Bum’s Rush: White Lightning Series, Book 2

by Debra Dunbar

  The older ladies clucked in sympathy.

  Vincent grabbed a random name. “She was called…Marlene?”

  The man nodded. “Marlene Cosecki.”

  “She was your lover, yes?”

  The man tilted his hand. “We had some fun nights, but we was in more of a business relationship.”

  The old ladies leaned in with lifted brows.

  Vincent jutted his chin. “I see. She tells me…warns me of betrayal.”

  “Yeah, that’d be the long and short of it. Got rolled by some East River confidence men. Shook her down for her pearls.” The man added with an ominous tone, “Her mother’s pearls.”

  “But she knew these men,” Vincent corrected with a lift of his finger. “Else there could be no betrayal. Yes?”

  “One of them was…”

  He lingered to let Vincent pick up the thread.

  “Her own brother,” Vincent declared, actually enjoying the improvisation.

  One of the old ladies lifted a hand to cover her mouth.

  The man released an over-rendered gasp. “Amazing, Damir!”

  The second lady whispered, “What does she want?”

  Vincent turned to the women, his shtick in full force, and lifted fingers to his temples. “Justice, my friends. She cries for justice!”

  Once the séance had concluded, and the women had left generous tips in the bowl before taking their leave, Vincent remained in the room to blow out the candles and pocket the bills destined for the neighborhood soup kitchen.

  He pulled off the fez, ran a hand through his hair, and in his natural voice, asked, “Enjoy the show?”

  “It was alright.”

  “Figured you wouldn’t sit through all that if you didn’t enjoy the theater of it.”

  The man squinted an eye. “You’re not as good at this as you think. Your delivery was everywhere. Writing’s a bit thick.”

  Vincent scowled. “I don’t work off a script.”

  “It’s just my opinion,” he offered with a diplomatic grin. “For what it’s worth. I think you can do better.”

  With a sigh, Vincent grumbled, “Can I get your name, at least?”

  The hawk-nosed man smiled and leaned forward with a hand extended. “Smith. Alexander Smith.”

  Vincent considered the hand for a moment before shaking it. “You got me at a disadvantage, Mister Smith. If you wanted to talk business, you coulda found me during business hours.”

  He lifted his hands in apology. “Believe me, I’ve tried. But it’s been a real bear trying to get around your one-armed keeper.”

  “You know a lot about me,” Vincent muttered. “More than I know about you.”

  “That, my dear Mister Calendo, is precisely my business.”

  Vincent pulled the red velvet curtains aside to open the door to his dressing room. “Give me a moment, huh?”

  As Vincent settled his fez onto its stand and hung his costume onto hangers on the back of the door, Smith poked around the séance room.

  “You rent this party?” he asked.

  “From the grocer, yeah.”

  “How much does this put you back?”

  Vincent grabbed a white handkerchief to wipe away the stage makeup. “Not so much. Worked out a deal with the Crew to put him on protection. Been kinda busy so I only use this space about twice a month, anymore.” He leaned over to eye Smith through the doorway. “I suspect you know this already?”

  “You’re a quick study, Calendo.”

  Vincent resumed his grooming. “I know your type, Smith. Answer Men. You broker in info, and you’re not so particular in who you sell to.”

  “What makes you say that?” Smith asked as he crossed his arms with a smirk.

  “Because I’ve never seen you before. And I’ve seen everyone in the family. That means you’re an outsider. Which means you’re looking to sell.” He peered at Smith with heavy eyes. “And because you’re here talkin to me, that means whatever you’re selling, Cooper wasn’t buying.”

  Smith’s face betrayed the barest moment of surprise before a practiced composure slammed back down like a lead weight.

  “You saw us at the hotel the other night.”

  “If you struck out with that deadbeat, don’t think you’ll do much better with me.”

  Smith shook his head. “You haven’t even heard my pitch, yet. So quick to kick me to the curb?”

  Vincent finished up and reached for the string to click off the overhead bulb. “I’m quick to go to bed is what I am. Look,” he said as he pushed aside the curtains and closed the door to the dressing room, “I’m no one to talk to. I got no use for your information, and I got no authority inside the Crew.”

  “I know that,” Smith countered. “You’re the pincher. The only pincher, actually. Which means you ought to have a place directly behind the Capo, whispering your dark secrets in his ear while he sends you on shadowed errands for well or ill. But that’s not how it played out for you. Is it?”

  Vincent brushed past Smith to blow out the candles on the corner table. He held the stairway door for Smith as he descended, locking up before they proceeded downstairs.

  “So, what’s your interest in me, then?” Vincent grumbled.

  “An in’s an in. And I want one.”

  “An in? To Vito?”

  As Vincent reached for the door to the street, Smith leaned against it to capture Vincent’s attention. “I’m a businessman, Mister Calendo. And I’m not easily rattled. I’ve got eyes and ears on every street corner in Baltimore already. I’m an information broker, which means I don’t make this sorta move unless I’ve already got something to sell.”

  Vincent sighed and took a step back. “Sounds like the sort of thing you should bring to the family, but I’m not their doorman.”

  “The Russians are giving the East Coast families the red-ass. Am I wrong?”

  Vincent squinted. “Most of them.”

  “But not here in Baltimore.”

  “Right.”

  “You think that’s because Vito Corbi’s got them thumbnailed? Because the Baltimore Crew puts the fear of god in the Bratva?”

  Vincent pulled at the door hard enough to move Smith. “Yes.”

  As Smith followed him out onto the street, he scoffed, “Then you’re dumber than a sack of biscuits. Listen to me. I have actionable intelligence for sale, here.”

  Vincent drew to a halt with a lift of his head to the sky. “Will you leave me alone? You don’t get it, Smith. You’re pitching to the wrong Joe. The Crew don’t care what I have to say. They don’t listen to me.” He added with a hard swallow, “They don’t care. You’re better off with Cooper.”

  Smith snorted. “That gin-soused pig gave me less attention than you are.”

  “I’m just a pincher,” Vincent declared, turning away.

  “I know. Which is why I’m coming to you with this.” He strode to catch up with Vincent as he walked away. “You say they don’t listen to you? So, give them something they can’t ignore.”

  “Go away.”

  Smith drew to a stop as Vincent kept walking. After several stops, Smith shouted, “Masseria’s nephew is about to get black-bagged.”

  Vincent slowed, then paused.

  Smith continued as he stepped toward Vincent, “I got sources in New York. They say the Russians have this planned like clockwork.”

  “Masseria?” Vincent whispered. “Are they insane?”

  “They’re looking to light a match on this powder keg between Salvatore and Masseria. Let the Italians soften each other up, then pick up the pieces.”

  Vincent stared at Smith, searching the man’s face for hints and shadows of deceit. He found none.

  “When?”

  “Day after tomorrow. On his way to his sister’s for dinner. Man’s got a routine, and they’ve got it mapped like Magellan.”

  Vincent stuffed his hands into his pockets. “That’s a handy little bundle of bad news all wrapped up in a bow. If I deliver this to the
Capo, and you’re wrong, or lying, I’m gonna come out of this looking like a real stooge.”

  “So?” Smith countered. “Isn’t that what you are already?”

  Vincent balled a fist inside one of those pockets.

  “Listen, Calendo. This is a no-lose situation for you. You take the gamble. If you crap out, then it’s business as usual. Maybe a little egg on your face, but nothing that’ll change your life. But,” Smith chimed with a lift of his finger, “if it’s bona fide, and Vito saves Masseria from sparking off a real Sicily-flavored family war? What’s that gonna do to your cache? I’ll tell you what. It’s gonna send it through the roof.”

  “What’s your price?” Vincent asked.

  “You take that for free. Can’t take it back now.”

  “Yeah, but what’s the angle?” Vincent pressed.

  “All I want is an introduction. Like I said, I’m a businessman. I’m offering a sample of my product, and I’m confident the Crew will find it satisfactory.”

  Vincent leaned into Smith. “Why us? Why not Philly? Or Pittsburgh? Or even Richmond? Why not go straight to Masseria with this?”

  A razor-sharp grin lifted onto Smith’s face. “Because Vito Corbi is the weak link. He needs me more than the other families, so he’ll be willing to pay more for what I offer. Supply and demand, Calendo. I’ve got the supply, and I’m banking that Vito Corbi’s got the demand.”

  Vincent stood silent for a long moment, turning it over in his mind.

  Smith nodded. “It’s in your hands now. Do with it what you like. If Masseria’s nephew ends up floating in the East River, then I’ll know you’ve passed on this offer. Then maybe I’ll give Richmond a tug. That pincher there is almost as desperate for recognition as you are.”

  Smith turned and sauntered back down the street.

  Vincent called, “If it’s solid, and the Capo wants to meet, how will I find you?”

  “You won’t have to,” he replied without turning around.

  Chapter 7

  A blanket of tobacco smoke hugged the exposed timber rafters of a tiny wood-paneled cottage. The spicy cigar fragrance mixed with the fishy aroma of Nadine’s seafood stew. The lithe woman stirred the cast iron pot slung on a hanger over the kitchen fire. Little wisps of curly black hair had escaped the bandana she’d tied around her head, creating a frenetic mane that haloed her face.

  Hattie watched her cook as she sat beside Raymond. Nadine appeared so slight to Hattie, belying the fact she’d given birth only a few months ago. It hooked a twinge of worry into Hattie’s stomach. Were they not eating enough, for her to be so thin, so soon?

  The baby rested in Raymond’s enormous arms, writhing his chubby hands within that nest of muscle. They’d named him Douglas after Nadine’s father, and his cherub face was adorable if unsettling, as Dougie was, in fact, a baby, and Hattie had no experience with babies.

  Raymond unwound his arms to bob the child on his lap.

  “Now, don’t jerk him around like that,” Nadine chided from the fireplace.

  “I ain’t hurtin’ the child,” Raymond grumbled. “He’s alright.”

  “Well, at least let her hold the baby for a hot minute,” she added. “She’s been lookin’ at him with big ole eyes ever since she came in.”

  Raymond lifted Dougie for Hattie to take.

  “I…I…er…” she stammered

  “What?” Raymond muttered. “You don’t wanna?”

  She did. Well, part of her did. The other part of her wasn’t sure what to do with a baby in the first place. They seemed so fragile. Too easy to drop when they squirmed. Too easy for their heads to pop off like Kewpie dolls.

  And they smelled funny.

  Nadine cocked a hip as she arched a brow at Hattie. “You ain’t tellin’ me that you don’t wanna hold that baby, ’cause I know you do.”

  Hattie replied, “I’m just not used to babies, is all.”

  “Oh hell, girl,” she snickered. “Ain’t no one used to babies ’til they have one.”

  Raymond nudged her with his elbow.

  Hattie reached for the infant, gripping him at the waist.

  “No,” Raymond said, “you gotta…here. Hand under the head like this.”

  So, she was right. Their heads could pop off.

  Hattie followed instructions and hoisted the baby over to her lap with a tiny whimper of panic. She cradled him along her thigh straight out from her body. The child squirmed and arched his back, eyes shut tight.

  “Bounce him,” Raymond whispered. “Just a little.”

  She kicked her heel slowly, sending the child up and down. The squirming eased, and he opened his huge brown eyes to stare up at Hattie.

  Something tugged inside her chest, almost like she’d used her powers—but that wasn’t it. It was a deep stirring, thrilling and terrifying. Babies had powers too, it seemed. Power to captivate and to panic. Masterful little magicians they were.

  Hattie grinned and made silly noises at the infant as he waved his little fists around. What a thing this was. A tiny human being, full of need and necessity, but also potential. She couldn’t imagine the notion of another person being a blend of herself and someone else. Literal alchemy wrought in flesh.

  She handed Dougie back to his father to help Nadine with the bowls. Halfway through dinner, Nadine nursed Dougie at the table while Hattie looked on.

  Would she ever have a child? Hattie was about the same age as Nadine, as far as she knew. There were decades to go before having a child would no longer be an option. There was no rush whatsoever, especially with the mob families eager for more pinchers. What kind of life could she offer a child, at any rate? Every day, the child would be at risk of having its mother whisked away to serve some master in another city. Or worse, the child could be a pincher, too. Then they would both be in jeopardy.

  Especially if the tales Vincent had spun about “stables” of pinchers were true. It was the lesser evil, to be sure, but if a pincher had to live a life of servitude to the masters of modern power, then keeping a family close would be the only way she could imagine surviving that.

  She thought of Vincent and what his parents must have gone through. Hattie knew nothing of his parentage. She knew that pinchers beget pinchers, and as such the odds were that his parents were in the fold serving elsewhere. Then again, there was that small percentage—those who came into being with their powers without the benefit of their heredity. Hattie was of this ilk. If Vincent were the same, then his parents might have faced the same dilemma as hers—a child with magical powers, and a faceless establishment seeking to snatch him away. Only, Vincent’s parents hadn’t been able to make the same choices Hattie’s parents had. Clearly. They were no longer in his life. Had they been compensated? Did they live like royalty somewhere? Or had Vincent been acquired with a payment not in gold, but in lead?

  Hattie shivered at the thought.

  Nadine asked, “What, stew’s no good? Don’t you like mussels?”

  She lifted a hand. “Oh, no. It’s wonderful.”

  Raymond nudged her with his elbow, giving her a knowing nod.

  Nadine huffed. “Well, alright you two. Don’t tell me nothin’. Let me just sit here like I was a toad on a log…”

  Raymond chuckled. “Hattie’s got a problem.”

  Hattie’s eyes shot wide open. “What problem is that, then?”

  With a face lifted in mischief, he said, “Hattie’s got it bad for one of the boys in the city.”

  She squawked.

  Nadine leaned forward. “What, now? Oh, no you can not let that just sit there. Tell me everything!”

  Hattie rammed her elbow into Raymond’s side. “He’s a liar, and it’s shameful.”

  Raymond said, “He’s one a them pretty boy spit polish types. Suits. Hats. Whole nine.”

  Nadine snickered. “Money man? Oh, girl!”

  Hattie licked her spoon clean, then reached up to smack Raymond on the top of the head with it.

  After dinner, Nadi
ne withdrew to the far side of the cabin to settle the baby into his bassinet.

  Hattie pulled Raymond aside, nodding for the door. “A moment?”

  Raymond nodded, then stepped over to a steamer trunk near the back wall. He opened the lid, fished for a moment, then produced two cigars. “Nadine, I’m taking a puff.”

  His wife rolled her eyes. “About time you took that outside. Make that a habit!”

  Raymond opened the door for Hattie, and the two stepped out into the humid evening air. He handed her one of the cigars. She took it and considered it for a moment while he carved the end off of his own and punched a hole in the opposite end. He swapped cigars with Hattie, giving the second the same treatment.

  “I don’t smoke these, you know,” she told him.

  Raymond froze, then shook his head. “You could tell a person before he goes and cuts his cigar.”

  “That sounds like something you’d pay extra for in one of those Crew brothels.”

  He released a thunderous chuckle. “Alright. I’ll pocket that one for tomorrow.” Raymond lit up, puffing a heavy plume of spicy smoke into the air. It drifted up to the low-hanging oak boughs along the eaves of his cabin, shimmering with rays of moonlight.

  Hattie eyed him for a moment then fished a piece of paper from her pocket and held it out.

  “What’s that?”

  “The reason I wanted you out of earshot of your better half.”

  He took the paper and unfolded it, holding it up to the moonlight to read. “Hmm.”

  “Can you make that last bit out?” she asked.

  “You and me have run boats down to the Carolinas for a year, now. You seen those ocean scows. The Greek ships?”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “It’s Greek, is’t?”

  “Looks that way.” His brow dropped as he reread the note. “Wait.”

  “Right…”

  “Who wrote this?” he demanded. “Where’d you get this?”

  She held out a hand for him to lower his voice. “It was left with Lizzie. Picked it up just the other day.”

  “This was after…”

  “Our last training bout? Yes.”