by Debra Dunbar
Lefty replied, “It means the two of you need some rest. We have a lot of work to do.” He glanced over his shoulder at Vincent. “I need you in tip-top shape. Soon.” He returned his attention to the road. “This mess with Cooper is going to send Vito into a paroxysm. We gotta think ahead, here.”
Vincent nodded, then leaned back to close his eyes. The wear and tear from pinching against a demon had sucked all the energy from him.
As the car rolled on the uneven road, rocking Vincent back and forth, he heard Hattie say, “I want to help.”
Vincent lifted a hand to wave the comment off before drifting to sleep.
Chapter 8
Hattie watched as Vincent held the driver’s door open for Lefty. The man stepped onto the street in front of his home with an exhausted sigh, turning to Vincent and patting his shoulder. “You heard what I told you? Get some rest. We have two weeks of work to do in twenty-four hours.”
“I will.”
Hattie watched as Lefty plodded up the walk to unlock the massive oak door. Lefty’s home was astonishing in its size and opulence. The man wasn’t wealthy by any reasonable sense of the word. Certainly not rich enough to afford a house this size, and in this neighborhood. And yet, here it was.
“That’s a respectable house he lives in,” Hattie commented with a nod to Lefty’s home.
“It’s no shanty,” Vincent replied as he started the car.
“Does the Crew truly pay that well, then?”
Vincent snickered. “Not that sort of money. Not for men like Lefty. He told me about some of his misadventures overseas. You know, before the War? I’m guessing one or two of those outings rolled him some bank before he ever came back to the States.”
“Seems a lot for one man,” Hattie muttered. “I’d get lost in there. As small as our place is, I’d rather live where I am than a huge place like this.”
Vincent nodded. “Me, too. All I need is a roof, a mattress, and somewhere to boil some coffee. And…maybe a belt of the good stuff when I have days like this.”
“Well, I happen to know someplace where you can get a belt of whisky free of charge.” She chuckled. “Actually, you paid for that whisky, so maybe it’s not free of charge after all.”
His lifted a brow. “Is that an invitation, Malloy?”
“Consider it a summons, boy-o.”
He laughed then drove them to Hampden, parking the car in the only space left on Hattie’s street. They clambered through the slush and snow still peppering the sidewalk to her apartment.
As she pushed the door open, a thunder of boisterous brogue roared through the hallway. “’Attie! Where ya been, girl?”
Vincent grinned at the sound of Alton’s voice. The old man had proven to be Vincent’s sole defender last summer as he’d hunted down Alton’s daughter. Why the man had been so circumspect, Vincent could not say but he’d developed a fondness for Hattie’s father—one the man seemed to return in spades.
“I’ve been in Pennsylvania again,” she replied, hovering in the doorway. “I brought you something, though.”
“Ah,” Alton called from inside. “One a those Dutch pastries?”
“No, a guest,” she chimed, turning to smile at Vincent.
Vincent stepped into the doorway with a nod. “Good morning, Mister Malloy.”
The man’s face split into a beaming grin. “Oh, my boy!” He rushed forward to grip Vincent’s hands. “’Bout time you came to visit.”
Vincent pulled off his hat the second Alton released his hand and stepped inside. “Well, I’ve had a busy few months.” He paused and bowed to Branna who watched from the living room, still seated with imperious disdain in her chair, knitting needles held in hiatus.
Alton snatched his hat and nearly wrestled Vincent’s coat off his back. As soon as Vincent was free of his accoutrements, Alton tossed them haphazardly over a divan before rushing for the kitchen.
“I know what ya come for! Follow me. That’s some excellent liquor you brought by for me, come enjoy a finger or two.”
Branna sighed as she set aside her knitting to pick up Vincent’s hat and coat. “It’s a bit early for that sort of thing, Alton, isn’t it?”
“Bah,” the man grumbled as he crouched down beside the oven to pull a bottle of amber fluid from a hole in the cabinet’s toe kick. “Warms the blood, woman. Perfect for a dreary winter’s day.”
Hattie shoved Vincent into the kitchen by the small of his back. “Might as well. You don’t have a choice in the matter, at this point.”
She watched in amusement as Alton poured two fingers each of whisky and pulled a chair for Vincent.
Her mother cleared her throat behind her, and Hattie turned to find her holding out Vincent’s apparel. “Be mannerly, girl.”
Hattie took the hat and coat and went into the main room to hang them properly on the hickory coat rack beside the door as her mother followed. “Alright, let’s have it,” she said, knowing what was coming.
“Let’s have what?” Her mother turned back for her chair.
Hattie steeled herself for the scold. “Yes, he’s here. Yes, we’ve been to Pennsylvania—though we had a chaperone, I might mention.”
Her mother lifted an eyebrow. “You feel like you need one, then?”
“You don’t like him, I know.”
“What I like doesn’t seem to matter.”
“Ma.” She gritted her teeth.
“He’s a gangster. He hunted you down like an animal not four months ago. He nearly got your father and I killed by those Russians—”
“Those Russians were not his fault!” Hattie interjected, although at the time she’d certainly blamed Vincent for that as well.
Her mother leveled a steely gaze on Hattie, then continued to count off on her fingers. “He’s a pincher.”
“I’m a pincher.”
“One word from him and you’d be enslaved by some crime boss. He’s too handsome for his own good. He’s a smooth talker. He drags you knee-deep into trouble every time he comes around. And he’s Italian.”
Hattie glared at her mother. “Are you done?”
Branna’s face softened. “He made you cry. Don’t think I didn’t hear you those nights. He made you cry and I’ll never forgive him for that.”
“Ma.” Hattie watched as her mother sat down to gather up her knitting. “I forgave him. He’s my friend. He’s…he’s important to me. And I want you to like him. Please?”
“He’s a smooth-talking, good-looking gangster who’s going to break your heart at best, get you killed or enslaved at worst. I don’t like him. And I really don’t like him drinking whisky in my kitchen with your father.” The woman returned all of her attention to the knitting, in one of her patent dismissals.
Hattie huffed and turned back for the kitchen, where the men had settled into a conversation about the price of salted pork, strangely enough.
“Do you have any of that whisky for your daughter?” she snapped, sweeping past Alton’s chair.
Her father smiled, cocking his head with considerable sass. “Oh, ho ho. Who’s drinking the devil’s tears now?”
Hattie pulled the cork and took a swig straight from the bottle. Vincent’s eyebrows shot up, but he said nothing.
Hattie shook her head at Alton, re-corked the bottle, and stashed it in its hiding hole. “If the two of you are done curing the world’s ails, I need to borrow my friend here.” She clamped a hand over Vincent’s shoulder as she moved for the back of the apartment.
Vincent shrugged, tossed back the last of the whisky, then reached over the table to shake Alton’s hand. “Much obliged, sir.”
Hattie led Vincent into the two-foot hallway that separated the master bedroom from hers. A blossom of warmth spread through her chest as the whisky settled in. Opening her bedroom, she held the door for Vincent. He paused by the doorframe, and lifted a brow at her. With an eyeroll, she reached for his sleeve and pulled him inside before closing the door behind them. He reached back and opened
it a few inches.
“Are you a teenager?” she grumbled.
“I’m a guest here,” he replied with a measured tone. “If there’s a beef with your father that I’m in here—”
She shut the door again. “You could probably undress me in the ever-loving kitchen, and he’d pour you more whisky. The man’s absolutely besotted with you. My mother, on the other hand…”
Vincent straightened a little.
Hattie caught up with her own words, then turned to keep the blush rising on her cheeks from Vincent’s notice.
“Don’t know why your father likes me so much. Not like I’ve given him much reason to,” Vincent replied.
“I don’t entertain many gentleman callers,” she said. With laugh, she added, “He probably thinks you’re his last chance.”
“Last chance?”
“You’re Catholic, boy-o. Not Irish, but at least a Catholic. He’s wanting grandchildren and thinks you’ll do.”
Vincent stared at her. “Are you…are you drunk?”
Hattie clamped her eyes shut, pursing her lips. Damn it. The crazy day, almost being burned alive, and now the strange anxiety of having Vincent in her home…it was making her say things that would be best left unsaid.
“Sorry,” she groaned. “Da is just…Da. I didn’t mean… I don’t want to insinuate…”
Vincent took a seat on the edge of her bed. “After saving my ass today, I think you get a free ride on anything you might blurt out in the next twenty-four hours at the very least.”
“Well, then. That makes two of us.”
He grinned up at her and patted the bed. She sat beside him, suddenly very aware that they were in her bedroom, sitting on her bed. Alone. Two days ago she’d been thinking she’d never see him again. And right now all she could think was how glad she was that she’d made the bed this morning and not left her night clothes lying on the floor.
“So.” Vincent glanced over at her. “Why was today so different with this demon? I’ve never worked that hard for my magic before.”
“Same,” she said with a sober nod. “It’s an otherworldly creature, though. Perhaps the question should be why was it so different in Deltaville?”
He shook his head. “We know nothing about these demons. Whatever they’re called. How can we begin to even guess?”
Hattie’s gazed settled on several slips of card stock gathered in a loose pile on her bedside table. She reached for the paper, easing it forward as elegant calligraphy slipped into view.
Vincent asked, “What’s that?”
Hattie stiffened. No, this was neither the time nor the place to mention Sadie to Vincent. He was, after all, still very much on the hunt for a free pincher. Hattie eased her hand along the table to snatch the old dog-eared envelope that contained Vincent’s letter of “termination” and tossed it in his lap.
He picked up the letter, lifting it to view. As he realized what he was holding, his lips pulled back into an embarrassed wince. “Oh. That letter.”
“Is that what you call it? Because I call it a slap in the face.”
He hung his head in misery. “I thought we went over this already.”
Satisfied she’d deflected, Hattie put a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, I’ll lord that over you until judgement day.”
“But you kept it.” He handed her the note. “Why?”
She looked down at the card, tracing her finger across the bold writing. “Because it was the last thing I had from you. I thought it might be the last thing I ever had from you.”
That was painfully raw, painfully honest. But she got the impression it was time for honesty, at least as far as her feelings went.
“Then keep it, to remind you that I’m not going away anytime soon.” His arm reached around her waist and he snugged her against him. “Hattie, I’m in real trouble with the Crew. The whole thing with the Russians, and you, and defying Vito in front of everyone to help find your mother, and now this with Cooper… He’s had an offer to buy me. Someone from New York. He said no because he wants another pincher in trade, but if he realizes I was involved in Cooper’s death, he might go forward with that. I could be sold and sent to New York. Even if that doesn’t happen, there’s a good chance I’ll be traded somewhere. So if there’s a day where you don’t hear from me…” he reached out to touch the card, “…don’t think the worst. It’ll be because some car came for me in the middle of the night, not because I’m skipping out on you. You hear?”
“Leave them, Vincent.” She tried to keep her voice steady and failed. “Leave the Crew. You can stay here with us. Together we’ll…”
“We’ll what?” His voice was gentle. “Hattie, there’s no place I can hide where they won’t hunt me down. I’ve been marked and in the system since I was two years old. I’ve never been free and I never will be. They know who I am. As long as there are families who keep pinchers, I’d be hunted. And besides that…”
She rolled her eyes and tried to interject something light into this heavy conversation. “I know, I know. Purpose. You need to have a life with purpose, somewhere you matter, where you can make a difference and benefit others. Purpose. I know.”
“Which brings me to this: I’m glad you decided to help me today. I’m glad you came with Lefty and me up to Pennsylvania. I glad you were there to have my back, but every time I show up, I drag you into trouble.”
“Oh, here we go…” She pulled away from him and glared.
“I almost got you killed today. Don’t deny it.”
“You didn’t almost get me killed, boy-o. Will you stop carrying the world on your back?” She reached out to give his shoulder a squeeze, then wrapped an arm around his waist, scooting closer once more. “Neither one of us knew what we were getting into.”
“Still don’t,” he replied.
“Well, I can look into it. I have people I can talk to.”
Vincent shot her an amused glance. “That a fact?”
“Yes, that’s a fact.”
He sighed. “Well after I take care of things down in Richmond, this business with the Hell pincher needs to be a priority.”
“Because he killed a member of the Crew?” she asked.
“Because he almost killed you.” Vincent glanced over at her. “This is two demons we’ve encountered in a fairly close proximity to each other. That’s…unnerving. I want to know what this Hell pincher is planning, what his end game is, what his strengths and weakness are. We need to figure out how we can better protect ourselves—and others—from him if he’s planning something nefarious.”
We. The word warmed Hattie’s heart. They were in this together. Partners. Friends.
Hopefully more than friends.
“Do you really think this Hell pincher is a threat?” she asked. “I mean, maybe he’s just protecting himself…protecting his freedom. That demon in Deltaville could have been to keep him safe from the Upright Citizens. And up in Pennsylvania—Cooper was nosing around. According to that boy, he met with the Hell pincher, told him that someone was coming to bring him in, to hunt him down. Perhaps he was concerned the Crew was going to press him into service, so he killed Cooper and set that trap for whoever might be coming to snatch him.”
Vincent thought for a moment then nodded. “Tell you what, if that’s the case and we find he’s just defending himself and trying to live a normal free life, then he’s yours to protect. If not, if he’s planning some sort of attack, then we need to be prepared to stop him. And to do that, we need to find out everything we can about him.”
There was that “we” again. She hoped this partnership between them extended beyond the Hell pincher as well. “I meant what I said before. I want to help you with Betty Sharp.”
He shook his head. “It’s not your business. Not your fight.”
“Maybe I’ll be the judge of that?”
“You are a nosy damned woman. You know that?”
She stood up. “I want you to promise me that you and Lefty won’t go galloping
off to nick that woman without me.”
“You know I can’t promise that.”
She scowled, hands on her hips. “I want your word, Vincent Calendo. We’re stronger together. We’re partners. We…we belong together.”
Vincent stood up, straightening his clothes. “Listen, I agree we work well together.”
She smiled.
“But when it comes down to it, you really don’t know me. Not the real me.”
Her smile faded. “I’ve had plenty of time to see the best and worst of you.”
“Oh, if you think you’ve seen me at my worst, then that just proves you shouldn’t put your neck on the block on my account.”
“If I wanted that sort of sanctimonious nonsense, I’d go back out and continue arguing with my Ma.”
Vincent shook his head. “Is that why you were hard-pounding whisky straight from the bottle?”
She sighed. “Oh, aye. I forget you never had a mother.”
“Is it really that bad?”
“Oh, it’s one of those things a person like me has the privilege of complaining about. While here, someone like you would probably give anything to have a second of that.”
They stood in silence for a moment.
Vincent ran a hand over his hair. “I need some shuteye.”
She nodded and reached for the door at the same time he did. His hand landed right on top of hers, his chest pressed against her shoulder. She looked up into his face, only inches away from hers, her breath catching. There was a second where time stood still, even without the magic of a time pinch.
Vincent’s eyes met hers. He leaned forward, closer. Then his mouth drew up in a lazy smirk. “Allow me,” he whispered.
Whatever he wanted her to allow, Hattie had no interest in denying it.
He gave the doorknob a twist through her fingers and pulled the door open.
She turned her face from his gaze sucking in a deep breath. “I…suppose you should be going.”
“You know that I can’t take you with me tomorrow.” His tone lightened, breaking the spell.
“You’d better!” she scolded, waving a finger at him. “Or I’ll never forgive you.”