Bum’s Rush: White Lightning Series, Book 2

by Debra Dunbar

  “I’m afraid not. He’s…he’s put me in charge of bringing you in.”

  Hattie stiffened, and her jaw set hard. “You?”

  “This can’t be a surprise to you. You know he’s been chomping at the bit to bring another pincher into the fold.” He shrugged. “That’s where we are, now.”

  She crossed her arms. “I’m afraid my answer’s the same now as it’s been before.”

  “Hattie…”

  “If you think I’m going to make your dreams come true by walking out that door and slipping into your car for a long ride to sign my life away to a monster in a three-piece suit, then you’re exactly as daft as you look.”

  “Don’t get all lathered up. You’re the one who put us both in this position.”

  She cocked her head. “We were doing just fine before your boss decided to cut bait. Bloody ignorant of him, if you ask me. He had expertise here. Knowledge of the entire Bay. Every inlet, every outlet. But no. He’s decided we’re not good enough, so my family and everyone here are left staring into the abyss.”

  Vincent blinked at the comment. “You really putting the blame for this on me?”

  “Not on you,” she grumbled. “But you’re the Crew’s mouthpiece, right? So, you have to listen to me whine on about it.”

  He snickered, though it rolled out hollow. “Look, I’ve been working on this spiel a while, now.”

  “I know. You won’t shut up about it.”

  “Yeah, yeah. So, let me wind up a pitch here. It’s obvious your days of shadow boxing are over. Word’s out. And you’re gonna come on board, or you’re choosing a hell of a Plan B.”

  “Not so obvious,” she chided.

  “You gonna let me talk, or what?”

  She lifted a hand in appeasement.

  Vincent cleared his throat. “Any illusion you had of living a free life is over. It’s time to start talking nuts and bolts. You know what the Crew’s about. You know the water side of the business, but that’s just the liquor trade. After this boneheaded Volstead Act gets repealed one of these days, there’s gonna be a lot of work to do.”

  Vincent continued his pitch, though Hattie tuned him out. The inevitability of this situation stuck in her craw. How dare he deflect her right of freedom as an illusion? How presumptuous was he to think that he simply had to wait her out until she made this unavoidable blunder? Her blood boiled, and she balled fists at her sides as he went on about the Crew’s businesses and advantages. And through it all, the single thought that truly sent her chest into a twist was that he might be right.

  What choice did she really have? Run and hide? Stay and make them chase her down and drag her in? Or walk willingly into a cage?

  Anything was preferable to that cage.

  Hattie lifted a hand to halt Vincent’s speech. “Eh, boy-o.”

  He blinked at her, then lifted his chin. “What?”

  “I need you to realize something. There’s no way in heaven or hell I’m joining the Baltimore Crew.”

  He huffed. “Okay, okay. Get it outta your system. And when you do, we’ll start speaking as adults.”

  She scowled at Vincent, taking a step back as she unfolded her arms. “Some nerve you got, there!”

  “Well, I’m sorry. But you’re well past this fairy tale. And don’t make this about me. It was you who brought me here. Your screw up.”

  Hattie thrust a finger at him. “Don’t you dare—”

  “You’re the one who decided to run a truck up the Feds’ nostrils. Right? You’re the one who assumed she had the stick to pinch an illusion in broad god-loving daylight right on the banks of the Potomac.”

  Hattie had no defense to that.

  He concluded, “I’m not trying to spank you, here. In fact, I’m trying to help you. So, untwist your tongue for a hot second, and let me finish.”

  She glared at Vincent but chose not to respond.

  After a pregnant moment, he cleared his throat to continue. “I can arrange a situation.”

  “A situation?” she droned.

  “For you. And your friends.”

  That sent a wave of conflict cascading through Hattie’s stomach. “What sort of situation?”

  “Your boss, Sadler? She’s already laid groundwork to step clear of this mess. You probably don’t owe her any thanks for that.”

  Hattie nodded with a leaden scowl.

  “And your friend, Raymond.”

  “Raymond.”

  “Yes, Raymond. We’re always looking for muscle. And that back-bay know-how? I’ll bet you short odds Tony’s looking for someone with more than half a brain to help run the boys’ hooch down the coast.”

  Hattie shook her head. “You’re a daft cock, you know that?”

  Vincent grimaced. “Huh?”

  Hattie lifted fingers to count off. “First, Lizzie has been a part of your machine for the better part of a year, now. How’d that worked out for her? Second, do you really think a man like Vito Corbi has any interest in bringing a black man into his direct employ?”

  Hattie waved her fingers in his face. “And third, it was you said how impossible it would be to work with me. Beyond that, you’re laying out how bloody damn magnificent it is to be a slave to the Baltimore Crew, when you don’t really believe it yourself.” She took a step forward, her voice softening. “I know you think all of this has elevated you somehow, but I have to believe you’re still aware of how truly misgiven this life of servitude is. Or maybe not. I don’t expect you to understand how I feel. You’ve never lived a free life.”

  Vincent stepped away, but she reached out to capture his arm, sliding her fingers down his sleeve to grip his hand.

  “I live a free life, Vincent. And I’ll do anything to protect that. Anything. Do you understand me?”

  His fingers curled around hers. “Please don’t make me do this,” he whispered.

  “I’m not making you. It’s a choice you have here.”

  “Hattie, please don’t. Just come with me.” His voice choked on the words, and the sound sent a wave of dread through Hattie’s frame. What had she said that had upset him so? These were delicate matters, and dear to both her and Vincent, but still, this man for all of his charm and swagger had never revealed such frailty before.

  “I don’t have a choice, Hattie,” Vincent continued. “You’ll come with me tonight. One way or another. That’s what I’m trying to punch through to you. I want this to be cooperative. I don’t want to have to drag you in against your will. I don’t want to have to force you into this. Please, just come with me.”

  Hattie hung her head. “I can’t, Vincent.”

  “What options do you really think you have?”

  His voice was soft and gentle. Her chest squeezed tight around her heart. They hadn’t known each other very long, to be sure, but their friendship had become something she not only valued, but relied upon. Vincent was the one person who understood her powers, and yet, there was still a gulf between them—her, a free-born pincher, and him, a tool of the mob, a lifelong slave to unworthy masters. No matter how often she’d tried to pry open his eyes, she knew he’d never manage to escape their control. It was written too deep. It wasn’t his fault. He was like a child doing what his parents had always told him was right.

  It was so tragic that it had to come to this.

  She straightened her spine and looked him in the eyes. “Let’s go, then.”

  Vincent blinked in confusion, then sucked in a breath. “Really?”

  “Come on,” she said, tone even and a little resigned.

  He blinked several times, then echoed her posture. “Oh. Are you sure?”

  “You said there were no options, boy-o. So, let’s stop faffing on and just get this done.” She pulled her hand from his, feeling a horrible sense of loss with the action.

  He nodded, eyes alive with dubious hope. Stepping forward to ease the door further open, he gave her a smile. “It’s going to be better than you think. Trust me.”

  Trus
t him. Hattie bit her tongue. It wasn’t Vincent she worried about trusting, but the rest of the Baltimore Crew.

  She stepped back out into the sweltering night air. Lefty and Tony remained in their place, hands on their hips. As the two pinchers emerged, their faces snapped tight. Lefty buttoned his jacket with a nod.

  Vincent stepped in front of Hattie, almost protectively as they reached the center of the loading lot. With a twinge of guilt, Hattie twisted her fingers together into a claw at her hip, then released them in a sudden motion, pinching light as she did.

  Tony and Lefty spun on their heels, both reaching for guns holstered beneath their jackets. Tony covered his head, as he looked backward.

  Vincent drew to a sudden halt.

  Tony shouted orders over his shoulder as he ran sprinting down the lane. Lefty hoisted his pistol back toward Vincent and Hattie, his eyes wide and wild. As he lowered his gun, he ducked again as Hattie reinforced the illusion with a stronger sound.

  “Come on! It’s a bushwhack!” Lefty barked at Vincent. And he raced after Tony down the lane, gun held in front of him.

  Vincent stood stiff, back to Hattie as the others’ footsteps faded and they were enveloped in the silence of night. Voices called out in the distance, near the Crew’s motorcade. Slowly he turned to face Hattie, his face drawn in grief.

  “What did they see?” he asked.

  Hattie focused on the illusion, her intestines groaning as she extended her magic over such a long distance. “Explosions. Near your cars.”

  He nodded. “That’s a hell of a stretch.”

  A trickle of blood slipped from her nostril.

  Vincent pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and offered it to her. She took it, dabbing at her nose as figures emerged from the surrounding crates and sheds—the Curtis Creek boys with their guns trained on Vincent.

  He eyed them cautiously. “I suppose you’ve made up your mind.”

  “I told you,” she gasped, struggling with the illusion. “I’ll do anything to protect my freedom.”

  Vincent nodded, and reached out as she returned his handkerchief.

  Raymond approached, his .357 held to the ground but ready to draw onto Vincent. “We gotta go, baby girl.”

  Hattie nodded to Raymond, then eyed Vincent once more. “This could get uncomfortable for you. You know that?”

  “You shouldn’t bring these people into it,” Vincent warned. “You’re going to get them killed.”

  “Then their blood will be on your hands, boy-o.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “You really think so?”

  “I know so. Godspeed, Vincent Calendo,” she declared as she turned to join the Curtis Creek boys.

  They walked through the empty lot, making their way around the stacks of lumber for a couple hundred yards until they reached the bend of the Patapsco River, where two boats waited for them. Hattie took a dark-skinned hand and climbed aboard, searching the faces surrounding her.

  “Where’s Liz?” she asked.

  Raymond replied, “She lit out. Told me to tell you she wishes you well, but she don’t expect to ever see you again.”

  Hattie shuddered under the weight of emotion, and the toll that her illusion had exacted on her. She was thrilled that the light pinch had gone off at all. After the debacle in D.C., she wasn’t fully confident she could make it happen. Nothing seemed certain anymore.

  Except for the fact that she was now on the run, with the entirety of the Baltimore Crew trying to hunt her down and bring her in.

  Chapter 12

  Lunch at Shakes’s Bistro on a typical Thursday was a subdued affair. Four-tops crowded the space along the story-high double windows, afternoon light spilling white and warm onto the lazy diners as they discussed politics or complained about wages, all while pickling their livers with martinis and other cocktails not overtly advertised as a matter of tact.

  This was not a typical Thursday.

  The entire restaurant had been commandeered by the Baltimore Crew. Men in suits had drawn the tables together to form a long solid surface. Rocks glasses of whiskey and melting ice interrupted a line of half-empty wine glasses. A map sat unfolded at the center of the table. Fingers waggled at one another as Baltimore Crew middlemen suggested plans of attack.

  At the far end, Vincent sat slumped in his chair as Lefty lingered at the window, a cigarette in his hand.

  “We have to find this Sadler,” one of the goons declared. “Take her to the warehouse up off the highway. Take some pliers to her. She’ll talk.”

  Vincent winced. “Lizzie has no idea where Malloy is. She would have made sure of that.”

  “Then we stake out every road in and out of the city,” another man commented.

  “She’s a waterman. Blocking roads won’t stop her,” Vincent countered.

  “Then she’s probably halfway to Cuba, by now,” another offered.

  Vincent shook his head. “Not as long as the Upright Citizens and the Charleston family are on the lookout. I’m thinking she’s holed up in some little unnamed inlet. She’ll have to make a move eventually, whether that’s to attempt a water escape or come back into the city, and that’s when we’ll catch her.”

  Word had already spread that Vito Corbi had a pincher problem—one he intended to resolve. Vito had enough cache with the surrounding families so they wouldn’t interfere directly. But they sure as hell would have their eyes open for a red-haired river rat making a break up or down the coast.

  Although if Hattie wanted to run for the Caribbean, she’d become a man, perhaps even a Creole. She’d present as anything but what they were looking for. Catching her when she made that move wouldn’t be as easy as he was making it out to be, not with Hattie’s power over illusions. He was the only one who’d be able to spot her when she was pinching light. He was the only one who fully understood what Hattie Malloy was capable of. Only him.

  And possibly Lefty.

  Vincent smirked as he pondered that point. Even Lefty had been drawn in by her fake explosions. Lefty knew what she was and what she could do. That illusion must have been very convincing.

  Hattie was far more powerful than she gave herself credit for. She had only just begun to understand the extent of her abilities. Those Upright Citizens she’d terrorized into shitting themselves had seen just a glimpse at what he suspected she was capable of. And to date, there was only one man who could see through her mirages.

  Vincent stood up as Tony entered Shakes’s. The man looked fully sober for the first time in days. Since the ambush at Locust Point, Tony had become a right-hand man of sorts for Vincent in his hunt for the light pincher.

  The man had a prime opportunity to dime Vincent out to the Capo over what had happened at Locust Point. It had been Vincent’s call to approach the warehouse in a small group, his call to take the conversation private, his failure to take into account Hattie’s stubbornness, and ultimately his failure that let her slip through their fingers. If Tony wanted to press the issue on Liz’s behalf, or even his own, it would’ve been child’s play. Tony would be heading up this hunt, and Vincent would be where he had always been—the whipping boy called on when magic was needed, and nothing more.

  But Tony hadn’t dimed him out. And now Vincent stood at the head of this table, with a dozen mobsters looking to him for marching orders.

  Vincent nodded to Tony, who approached with outstretched hand. “What’s the word?”

  “Your source was solid,” Tony replied as he gripped Vincent’s arm in a vise.

  Lefty stirred from his position by the window.

  “The Bratva made a move on Masseria, just like you said,” Tony continued.

  Vincent released a long breath. “What happened?”

  “Thanks to the tip, Masseria had men ready. It was a slaughter.”

  Lefty asked, “Does the Capo know?”

  With a grin, Tony replied, “I thought I’d leave that to you two.”

  Vincent smiled and turned to Lefty. “Feel like
taking a drive to the vineyard?”

  Lefty shook his head. “Don’t milk this. You got a win. I’m sure Masseria will have called by now. Running up Vito’s skirt will only make you look like a hanger-on.”

  Vincent nodded. “And he wants us here, anyways. Good point.”

  Lefty conceded, “Still, though. It worked out.”

  “This time.”

  Lefty scowled. “If you don’t trust this Smith character, you need to air that out now. Because after this, I’m betting short odds Vito will want to bring him on board.”

  “Especially now that Masseria owes us. That sort of marker don’t come often,” Tony noted.

  Vincent shrugged. “If Vito weren’t so focused on this light pincher, I’d say yeah.” He’d stopped referring to Hattie by name in front of the rest of the Crew. The detachment would be vital toward keeping their trust in his leadership.

  Leadership. Huh. What a load of bushwa that was.

  “That said,” Vincent added, “maybe we can put this new asset to good use?”

  Lefty nodded. “You know how to find this Smith?”

  “I figured he’d find me once the hit went down,” Vincent confessed. “Not like he left me a card, or nothing.”

  Tony scowled. “You really don’t know?”

  “He said he’d find me.”

  Lefty lifted his head with a squint. “Why’s this character got you cut from the herd? What’s the angle?”

  “Wish I knew,” Vincent grumbled. He was about to remind Lefty that Smith had approached Cooper first, but decided against it. Why bring that up? Vincent could spot the side-alley entrance to Cooper’s poker parlor just two blocks up the street. The man was a toad, a bottom-dweller. No need to give Cooper any credit. He’d passed on Smith. Vincent hadn’t. Time to reap the rewards.

  Vincent dismissed the men with instructions to keep a special eye on the smaller docks and inlets, then settled the bill with the day manager. Tony rushed off to deal with his usual duties and Lefty led Vincent to the car, holding the door for him.

  “What’s this?” Vincent snickered.

  “You’re large and in charge,” Lefty grunted. “Gotta treat you like the Crown Damned Prince, if I want to keep Vito from chapping my ass.”