The Ace of Clubs

by Patricia Loofbourrow

  I shoved the gun in his gut. “You can let go or you can die.”

  “Baby wanna play rough, does she?” He grabbed my hair with one hand, his zipper with the other.

  I shot him, the sound muffled by his belly. The horses reared. He gripped my hair as he fell, pulling me on top of him.

  I untangled my hair from his fist, then ran. My hands shook, my heart pounded.

  Then I stopped. He still had the list.

  The horses stomped about, but the street was empty, so I crept back and found the list in his pocket. He lay on his back, staring, eyes wide, mouth open.

  The gods-damned driver tried to violate me!

  I gave him a good kick in the head.

  I also got my dollar back.

  I shook out my clothes and hair as I walked, so I didn’t smell of gunpowder. Plus it helped to be doing something; otherwise I thought I might start screaming.

  As it was, my breath sounded much too loud. Fog lay on the streets, which made the night seem even darker. Any noise made me jump as I hurried along.

  I got to where the streetlights worked. In the darkened storefront window, my hair was wild, my face streaked with tears.

  I wiped off most of my makeup. Remembering instructions in Anastasia’s book, I used some of my eye makeup to make my nose narrower, my cheekbones even more pronounced than they were, to add circles under my eyes and a cleft in my chin. I put my shawl over my head like a cape.

  A block over, I found a liquor store. Unlike my father’s, it had a bar and even a few tables. I needed a drink. “A double bourbon, neat,” I told the girl, who was maybe fifteen.

  She snorted. “I thought you Dealers didn’t drink.”

  I laughed at the idea. “I’m not one of the Dealers.”

  But in the mirror behind the bar, with my shawl up over my head, I did look like one. This girl had probably never seen one of the Dealers in her life. “You got any cigarettes?”

  “Sure.”

  The girl handed me my drink, my smokes, and my change, and even gave me a light. I glanced at the clock on the wall. Almost eight. I had plenty of time.

  And Tony would never find me here.

  I walked ten more blocks before I found a taxi-station, the fog deepening as I went. The driver squinted at me. “Blessed Lady, I would never take your money.”

  I lowered the pitch of my voice. “May the Dealer smile upon you, my son.”

  The man beamed.

  I gave this driver the address from the letter Thrace Pike sent me, hoping it would at least be close to his home.

  At the bridge, the guards stopped the carriage. “We’re looking for Mrs. Spadros. Have you seen her?”

  So Tony was searching for me after all. Or perhaps Roy was.

  “No, sir. Got one of the Dealers bound for the Plaza here.”

  I held my breath as the guard glanced inside, but he waved us through.

  The Escape

  The home of Thrace and Gertie Pike lay on a dismal back alley full of narrow steps leading up to equally narrow doors.

  Gertie appeared at my knock, baby on her hip, wearing an old-fashioned house dress with an empire waist. She appeared pregnant. “May I help you?”

  I dropped my shawl around my shoulders. “I’m sorry.” I glanced around. “It’s Mrs. Spadros. I had to come here secretly.” I leaned forward. “With your money.”

  She peered at me. Then recognition dawned on her face. “Oh! Mrs. Spadros! Please come in.”

  A windowless room stood before me. A row of wooden hooks lay to my right; a few coats hung there. To my left sat a small round table and chairs. Beyond that, a staircase went up. A pot-bellied steam-stove stood on the back wall, its flue going through the ceiling. A stew-pot sat on the stove; good smells filled the air. Baskets of potatoes and onions sat near the stove, and a large round loaf with a third neatly sliced away sat on the table.

  The whole downstairs was smaller than my bedroom.

  I glanced at her. “I see congratulations are in order.”

  She blushed. “Thank you.” She seemed ill at ease. “Thrace said you disguise yourself at times. I’m sorry I didn’t invite you in sooner. My husband’s not home at present.”

  “Really?” It was almost half-past eight.

  “He’s a hard worker. He wants to learn all he can.” Gertie smiled proudly. “He’ll have his own law firm someday.”

  Now this was surprising. “A high ambition.”

  “Not for himself, mum — he wants to make the city better.”

  Good luck with that, I thought. Bridges was a madhouse. I handed her the envelope. “I wish him all the best.”

  Gertie Pike peered inside it, then sighed. The baby laid its head on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, mum. I didn’t believe you’d come through for us.”

  I smiled at her. It didn’t matter what she thought. I had survived. I had done my duty. Now on to freedom! “Thank your husband for his help.”

  She gazed at me a long moment, then opened the door. “Mum, I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  * * *

  Once the door shut behind me, I twisted my hair into a bun, put the shawl around my shoulders, and hurried the half mile to the train station.

  At this point, I realized I had forgotten to give Eleanora the change I set aside for her.

  I’ll send it to her when Joe and I get wherever we’re going, I thought. Besides, a bit more money might not hurt to have when we got there.

  I wore no hat — I must have lost it at the carriage. I wore a house dress, and I was more than a bit dirty. A few people waiting on the platform glanced at me when I arrived. But no one said anything and no one followed.

  I glanced at the clock. A quarter to nine.

  Across the tracks, several policemen walked along the platform. One looked my way — Paix Hanger, of all people.

  Had he been demoted to walking station patrol? Or were the police here on some other matter?

  He caught my eye, but seemed not to recognize me.

  The train to Clubb quadrant arrived. Once we were towed free of the tunnels, I watched the landscape. Conductors strolled by, yet none took note of me.

  I relaxed against the window. I had escaped.

  At the time, I thought nothing of Joe’s exit through the window. He would be the natural target for Tony’s wrath, and could do little to help if caught by Tony’s men. I felt grateful he managed to hide long enough to leave me the message. Joe was crafty: if anyone could elude the Spadros Family, he could.

  I changed trains at Riverfront station. Then we were off, chugging through fields of gold in the near-darkness.

  The Aperture glinted from behind the fog as we traveled. Its gargantuan brass plates moved aside as an immense airship rose to greet it, then passed into the darkness beyond our dome.

  The zeppelin station glowed from within, an enormous half-cylinder of stained glass laid on its side. Airships far taller than the station stood quiet, their vast balloons lit by the boiler-fires below as they prepared for their next journey.

  My failure to learn who killed Marja grieved me. With the law after me, I didn’t have much choice but to leave Bridges. Someday, when things were settled, I would return to Marja’s case, to David’s kidnapping, and make it all right.

  * * *

  Although canvas filled the damaged spaces, the zeppelin station was still grand and beautiful, with a high vaulted ceiling of stained glass, oak, and brass. Huge chandeliers hung overhead at intervals. Hundreds of dark wooden seats filled the station, people walking to and fro over the polished oak floor, which was littered with hundreds of ticket stubs edged in blue.

  None of the Spadros men were in sight, so I sat in the center of the station, where Joe could see me plainly. It was half past nine. Joe would come for me soon.

  The Descent

  Every step, every movement might be Joe. As ten o’clock passed, I felt frantic. Where was Joe? What happened to him?

  I remembered the courtyard bel
l. Had Tony decided even then to search for Joe? What if Tony’s men found him?

  Then another fear arose: Would Tony’s men — or worse yet, Roy’s — search here? Yet I saw none of Tony’s men. Could Tony possibly not have realized I meant to leave the city?

  I imagined Tony’s face when he got my letter: the rage, the hurt. The terror when he learned I was gone. He’d stop at nothing to find me, if only to make sure I was safe.

  Amelia had no idea where I might go. Tony would send men to Joe’s house, or perhaps Madame’s. And he had sent word to the bridge guards. After that, he wouldn’t know where to look.

  Roy might think of sending men to Vig’s, but Blitz would probably think of the same thing. Hopefully, Blitz could keep Vig from becoming agitated about my safety — or fighting Roy’s men.

  But Sawbuck would be furious. Where would he look for me?

  I mentioned Air in my letter, which would lead Sawbuck to the Bryce’s house. It would take him some time to get there, and she wouldn’t be able to tell them anything.

  Or could she? I told her I was leaving the city!

  What had I done? Why didn’t I warn her?

  Eleanora wouldn’t tell. No one from the Pot would. Would they hurt her? Threaten David?

  I was such a fool to involve others. I should have known Tony would pursue me. Hopefully, they’d never be able to connect the taxi-driver with me. That would whip Tony into a frenzy.

  The incident reminded me too sharply of the night Vig and I met. I should’ve known better. I should’ve had my gun out when the carriage stopped. I would never trust a stranger again.

  I felt no remorse for killing the man. To this day, I’m not sure I could have done anything else.

  The entire day had been a disaster. But there was no going back, no fixing it. The matter was out of my hands now.

  But where was Joe? Had he meant to leave at ten tomorrow?

  No, he said we could leave tonight. So where was he? Could they have found him? What would they do to him if they did?

  * * *

  It was after midnight when a hand dropped on my shoulder, startling me so much I let out a cry.

  Jonathan Diamond crouched beside me. “Hush, my love.”

  Morton — Morton! — stood next to him.

  “What are you doing here? How —?” I was going to ask how they knew each other. But then I remembered what Gardena said the day of the explosion: He’s a friend of my father’s.

  Morton chuckled. “I can’t believe you actually did this.”

  “Come,” Jon said. “We can’t let the reporters find you here.” He grabbed my hand, pulling me along. Morton took my other arm, hurrying beside me.

  “Reporters? Why?”

  Then I remembered Joe’s words. If they believed I bombed the zeppelin, and learned I left home, and found me here ...

  Morton opened the door. “We don’t have time for this.”

  The streets were empty but for what appeared to be an ordinary dark brown taxi-carriage with its Hackney stallions. Yet the driver was the same dark-skinned, white-haired Diamond man who drove Gardena’s white and silver carriage the day of the explosion. The old man smiled and nodded as we approached.

  Jon glanced around, opened the carriage door and shoved me inside. Once we set off, Jon said, “Mrs. Regina Clubb has invited you to stay at the hotel since your incoming visitor’s flight was delayed. All expenses paid by the Clubb Family, of course.”

  “But, Jon —”

  Morton put his finger to his mouth. “Master Diamond isn’t here. You haven’t seen him in ages. You haven’t seen me either. A porter brought you to your room. Do you understand?”

  I glanced between the two of them, suddenly aware of the driver’s listening tube. They’re trying to keep us all alive. I smiled in spite of my distress, and took their hands. “Thank you.”

  Jon squeezed my hand, his dark eyes never leaving mine. How did Jon know I went to the zeppelin station? How did he and Morton get into Clubb quadrant in the middle of the night?

  I dared not ask. I had never been so glad and grateful to see Jon in my life, and I didn’t want to put him in any harm, ever.

  Shortly, the carriage pulled up to a side door. Jon whispered, “Be careful what you say, Jacqui. Mrs. Clubb was a Memory Girl.”

  I frantically tried to recall what I’d said to the woman, then nodded. None of that mattered; I had to get out of the city alive.

  Morton led me down a golden-carpeted hallway. We entered a brass- and oak-lined mechanical lift, ascending two floors.

  I whispered, “What’s your agreement with my husband?”

  “I won’t betray you, if that’s what you mean.”

  “No, of course.”

  We exited, then he stopped in the middle of the hallway, glancing to the side.

  I nodded. Clubb Hotel of all places was sure to have listeners.

  “I told him who my employer was,” he gave a wry grin, “and we came to an agreement.” He glanced around. “Come on.”

  I put my hand on his arm. “Wait.”

  Joe said the Clubbs started the Red Dogs children’s street gang. Morton told me his employer wanted to know who suborned the Red Dogs. “You work for the Clubbs.”

  Morton chuckled, glancing away. “I’ve done work for them all at one time or another. Let’s get you inside.” He took me to a door, using a brass key hung around his neck under his shirt to let me in. The room was luxurious in its decor. “Stay here,” Morton said, returning the key under his shirt. “Lock the door. And don’t open that door unless someone knocks.”

  I nodded.

  “You have your pistol?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I don’t think you’ll need it, but —”

  I smiled at him. “Thanks.”

  I grabbed his arm. “I must get a message to Joseph Kerr.”

  Morton blinked. “Who?”

  “Joseph Kerr. Jon — Master Diamond knows him. Please ask him to find Joe and tell him I’m here.”

  Morton shrugged. “I’ll pass along the message.”

  A wave of relief washed over me. “Thank you.”

  Morton tipped his hat and was gone.

  It was one in the morning. But I did not sleep.

  * * *

  Pacing my room, I heard men walk past, the clanking of keys, voices I didn’t recognize. I couldn’t make out what they said, and I felt frightened by Morton’s warning. Where was Joe?

  The sky lightened and birds began to sing. My cigarettes were soon gone. I drew back the curtain with trembling hands. Carriages went past. The streets filled with people.

  A knock: I flew to the door. Morton’s warning stopped me. “Who is it?”

  A woman’s voice. “Your breakfast, mum.”

  Breakfast? I could hardly breathe for worry, let alone eat. “Is there wine on the tray?”

  “For breakfast, mum?”

  “Never mind. Take it away.”

  Joseph Kerr would never leave Bridges without me.

  Morton had no reason not to tell Jon of my request.

  Jon would bring the message to Joe, I had no doubt of it.

  If Joe were alive.

  I paced, hands shaking, heart racing. I couldn't consider it.

  If Jon left Morton at the hotel, Morton would have to get a taxi to Diamond Manor, which would be difficult that late at night. Jon might stop to have breakfast or take his medicine before traveling to Hart quadrant. Jon’s father might forbid him to leave: Jon would have to send men to find Joe.

  If the Spadros men chased Joe from the zeppelin station or slowed him down, Joe might not know where I was yet.

  The crowd grew outside. Travelers, yes, but also reporters. Were these the ones Jonathan feared would find me?

  A woman began laughing in the hallway outside my door.

  Lunch arrived. My stomach roiled at the smell: I sent it away.

  Surely Jon knew I needed to see Joseph Kerr, or at least, to know he was well. Where was
Jon? Why hadn’t he sent word?

  The shadows lengthened. The laughter in the hallway came and went, but I found nothing funny in my situation. Could this woman not find somewhere else to loiter?

  The room seemed too hot, then freezing cold. I couldn’t open a window and had nothing to light the fire with. So I huddled under my bedding, then cast it onto the floor with my shawl.

  When the knock came a third time, I begged the woman outside the door to find Jon and ask him to come here at once.

  Late that evening, a knock came. “Jon?”

  A man’s voice. “The Keeper of the Court is forbidden to speak with you at this time. Is there someone else I might call?”

  “No,” I said. “Thank you.”

  I sat, disheartened. Mocking laughter echoed down the hall.

  An entire day had passed. Even if Morton never reached Jon, Jon would realize I’d want Joe to be contacted. Surely Jon could have gotten word to Joe — or at least someone who knew Joe — by now. Even if he sent a messenger boy, it would take at most a few hours to reach the Kerr’s home. Where else would Joe go?

  I knew Joe better than anyone other than Josie — he might appear relaxed, even lazy, yet nothing stopped him once he had a focus for his desires.

  But he didn’t come to me.

  Why was that woman laughing?

  My hands shook so badly I could barely hold the blankets around me. As hours went by without a knock on the door, and the sky began to lighten, I had to face the truth: Joe was dead.

  Joe would have come for me by now if he still lived. Or sent a messenger to make sure I was safe. Even if the Spadros men had injured him, he’d send someone, perhaps his cousin, who could get past whatever rules they had here.

  The Spadros Family must have caught him.

  I imagined that beautiful man lying cold and silent, or in Roy’s clutches suffering some horrible torture on my account.

  The thought of Joe being tortured left me wracked with grief. We were so close to freedom!

  What should I have done?

  I’m not a religious person. But that night, I prayed to the Dealer, the Floorman, Lady Luck, even the Shuffler, who heeds no one. Perhaps Joe was hiding, or hurt. Maybe someone would help.