Part of me knew he could be right, but I didn’t want to admit it. And I had no energy left to argue with him. “I guess that will be his problem then. But right now, all I care about is getting all this sold tomorrow.”
We loaded Al Murphy’s whiskey into the boathouse and put four cases in the Ford for the neighborhood deliveries. “I’ll follow you home,” Joey said after opening the driver side door for me. “We need to talk.”
I didn’t see why it was necessary, and I was completely exhausted, but I said OK. Maybe I can try again about the gun, I thought as I started the car.
Clouds had moved in, so moonlight was scant as I bumped along the drive toward Jefferson, but I couldn’t risk turning on the headlamps until I was a safe distance from the boathouse. The whisky bottles clanked in the back.
At my house, we unloaded in silence, hiding the whisky behind a false panel Daddy had put in the pantry. Afterward, Joey followed me into the front room and sank onto the sofa. “Are your sisters here?” he whispered as I switched on a lamp.
“No. They’re at Bridget’s.” I sat at the opposite end of the sofa. “What is it you want to talk about?”
Joey took off his hat and tossed it between us. “You remember I told you about those guys I knew from school, the River Gang?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, they’re taking over all booze smuggling on the water, starting now, north and south of the city.”
I crossed my arms. “What the hell does that mean, taking over?”
“It means from now on, you want to run booze from Canada by boat, you gotta contract them as kind of a…taxi service. They buy and transport the load for you.”
I tilted my head. “How sweet of them. And what do they charge for this service?”
“A percentage of the load, whether the cargo makes it or not.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Well, say the cops catch them. You gotta pay the River Gang even if the load has to be dumped or gets confiscated.”
My jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me? That’s nuts, Joey! Nobody is going to pay them!”
“Then there’s gonna be a lot of bodies at the bottom of the river.” He looked me in the eye, but it felt like he’d kicked me in the gut.
“So there’s no risk to them whatsoever! Brilliant, these guys. And you said they went to the Bishop School?” The Bishop School was where you ended up after being tossed out of too many regular schools. Joey used to run craps games in the yard there.
“It was bound to happen, Tiny. There’s too much money to be made, and with war coming…”
“What war?”
Joey rubbed a finger back and forth under his bottom lip, saying nothing.
I threw my hands in the air. “Christ, Joey!”
He dropped his hand. “All right, here’s your history lesson. The Scarfone and Provenzano families have been fighting each other for control of the Italian criminal rackets for years—tons of guys shot, knifed, blown up, whatever. Then about four years ago, they each get a big hit—Provenzano’s sister and brother-in-law are shot coming out of their house, both killed. Then two days later, Scarfone’s brother’s body is found in a beer barrel on Riopelle. He’d been shot through the head and butchered.”
My stomach heaved.
“Anyways, at that point the two sides apparently decide enough’s enough with the killing. A sit-down is called, and they draw up this peace pact.”
“A peace pact?”
“Yep. My pop told me about it. Signed in blood and everything. Territories in the city and surrounding area are mapped out and each faction is given a slice of the pie. Some small gangs are recognized, but the big players are still Scarfone and Provenzano. Things are calm for a few months. And then”—he paused—“Prohibition passes, and the stakes go way up. We’re talking millions in bootleg liquor since Detroit can funnel in so much Canadian whisky and beer.”
I had a pretty good idea how this story ended. “So let me guess. Two years ago Provenzano decides to hell with the peace pact and has Big Leo Scarfone taken out at the police station.” I looked over at him; he was staring straight ahead, jaw set. “I’m sorry,” I said softly, remembering his dad was killed that day too.
He cleared his throat. “Yeah. And after that, what’s left of the Scarfone group kinda re-organizes, but it isn’t real tight. The older guys don’t like the younger ones, so they’re not respecting the pact, neither. They’re moving in on other territories, taking over rackets that don’t belong to them. Like Angel coming over here and shaking down guys like your dad.”
I’d never thought of our operation as a criminal racket, just a business. Before all this, my biggest fear had been a bust by the cops. “So now what?”
“So now the younger guys have decided to break from the old gang altogether,” Joey went on. “We’re gonna do our own thing on the river.”
I grabbed his arm. “We! Joey, have you lost your mind? After what happened to your father, how can you get involved in this gang stuff?”
He shook me off. “Forget about me. The point is, Angel doesn’t have any right to be over here, running booze or anything else.”
“Oh, but it’s OK for the River Gang to come out of nowhere and start demanding a percentage from any bootlegger on the water?”
“That’s the way it goes.”
“Jesus.” I collapsed back onto the sofa. “I just want out of this. And how the hell am I going to do that when I can’t even make my own runs anymore? I don’t have any money to spare for your friends.” I spat the last word. “And I’m sorry to say, I don’t see a damn bit of difference between what they’re doing and what Angel’s doing. He just happened to nab Daddy first.”
“Well, there is a difference. And if you’re smart, you’ll respect the way they want things done. The only reason they didn’t bother us tonight is because I told them what happened with Angel. Sam wants to make a deal with you.”
“Who the hell is Sam?”
“Sam the Barber. He’s head of the River Gang.”
“Swell. What kind of deal?”
Joey cleared his throat. “Well, they’ll allow you to run your own small loads to pay Angel off, and in return, you give them the hearses and…some information.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Information about what?”
“About Angel’s operation. About the club. About any big shipments they have coming in.”
My spine snapped straight. “They want me to be their spy? No chance, Joey!” I splayed my hands on my chest. “You think I’m crazy? Angel would kill me or Daddy or maybe both of us if he found out! And it’s not like the DiFiores are my friends—they have my father hostage!”
Joey remained infuriatingly calm. “Still. You’re able to get closer than they can.” He paused. “And you said Enzo likes you.”
I glared at him. Of course he’d bring that up, now that he needed it to be true. “What if I say no?”
“I’m not sure you have a choice. It’s either work with them or pay for their services. I can’t promise I’ll be able to hold them off.”
“Oh my God.” Struggling to breathe, I lowered my face to my knees, covering my head with my hands. “How did I get into so much trouble?”
“You never could stay out of it.”
“It was always your fault.” Resting there for a moment, I was surprised when I felt a hand on my back. Joey and I didn’t touch each other like that.
“Hey.”
I looked over at him. He’d moved closer to me, and his expression was serious and almost tender. I sat up. “What?”
“You’re not alone in this. I mean, you don’t have to be.”
His tone was cajoling, but his asking price was too high. “No. I don’t want to be a soldier in any gang war, Joey. I just want to get the money, get Daddy released, and turn this problem over to him.” Heaving a big sigh, I stood. “And after that, I need to get a new job. Secretary. Phone operator. Dog catcher.”
“That’
s probably a good idea.” He picked up his cap from the couch. “You got the twelve cases sold?”
“Nearly. Tomorrow I just have to deliver and collect. Then I need to buy more whisky.”
“Tomorrow night?”
“Yeah.” I met his eyes. “Will your friends bother us?”
He shrugged. “I guess we can take our chances, stay well north of the city.” He rubbed the stubble on his jaw, and for one insane second I wondered what it would feel like against my cheek. “Lock the door behind me, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I stood in the doorway and watched him go down the front porch steps. “Hey, Joey?”
He turned around.
“Why are you doing this? I mean, I’m grateful,” I added quickly, “but I’m also curious. You’d cross those guys for me?”
“Hmm.” He came back up the steps and stretched his hands to the walls on either side of the door. “Maybe it’s because your dad was good to me when I needed help after my dad died. Or maybe it’s because I always felt bad about stealing your underwear.” He leaned forward, putting us nearly nose to nose. “Maybe I’m planning to steal all that whisky from the boathouse tonight.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Be sure to shoot me when you’re done.”
“Maybe I’m just a nice guy, Tiny.”
“Maybe.” His full lips were so close, I couldn’t help staring at them, wondering what kind of kisser he was. They tipped up in a wicked grin.
“So how’s about a goodnight kiss?”
I shut the door in his face before my lips could answer otherwise.
Chapter Seven
Monday dawned cloudy and humid. Trying not to think about all the money I could be putting in my tuition stash after a day like today, I loaded the four cases from my house into the Ford and made my rounds. I sold all forty-eight bottles by telling our customers I wasn’t sure when I’d get another load since running near the river was getting dangerous and expensive. No one wanted to be without, so people were willing to buy a little extra to stock up.
By one o’ clock, I’d collected all money owed plus twelve dollars and fifty cents in tips. I went home, shoved the money under my mattress, and made lunch. After that, the girls headed to the library for the afternoon, and I drove over to the boathouse to load up Al Murphy’s cases. Joey was right about using a hearse—in my car, several of the sacks were visible because there wasn’t enough hidden space. Thankfully I only had one destination, and I was hoping Al would be around to help me unload. My back and my hip were hurting like mad.
The Murphys lived in a large old Victorian hidden behind a thick grove of pines, and they ran a speakeasy in the old carriage house at the back of their property. I parked in the drive, knocked on the massive front door, and Gladys Murphy answered it a moment later. A former showgirl, she was a tall middle-aged woman with unnaturally black hair, and she always penciled in her eyebrows overly-arched. It gave her a look of constant surprise, which my sisters and I giggled about whenever she came into the store.
“Tiny,” she said in her slight Southern accent. “Al’s been trying to reach your father.” Her forehead was wrinkled with concern.
“He’s out of town. Is there a problem?”
She wrung her hands and looked down the street in each direction. “Come in.” The hair at the back of my neck stood on end as I stepped into their elaborately furnished living room. I’d never seen the Murphys nervous about deliveries before. “Wait here. I’ll get Al,” Gladys told me. She peeked out the window before disappearing up the wide staircase.
I perched on a clawfoot chair and bit my thumbnail. The air in the room was stuffy and still, and the heavy drapes were pulled. Gladys returned a minute later, followed by Al, a portly guy with a thick head of red-brown hair and a mustache. He must have been shaving, because he had a speck of shaving cream on his neck and his collar was open.
“Tiny,” he said, coming forward with his hand out. “How’s your pop?”
“He’s fine.” I stood and shook Al’s hand but gave him a wary eye. “I’ve got your whisky. Eight cases.”
Al and Gladys exchanged glances and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Uh…the thing is, Tiny, I can’t buy whisky from you anymore.”
“Why not? You always buy whisky from us! Has somebody offered it cheaper?”
“No, no. It’s not that. It’s—” He swallowed again. “I have to buy it from somebody else now.”
It took me a few seconds to comprehend what he was saying. “Or that somebody else will get mad?”
He nodded. “Your pop’s been my friend a long time, done a lot for me, but…”
“They threatened us.” Gladys’s voice shook. “They showed up here with guns last night and said they’d bring in feds, or maybe just blow the place up if we bought from anyone else.”
“Of course they did.” My skin itched with fury. Enzo—that son of a bitch. He asked me what speaks we supplied and I’d flat-out told him. This was my fault. And now I was stuck with eight cases of whisky, which I’d never be able to sell by tonight, so I’d have no cash to buy the rest of the whisky I needed to make five grand by tomorrow night. Daddy was as good as dead.
And maybe I was too.
Without a word to the Murphys, I bolted to the door and yanked it open, then flew down the steps to my car. Tears spilled over as I backed out of the drive and took off down the street.
“Shit!” I pounded the steering wheel. “Shit, shit, shit!” Now what was I going to do? Wiping my nose with the back of my hand, I drove to the boathouse and unloaded everything again. I barely noticed any pain in my hip; I was too busy panicking about Daddy and fuming about Enzo. How dare he trick me that way? And then kiss me that way?
You kissed him, remember?
“That is not the goddamn point!” I yelled to no one.
I shoved my own culpability to the back of my mind and drove to Bridget’s. To my relief, Joey’s car was parked behind the store. Breathless, I rushed in the back door and found him unpacking boxes in the stock room. “Thank God you’re here.”
Joey lifted his brow. “Did I hear that right?”
“This is serious.” I took the carton of Armour’s Oats he was holding and threw it back into the box. “Come with me.” Dragging him by the arm into the alley, I shut the back door and threw my hands in the air. “They screwed me!”
“Who?”
“The DiFiores! At least, I assume that’s who it is.” I told him what had happened at Al Murphy’s house.
Joey crossed his arms. “How’d they know your pop supplied Murphy?”
My neck got hot. “I mighta let that slip when I was with Enzo the other night.”
He pressed his lips together. “So now what?”
“Now I hang myself, Joey! I don’t know what to do.” I slapped a hand to my sticky forehead. The air was hot and heavy, and I figured it would probably storm tonight, making a run across the lake much more difficult, if not impossible. I kicked the brick wall, which hurt my foot, and then slumped back against it.
“All right now, just relax. Let me think.”
“If I don’t get five grand by tomorrow night…”
“I said, let me think.” Joey looked down the alley for a moment. “I gotta make some calls.”
“Wait.” I grabbed his bicep. “No gang stuff.”
He held up his hands. “No promises, Tiny. You want your dad back, you might have to trade some favors.” He pointed at the store. “You go in there and help Bridget. I’ll call you here later.”
I hopped from one foot to the other. “When? It’s almost three, and if I don’t unload those eight cases of whisky today…” I hated how panicky and small my voice sounded, but all my confidence in myself was shot.
“I got it. Now go in there and make yourself useful.” Finally he attempted a grin. “Although I know that’s hard for you.”
#
Joey finally called the store around six, just as Bridget and I were closing up. When the telephone rang, I
was sweeping near the front door, but I dropped the broom and vaulted over the counter to grab it. “Hello?”
“It’s me.”
“Yes?”
“I got it worked out. Meet me tonight, ten o’clock, at the boathouse.”
I turned away from Bridget’s quizzical stare. “And?”
“And bring the keys for the hearses. Any of them that run.”
#
After supper, Mary Grace went outside to play, but I pulled Molly aside before she could follow. “I need to talk to you.”
She took her arm from my grasp. “Well, I’m meeting someone, so hurry up.”
“I have to make a late run tonight.” I’d decided to be up front with her. In case anything happened, someone should know where I went.
“Why?” She narrowed her eyes. “Where’s Daddy anyway? He’s not usually gone so long.”
Jesus. She has to pick tonight to get wise? “He’s working on some business connections in Cleveland. We might…run some whisky down there.”
“Oh.” Molly appeared satisfied by that. “So what time will you be home?”
“I’m not sure. But I want you both in bed at a decent hour, and no one comes over. Is that understood? Or do I have to ask Mrs. Mulder to check up on you?” Mrs. Mulder was our two-doors-down neighbor. When we were younger we used to call her “Meanie Mulder” because she was always crabbing at kids who ran across her lawn.
“Ugh, no. But all this late night running around is strange, Tiny.” She began to walk out, then turned around, one eyebrow arched like Gladys Murphy’s. “Is there a boy involved?” she asked, a gleam in her eye. She tapped a finger on her chin. “Now that I think of it, I believe I did see a new dress in your closet, perhaps even new shoes—and a lipstick in your dresser.” She blinked coquettishly.
I could feel the heat in my cheeks. “Stay out of my room.”
Her mouth dropped open. “There is a boy! And you better tell me who it is, or I’ll tell Daddy about the lipstick and all these late nights!”
I grabbed her by the ear, which I knew she hated more than anything. We were about the same height, and she probably had a few pounds on me, but when I got her like that, she knew she’d better listen good. “You cross me,” I whispered fiercely, “and I’ll tell him what I know about you and Jimmy Haskell on the back porch.”
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