by Sienna Mynx
“Tell me, exactly when did you become the man to sing and dance for Mickey Collins?” Romano asked.
“Aww Vinnie, I was just flapping my gums. Pay it no mind,” Antonio gave a double shoulder shrug. Romano remained unconvinced, but he let it go.
Fletch waved his hand in front of the orchestra and ended the set. Harmony took her cue and gave a curt nod of thanks to the applause. She didn’t look over at Romano. She didn’t have to. The pull of his stare rained heat through her bones.
I should walk over there and lay it all out for Romano. Tell him about Willie and ask for his help. Isn't that the way of the Sicilians? The powerful men are lord and master over the weak and needy. I heard Milo call this one the boss of all bosses. That's how Lewis would address him too, Boss Romano. He’d say you give a man like Romano your burden, and for a price the boss will relieve you of it? Funny he didn’t look old enough to be so powerful. He definitely had a liking for my singing. Harmony laughed bitterly to herself. That may be but this is Harlem, girl, and you're a jazz singer that can't even enter through the front door of the club everyone comes to hear you sing at. Since when did the desires or needs of a colored woman mean a damn thing to a dangerous Sicilian like him? And if Madden gets wind of my plans I'll be on my hands and knees scrubbing floors again.
Blowing a final kiss to the audience in gratitude for the applause, she bowed to Henderson then quickly switched off the stage, but stopped short of the arriving tap-dancing girls to catch her breath. From her concealed position she stole another look to the Sicilian, he continued to watch with the same blank expression he wore when he arrived. Without the glare of the stage lights she could see him clearly. Romano had dark olive skin for a white man, with hair smoothed from his face in a golden brown wave, tapered low at the nape and with extended long sideburns. His serious features were chiseled into a strong jaw line and squared, dimpled chin. Deep-set eyes under a straight silken brow were intense, profound. Romano had no facial hair. He didn't smile but she did notice a brief reaction. The corner of his mouth tipped upward to something Mr. Madden said, when he arrived at his table to offer a welcoming. She wondered what color his eyes truly were?
“Did you hear me Mony?”
Harmony stole a glance back over her shoulder at Milo, and then returned it to the mob boss across the room. Milo followed her stare.
“Oh no, Miss Mony, no,” Milo said, taking her hand. He walked her further away behind the curtain. Beyond earshot, he took hold of both of her arms tightly.
“What’s eating you?” Harmony struggled, trying to break free.
“Mony, what'chu think you’re doing? Do you know who that there man is?”
“Let go, Milo.”
“Do you?”
“It’s Vinnie Romano. Yes! I know who he is.”
“No. Wrong. Vincenzio Romano and next to Collins, he’s the guy. Dangerous. Very dangerous Mony, do you understand? He’s not someone you want to tease. And if Madden sees you giving him the eye, lord Mony, have you lost your senses? I’ve been trying hard to keep them white boys off you, and you giving that man eyes? I seen ya, during the act. You was singing to him. Christ, I think he knows you were singing to him.”
“Willie’s missing, Milo. He ain’t been home. I don’t know where he went or how long he’s been gone for. Just that he is.”
“That ain’t a Romano problem. That’s a Willie problem,” Milo hissed, lowering his voice under the soft patter of more girls in sailor shirts and miniskirts running by in their tap shoes.
“But Willie’s my problem, and Romano may be the only way to fix this. Mickey Collins sure as hell won’t.”
“Why Romano?” Milo asked.
“Paulette say that Antonio Romano was seen with Collins men and Willie out back during an unload. Mr. Madden was angry. Yelling. He struck Willie and then Willie run off. Paulette say Antonio Romano went after him. That’s the last anybody seen of my brother. Now folks saying that Collins think Willie stole from him. None of it make no sense. I’m hoping I can get to the bottom of this mess.”
“Paulette? That girl would sell wolf tickets to her own mama’s funeral. I heard the rumors and they mostly lies. What the hell would Antonio Romano care if Madden gets rough with Willie?”
“Dammit, he missing, you hear anything I said?”
Milo stepped back. He looked at her as if her head had rolled off her shoulders. What she said deserved the response, but she was the only help her brother had if these gangsters were after him. Harmony trusted Milo. She trusted him with her life, and Milo was right. He had kept the advances at bay from men that thought they were entitled to cross the line. But his perceived power was as far as Madden and his band of thugs would let it be. If he stepped out there and into this mess, Milo would be swatted back like a fly.
“He’s missing. I gots to find him. He could be in all kinds of trouble.”
“What’s your plan? Boss Romano won’t help you if Willie’s on the lam, or worse if he got mixed up with that crazy brother of his. I hear all kinds of tales about Antonio Romano. And if Willie stole Collins’ money, he’s a dead Negro.”
“Maybe, maybe not. If what you say is right… but what if’n it ain’t? What if I can change that?”
Milo threw his hands up. “You one confused girl if’n you think you can.” He mumbled then walked off. Harmony stopped herself from going after him. Turning, she leaned out and looked across the club. Romano was still there. Dangerous or not, she had to try. Besides, they had a connection. It wasn’t her imagination. And not since Lewis had she ever felt so drawn to a man. That would be her secret though. Nothing she did or said from this moment would make her secret desires a reality. For now Willie would be her reason. Harmony was all her little brother had.
After the beauty left the stage Romano checked his timepiece again. Mickey Collins had requested a meeting. His gaze lifted to see the gangster at the bar. Collins raised his glass to him in a mock toast. Romano dismissed him. Antonio was in his element in Harlem. Tonight however he noticed his brother kept checking the faces of the men and women serving. He seemed a bit surly as well. Which meant Antonio was holding back.
“Any word on when we can move my shipment? The boys are ready to do it tonight?”
“Huh? No. We need a few more days.”
Romano’s gaze narrowed. “Days?”
Antonio pulled on his collar as if it were choking him. His face flushed as he downed the shot of whiskey on the table.
“What the hell do you mean days?” Romano said his voice steely and low.
“Thing is Vinnie, the cops are all over the shipyard because of some mess with the Germans. I think it best we cool it for now. Just to be sure there’s no hassle.”
“I want it moved tonight. Chief O’Brien will make sure it’s no problem.”
Antonio sighed.
“Something else on your mind?”
“Wondering if you should talk to Collins. I hear he’ll be dry soon. Might be wanting to do some business.”
“Can it.” Romano ordered. “I know you’ve met with these men. I also hear you’ve offered protection for the Forty Thieves from their trouble with the same cops you claim are holding up my booze. I’m giving you a pass, a chance to come clean, something I need to know?”
A deep shade of pink stained his brother’s cheeks. Romano may not care to do business in Harlem but it didn’t mean he didn’t know the players. Right now there were hustles run by a black woman named Madame St. Clair or as most called her, Queenie. She had big designs to open her own numbers bank and force the Sicilians out, but no funding. Add to her lofty goals was her influence and control over a white gang of men. The bitch had balls.
However crafty Queenie’s Forty Thieves were they continued to have a persistent problem with the authorities and Antonio was generously helping by using his name. His brother’s pet projects were of no concern to him on this turf, with these Negroes. Except when it came to his booze. He’d put Antonio in charge of
a twenty thousand dollar stash that was to be sent down to Atlantic City. A week of it being locked up in a warehouse had him on edge. He wanted that business done.
“I can explain.”
“You will explain. And you’ll tell Collins there’s no room at the table for any meeting. If that changes, it’s when I say. Not a day before. Understood?”
Antonio narrowed his eyes but held his sharp tongue. He forked his pasta and slurped up his dinner with an obedient grunt. Romano had almost decided to leave when suddenly, she appeared. His Songbird was brought to his table by the maître d’.
“Excuse me, Mr. Romano,” said Charlie with a polite nod.
Antonio stopped chewing. Sauce dripped from his chin. He frowned, getting a better look at the jazz singer who shyly stood behind Charlie. He glanced over at his brother a bit curious.
“What is it?” asked Antonio, wiping at his chin.
“Miss Harmony. She wants to speak with you, sir.” Charlie looked pointedly at Romano, ignoring Antonio altogether.
Romano set his glass on the table. He leaned forward and saw her clearly through heavily lidded eyes. Harmony met his gaze dead on and a hint of a smile touched the corner of his mouth. “By all means,” he said.
He watched her straighten her back and step forward to the edge of the curtained booth. She seemed confident he would grant her wish. This intrigued him. “Mr. Romano, sir, my name is Harmony Jones.”
“Take a walk, Antonio.”
Antonio’s pout clouded his judgment. “I wasn’t done Vinnie.”
Romano cut down his brother’s objection with a silencing yet commanding look. Wiping sauce from his face Antonio slammed the napkin on the table. He eased out of the booth. Charlie bowed deeply and backed away, signaling the waiter to bring Antonio a complimentary whiskey to ease his mood.
Romano nodded once and she accepted his offer to sit.
“Harmony. Interesting name doll.”
“My Grams named me. She said I was born feet first, screaming. She knew with my lungs I was destined to sing. Guess she was right.”
“Ah, well she must be proud of the songbird you turned into.”
“She’s dead.”
Romano nodded. He tapped his finger on the table and stared at her. She looked away, but it was evident she didn’t approach him to fish for a compliment. She wanted something, as most dames did. That was fine with him. Her being able to get it was a different matter.
“Mr. Romano?”
“Call me Vinnie.”
Harmony looked him in the eye. He liked that. “Vinnie. I asked to speak to you because of my brother.” She pulled her hands down into her lap and cleared her throat in an attempt to steady her shaky voice. She was nervous, he liked that too. “His name is Willie, Willie Jones. On the streets they call him Little Will. He works here at The Cotton, drink waiter to the tables. He also um, runs errands for Mr. Collins. Mickey Collins.”
“I don’t know your brother,” he grumbled. Maybe it woulda been better if she’d kept her mouth shut. His interest in her tale was ebbing away by the minute.
“Yes, I know,” she said quickly. “I mean to say, I know who you are. My brother’s missing. I haven’t seen him in nearly a week. Word is Mr. Collins is blaming him for something. Not sure what. There must be some misunderstanding. Willie would never do anything wrong. Never. I was wondering if you could possibly help me a turn.” She hurried through the rest, to out pace his impatience. “Help me find him.”
“Why not go to Mickey? He works for him.”
Harmony stiffened at the question. “Not to be disrespectful, but surely you of all people know that Mickey Collins would snap my neck for asking about his business. And there is another reason.”
Romano’s brow arched curiously.
“I hear tale that your brother might have seen him last. He might know why Willie run off. Maybe he can help clear up the matter. I, uh, I couldn’t approach him either. For obvious reasons.”
Romano settled on the answer. This one here was smart. Harmony continued to maintain his stare, he knew men who weren’t as bold. “I thought I’d have better chances with you, since I've noticed you watching me.”
“Watching you?”
“Enjoying my show.”
The tension in his jaw made it feel tight, and his gaze leveled on her pretty face under drawn brows. To say he was surprised was an understatement. The Negress was trying to turn him. How could she possibly know his lustful desires when she sang across the dining hall to a crowd of unappreciative bastards and never gave him a second glance? She couldn’t know. Could she?
What chance did she think she could have for him to care about some hooch runner in Mickey’s crew? And what’s this with Antonio and Harlem? The more he heard about his brother’s interest in the people here the more his suspicions rose. Especially considering his and Antonio’s history with people of color. He dropped his cigar to the ashtray and blew a long stream of smoke through his nose. “Interesting. I’ll need more information on your brother.”
Harmony nodded quickly.
Antonio reappeared; a few of Romano’s best men were in tow. His brother had a cold congested look of disapproval settled over his face, which seemed to disconcert Harmony because she lowered her gaze to her hands until Romano’s words brought her focus back to him.
“Let’s discuss this later, in private.”
“Private?” Harmony glanced from his stare to their audience. It appeared she quickly understood what private meant. Crestfallen, she averted her gaze, if she had been a shade or two paler he was sure he'd see humiliation rising pink on her cheeks.
The band was warming up. Harmony glanced over and Romano noticed the saxophonist’s beckoning stare. “I’ll meet you at the front of the club, if that’s okay.”
Romano nodded. She was dismissed.
Harmony’s gaze lifted to Antonio who made no effort to move. She glanced once more to the ruthless Sicilian that could possibly save her brother’s life. He flicked his fingers for his brother to back off. Antonio did, with a snort of distaste.
“Thank you.” said Harmony meekly, and she eased out of the booth. She straightened her dress with a tug at the sides. Her breasts heaved, drawing the stares of the others. Quickly, she stepped around Antonio. She could feel eyes on her backside as she sashayed to her safety zone, to the wings of the stage. She didn’t dare look back. If she did she'd lose her nerve.
The orchestra played the vamp as Harmony returned to the microphone. Fletch shot her a worried look. Milo slipped her a warning nod that Mr. Madden was indeed watching her now. She closed her eyes to block the disappointment she’d read on the rest of her bandmates’ faces, and began to sing. When she opened her eyes, Romano’s table was again crowded with Sicilians. But only one pair of eyes was fixed on her. His.
****
“If you think Boss Romano is going to save Willie over some Negro in a skirt, you’re crazy!”
“Oh pipe-down Milo, I know the man isn’t the least bit concerned about Willie,” Harmony said in a gentle but firm tone. She changed behind the dressing screen where only her silhouette could be seen.
“Mony, Lil Will isn’t worth the trouble. If he’s double-crossing these men, he’s a dead boy either way!”
“Don’t you dare say that, Milo! Say it again and I want you out.”
“It’s true. Willie has to be either suicidal or dumb to think he could get away with stealing. He hiding for that reason. Either way you won’t be able to save him. You have to know this. Boss Romano wants one thing and if you leave with him, you won’t have any choice but to give it to him.”
Harmony came from around the screen wearing only her slip and a tight lip scowl. She opened her mouth to counter his prediction but dismissed the effort. Instead she picked up her peach and white floral dress drawing it down over her head. “Do me?” She turned to give him her back.
Milo rose and zipped her up, his hand lingered for a moment on her hip then dropped away.
“Mony, listen to me. What would Lewis think?”
Harmony closed her eyes at the mention of her sweet dearly departed Lewis. The pain over his death was beyond her tears. She waited a beat for the anger and longing to shift to a bearable degree in her heart.
“Lewis is dead. He went out there and got himself killed working for men like Romano. I won’t lose my brother too. He’s all I have.” She turned to face her friend. “What Lewis would think don’t matter. What you think don’t matter a damn either sugar. All that matters is the promise I made to Grams. Willie’s seventeen and right or wrong he’s my kid brother. I got to try to save him, even from himself. Vinnie Romano sits out there every night I sing and burns a hole in me from across the room. If there is a small chance that gangster will help deal with another, especially the likes of his rattlesnake brother Antonio and that racist pig Mickey Collins, then I’m gonna take it. That’s the end of this discussion, Milo.”