Bum’s Rush: White Lightning Series, Book 2

by Debra Dunbar

  “You seem certain of that.”

  “He made me a promise. For all his faults, the man is true to his word.”

  Lizzie shook her head. “That’s fine for him. But what about his boss? What happens when he bypasses his pincher and sends someone less scrupulous after you?”

  Hattie had no answer.

  Raymond asked, “What about you, Lizzie? Where will you go?”

  Lizzie cackled. “Me? I’m not going anywhere. No reason to. I’ve got most of my money tied up in the warehouse, and the rest tied up in three shipments of liquor the Crew never paid me for. As long as they’re in arears, I’m staying put.” She added with a leaden tone, “I’ve got no one to lose, anyhow.”

  Hattie glared at Liz, and her expression easing as the truth of her words settled. She cast a glance to Raymond, who’d stuffed his hands into his pockets as he stared at the floor.

  “Is this really happening?” she whispered. Had it really come to this? She’d gone from determined to ride it out, to take the fight to the Crew and stay strong, to fleeing the city in a mere two days. But was there really any other option? Her parents were safe, but if she stayed, she’d take Lizzie and Raymond down with her, and the noose was tightening around her neck. No, the only two options really were either to flee, or to give in and surrender herself to the Crew.

  And only one of those was really an option.

  Hattie sighed, then stepped over to Raymond to wrap her arms around him, giving him a tight squeeze.

  He unwound one of his tree trunk arms to slip over her shoulder.

  “Thanks for all the rides,” she mumbled, a catch in her throat threatening to blossom into a sob.

  He patted her back, sending jolts through her chest. “You done good, baby girl. Go get yourself safe, you hear?”

  She nodded and wiped her eyes as she stepped away.

  Lizzie spread her arms for a hug, but Hattie cocked a brow at her. “Are you serious?”

  With a dry snicker, Lizzie offered a hand to shake. “Thought I’d try.”

  Hattie shook her hand, then held it tight.

  “Oh, hell with you.”

  She pulled Lizzie close and gave her a hug.

  When they parted, Lizzie gave her a nod. “I have friends at Penn Station. I can get you and your parents onto a train bound for Missouri. Or wherever you like. You’ll have to pay, but my friends can keep it anonymous.”

  “Thank you.” Hattie wiped her eyes again and took a long sniffle. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to go break the news to Ma and Da.”

  “Need a hand?” Raymond asked.

  “No, you’ve got your own boom to drop.”

  “Borrow the truck?”

  “I’d rather walk,” she replied. “I’ve a lot to think on.”

  He nodded.

  And, with nothing left to say one to another, Hattie turned for the door and stepped outside.

  The heat of the day had eased with an easterly bringing some rain-cooled air off the Bay. Thick clouds billowed to the east, with a distant rumbling of thunder serenading her steps as she marched up the street toward the city. It would be a long hike. Hopefully, long enough for Hattie’s weeping to run its course. Her shoulders jerked in sobs as she took slow, plodding steps.

  The injustice of it all swept through her, stoking a fury within. Against Smith. Against the Crew. How dare they put her in this position? How dare they ruin lives for their thirty pieces of silver?

  As she growled and took running kicks at rocks, the indignation subsided. This was the way it had always been. The kings of men used pinchers for their own ends, and they crushed the small people underfoot if it afforded them the tiniest privilege. Today was no different. Only thing was, today would be her last day in Baltimore.

  By the time the wharves along the city-side harbor had lumbered into view, the sun had dipped behind the thickening clouds overhead, sending the city into a shadow in tones of gray. She took in each of the familiar buildings as she wound her way towards North Avenue. The old market. The florist she liked to visit. The Fontainebleau. They would soon be memories.

  The street car had stopped running, so Hattie had another half hour’s walk to Hampden to work out how she would break the news to her parents.

  There seemed to be no other choice. Which was difficult to wrap her head around, since Hattie wasn’t entirely convinced of that fact. It felt needlessly defeatist. Sure, she’d been handed several hard blows from Smith and the Crew, but was it really the only option? Having cried her nerves raw on the walk through the city, she grew to realize there would always be another option as long as Vincent Calendo was in the city.

  She’d really laid one on him earlier that morning. He’d been an ass. Well, if Hattie was honest with herself, he had simply been steadfast. She still felt it in her bones that Vincent could help her. He’d helped her so far. He’d never lifted a hand to hurt her or bring her in by force. He’d promised not to involve her family. In his own way, he had helped her. Maybe between the two of them, they could come up with a solution to this.

  Hattie climbed the stairs to the apartment, suddenly unsure what she’d even tell her parents. Her brain was in a fog, her heart playing tug-of-war against her battling convictions. As she opened the door to her apartment, she found Alton sitting at the kitchen table, a glass of whiskey in front of him. Before she could muster a trite chastisement for her father, her eyes swept along the table to find Branna seated beside him, her eyes low and hard. Hands flat against the table.

  The door closed behind Hattie. She peered over her shoulder to find Lefty Mancuso shutting the door with a gentle click.

  “What’s all this?” she gasped.

  Branna muttered, “Hattie? You should sit down.”

  Hattie stepped fully into the kitchen directly behind her father. Vincent sat at the far end of the table, his pistol resting on its surface.

  He nodded to her with heavy-lidded eyes. “If you would.”

  “Vincent? What are you…”

  In a split-second, Hattie realized how very wrong she’d been about him. No, he wasn’t on her side. Not at all. He was, as he always had been, a tool for the mob.

  “You promised.”

  Her voice was barely a whisper. Vincent flinched, then his expression hardened and he gestured for the chair opposite Branna. “Please.”

  Hattie reached for her father’s shoulders, a hundred plans for escape cascading through her brain. But before she could land on a single illusion that could blind the one-armed thug behind her, and find a way to side-step Vincent as he saw through her powers, Alton lifted a hand to rest onto her fingers.

  “Aye, ’Attie. You best do what the man says.”

  All of the steel in her bones melted in an instant.

  With a quick squeeze of her father’s thin shoulders, she stepped around the corner of the table to pull out a chair and take a seat.

  It was over.

  Chapter 22

  Misery filled Vincent as Hattie slumped in her seat. She wouldn’t look at him—not after that initial moment when the pain and betrayal on her face had nearly ripped him apart.

  This was a horrible, horrible mistake. If he’d had the power to reverse time, he would have instead gone to Vito, told him about Smith, that the Upright Citizens were not involved in any of this. He would have taken whatever punishment the Capo deemed fit, even if it cost him his own life, anything rather than have her look at him that way.

  But it was too late for that now.

  The silence that fell over the room ground his brain into a fine paste. He did his best to maintain a calm exterior, all the while his soul withered and caught flame, reducing itself to ash in a moment of guilt-driven self-immolation.

  Hattie sucked in a breath and stared at the table. He knew she’d be angry. He’d crossed a line, passed the point of no return. He’d tried his best to plan for every eventuality, knowing her propensity for lashing out. This was her weakness. Her Achilles’ heel. This was her family.<
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  Vincent broke the silence. “I know how you like to call the play on the fly. So, before you try to figure out how to escape this, you should know that I have a man in one of the back rooms. I won’t tell you which. I also have a man on the street, watching both the windows and the door. I won’t tell you where.”

  Her glare was intense as she finally met his gaze.

  He continued, “I truly didn’t want it to come to this.”

  “You gave me your damned word,” she snarled. “You made me a promise.”

  Her words speared him through the chest, but all he could do was nod. “I did. I know I did. But that promise I gave? I can no longer honor it.”

  She waved a hand at him and looked away.

  Vincent leaned forward. “You said it yourself. This isn’t a game. Not anymore. I can’t afford to play by the rules, now.” He jabbed his finger into the table. “There’s column A, where you stay free. And there’s column B, where you work for the Crew. That’s it. I’m here trying to keep everyone alive, which is, unfortunately for you, column B.”

  Hattie glared. “How can I trust a word you say? You’ve broken your oath. You’re nothing to me, now. Nothing.”

  “Oh, grow up!” Vincent snapped.

  Branna pulled her hands off the table. Lefty took a step forward.

  Hattie’s mother thrust a crooked finger at Vincent. “Don’t you dare raise your voice to my child, you bastard!”

  Vincent eased away from the table, lifting his fingers in apology, if not surrender. Hattie’s father shuffled in his chair across the length of the table eying him with more curiosity than fear. He had since Vincent and company had knocked on the door, muscled their way in, and situated the couple in their seats to wait for Hattie’s return.

  “’Ere,” Alton murmured. “Settle down, Branna.”

  She spun on her husband. “Don’t tell me what to do. They come in here, waving their guns—”

  “Ma!” Hattie shouted, causing everyone to jump a little. “Hush.”

  Branna complied with a smoldering glare at her daughter.

  Hattie turned back to Vincent. “You’re waving guns at my parents, then?”

  “I didn’t—” Vincent grumbled, but Hattie interrupted.

  “I see your true nature now, Vincent Calendo.”

  Vincent scowled as the knot in his stomach unwound a bit in indignation.

  “Oh, don’t get so righteous,” he blurted. “We’re both doing business. I’m just doing it in broad daylight, while you’re running hooch over the water in secret. At the end of the day, we’re in the same line of work. So, don’t come at me with this moral high ground. I told you how this would end. I gave you chance after chance after chance to accept it. You wouldn’t. So, now we’re here.”

  “She’s not a bloody gangster,” Branna snarled.

  Vincent turned to the woman, taking a calming breath. “Ma’am. Your daughter has been running illicit liquor across state lines for the better part of two years. She knew what she was doing. She knew who she was doing it for.” He turned to Hattie. “I did my best. If you don’t believe that, then you’re the problem.”

  Hattie slapped the table.

  Lefty reached into his jacket toward his holster, but Vincent shook his head to wave him off.

  “You can’t give me an ultimatum and then blame me for refusing it. I’m not the problem,” she snarled.

  “No?” he replied. “You’re not the one who drummed up some sort of damned war between Baltimore and Richmond? One which I’m trying to stop by bringing you in?”

  Hattie rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t the one who told your boss that it was the Upright Citizens who stole his moonshine.”

  Vincent fixed her with an even stare. “No, that was me. But you led me directly to that conclusion, didn’t you? You knew me well enough to realize that I’d get all clever and try to save the day. You played me, Hattie Malloy. And I think I’d like to hear you admit that.”

  With a tiny smirk, she replied, “I suppose so.”

  Branna shook her head. “What in blue blazes are you going on about, girl? Do you know this man?”

  Alton chuckled, and all eyes turned to him. “Well of course she does, Branna. This is him. The one she told us all about.” He leaned toward her in a conspiratorial whisper. “You know, the one like her.”

  Branna shook her head. “I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about.”

  Vincent sucked in a breath and eyed Hattie. “You told your parents about me?”

  Hattie swallowed hard but didn’t reply.

  Alton gestured at Vincent. “He’s that time pincher, Branna. This all makes complete sense now.”

  “How? How does it make sense?” Hattie squawked.

  “Well,” Alton suggested with a bob of his head and a vague gesture of his hand. “He’s got that Valentino look about him. Eh? Not an Irish lad like I’d hoped for, but he’ll do.”

  Hattie looked mortified, then grimaced and made a slicing motion with her index finger across her neck.

  Alton chuckled and nodded to Vincent. “Can I offer you some whiskey, lad? I don’t have much, but I feel impolite not to offer’t. We should be havin’ a chat too, y’know?”

  Vincent waved off the offer, wondering what in the hell the old man was going on about.

  Branna slapped the table. “Don’t treat this animal like a person, Alton!”

  The old man’s eyes took a hard edge. “Eh, now. May be easy for you to think that. But our ’Attie has a family, no?” Alton pointed to Vincent without breaking eye contact with his wife. “What sort of family has he ever known?”

  Branna replied through tight lips, “I don’t…bloody…care.”

  Alton straightened and smiled at Vincent. “So, boy-o. Did you ever know your parents, then?”

  Hattie winced. “Da? Best leave that alone. He doesn’t take well to that line of questions. I know.”

  The old man squinted at Hattie. “How well do ya know him, then? Sounds to me like the two of you are closer than just friends here.”

  “No!” Vincent blurted out. “I mean, we’ve been through a tough spot together, that’s all.”

  Hattie flinched, and he wondered if he hadn’t said the wrong thing yet again.

  “She’s a pincher,” Vincent added. “Aren’t many of us around.” He cast a glance at Hattie. “When I meet someone who understands what it’s like to be…well, me? It means something.”

  Hattie ventured a glance at him before returning her gaze to the table top.

  Alton pressed, “So, you never had a family then?”

  “I have a family. A big one, too.”

  Branna groused, “That’s no family, though you enjoy calling it one. It’s a gang of outlaws, is all it is.”

  “She has a point,” Hattie muttered. “They don’t consider you a part of their family.” She looked up to him. “Do they?”

  “I never knew my birth parents,” Vincent answered Alton, toward avoiding the comment. “I grew up in a private school and relocated to Baltimore when I was of age.”

  Hattie blanched. “That private school of yours. That…that upstate school?”

  Vincent’s hands balled into fists.

  She continued, “What did they do to you there?”

  Before Vincent could answer, Alton asked, “Do you even know if they’re still alive? Your parents?”

  Vincent took in several breaths, then glanced up to Lefty, who stood restless by the door. The handler’s face was alive with calculation and alarm…as if these were questions Vincent need never ask, much less know the answers to.

  The sight of Lefty’s face centered Vincent, and he eased his hands open again.

  “Your parents will be taken to the Old Moravia Hotel,” he told Hattie. “We have a luxury suite prepared for them. If they haven’t eaten yet, we can have dinner brought up for them.”

  Alton smiled at the notion, while Branna’s eyes hardened into glass-cutting diamonds.

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sp; Vincent continued. “They’ll go on ahead of us. They’ll be safe.”

  Hattie added with bile, “As long as I come quiet-like?”

  “Something like that.”

  Alton slapped his hands together and chuckled. “Well, as fate would have’t, we haven’t eaten yet. What do those poor buggers down in that hotel cook up in the middle of the evening? Oh, I do hope they have some lamb. It’s been a stone’s age since I had proper lamb.”

  Branna clamped her eyes shut, her cheeks glowing red. “Alton, in the name of all that’s Holy, shut your gob!” Then she opened her eyes and glared at Vincent. “Where are you taking my Hattie?”

  He responded in a low, even tone, “I’ll accompany Hattie personally to meet with the Capo.”

  Branna thrust her finger right back at Vincent. “You can do what you like to me and my husband, but you won’t so much as lay a finger on my daughter!”

  Hattie reached across the table to lower her hand. “Ma. It’s done.”

  “How can you be so resigned?” Branna spat. She then turned to her husband. “And you! Acting like this is nothing more than a free meal for you. Shame on you.”

  The man leaned back in his chair to fold his arms. “It’s all gonna work out fine, Branna.”

  The woman sat stunned, shaking her head. “Fine? You think this is going to work out fine?”

  “Aye. It’s gonna be fine. This gent here, he’s been decent with us. He’ll make sure our girl is safe.”

  “He’s the enemy!” Branna blustered

  “Aye, that he is. But there’s plenty a those. If you’re given a chance to make peace with the villain of your choice, you should thank the Holy Mother she saw fit to deliver a lesser one.”

  Vincent couldn’t stop a tiny grin from blossoming on his face. This old man seemed oddly calm and comported, considering the circumstances. His attitude was as disarming as it was unexpected—which was probably the point. He trying to save his girl from further suffering.

  His wife, on the other hand, sat appalled. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”

  Hattie shoved her chair a couple inches away from the table. “Fine. They go to the Moravia. As hostages for my cooperation.”