the time—that’s what he wanted Sal to call him—but Sal would’ve liked him better if he’d pitched in and helped around the farm a little. After all, they were still two men short without Papa and Uncle Enzo.
“He has his job, and we have ours.” Hiram was almost too good sometimes.
“Is part of his job to eat Mama’s fresh bread right out of the oven before we have a chance to have any?” Sal pursed his lips as he raked the barn floor.
Jim sat in his patrol car behind the barn where he’d parked it two days earlier. He spent most of his time in it, except for meals and coffee breaks and to sleep at night. At the first whiff of something good coming from the kitchen, Jim suddenly would have to check around the house to make sure everything was clear. Then Mama would notice and invite him in for coffee and cake or bread topped with butter.
Sal had to put his foot down when Mama suggested that Jim sleep in Uncle Enzo’s bed. What if Uncle Enzo returned? And besides, Sal didn’t want a stranger in their room. He placed a cot for Jim in the keeping room off the kitchen. He could stay in there with the potatoes.
The way Jim was always watching them, home was almost as much a prison as Papa’s jail cell. It didn’t seem to bother Mama or Hiram, but Sal spent most of his time out in the fields trying to figure out how to get away from the farm and slip into town. He was dying to find out if Antonina had seen anything else behind Costa’s Grocery.
Hiram still took produce to the train station. And Jim told Mama he’d drive her to the next town to do her shopping, away from prying eyes, as long as Sal and Hiram stuck together while he and Mama were gone.
Sal would bide his time.
Hiram pulled the truck into the driveway late the next afternoon, emptied of the crates of corn and okra he’d taken to the train depot. He got out, stretched, and headed for the outdoor water pump where Sal was drying off.
Hiram turned his face to the sky. “Sal, would you do me a favor and make sure the truck windows are rolled up? Looks like rain again.” His last few words blubbered under the running water.
“Sure.” All this rain they’d been having lately, and by next month they could be in a drought like most summers. Then Sal would have even more work to do, irrigating the fields.
“This is the hottest day I can remember since …” The thick air muffled Hiram’s words as Sal turned the corner of the house.
He rolled up both windows and started back around the corner when something smacked him hard and solid like a bale of hay. He teetered for a second.
Antonina lay sprawled on the ground in a pair of dungarees, her mouth gaping open. “Hey, watch where you’re going.” Her eyes labeled him the worst sort of scoundrel.
“Me? This is my yard. What are you doing sneaking around?” Sal kept his voice down, although Hiram was probably walking home by now. But Jim …
“I was looking for you.” Her eyes opened wide, and her lower teeth jutted. “Well, aren’t you at least going to help me up?”
She had no right to be so bossy under the circumstances, but Sal extended a hand and hoisted her to her feet.
“Look, I’m not supposed to be here talking to you.” Her voice deepened, and she glanced around the yard.
“No kidding. How’d you get here this time?” he snapped and then took a breath. Why did he have to sound so mean?
“In the back of your truck. I hid under the tarp.” She smiled like she expected him to congratulate her.
“You’d better go hide in the barn until I can figure out what to do with you.” He’d been hoping to get a chance to see her, but her showing up like this again was only adding to his troubles.
“Don’t you want to know why I came?” She placed her hands on her hips and cocked her head.
“Yeah, but later. I have to go in and eat.” He turned and left her standing there.
If she were lucky, Jim wouldn’t see her. But he was probably seated at the supper table already.
After excusing himself from the table, Sal took twice the food he normally did to feed Bruno and tucked an extra plate under the bottom. Thank goodness there were enough leftovers in spite of Jim, who lingered in the kitchen over a cup of coffee, yammering to Mama. Sal was grateful for the blabbermouth this time.
Antonina shot to her feet when he came through the barn door.
She stood eye-to-eye with him, more slender than he remembered, her waist nipped by a leather belt.
“I brought you something.” He shoved the extra plate toward her, scraped some pasta and a meatball onto it, and handed her the fork.
She blinked and accepted his offerings.
“Look, I have to go feed Bruno, but I’ll be back. Don’t go outside.” He could be bossy, too.
When Sal returned, she was eating, perched on the milking stool.
She raised her head. “It stinks in here.”
“You’re welcome, town girl.” She sure got particular all of a sudden, for someone who usually had dirt between her toes.
“Sorry. Thanks for the food.” She set the plate on the floor and clasped her hands on her lap. In the dimly lit barn, the pupils of her eyes were big and black, squeezing out most of the green.
Sal sighed. He couldn’t stay mad at her.
“You’d asked me to watch for goings-on behind the grocery,” she said in a teasing voice.
His eyes widened. “And?”
“They’re storing bottles of liquor back there.”
Sal hurried to shut the barn door all the way. “How do you know that?”
“Because last night after dark, Carlo went out there and unlocked the doors of the storage pit. All of a sudden, Officer Hammond showed up.”
“Hammond? Are you sure?”
“Yes. He had a few wooden cases with him. He and Carlo looked over the cases and then pulled a bottle from one of them before putting the rest into the pit.”
“But it was dark. How could you tell what it was?”
“I remember the bottles my father used to keep in the bar. That’s what it looked like. And they were laughing it up, awfully happy about that bottle. Then they went into the store together through the back door.”
Hammond hadn’t come out to the farm with Tommy and the DA, and he’d always been with Tommy before. There might’ve been a reason Tommy didn’t use a police car. Maybe they didn’t want Hammond to know they were coming. If this was why Tommy had told him to stay away from the police station and out of Freedom …
“Hey, why don’t you go look around for yourself? Maybe you could walk back to town with me.” Antonina raised her eyebrows and grinned.
This wasn’t one of her best ideas. “Won’t you get into trouble if you’re seen with me? By the way, aren’t you worried your parents will notice you’re missing?”
“My papa let my sister take the car to the movie theatre in Franklin as long as I went with her. After she picked up her friends, she was more than happy for me to leave.”
Sal chewed his lip. “Still, I’m not supposed to go into town, and there’s a deputy sheriff here watching me twenty-four hours a day.”
She rolled her eyes. “He sleeps, doesn’t he?”
Well, that was true. Slept pretty hard, too, judging from the snoring coming out of the keeping room.
“Okay, I might be able to get away tonight. But if I do, I want to talk to my papa.” His heart rattled in his chest. Boy, he was messing up already. He wished he could do what Tommy wanted, but there was no way of knowing when he’d get to see Papa again. He wasn’t passing up this chance. It would be night, so maybe it would be all right.
Antonina smiled. “Sure, okay. Then
we can spy on Carlo.”
“I can’t go inside the police station, though. And I don’t know if I can find Papa’s jail cell from the outside. Or if he’s been moved since the last time I saw him.”
“I took breakfast to the station this morning. I know where his cell is.”
“All right. It’ll be dark soon. Look for me in a couple of hours.”
She nodded and stood.
“Wait.” Sal touched her arm. “Let me leave the barn first. I’ll motion for you to come out when all is clear.”
After helping Mama clean the kitchen, Sal faked a yawn and stretched his arms over his head. “Supper was delicious, Mama. I’m going out on the front porch to relax for a while.”
He closed the front room’s exterior wooden door behind him and took a deep breath. He bellowed his cheeks, blew out, and sank onto the top step to wait for dark. And to think.
Crooks from out of town were one thing, but Carlo? Someone he’d known all his life? And Hammond, a man he’d once respected—and trusted.
Sal’s supper churned in his stomach.
If Officer Hammond was involved in bootlegging, what else could he be into?
Sal pinched his lower lip between a thumb and forefinger and jiggled one knee while he searched his memory for every conversation he’d had with Hammond. Or in front of him.
Sal’s knee froze. If Angelo or the boss had bribed Hammond, then he might try to keep Papa quiet.
Wait. Tommy kept Papa in jail to make it appear he was still the main suspect. That way, it didn’t tip Hammond off that Tommy knew he was on the take. That was the best way to protect Papa.
The house became still, and the last of the lights went out.
Sal eased himself off the porch and followed alongside the driveway, allowing the grass to cushion his footsteps in the night.
Chapter 21
A Long Shot
The closer Sal got to Freedom, the more the butterflies in his stomach fluttered. For the first time in his life, he had to sneak into town. He didn’t belong anymore, wasn’t welcome, wasn’t even safe. None of his family was. All because of a crime they didn’t commit.
The Other Side of Freedom Page 9