by Debra Dunbar
“Capo, if I may,” Vincent urged. “Each one of these moves, these failures…they are part of a plan.”
Vito squinted, took a sip of his wine, then gestured for Vincent to explain.
“See, you’re looking to secure a pincher. Not just physically, because she’ll be a fly in the ointment if she’s forced, more trouble than she’s worth. No, we have to capture her mind. This woman is convinced that she’s better off out there on her own. What we’ve been doing is to surround her with the force of the family. Demonstrating that there are no options. Showing her that there is nowhere to run. And when she accepts it, she’ll come to us.” He added with a nod to Lefty. “It’ll save us time and resources in reeducating her.”
Lefty spoke up, “We may not have time to send her upstate if Richmond is pressing us.”
Vito frowned, then paced toward the doors. “You’re telling me, then, that you are doing this the correct way. Not the fast way.”
“In so many words,” Vincent admitted.
“You think me careless, then? So eager to snatch this quarry that I’d be willing to endanger my own long-term goals?”
Vincent froze. Vito’s tone was sharp and testy.
Lefty said, “Capo, I—”
Vito lifted his hand, and Lefty shut up.
“It takes a man of uncommon, callous disregard for his own well-being to accuse his Capo of imprudence.” Vito smirked. “I need such men, for it is true. I have been reckless. Reckless with our water distribution.” He nodded to Tony. “Reckless in trusting this information broker, this outsider. Reckless when I was so quick to dismiss the contractors who have served us in a period of expansion, perhaps even responsible for that expansion. If you are telling me, Vincenzo, that I have offered you nothing more than complaint and castigation, then perhaps it is time that I offered something more.”
Vito snapped his fingers.
A valet opened a side door. Footsteps echoed from the terrazzo hallway, clopping louder and louder until a man entered the room.
Vito declared, “Allow me to rectify this oversight. You need assistance. You shall have it.”
Vincent stiffened as Loren DeBarre gave him a wink.
Lefty squinted at the down pincher from Philadelphia. “What brings you to Baltimore?”
“I do,” Vito snapped. “I’ve been in continual contact with the family in Philadelphia ever since your meeting. They are as alarmed to hear of these stirrings from Richmond as we are. They represent a threat to traffic all the way to the Delaware River.”
DeBarre offered, “Sabella’s got a real itch about it. We figured if the liquor down in Baltimore was getting squeezed, our beer would be next.” He peered at Tony. “By the way, Billy McCoy sends his regards.”
Tony smiled and nodded. “Tell him I got a case of grappa for him next time he wants to lose a hand of poker for me.”
Vito grumbled, “Enough.”
The room fell silent.
With a measured glance at Vincent, Vito concluded, “War is upon us. The time for slow hands has come to an end. We need this light pincher. Make it happen.”
He drained his glass and took a seat behind his desk, their cue to exit.
Outside, Vincent offered a hand to DeBarre, who shook it with verve. “Glad for the help, DeBarre.”
The polished man shrugged. “I have experience in this sorta thing. Brought Arnoud on board just last year. I think a little girl with a bag of tricks will be small potatoes compared to him.”
“You might be surprised,” Vincent muttered.
Lefty asked, “You familiar with this Alexander Smith character? He’s an informant who fell from the sky with all sorts of useful tidbits he’s willing to sell us.”
DeBarre shook his head. “Never heard of him.”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” Lefty grumbled, turning to Vincent. “This long game of his is getting us nowhere. I don’t think I have to tell you, this may be our last chance.”
DeBarre nodded. “Assuming she hasn’t flown the coop, yet.”
“Smith says she’s staying put” Vincent told him. “Probably trying to find some way to turn this around.”
DeBarre asked, “You know this girl? I think someone said something—”
“We worked together briefly last spring,” Vincent hastily interrupted. He eyed Lefty, who slipped his hand into a pocket with a pointed glare.
“What’s the next step?” Lefty asked, as if he knew exactly what step he would have taken. “Thoughts, DeBarre?”
The man stared out over the vineyard, tapping his chin with a finger. “You think she’s trying to play your Crew, huh? Stay a step ahead and look for a way to stay in the city?”
Vincent nodded.
“Why’s she so dead set on staying in Baltimore?” DeBarre asked. “Anyone got a read on that? Does she have a job here? Family?”
Lefty sniffed and lifted an eyebrow Vincent’s way.
“She’s a stubborn Irish woman, is why,” Vincent offered.
DeBarre smiled. “I like her already. Fine. We know she’s keeping an eye on your Crew. So, you stop looking out there at the city, and you turn your eyes onto your own. She’s staying close to you. The harder you look, the less likely you are to find her.”
Vincent nodded. “Right. She got nabbed the first time trying to bootleg a truck through D.C.”
DeBarre laughed. “That took guts. Hell, who is this girl? Can I have her?”
Something hot boiled in Vincent’s stomach. No, DeBarre most definitely could not have her.
With a breath he cleared his head of the sudden murderous thoughts. “She took a chance, thought her powers were stronger than they were.” He eyed a cart of barrels sitting outside the winery. “If she makes a play on us, it’ll be the shipments. That’s her wheelhouse—that’s where she’s got connections and experience. Probably over the water since—” he caught his breath “—since she knows everything about running hooch for the Crew over the Bay. For the love of God…”
“What?” Lefty urged.
“We’re already a step behind. And she’s already pulled the trigger on us.” He turned to Tony. “Sorry, Tony. I may have been dead wrong.”
“About what?” Tony asked.
“Richmond. They weren’t the ones who knocked you over the other night.”
“Who, then?” Tony blurted.
“It was her,” Lefty grumbled.
Tony shook his head. “But, there were eight gunmen on that boat.”
DeBarre snickered. “That’s what you get for taking on a light pincher. You said she spins illusions, right? Mirages?”
Tony groaned. “We…uh, we have to tell Vito.”
Lefty reached out to grip Tony’s arm. “Like hell, you will. You do that, and he’ll have us all at the end of a rope.”
Tony pulled away. “So, we’re just gonna let him take us to war with the Citizens?”
“You’re damn straight. Let it be for now, and we can reel this in later, when the timing’s such that we won’t get strung up for our mistake.” Lefty turned to DeBarre. “And you’ll keep this under your hat. Capiche?”
DeBarre shrugged. “I have no quarrel with that. Our beer’s safe on the rivers, and now Corbi owes us one. I don’t see a problem here.”
Vincent rubbed his face, half-terrified that he’d just sent the Crew to war with the hamstrung Upright Citizens, and half-amused at how well Hattie had played him. It had to be her. Only she would’ve known Vincent would misread the Bianco Fiore like that.
“We have the advantage again,” Vincent declared. “Only the four of us are savvy to Malloy’s plan. We keep it that way, and she’ll make another play for our hooch. When that happens…” He rammed his fist into his palm.
“That’s a hell of a gamble,” Lefty said.
Vincent replied with a smirk and a nod to DeBarre, “Sure, but Hattie Malloy ain’t the only one with an ace up her sleeve.”
Chapter 19
“What is the purpose of this?” Hatt
ie mumbled as she rubbed her face.
Smith eyed her from across Lizzie’s office, arms crossed, fingers tapping his biceps. “You have the Crew looking to the Bay. Now we hit them in the mountains. Corbi is convinced he’s locked down the bootleggers coming out of West Virginia. With his focus pulled to the east, we strike west.”
Hattie sighed. “I’ll ask the question again, if you like.”
“Well, perhaps I don’t understand the question,” Smith spat.
“The entire purpose of me doing any of this is to get Lizzie back her work and cross me off the Crew’s wish list. I don’t see how harassing some bootleggers makes either of those things happen.”
Smith pinched the bridge of his nose, then uncrossed his arms to gesticulate. “The purpose is to take down the Baltimore Crew.”
Hattie turned to Lizzie with a cocked brow. “Is that what we’re about, then?”
Lizzie scowled. “Not as such.” She looked to Smith. “The Crew is our sole source of income. Let’s not lose sight of that.”
The Crew had been their sole source of income. It had always seemed too much of a risk before, but with the events of the last week, Lizzie had come to the decision that putting all her eggs together wasn’t wise. The Crew would be their priority, but there were a hundred small-time moonshiners with product, and slipping a few cases here and there on the boat would only add to their profits.
Smith waved a hand. “No, no. Of course. By ‘take down,’ I simply meant to reduce their sense of grandeur. Deflate Corbi’s ambitions of becoming a dominant force. They’ll be a more reliable source of income when they aren’t trying to rule the world.”
“So what about me, then?” Hattie pressed. “My name is on their lips. How am I supposed to do my job if they’re trying to kidnap me all hours?”
Smith stepped to the center of the office, addressing them both. “This is all about leverage, ladies. We position Corbi back into a posture of weakness, and you can demand damned near anything.”
“Have you met the man?” Hattie drawled, remembering her conversations with Vincent.
“Have you?”
Hattie frowned. “Weak posture, and then?”
“One step at a time,” he cooed with a calming gesture. “Moving forward, you’ll work with the Crew as a contractor. They’ll accept that as the limit of the bargain.”
Hattie shook her head. None of this made one lick of sense. This Smith man was twisting them all about for his own agenda, and she got the feeling that she going to be left holding the bag at the end of the day.
“The entire point of this was to preserve my freedom. I’m not bargaining for any sort of position with these brutes. I’m not working for the Crew. None of what you’re proposing benefits me one bit.”
Lizzie said, “But, you’re working for the Crew already. You have been for years.”
“Not as a slave.”
“That’s not what Smith is saying. Things go back to the way they were. The only difference is that they know what you are. You won’t be the priority anymore, these other things will.”
Hattie put her hands on her hips. “Honestly? You think that’s how this will really turn out? It’s daft, this plan of yours.”
Smith declared, “Which is worse? Playing a long game with the Crew, or finding yourself in one of their reeducation camps?”
She blinked. “The what, now?”
Smith’s face adopted a sinister cast. “The New York families maintain facilities upstate. Secluded locations with armed guards, and specialists who are masters at picking apart a person’s mind, their free will. There they reduce a pincher to a honed weapon of war.” He stepped toward Hattie. “Why do you think the notion of a free pincher is so inconceivable for your friend, Calendo?”
“He went to one of these camps?” Hattie choked out.
“The poor boy practically grew up in one. He’s known nothing else.”
“His family agreed to this when they sold him? They let him go to that sort of place?”
Smith shrugged. “I don’t have that sort of information. For a price, I could find it for you.”
Hattie sneered. “No, thank you.”
Smith nodded with amusement. “Then you’ll do it? I have a driver ready to take you to Shepherdstown.”
Hattie checked with Liz, who stood with stiff lips and narrow eyes. “Liz?”
“It’s your decision,” she stated. “These moonshiners are criminals. Most of them are uneducated. They’re a dangerous crowd.”
“I can handle dangerous,” Hattie offered. “It’s the end result that has my blood up. We talk them into bypassing the Crew, and it’ll bring violence. I’m not sure I can convince them of the virtue of crossing Vito Corbi.”
Smith said, “That’s your end of it, my dear. Your give. The take is a weakened Baltimore Crew.”
Distract the Crew with the Upright Citizens and renegade moonshiners out west, and hope it took the heat off her at least temporarily. It wasn’t a great plan, but it was better than nothing. Hattie paced for a moment as she thought it through, then nodded. “Fine. But I want Raymond to drive me.”
Smith grinned. “Don’t you trust me?”
“Not even remotely.”
Lizzie shook her head. “I have Raymond on the water today. Sorry.”
Hattie eyed Smith, who stood impatiently at the door to the office. “Shall we, then?”
Smith had a Model T waiting outside the Locust Point warehouse. The man next to it was enormous, in a coat and cabbie, face haunted by a five o’clock shadow although it was barely even noon.
Smith saluted the driver as he peered from the window. “This is Serge. Serge, this is Hattie, your ward for the day. Now, I don’t want you jabbering away at her the whole drive.”
He nodded, and stared forward waiting for Hattie to get in.
“Charming fellow,” she grumbled.
“He’s a professional,” Smith chided. “I encourage focus in all of my hires.”
Hattie climbed into the passenger seat with a sigh. This day trip was going to be a barrel of monkeys.
Serge proved to be as laconic and focused as Smith implied. They drove two full hours before he so much as cleared his throat. Hattie eyed the man once or twice, but otherwise contented herself to watching the farms roll by as they headed into the foothills of the Alleghenies.
A fox ran across the road, pausing in confusion as the car barreled forward. Serge laid onto the brakes, snarling, “Chyort!”
Hattie gripped the window as the car lunged forward. The fox doubled back and disappeared into a thatch of tall grass as Serge shook his head and hammered the accelerator.
Hattie smirked. “Damned fool animal doesn’t know better than to cross against traffic.”
Serge didn’t respond.
“So, where are you from…Serge?”
The man glanced over at her, then grumbled in a voice thick with a muddy European accent, “Frah-nce.”
“Ah, I see. Know more English than you can speak, then?”
He shrugged.
A few minutes down the road, she added, “I’ve always wanted to see Paris.”
“A dirty city,” Serge offered.
“Hmm?”
“Filthy.”
Hattie snickered to herself as the road crossed the Potomac into West Virginia.
The hand-off occurred just outside Shepherdstown. Serge pulled up alongside a jalopy with rust holes along the fenders. Two men eyed them from inside the truck. Serge stepped out of the vehicle to open Hattie’s door. The moonshiners sat motionless as Hattie emerged into the balmy summer air.
She gave them a smile and a wave. “Afternoon, boys.”
At the greeting, their expressions erupted into broad smiles. The driver stepped clear of the truck and pulled off his hat to reveal a shaggy mop of dusty blond hair. His smile was a castle of broken, gray teeth.
“You’re Miss Mallory?” he asked in a looping drawl.
“Malloy,” she corrected with a
polite nod. Hattie turned to Serge. “Are you stayin’ put, or are you scurrying off back to Baltimore?”
Serge eyed the two men, crouching down to take in the passenger, then offered a nod before climbing back into his car to make a tight turn and drive away.
“Not much of a talker,” the driver said.
“Aye, that’s the gospel.”
He extended a hand. “I’m Tom Ed, by the by. Tom Ed Greely.”
She shook his hand. “Hattie Malloy.”
Tom Ed bowed down to shout into the truck, “Hey, boy. Get your hide outta that seat and say hello to our guest.”
The passenger emerged, almost a head shorter than Hattie. He didn’t look a day over fifteen.
“This here’s Shane. He’s my boy.”
Hattie nodded to the youth. “I appreciate your patience with me. This can’t be easy for you. I feel I’m barging in.”
Tom Ed snickered. “Aw, hell miss. I’d sell my still to spend a day with a pretty lady like yourself.”
Hattie blushed, and tried not to chuckle. She knew this fellow was laying it thick just to make her feel comfortable, but she wasn’t used to compliments. Oh, she’d been called all sorts of things by city men, usually unsolicited and accompanied by some waggle of the brow or an ironic sneer. But this man—this father who looked to be not much more than thirty years—was a stranger to all guile. His words rang clear as a church bell on a crisp winter morning. His life was too dangerous to waste time with games. When he spoke, it seemed as if she could mint the syllables and save them in a bank to earn interest. As such, when he called her a “pretty lady,” it made Hattie feel small and grand all at the same time.
“Get your butt in the back,” Tom Ed hollered to Shane, who hopped over the side of the truck in a single leap. The father held the door for Hattie as she slipped inside, the springs of the bench seat squeaking even under her slight weight.
They continued on up the road past Shepherdstown, steering up the hill on an unpaved lane largely overgrown with brush. Likely by design.
“I gotta say,” Tom Ed offered as they rounded several switchbacks to climb into some haggard wilderness that seemed to punish the truck as they pierced deeper, “I was surprised when old Tony rang us up to fill us in on this little situation.”