High Spirits [Spirits 03]

by Alice Duncan

  His comment reminded me that I still didn’t know what evil Stacy was up to now. But at that moment I didn’t give a rap about Stacy Kincaid. I stared at Harold in patent alarm. “Oh, Harold, I wish you’d be there. And you, too, Del.” I didn’t want him to feel left out.

  Harold leaned over and spoke directly into my ear. If he’d whispered, I wouldn’t have heard him because of the general noise level in the place. “I really don’t want to be picked up in another raid.”

  “Oh, but it’s all right, Harold,” I told him. And I opened my mouth to let him know that Sam was aware that he and Del would be there, but I realized it would be foolish to do so right out loud. “Really,” I said weakly. “It’s all right.” I tried to wink at him to let him know the score, but I’ve never been very good at winking, and I think he thought I was merely grimacing.

  The crowd parted at that moment, sort of like I imagine the Red Sea once parted for Moses, and Maggiori strode down the aisle thus created, straight at me. I very nearly fainted.

  Scolding myself for cowardice, I managed a small smile, which was all right, since spiritualists aren’t supposed to look happy, I guess because they—I mean we—commune with ghosts all the time. For the first time since I’d started this spiritualist nonsense, I seriously considered getting a job as a clerk at Nash’s. Of course, that would mean giving up our lovely home and all that, but at least I wouldn’t be at the mercy of Sam Rotondo any longer. Or Vicenzo Maggiori.

  Maggiori nodded at Harold. I guess he recognized him as a paying customer. Then he reached for my hand, which I relinquished to him reluctantly. Touching him gave me the jitters. “Good to see ya, Mrs. Majesty. Thanks for coming.”

  “You’re welcome.” What was I supposed to have done? Tell him I couldn’t perform the stupid séance and have my entire family wiped out if he succumbed to a fit of pique?

  “Didja bring that Rolly guy witchya?”

  “He’s always with me.” I’d already told him that. Was the man deaf?

  “Dat’s right. I knew dat.” He let my hand go and rubbed both of his together. He looked mighty satisfied with himself. “Don’t the place look great?”

  I glanced around. It appeared merely frenzied to me, but that was probably because of my black mood. “Wonderful,” I said.

  “You want I should get you something to drink before we start?”

  “No, thank you.” My mouth was dry as the Gobi Desert, but I definitely didn’t want to drink anything stronger than water.

  “Nuts. I’ll get you a ginger ale.”

  “Thank you. That would be nice. Only ginger ale, please.”

  Maggiori laughed. “Of course!” He snapped his fingers, and one of his outriders appeared at his side. They were a remarkably well-trained bunch. I suspect fear of death kept them in line. I know it did me.

  “Buck up, Daisy,” Harold said as Maggiori turned aside to give a ginger-ale order to his henchman. Harold was always telling me to buck up.

  “It’s gonna be all right, Daisy,” said Flossie, who had appeared as if by magic out of the smoke.

  Which reminded me of something. While I was overjoyed to have friends present in this dreadful place, I was actually kind of sorry to find Flossie hadn’t already fled from the clutches of the diabolical Jinx Jenkins yet. “Thanks, Flossie. Um ... how are you doing?”

  She looked pretty good. Really, she looked much better than she had when I’d first met her. Her hair was darker and, while she’d dressed appropriately for an evening of frivolity and law breaking, she still retained an aura of near-respectability. It would take a while for her new persona to fit comfortably on her, but she sure was trying to remake herself into the image of an upright young woman.

  “I’m okay.” She lowered her eyes. “I know you think I shoulda already got away, huh?”

  “Um ... well, no. Not at all.”

  She knew I’d lied. “Yeah. You do. And I will. But I’m scared, Daisy. Jinx, he’s a bad man.” She cast a frightened glance into the cigar smoke, looking for Jinx, I guess.

  “I know, Flossie.” I tried to sound encouraging. “But you have other friends now, too, don’t forget.”

  To my dismay, her eyes filled with tears. “That’s one of the reasons I’m still here. I don’t want him to do nothing to ... to anybody else.”

  She meant to Johnny Buckingham. I sighed deeply. Unfortunately, the room was so full of smoke that the breath I took in order to sigh made me end the sigh with a cough, and my own eyes started watering. Harold thumped me on the back.

  Flossie took my arm. “It’ll be okay, Daisy. I can’t thank you enough for what you done ... did for me. It’ll be okay,” she repeated, although it didn’t sound to me as if she meant it.

  Because I couldn’t think of anything to say—she might be right about putting Johnny in danger if she left Jinx for the Salvation Army, and anyhow, my lungs were still trying to expel smoke—I patted her arm.

  “Here’s your drink,” said a monster, appearing at my elbow kind of like a mountain emerging from an ocean during an earthquake. By gum, he even carried my ginger ale on a tray. Maggiori’s idea of class, I reckon.

  “Thank you.” I took the ginger ale, truly glad to have it since my mouth was awfully dry, and my tongue had a habit of sticking to its roof.

  And then Maggiori loomed large at my side again, and he cocked a bushy eyebrow at me. “You ready to start?” he asked. He sounded polite, but I decided not to test that theory by balking.

  “Yes.” We spiritualists use as few words as we can get away with when chatting with our customers because we don’t want them to get the idea that we’re actually just people.

  “Let’s get goin’ then.” He looked around. “Jinx! Get yourself over here.”

  It was then I spotted Jinx. He looked every bit as rough around the edges as he had the first time I’d seen him, and I truly pitied Flossie in that instant. It would be genuinely difficult for her to extricate herself from his clutches. And it’s all well and good to say that she shouldn’t have become involved with him in the first place, but she’d been only a kid at the time, and kids are often too stupid to realize there’s trouble ahead until they fall smack into it. I know this from bitter personal experience.

  I glanced at Flossie, who, thank God, didn’t desert me. Not that Harold and Del were deserting me exactly, but that’s what it felt like. Turning to look at them one last time before I went to the séance room, I felt as though I were leaving my last friends in the world behind, even though that was definitely not the case. Heck, Flossie was my friend, wasn’t she? Even if she was entangled with this gang of goons.

  With a sigh, I decided I’d be better off not thinking in terms of friends, goons, or anything other than the job ahead of me. Therefore, sticking close to Flossie, I walked through the milling mob to the room where another monstrous mountain of a man stood guard. This latest monster opened the door for Maggiori, who stood aside for me to enter. I took Flossie with me. I don’t think Maggiori or Jinx wanted me to, but that’s just too bad. I needed her presence just then.

  Maggiori had remembered how I worked. The table was round, and there was one cranberry-glass candle lamp in the middle of it. After Maggiori, Jinx, Flossie, and I were in the room, the monster shut the door and stood in front of it. He looked as if he were daring me to try to escape.

  “Are there only going to be four of us?” I asked, feeling nervous. I didn’t like to perform for so small a group. Mind you, I didn’t like too large a group, either, but a particularly small group meant that I had to be more mindful than ever of my act because there were fewer distractions present for the attendees.

  “There a problem wit dat?” Maggiori asked, grumbling slightly in his oily base.

  Maintaining my serene demeanor through sheer force of will, I said, “Séances work better with six to eight people.” I had a dazzling idea then. “Perhaps Mr. Kincaid and Mr. Farrington can join us. They’re both excellent conduits.”

  Maggiori squ
inted at me. “Huh?”

  “They’re both receptive to the spirits,” I explained. I know, because I’ve practiced so long and so hard at my craft, that I betrayed none of my inner turmoil. Inside, my heart was hammering like a woodpecker after a grub, and I felt lightheaded.

  “Yeah?” Maggiori cocked his head to one side and appeared thoughtful.

  “It would be better to have six,” I said again, quivering like Jell-O gelatin internally, but sounding self-confident and tranquil. I was actually rather proud of myself for not crumpling into a sobbing heap on the floor of that despicable room.

  Maggiori jerked a nod at Jinx. “Go get them faggots, Jinx.”

  Faggots. Hmm. Maggiori and Jinx could learn a lot about decency and morality from Harold and Del, darn it. I didn’t say so. “Thank you.”

  The room was silent as Jinx went to dig up Harold and Del. He came back alone. “They’re already gone, boss.”

  Curse it.

  “Well, grab another couple of people then,” Maggiori growled, sounding as if he needed a lube job on his vocal chords.

  And it was entirely my own fault. If there was one thing I didn’t want, it was to irritate Vicenzo Maggiori. I thought about apologizing but decided against it. After all, I was merely performing according to my profession, and if Maggiori thought I was a prima donna, he’d be less apt to call on me in the future.

  Not, of course, that there would be any future calls from Maggiori since tonight was the end of it all.

  That thought braced me minimally as we waited for Jinx to return with two kidnapped customers. I hoped they wouldn’t be under the influence of alcohol because it’s difficult to conduct a séance, which is supposed to be serious business, with people giggling in the background. Not for the first, or even the thousandth, time, I wished I’d kept my fat mouth shut.

  But I needn’t have worried—about inebriation, anyhow. When Jinx returned, he bore with him two of Maggiori’s ruffians. Both of them looked as if they’d never allow a giggle to pass their lips. They also looked as if they’d rather be shooting somebody than attending a séance, but at least there were now six of us. Goody gumdrops.

  “Sit down there and keep your mugs buttoned,” Maggiori said to the two men, gesturing at the table. “You, Marco, sit there. Giovanni, sit there.”

  This meant that I would, again, be seated between Maggiori and Jinx, and Flossie would be one thug down from me on my right. I was glad to know she was there, even if I couldn’t hold on to her for support.

  “That all right now?” Maggiori asked me. I detected no sarcasm in his voice, although I couldn’t be sure.

  “Very good,” I said, aiming for a mystical tone.

  Then I sat, too, and went through my usual rigmarole, telling everyone to hold hands and be silent because the spirits couldn’t come unless the mood was properly set. The two newcomers looked at each other and one of them sneered, but they held hands. When I took Maggiori’s hand, I felt as though I were gripping a serpent. When I took Jinx’s hand, I knew I was clasping the paw of a truly evil person. I said, “You may now turn out the lights.”

  The room went dark.

  It didn’t take as long to get into the swing of the séance as it had the first time I’d done this for these people, probably because I anticipated the end of it all—one way or another. I still didn’t believe Sam was correct in that nothing bad would happen during the raid. All I knew, or hoped for at any rate, was that Peter Frye wouldn’t be able to tip off the bad guys that the good guys were going to bust in.

  I must say that Rolly had remarkably little trouble communicating with Mr. Maggiori’s Sicilian great-grandmother that evening, in spite of the fact that Rolly was made-up, and she was dead, and they both spoke different languages.

  See, this is yet another thing I don’t understand about spiritualism. Say that it’s marginally possible to communicate with someone who lived a thousand years ago, like Rolly was supposed to have done. The English language is different now than it was then, even if Rolly, being from Scotland, would have spoken English, and I don’t think he would have because didn’t they speak Gaelic then? And these people who claim to raise long-dead Egyptian princesses as their controls, wouldn’t said controls be speaking in ancient Egyptian or something?

  The whole thing is so clearly ridiculous, it floors me that I still have a job.

  However, that’s not the point. Rolly and Mr. Maggiori’s great-grandmother, whose last name was also Maggiori, although her first name was Bella, were blabbing away like nobody’s business when the police finally broke down the front door of the joint and screams erupted from the front part of the speakeasy. It was probably a good thing since Grandma Bella had just told her great-grandson that she thought it was a shame he couldn’t go into a legitimate line of work, and Maggiori had just uttered a low growl. I don’t know why I do things like that. Death wish, maybe.

  But that’s neither here nor there.

  A tremendous crash resounded through the place. We even heard it in the séance room, although it was supposed to be soundproofed. On either side of me, Maggiori and Jinx leaped to their feet.

  I think it was Jinx who said, “Shit!”

  Maggiori bellowed, “Frye, you’re a dead man!”

  The door burst open, and instead of one of Maggiori’s mugs, a herd of uniformed policemen rushed into the room.

  I guess it was Jinx who hauled out a machine gun from God knows where. I only caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye, shrieked, “Flossie!” and reached over and grabbed her by the arm. We both hit the floor just as all hell broke loose.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I’ve never heard such a racket, and hope never to hear one like it again. Jinx must have been standing right over us when he jammed his finger on that infernal machine-gun trigger because not only did plaster and people start falling like hail, but so did very hot shells which, I presume, were ejected from Jinx’s gun.

  “Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God!” That was Flossie, and I didn’t hear her until she was about a hundred “Oh, my Gods” into her litany.

  We’d both covered our heads, and I don’t know about Flossie, but I started praying like mad. I guess she was praying, too, come to think of it.

  I’m not sure how long the chaos lasted. My ears were still ringing when I realized the gunfire had stopped. Plaster dust and smoke and I don’t know what all else still filled the air. Through the ringing in my ears, I finally made out the sounds of human voices.

  Since I wasn’t sure if the voices were coming from the good guys or the bad guys, I stayed down, although I turned my head to see if Flossie was still with me.

  She was, which I would have known already, if my brains weren’t so rattled. Heck, I still held her hand. She squinted at me through the haze. “You okay?”

  I’m sure that’s what she said, although I didn’t really hear her, due to the aforementioned ear problem. I nodded. “You?” Inside my head, my voice sounded like I was speaking into a barrel.

  She nodded, then winced. There was a lot of rubble on top of us.

  And then I felt a large body looming above me. Said large body bent over and grabbed my arm. “Get up, you,” it growled.

  At first I thought it was one of Maggiori’s goons. I staggered to my feet, plaster dust and bullet casings flying far and wide as I rose. It was then I realized it wasn’t one of Maggiori’s felons who’d grasped my wrist, but none other than Sam Rotondo. In the flesh. From the corner of my eye, I realized another police officer was helping Flossie to her feet. Hmm. Sam hadn’t bothered being that gentle with me, curse him.

  “S-sam,” I stuttered.

  “Shut up, you,” said Sam.

  I was so stunned by his gruff, uncivil tone of voice that I shut up.

  What the heck was going on here? I was supposed to be a heroine, wasn’t I? You wouldn’t know it by Sam’s rough handling. He turned me around, grabbed my arms, and darned if he didn’t slap handcuffs on me! “Hey!”
I bellowed.

  He leaned over and hissed into my ear. “Shut up, dammit. I’ve got to make this look legit. You don’t want those goons to think you’re in on this, do you?”

  Oh. He had a point there.

  Thus it was that I endured the humiliation of being handcuffed by Billy’s best friend. When my head finally stopped spinning, although my ears still rang, I glanced around the room. Flossie was in handcuffs, too, and she was crying. Poor kid. I shot a fulminating glance at Sam, who still held my arm. He gave me a curt nod, which I interpreted as meaning Flossie wasn’t going to be locked up. If I’d interpreted that nod wrong, Sam Rotondo was going to pay dearly.

  My eyes watered from the gun smoke and the plaster dust, and I couldn’t rub them since my hands were cuffed, so I blinked hard several times and looked around some more.

  All things considered, the scenario was promising. Jinx Jenkins was on the ground, blood leaking from a hole in him somewhere—I hoped it was somewhere fatal. He was swearing a blue streak, but the copper who’d cuffed him didn’t seem to care a whole lot.

  Vicenzo Maggiori stood at the far wall, also cuffed. I hadn’t realized a complexion as dark as his could appear so pasty. Several of his underlings sat against the wall, their hands behind their backs, I presume handcuffed, and a couple of them bleeding from various cuts and gashes. The police contingent looked amazingly unscathed, albeit dusty as all get-out.

  “Let me go to Flossie, Sam,” I muttered under my breath. I could scarcely hear myself and hoped my ears would stop ringing soon.

  “Be quiet,” he growled.

  Boy, that made me mad! “I will not be quiet, curse you! You take me ...” He slapped a hand over my mouth, and darned if he didn’t lift me right off my feet and carry me over to where Flossie stood, still weeping pitifully. He dumped me none too gently on my feet, and I’d have hollered at him except that what little common sense I possess came to the fore then, and his comment about not wanting Maggiori to know I was in on the raid registered on my feeble brain.

  Therefore, after giving him as furious a scowl as I could muster, I shut up about his brutal treatment of me and started in on comforting Flossie.