Bum’s Rush: White Lightning Series, Book 2

by Debra Dunbar

  Tony shook his head with undue vigor. “The boy’s three for three. Robbed me of two boats when I coulda made a run down for the Carolinas. Good haul, too.”

  The outsider rolled his eyes. “I’m sure your problems will present their own solutions. But you should listen to me now. Calendo needs support from the inside, if he’s going to survive this.”

  Survive? Surely they meant politically, as in Vincent’s status with the Crew and not actual survival. Hattie’s brows knitted, wondering if the stakes in this really were life and death for Vincent. Couldn’t be. Vito would hardly off his only pincher over a failure to bring her in, would he?

  “Ha! He’s dog meat, Smith. No one can save him. Not even Lefty.”

  So, the outsider’s name was Smith.

  Smith ran a hand over his face in a self-calming gesture. “Perhaps we should have this conversation when you’re dry and straight on your feet.”

  “Good luck,” Tony grumbled.

  Hattie smirked.

  “Speaking of which,” Smith added as he shifted away from Tony to stare at the main lobby.

  Tony turned to follow Smith’s gaze. “Holy shit.”

  Hattie gripped her glass even as her companions turned back to the center of the Old Moravia lobby to find Vincent Calendo striding into the space.

  She turned away from the lobby, nursing her glass. Damn it all. Vincent could see through her illusions, no matter how strong they were. That annoying fact remained true for both of them, even though the mechanism of this condition yet eluded the two of them.

  Hattie slipped from her bar stool and eased around Tony and this Smith character, edging her way deeper into the bar as Vincent stepped in. His face was firm and resolute, fully aware of the gossip that had buzzed in this place prior to his arrival. He seemed to have made a choice to defy it. All of it.

  Lefty wound his way toward Vincent, chin held at a defiant angle to anyone casting a salty glance in their direction. After a quick conversation, Vincent and Lefty turned to approach Smith and Tony. Which was Hattie’s cue to move through the crowd. She did so pulling extra weight onto her own illusion. By the time she reached the main lobby, her stomach was flipping somersaults, and a sweat had broken out on her forehead.

  Finally, clear of the bar area, she paused for a second to steal a glance at Vincent. He remained upright and proud, despite the space the others had put between him and themselves. She smiled to herself, oddly gratified that he hadn’t been cowed by these two-bit hoodlums.

  Not yet, anyway. If Vito decided to weigh in, that would be the end of Vincent’s moment. That might be the end of Vincent. And that thought made her resolve waver.

  But for now, he was holding his own and Hattie had information. A large shipment bound for the Carolinas was held up thanks to Vincent’s hunt for her hide. That shipment had to be lingering in the Bay somewhere.

  Hattie stepped back out of the hotel, sweeping around the corner to a shadowed alley where she’d stashed the dented Runabout she’d borrowed from Liz, then steered the Ford south toward Locust Point.

  No one was guarding the warehouse. The Crew was sure that Lizzie had folded up shop, and that this would be the last place Hattie would choose to show up. They were wrong. The warehouse door remained cracked open, and a dull orange light emerged from the crack, twinkling in the darkness of night from the flame of Liz’s lantern within. Hattie drove up to the front of the warehouse, intending to report then leave. No sense in borrowing trouble from fate.

  She killed the motor and dove out into the balmy night air, slipping through the warehouse door to find Lizzie standing arms crossed…in front of a man.

  He wore a finely-tailored suit. Very money, very conservative. He turned to face her with an annoyed lift of his brow. Sharp features. Aquiline nose.

  Smith!

  Hattie froze, then backed away a step.

  Lizzie nodded to her. “Malloy! Come on in. I want you to meet someone.”

  Hattie turned toward the door, spying the car outside. There was no way possible that Smith had beaten her here! She’d left him in deep conversation with Vincent and company. And no one knew the back roads to Locust Point better than Hattie Malloy!

  This was impossible!

  Lizzie sighed impatiently. “Well?”

  Hattie stepped cautiously into the warehouse, hands stiff to her sides.

  Smith turned fully to greet her, extending a hand.

  She did not take it.

  Lizzie glared at her, silently searching for an explanation for her impoliteness.

  Hattie drew her lips together into a scowl, then said, “We’ve met.”

  Smith’s eyes clamped into a squint, before he nodded. “At the hotel.”

  “Aye,” Hattie replied in her native accent. “You’ve made good time here, haven’t you? Better than me.”

  Smith smirked. “I suppose that merits an explanation.”

  “What are you, then?” Hattie demanded. “Some sort of pincher?”

  He did not answer.

  Lizzie shook her head, peering at Smith. “What’s this about?”

  Smith reached into his jacket to produce a folded piece of cardstock. “I’ve come to offer you a tangible means to strike back at the Crew.”

  He held it at arm’s length at Hattie.

  Lizzie reached out to pluck it from his fingers, and read the note. “Kent Island. Fifteen barrels.” She looked up from the paper. “What the hell is this supposed to be?”

  Hattie offered, “The Carolina shipment.”

  Smith nodded with a sharp grin.

  Hattie continued, “He’s handing us the location of a major shipment outbound for the Carolinas.”

  “Who are the greatest source of competition south of Virginia for the Crew? Now that the Upright Citizens are floundering, the Greeks are your primary rivals,” Smith added.

  “You mean Vito’s rivals,” Lizzie corrected.

  “No,” Smith chided. “Your rivals. The Crew has proven it can’t compete with your structure. Vito knows this. It’s only his damned foolish pride that prevents him from acting on it. You push him hard enough, make Tony look the fool, and Vito will adapt. He’ll improvise. He’ll find a reason to bring you back into the fold.”

  Lizzie sneered. “Not as outsiders.”

  As she tossed the note onto the ground, Hattie reached down to snatch it up, pocketing it as if it were only ever meant for her. By Smith’s expression as he watched her do so, Hattie felt sure she was right.

  “Outsiders notwithstanding,” Smith continued, “there is only so much business on the East Coast which Atlantic City hasn’t already cornered. Vito is in a moment of temporary advantage, now that Richmond is focused on their internal issues. He has the good graces of Masseria. The man must push his advantage to the next level, if he doesn’t want to slip into irrelevance yet again.” Smith eyed Hattie. “But instead he is chasing after phantoms.”

  Lizzie tossed her hands into the air. “Why do you think I give a good God damn about Vito Corbi?”

  “Because he was your sole client,” Smith replied. “You need him as much as he needs you. Which is what brings me here.”

  “What does bring you here?” Hattie asked.

  “I have several interests at play, my dear Miss Malloy. One of which is Corbi’s acquisition of a certain light pincher.”

  Hattie took a step away.

  He lifted a hand. “Which is, admittedly, a very minor interest. More than anything, I need the Baltimore Crew to falter.”

  “Why?” Hattie snapped. “What do you get out of this?”

  Smith’s grin was sharp enough to cut glass. “Money. If they want to succeed, they need you and they need me, and we’ll both be in a position to demand top dollar for our services.”

  Lizzie stepped between them. “So, this shipment?”

  Hattie considered the situation as Lizzie and Smith conferred.

  “Fifteen barrels,” Smith declared. “Find a way to secure that load at t
he expense of the Crew, and you will find yourself in possession of significant leverage. Do as you will with it. Sell it on the open market. Or, offer it back to Corbi with your regards. In either event, Tony will look the fool. Which will, in turn, deflect the heat from Calendo, and restore Corbi’s faith in your organization as the fool-proof method for shipment.”

  Lizzie squinted at Smith. “What’re you asking for this information?”

  “Nothing,” he replied. “I told you. We have interests in common. You have a chance to get your business back. I have a chance to prove that they need my services as well.” He peered over Liz’s shoulder to Hattie. “And you stay one step ahead of the hunt.”

  Hattie frowned. Was it him? Had he sent he letters? She stepped forward so that both could hear her whisper and she could gauge Smith’s reaction. “Know thyself?”

  Smith looked to the ground, eyes alive with thought as his lips pulled into a satisfied grin. “Always…sound advice.” His eyes lifted to meet hers. “My dear light pincher.”

  Chapter 16

  It was busy at the hotel, even for a Saturday night. Vincent hadn’t counted on this. It took a good hour’s bootstrapping just to haul himself up the street and through the front doors. But now that he was here, and more pairs of eyes were suddenly glued to him than he was expecting, there was no backing down. He stepped into the bar area of the Old Moravia, head held high, meeting every cross glance with a challenge. The Crew kept their distance, and that was fine for him. It was still better than it used to be.

  He spotted Lefty, Tony and Smith colluding at the end of the bar. By the time Vincent joined them, a sizable bubble of space had grown around them, affording the four a little privacy.

  Lefty nodded to Vincent. “Decided against sleep?”

  “Yeah,” Vincent replied, “for the rest of my life.”

  Tony sighed and offered a demure toast with his gin.

  Smith spun on his barstool to face Vincent. “Bold move to come here after our last outing. Bold…and smart. Don’t let these peons keep you thumbed under. Once you let them, it’ll never end.”

  Vincent shot Smith a testy glare. “You gonna crack wise with me after everything that happened? You made me look a total fool.”

  Smith lifted a hand. “I admit my information wasn’t as timely as I’d hoped. But it was correct.”

  “Fat lotta good it did me,” Vincent grumbled.

  “Still, though,” Smith offered. “That’s one hiding hole denied your quarry.”

  Lefty sneered. “She could be anywhere at this point, though. Halfway to Philly. Or West, where we got no one.”

  Smith reached for his wine glass with a cocksure smirk. “Oh, is that a fact? You have such little faith.”

  Vincent shook his head. “No. Not good enough. Going out and finding her again won’t erase three foul balls.”

  “Oh, dear Mister Calendo. I don’t mean to leave you on the spit like this. Listen—since my last directive proved fruitless, I’ll give you one for free towards making amends. I don’t know exactly where your light pincher is, but I do know this. She hasn’t left the area. In fact, she’s still in the city, using her abilities to blend into the population.” Smith added with a waggle of his finger against the stem of his goblet, “In fact, she could be in this very room and we’d have no way of knowing it.”

  Tony grumbled, “Yeah, right. That’d take brass balls.”

  Vincent grinned, then considered the remark. He took a long, slow glance around the bar area, catching a glimpse of every face in the room. No matter how hard Hattie pinched light, he’d see through it.

  No dice. “She’s not here.”

  Smith lifted a brow. “How would you know?”

  “I’d know,” he assured the man with an arched brow.

  Though he nodded, Smith seemed unconvinced. Vincent held his gaze for a moment, chasing down his thoughts on Smith. What did he really know about pincher affairs? How familiar was he with the ins and outs, the costs and limits, the nature of the magic and how they related to one another?

  Smith added, “Regardless, she will turn up soon enough. A solid source of mine suggests she has a family in the city.”

  “No,” Vincent blurted out, then withdrew a half-step.

  Lefty eyed Vincent with a wrinkle of his brow but said nothing.

  “Yes,” Smith countered, “I am sure of it.”

  Vincent stuffed his hands into his pockets, then said, “They’re off limits.”

  Even Tony turned around for this.

  Vincent continued, “If she had family in town, that is. There’s no way I’d leverage them.”

  “That’s not your call,” Lefty stated.

  Vincent shook his head and fixed each of them in turn with a hard stare.

  Smith let the tension linger for a moment, then said, “I’m here to give you information. Not strategy. As it is, your latest plan of attack was well thought out.”

  “Not good enough,” Vincent grumbled. “Obviously.”

  Tony added, “No, it was tight.”

  Vincent peered over at Tony.

  The man lifted his glass. “I heard how you had everyone spread out. Thought of things from this illusionist’s angle. These palookas are giving you the business over it, but that just shows what they know. If she’d been there, you’d have nabbed her.”

  Vincent nodded to Tony, a clutch of emotion twisting a knot in his throat. Those words felt like a balm, that recognition he’d craved for so long. It meant something.

  Lefty clapped Vincent’s shoulder. “No plan of attack survives contact with the enemy.”

  “We shoulda been so lucky.” Vincent chuckled.

  “Vito hasn’t called you out onto the carpet yet. Maybe you’ve been at this too long. Give yourself a break. Go home. Make some pasta. Get some shuteye.”

  Vincent stared at the ceiling in resignation. “Not much I’m gonna do here, right?” He looked back to Smith. “You still on retainer? You gonna ring my bell the second Malloy pops up?”

  “Naturally,” he replied with a lift of his glass. “In the meantime, I intend on some rest, myself.”

  “Sure.” Vincent turned to Lefty. “You hear any rumblings from the vineyard, maybe give me a couple steps before you drop the hammer on me, huh?”

  “No promises.”

  He left the hotel in a stew of emotions. The more his compatriots tried to make him feel better about his failures, the worse he felt. Granted, if Vincent actually laid hands on Hattie, he wasn’t sure how much better he’d feel about it. Black eye notwithstanding, he truly didn’t want her taken like this. He’d held out hope for so long that she’d come around and eventually embrace the situation, that she would work with him willingly, keep her family safe and fed, find a place of belonging. But after all that had happened, he realized she would die before serving the Crew.

  And that was what depressed him more than failure. This would likely end with one of them dead.

  He made it home and did as Lefty suggested, made some pasta aglio e olio. The moonlight streamed through his open window alongside the tinny strains from his neighbor’s phonograph. As he ate his lonesome dinner, Vincent considered his fortunes. The Capo had yet to put a bag over his head, shoot him, and dump him in the river. Hattie Malloy was still kicking around out there—a mixed blessing, but still. Lefty hadn’t soured on Vincent just yet, though he seemed miffed that Vincent knew Hattie’s parents were in the city.

  For the very moment, all Vincent could do was wait. Lefty was right. He needed to relax and clear his mind.

  After dinner, he remained near the window, chair kicked back on its rear legs as he propped his weight on the back of his head against the wall. The music ran out, and the neighbor took a couple minutes to flip the record.

  Vincent’s eyes drooped, and he shut them for what felt like half a second.

  The chair dropped back onto its front legs, sending Vincent tumbling forward. He jumped to his feet, catching himself on the table as he
released a sharp gasp. It wasn’t a half-second after all. The music had stopped again and was unlikely to continue as it was well past midnight, and his neighbor was probably asleep.

  Vincent shook his head and tried to laugh at himself, but he couldn’t summon the mirth.

  A knock at the door sent Vincent into a secondary panic, enough for him to instinctively pinch time over most of the city block. He released it immediately, still shaking off the cobwebs from his unintentional nap.

  A second knock, then a voice called through the door. “Heya, Vincent. You still up? Saw your light on.”

  It wasn’t Lefty, as was expected with a sudden late-night drop in. No, this voice was different.

  Tony.

  Vincent reached for his gun on the counter, easing toward the door. Why was Tony here so late? Or, at all? Was this the hammer he’d been waiting to drop? Had Vito sent Tony with a crew of men to take Vincent down?

  There was an easy way to tell.

  Vincent pinched time again, with a much smaller radius than he’d just done, and eased his door open. All he found in the hallway was Tony, standing straight with one hand in his pants pocket. It looked like he’d sobered up at some point during the evening. There were no gunmen backing him up. Maybe this was simply a social call after all.

  As relief swept through Vincent’s chest, he holstered his gun and decided to have a little fun. He closed the door, stepped directly behind Tony, then released the time pinch.

  Tony huffed, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck.

  Vincent smirked. “I’m still up.”

  Tony nearly jumped out of his skin, throwing himself at the door to Vincent’s apartment with wide, wild eyes. He caught his breath, releasing it in a spate of profanity.

  Vincent chuckled—there was the mirth.

  Tony gave him the bird. “You ass.”

  “Hey, it’s after midnight,” Vincent said, opening the door to his apartment. “What’s got you on my doorstep so late?”

  Tony followed him in, still grumbling to himself. Vincent offered him a pour of something clear, strong, and illegal across state lines. Tony waved him off.

  “Keeping your wits tonight?” Vincent asked. “So, what about it?”