Swan Song

by Tracey Ward

  I wake when the sun starts to rise, shining yellow, pink, and wan in the window. The sleepless city is coming to life and I need to leave before it’s much more aware.

  “How long will you stay in Chicago?” I ask, my back to him and my eyes on the lightening window.

  “I don’t know yet,” he answers, his voice rough and hushed.

  “Will you tell me before you go?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you swear it?”

  I can hear the smile in his voice when he answers, “Yes.”

  “Will you send me more postcards when you go?”

  “If you want me to.”

  “I want one every time you think of me.”

  He chuckles quietly. “The Postal Service is going to make a mint off you.”

  I roll over to face him. He’s sitting with his back against the headboard, looking down at me with warmth in the steel of his eyes and I think how much he changes every time I see him, how his imperfections are becoming perfect.

  “Will you see your girl when you go back to New York?”

  His eyes roam my face, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. He reaches out and traces the edge of my jaw with his fingertip and I catch a breath of the scent that surrounds him and pulls me in, draws me close, and leaves me melted.

  “I’m looking at my girl,” he whispers.

  ***

  A month later and Drew is still in Chicago. I see him three times a week at the Beaumont and Tommy should send him a fruit basket to thank him because Drew is the only thing keeping me in check at the moment. I play by the rules at the club and I act the part because that’s what I need to do in order to stay above suspicion. Drew is a constant presence at the club, essentially taking over for Mickey while he’s on the mend, but we never speak. We don’t make eye contact, we’re never alone together. There are too many eyes and too many ears to keep from getting caught and all it would take is one person wondering aloud if anything is going on between us and we’re sunk. Tommy will leap on the rumor like a lion on a lame rabbit. I’ll be roughed up for sure and Drew… well, I don’t know what he could really do to Drew. My guess is nothing.

  Birdy is a big deal to every gangster in Chicago. The time he’s spending with the Outfit has brought the Irish out, looking to recruit him even though they know it was him that put six of their boys in the ground the night they clashed with the Canadians. His skills are unparalleled, his reputation horrifying, and I have such a hard time reconciling the rumors with the man I lay down next to most nights. He’s gentle with me. Slow and patient, funny and sarcastic. The idea of him as the feared and dreaded Birdy is impossible for me to envision.

  Until I see him in action.

  “Hey, Aid!” Hal calls out.

  I pause in the hallway, debating whether or not I can pretend I didn’t hear him and keep walking, but I’ve already stopped and they’re onto me. I poke my head in Ralph’s office to find Hal, Tommy, Cal, and Drew sitting scattered through the room. All of them but Cal are smoking and the room is entrenched in a thin fog from the glowing embers at their fingertips.

  “What do you need, Hal?” I ask, making no move to actually enter the room.

  “What’s the story with Clara? She’s been out of work for months. I thought you were going to bring her back into the chorus once Eddie was back.”

  “I was, but Elisha is better so I’m keeping her instead.”

  “You can’t do that!”

  “Then how have I managed it?”

  “You gotta get her workin’ again. I can’t keep payin’ her way.”

  I snort a laugh. “Then drop her.”

  Hal glares at me before turning to Tommy. “You gonna do somethin’ about this?”

  Tommy shrugs. “Nothin’ to be done about it. You heard her. Elisha is the better dancer so she stays.”

  “Is there an opening for Clara somewhere else?” I ask innocently. “Maybe in the kitchen? I bet she’d do well in the casino.”

  Hal stands from his chair, his legs shoving it back roughly across the floor. He shoots me daggers with his eyes. “My girl ain’t gonna work as a pro! Get her back in the chorus, do you hear me?”

  “No.”

  “I’m warning you, Adrian.”

  “Of what? What will you do?”

  “I’ll rearrange your mouthy face, that’s what I’ll do!” he shouts, stepping toward me.

  Out of the corner of my eye I see Tommy stand, but Drew is faster. He’s nose to nose with Hal in the blink of an eye and the rage rolling off him pushes me back a step into the hall.

  “Sit your ass down,” he tells Hal, his voice low and angry.

  “You sit your ass down! Who do you think you are coming in here and interfering in club business?”

  “I’m the guy who will break your legs if I see you lay a hand on a woman, that’s who I am. She told you no. Take it like a man and sit your ass down.”

  Hal stares at him like he’d like to kill him and I realize I’ve stopped breathing. The entire room waits motionlessly while we wait for Hal to choose his next course of action.

  He chooses wrong.

  He acts like he’s moving to sit down as Drew has told him, but them he tackles Drew around the waist and tries to drop him to the ground. Drew is knocked back several steps where he bounces off the wall in front of me, then he has his arms around Hal’s waist. I watch in amazement as he lifts Hal in to the air like he was nothing, flips him over, and slams him onto the ground on his back. Hal barks in rage and pain, the air shooting out of his lungs, but he doesn’t stay down. He rolls quickly onto his knees and grabs for his gun. He gets as far as pointing it at Drew before it’s ripped from his hand and suddenly Birdy is in charge.

  His arm cuts through the smoky haze, leaving a wake of sharp clarity as he brings the butt of the gun down hard on Hal’s face. There’s a sickening crack as his nose breaks followed by the bitter copper tang of blood in the air. It sprays across the floor, down the front of Hal’s chest, and in a fine mist over the front of Birdy’s suit. Hal throws a wild punch and misses Birdy’s midsection, giving him the opening to backhand him with the barrel of the gun. A cut is opened up on Hal’s cheek and he’ll have a black eye in the next hour, but still the idiot doesn’t stop. He reaches for the knife strapped to his ankle, but Birdy sees it coming and he knees Hal in the face before he can pull the weapon.

  Hal goes down on his back, coughing and staring at the ceiling. Birdy flips open the chamber on the gun, dumps the bullets onto Hal’s still form, and tosses the empty gun across the room where it skitters over the floor and smacks against the wall.

  Birdy sits down calmly, straightening his coat and lighting a cigarette with steady hands splattered with blood, and when I look at his eyes they’re dead calm. He just beat a man to the ground and he’s not riled in the least.

  It gives me the creeps to look at him.

  Ralph appears in the doorway next to me, frowning when he surveys the scene. “What the hell happened here?”

  “Hal got smart with Birdy,” Cal surmises simply.

  Ralph shakes his head as he enters the room, stepping over Hal to get behind his desk. “Fucking idiot,” he mutters. “Get up, Hal. I ain’t talkin’ to you laying on your back on the floor. Adrian, would you be a sport and get him a towel from the kitchen so he can mop up my floor. He’s bleeding all over it.”

  I nod, happy for an excuse to leave. “Sure thing, Ralph.”

  When I come back with a dish towel, Hal is in his chair on the farthest side of the room from Birdy with a sullen, swollen face and murder in his eyes. I toss the towel to Cal sitting beside him and he hands it to Hal without looking at him.

  “The mess now is where are we going to get out hooch,” Ralph is saying. “We need a new connection in Canada, but everyone up north is gonna know about the trouble we had with the Tremblays. They’re gonna be skittish. Worried we’re quick to anger.”

  “The Irish turned them against us,” Tommy spits.
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  “Nothing we can do about that now.”

  “We could strike back.”

  “Not now. Al isn’t lookin’ to stir things up any more than they already are.”

  “The Hawthorne shook him,” Birdy says quietly.

  All eyes fall on him, heavy and foreboding.

  “What are you saying?” Hal demands. “You callin’ Al weak?”

  Birdy takes a slow drag of his cigarette, unaffected by Hal’s tone or the stares coming from all over the room. “Not what I said at all. I’m saying it shook him. Rain of bullets on your head will do that to a man.”

  “How would you know, huh? You learn that in New York? The war?”

  “I’m sure I picked it up somewhere.”

  “He’s not a coward.”

  “No, but he is overly cautious.”

  Tommy sits forward in his seat, pointing his finger angrily at Birdy’s face. “You need to shut your damn mouth or I—“

  “Tommy!” Ralph snaps. “Take your own advice.”

  “Are you kiddin’ me?!” he demands, showing a rare moment of dissention. “You’re gonna let him sit there and talk shit about the Boss?”

  “He’s not wrong. We’re tightening security everywhere on Al’s orders. We’re keeping the enemy out so it’s not exactly a great time for you idiots to start fighting on the inside.”

  “He’s not an insider.”

  Birdy spreads his hands lazily. “I can leave.”

  “Perfect!”

  “He stays on Al’s orders,” Ralph tells Tommy, his voice dripping with warning. “You got a problem with that, you and I can talk in private and I’ll set you straight. You got me?”

  Tommy sits back in his seat, his jaw clenching and unclenching with anger. “Yeah,” he growls.

  Ralph turns his attention to me and I flush red, realizing I’m still standing in the doorway. “Adrian, you got somethin’ you need from me?”

  “No, sorry,” I say, hastily stepping back to the hallway.

  “It’s okay, doll. Close the door when you go, alright? We’ll see you tonight for your show.”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  I close the door and hurry down the hall to my dressing room. The entire time I’m trying to shake the look on Birdy’s face. It was nothing. Pure, absolute vacant nothing. It was foreign but oddly familiar, a sense of déjà vu that gives me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  It’s later that night when I’m on stage and I spot Tommy in the crowd watching me that I realize where I’ve seen that look before. It’s the same look Tommy is giving me now.

  It’s the gangster.

  It’s the devil.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Two months later, Big Bill Thompson is re-elected as Mayor of Chicago. Tommy was right. The Capones wanted him there, so there he is. In all his gluttonous glory. I see him from the stage when I finish my set. He’s at a large booth with the boys, all of them drinking, laughing, smoking, doping, and enjoying the ladies from the lower levels. Even Drew.

  When it’s time for me to make the rounds through the club, I know I’ll have to visit that table. It’s the VIP section of the night. It’s the epicenter of the club and it’d be rude for me not to show, but I loathe the idea with every fiber of my being so I take it slow. I linger longer than normal at other tables, laughing and chatting until I can’t take it anymore, then moving on.

  “Adrian!” Tommy eventually calls. “Get over here. Say hello!”

  I smile brightly, but inside I’m groaning. The girl’s are in their laps or snuggled up next to them in the tight confines of the booth. Hands are mysteriously absent from the tabletop, busy in the dark recess underneath where no one can see but everyone knows.

  Drew is there with Carmella on his arm. She’s leaning into him and giggling maniacally with her breasts squeezed so hard in her dress they’re nearly bursting out into his whiskey glass. I want to pick it up and throw it in both of their faces.

  “Good evening, gentleman,” I say pleasantly, carefully keeping my chin up and my eyes empty.

  Mayor Thompson smiles, saluting me with his glass. “Beautiful performance, my dear.”

  “Thank you, sir. Congratulations on your re-election.”

  “Thank you, thank you! It’s a win for the whole city!”

  “It seems that way. If you’ll excuse me, boys, I have to go backstage. It was wonderful to see you all.”

  “You won’t stay?” Tommy challenges, watching me closely.

  I smile at him sweetly. “No, thank you. Your table is full as it is. I can’t imagine what you’d need with me.”

  I don’t look at Drew. I’m very careful not to acknowledge him in any way, but I can feel his eyes on me. I feel them follow me as I leave the table and weave my way out of the dining area. As I pass the bar. As I hurry to the door leading backstage. Once I’m hidden in the darkness of the hallway, I lean against the wall and let my head fall back hard against it. The fistful of hairpins propping my hair up stabs into my skin painfully but I don’t move. I stand there berating myself, berating Tommy, berating Drew, and mentally beating the shit out of Carmella with her fake laugh and busy hands.

  I’ve never been jealous before. It’s not a color I wear well.

  The door from the dining area opens and I expect to see Tommy standing there, ready to yell at me for taking off like I did, but I’m shocked to see it’s Elisha.

  “What are you doing back here?” I ask her tiredly. “You’re supposed to be wandering the floor and mingling.”

  Her large eyes are round with concern and suddenly I hear the chaos exploding from the front of the club. Shouts, chairs scraping hurriedly across the floor, tables toppling, women screaming, feet trampling across the ground.

  “What’s happening?” I ask her.

  “It’s a raid.”

  I grab her arm and yank her farther down the hall, deeper into the club. I slam my hand on the on the hidden panel that swings a thick door out, exposing a staircase leading to the basement. “Go,” I tell her, shoving her forward. “Get down there to the casino. Tell them what’s happening then keep quiet. I’ll close the door behind you.”

  “What about you?” she asks franticly. “What about my dad?”

  “Your dad and I know the drill, we’ll be fine. Now get down there and warn them!”

  She disappears down into the darkened casino and I slam the door shut behind her. It immediately blends into the paneling on the hallway wall, out of sight.

  “Addy,” Drew calls from the other end of the hall.

  “Drew, it’s a raid!”

  “I know. Come on!”

  I pick up my skirt and run to him, my heels clicking rapidly on the floor. I hear them in the kitchen throwing pots and pans around, breaking dishes. They’re searching for the booze but if the boys at the bar were fast, they won’t find a drop. Behind the bar are hidden chutes that lead down to the basement where the casinos are run and the extra booze is stored. When a raid hits, they hurry and toss the bottles down the chutes that will drop them into crates filled with hay and cotton to cushion their fall and keep them from breaking. The most the cops will find is hooch in glasses on the tables, all of which should be spilled to the floor when the tables are tossed by the boys in the chaos.

  “Where are you supposed to go in a raid?” he asks me.

  “Tommy’s office.”

  “That’s not happening,” he mutters, taking hold of my arm. He pulls me into the nearest open door and slams it shut behind us, throwing the lock. “Whose office is this?”

  “Ralph’s.”

  “I’m sure he won’t mind.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  Drew chuckles, looking around the office. “He’ll be grateful we’re in here guarding his paperwork. And his bourbon.”

  I’m shocked when Drew helps himself to a lowball glass of the dark liquid from the decanter on Ralph’s desk. “You’re drinking during a raid? Are you for real?”

&nbs
p; “Genuine article,” he grunts, falling comfortably into a leather armchair in the dark corner.

  He looks the way he did when I first met him – hidden in the shadows and glowing with light, danger, and a little bit of laughter. He’s such an odd combination, but it’s a mix I can’t get enough of.

  I wonder if Carmella has.

  “Haven’t had your fill yet, huh?” I ask bitingly.

  He smirks knowingly and I want to slap the look off his face. “I don’t know what you wanted me to do out there, Addy.”

  “Maybe not let her put her hand in your pants, to start.”

  “I didn’t. She didn’t.”

  “She didn’t offer?”

  “Oh, she offered. In fact, she insisted. I declined.”

  “You’re a prince,” I mutter.

  “What should I have done? Shove her aside to sneak away with you? Pull your dress up and prove to you I’d rather have you than a whore?”

  “Well, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes. Very much.”

  “Then why didn’t you?”

  He sighs. “Because I’m good, but I’m not that good. No one is. Do you know how many eyes are in this club? Eyes watching you, watching me, watching every dark corner?”

  “You could walk in here at any moment and kill a man in one of those dark corners and no one would see a thing.”

  He grins. “Accurate as that may be, what you wanted me to do to do you would take longer than killing a man. And create more noise.”

  “I can be quiet.”

  “Since when?” he chuckles, taking a sip of his drink. “You’re expecting too much. I’m not Houdini.”