Clip Joint

by Debra Dunbar

“I’ve been satisfied to inconvenience the man a few bottles here or there. But now? I am not satisfied! I intend to do much more than inconvenience the bastard. I intend to ruin him. Shipments lost. Supplies interrupted. Costs rising. I’ll give him a problem none of his goons can solve.”

  Sadie shook her head. “This isn’t the fight you want. The goal here is to keep as many pinchers free as we can, not some suicide mission to get revenge.”

  She waved the other woman’s words away. “I’ve thought it through. I know where the booze goes. I know when it hits the Bay. And with a little inside information, I can find the overland traffic. It’s only a matter of timing and choosing the priority—”

  “We are not a band of merry men, Malloy. I’m sorry. We can’t help you with this.”

  Hattie shook her head slowly. “I’m not asking for charity. Corbi is the apparatus. Take down the Crew, and then pinchers can live here free. No more running and hiding. No more warehouses.”

  “Listen, Malloy…nickel-and-diming the Crew is one thing. It only works because they literally don’t notice. But if you start hitting their shipments, it’ll be like the Russians all over again. How many barrels did they nick before Corbi sent his pincher in? Three? Four? Can you even hear yourself? You’re planning to poke the bear, and it’ll be total war. You think Corbi’s gonna lose? Against just one person?”

  “I just said I can’t do this alone.”

  “Okay, but have you thought through your best-case scenario? Vito Corbi, for all the threat he poses, is still a weak leader. Even if you succeed, you’ll put the entire city—the entire Chesapeake—into a power vacuum. There’s a reason the Charge flows to Baltimore. Corbi’s inability to look past his own nose has saved lives. What happens if he’s replaced with someone who knows how to run an organization? Someone from New York, maybe?”

  Hattie blew out a breath in frustration.

  Sadie waited for her to calm down. “One day perhaps we’ll live in a nation where pinchers aren’t bought and sold and treated as property, but that will take serious change—major, violent change. Our entire society will have to be uprooted. It will be like the pincher wars all over again.” She got close enough to lay a hand on Hattie’s shoulder, forcing her to stop pacing. “The time isn’t right for what you’re wanting to do. I know you’re upset about your friend, but don’t make things worse for yourself and the rest of us by flying off in a fit of vengeance.”

  Tears stung Hattie’s eyes. Through a sniffle, she said, “They’re going to take his very heart. They’re going to break him. How am I supposed to just let it happen?”

  Sadie nodded, wiping a tear from Hattie’s cheek. “You need to trust that your friend is stronger than you think. No matter what happens to him up there he is going to come back, and the two of you will deal with it then. He’s got you waiting for him. He’s got friends. That’s going to keep him going when it gets bad. Don’t let him survive all that only to come back and find you went off on some crazy crusade against Corbi and got yourself killed.”

  The woman was right. As hurt and angry as Hattie was, this wasn’t the occasion for rash action. That’s not what Vincent would have done in her place. The time pincher could react fast when the situation called for it, but Vincent was a patient man who wasn’t afraid to take a step back and reassess a situation. He’d gather information before formulating a plan and deciding on a course of action, and that’s exactly what she need to do. Information. Plan. Then act.

  It’s a shame Vincent had never learned to play chess, because Hattie got the impression he would have been very good at that game.

  “Whatever you do, never underestimate these monsters,” Sadie warned her. “Never assume any of us are stronger than they are just because we have magic and they don’t. All we can ever try to be is smarter. That means we can’t allow our hearts to rule our heads.” She reached out to grab both of Hattie’s arms. “Even if all you can do in this moment is feel, you still need to stop and think.”

  Hattie pulled Sadie in for an embrace.

  The two stood alone in that room for a moment until Hattie finally pulled away. “Guess I should be getting home then. Or maybe somewhere for a few glasses of whisky to drown my sorrows.”

  “What, no research today? You done chasing down this Hell pincher?” Sadie teased.

  Gather information. Plan. Then act. She did need to research, but on far more than just this Hell pincher. How much did she really know about the mob structure, their politics and petty grievances, and how their owned pinchers played into that?

  Not nearly enough.

  Hattie glanced up into the space overhead, the frigid air devoid of color and warmth, the plume of dust kicked up by the children’s industry. It held no emotion. No self-consuming fury. Only the purest white light, cold and unbending in its austerity. It lit the bricks of the interior without offering warmth. Only truth.

  Then Hattie turned away, walking for the exit.

  “Where are you going?” Sadie called.

  Hattie paused at the exit and turned with an emotionless grin. “North, to see someone who once offered an alliance.”

  Chapter 15

  Hattie raised the glass of champagne to her lips, eyeing DeBarre over the rim. The cannery had an abandoned feel since all the workers were off for Christmas Eve Day. She’d arrived to find DeBarre and Arnoud the only ones in attendance. The down pincher had been thrilled with the four cases of nice-quality whisky she’d liberated from one of the Crew’s warehouses and presented to him gratis as a tribute to his organization and in gratitude for their discretion.

  Their discretion meaning DeBarre’s discretion.

  Although hopefully it would also secure Arnoud’s discretion, since the man had refused to leave her and DeBarre alone since she’d arrived, despite the down pincher’s repeated suggestions that he go elsewhere.

  “More?” DeBarre topped off her glass before she had a chance to reply. His gaze lingered at her rouged lips, then drifted down the expanse of flesh toward the low neckline of her beaded, forest-green gown.

  She’d purchased it. With some of the money she’d lifted from one of Vito’s goons who’d been collecting the Crew’s tax from the cat houses along the Jones Falls. Between the dress and the carefully applied makeup, she was feeling quite the high-class lady.

  And just a tiny bit guilty about the effect of her appearance on DeBarre. And more than a bit uneasy about the effect of her appearance on Arnoud.

  “Thank you,” she fluttered her darkened lashes. “And Merry Christmas.”

  “About that.” DeBarre glared at Arnoud and positioned himself between Hattie and the other man, leaning close. “Do you have plans for tonight? Tomorrow? Because there’s a beautiful candle-lighting downtown, and a top-notch band at the Bellevue. We could dance the night away.”

  She smiled up at him. “I do appreciate the offer Loren, but I have parents who are expecting me home for the holiday.”

  From his expression, she doubted he heard anything past her addressing him by his first name.

  “Another time, maybe?” she smiled and sipped the champagne.

  He nodded and took a step back, filling his own glass and downing the liquid in one gulp.

  “Have you heard about Vincent?” She asked. Might as well get on to the real reason she’d stolen four cases of whisky and driven up to Philadelphia on Christmas Eve.

  Arnoud seemed uninterested in her question, but DeBarre frowned. “No. Something go wrong in Richmond?”

  She hesitated, seemingly absorbed by her champagne glass as she inclined her head slightly toward Arnoud.

  DeBarre’s eyes narrowed. “Bradley, go unload those cases before they get stolen out of the back of the truck, will you?”

  Arnoud’s jaw set and he glared at the other man. For a moment Hattie thought he’d refuse, but he nodded and spun on his heel, stomping out of the room and up the stairs.

  “What happened?” DeBarre’s voice was hushed but urgent. “Something
go wrong with that hellion of a glass pincher in Richmond?”

  “He brought her in nearly by himself.” Hattie took a sip of her champagne to let that sink in. “Then Vito sent him to Ithaca with her, supposedly for reeducation, because he’s not loyal and obedient enough.”

  “What?” DeBarre almost dropped his glass. “Why? Why would Vito send Vincent to Ithaca? Of all the idiotic, stupid things to do…”

  “Because Vincent’s a good man,” she told him. “He’s smart and loyal but Vito just wants a yes-man. He wants someone who will blindly follow orders and kill without any thought to the repercussions or what might be best for the family long-term. He wants a machine, a mindless weapon.”

  DeBarre shook his head. “Corbi is an idiot. He’s weak. None of the other families respect him. They’re all just waiting for him to make a mistake so they can descend on him like a pack of wolves.”

  “And how likely are they to do that with Vincent standing by his side as opposed to him being locked up in Ithaca?” Hattie asked.

  The down pincher shot her a perceptive look. “Corbi would fall like a house of cards without Vincent. The Crew would just be some two-bit gang without a powerful pincher. And I’m sure you realize that Vincent’s talent is especially useful in our profession. That plus his instincts and smarts… Let’s just say that the other families know he’s a formidable defense, and have been biding their time.”

  “Corbi needs Vincent to keep the crown on his head,” Hattie agreed. “But with Vincent in Ithaca, perhaps that’s the opportunity these families have been waiting for? The king is exposed and unprotected?”

  DeBarre shook his head. “Corbi isn’t an idiot. Vincent will only be gone a couple of weeks at the most. And the timing is good. The families aren’t likely to start a war over the holidays when everyone wants to be home.”

  Hattie pursed her lips in thought. Either that goblin of a man heading up the Crew had carefully timed this so his pincher would be away during his less vulnerable time, or he’d been maneuvered into this by someone else. She hated to be the sort of person taken by conspiracy theories, but this all seemed to be more than just Vito being insecure and a rat-bastard.

  “Vincent told me there was an offer to buy him,” Hattie said. “Someone up in New York.”

  DeBarre frowned. “I hadn’t heard that. No one paid him any special notice at the pincher moot—well, beyond Luciano’s man that is.”

  The name tickled in the back of her mind, but Hattie couldn’t place it. “So this Luciano’s man singled Vincent out?”

  “He’s the one who started this whole nonsense about Vincent going to bring in Betty Sharp. And he’s the one who got Vito committed to taking out the Upright Citizens.” DeBarre nodded thoughtfully. “You know, I’m wondering if there might have been something to that. Floresta didn’t know Vincent. Why would he pin him to the board like that? I’m thinking maybe there might have been some motivation I didn’t realize at the time.”

  “And Floresta is…” Hattie shot him an encouraging smile. “Give me the story here, because I don’t know beans about these New York families.”

  DeBarre launched into a tale of feuding Italian factions over the last thirty years, including a breathtaking number of assassinations and coups. By the time he was done, Hattie had a good handle on the names and structure of what was happening to the north of Baltimore. And a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach about this Luciano and his pincher, Floresta.

  Glancing over to the stairs and realizing they probably had only a few more moments of private conversation, Hattie took a chance.

  “I need your help, Loren. There was a time when you offered an alliance, offered to have my back. Is that offer still on the table?”

  He eyed her. “Are you looking for a business sort of alliance, or a personal one? Because it’s the personal alliance I had in mind when I made that offer.”

  Fair enough. “I’d like to think we’re friends as well as business associates, so both?”

  He signed dramatically and made a winding motion with his hand. “Okay. Let me have it.”

  Hattie grinned. “I realize breaking Vincent out of that place is a suicide mission, but I’m concerned. I need someone with connections to keep their ear to the ground. I need to know if there’s something going on with Vincent being sent to Ithaca besides Corbi being a witless fool. Whether it’s the New York families planning a move over the holidays, or this Luciano guy pulling strings behind the curtain, or someone who would rather see Vincent dead than back in Baltimore. I need to know, because I’m one breath away from taking a drive upstate, if you get my meaning.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Don’t do anything foolish, Hattie. From what I’ve heard, that place is a fortress. You’ll not be able to waltz in and break him out. You’ll just get yourself killed.”

  “You’ve never been?” she asked.

  He shuddered and shook his head. “No. Not personally. I’m not sure exactly where the farm is where they do the training. If this auction system continues, then I might be asked to go up and bid on an asset, but that’s as close as I’ll get to the place, God willing. Even then, they don’t hold the auctions at the facility. They’re always some place in the middle of nowhere in northern Pennsylvania or western New York.”

  “Auctions?” Hattie tiled her head and raised her eyebrows.

  DeBarre finished off the champagne and set both the bottle and his glass on the bar. “Most times the families put in a request when they want a pincher. They specify the skills they’re looking for and how much they’re willing to pay. The Ithaca market acts as a broker. They connect buyers with sellers for trade. They also offer up available pinchers on a closed bid system. Right now, the New York families are gearing up for war. They want more pinchers and in the last few years, free pinchers have become harder to find. So now it’s auctions and only certain families will get invitations to come up to bid.” He folded his arms across his chest with a wry smile. “If we play our cards right in Philadelphia, we might receive an invitation. And if we do, I’ll probably be sent up so someone with talent can evaluate the talent, so to speak.”

  A glimmer of an idea formed in Hattie’s mind. “But you expect that the only folks invited to this auction will be the New York families? No one else?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe Chicago although Capone isn’t in the middle of a turf war and seems fairly content with his current assets. It’s all political. Someone greases the right palms, trades the right favors, and that someone could find themselves with an invitation to bid on available pinchers at Ithaca.”

  Hattie stood and gathered her coat. “You’ll keep me informed? You’ll keep your ear to the wall and let me know what you find out? Please?”

  DeBarre sighed, his gaze once more lingering at the low neckline of her dress. “It would be my honor, Miss Malloy.”

  With three strides he was across the room, bowing over her hand, his arm brushing against her shoulder as he showed her out. Arnoud was lingering by the Roundabout as they exited the cannery. The other man wished her a Merry Christmas, opening her car door for her. She drove away with a wave at the two men, her thoughts brooding as she headed toward Baltimore.

  Masseria. Maranzano. Capone. Torrio. Luciano. It was like playing chess with half a dozen opponents, the only benefit being that they all were so busy trying to oust each other, they might not pay any attention to the new player on the board.

  Hattie drove south down to the Maryland border, frowning as she hit a bit of traffic and an accident that detoured her through Darlington. It was there she saw the thick gray smoke and charred remains of a building. It could have been a gas leak or a chimney fire, but recent experience made her pull to the side of the road and get out of the truck to take a look.

  There was a cluster of people milling about the scene as well as a fire truck with several strapping lads gathering up the fire hoses. Hattie turned to the nearest woman, a matronly lady wearing a baggy taupe dress, and asked what had h
appened.

  “Fire,” the woman said, as if that hadn’t been glaringly obvious. “It was an inn. Some out of town folks were having an argument according to the owner, and I’m guessing a candle got knocked over or something.”

  Hattie’s eyebrows shot up. In her experience, a candle could only cause this sort of devastation if it had been knocked over into a pile of gasoline soaked hay. She looked around the crowd, and moved over toward a younger man who seemed to be incredibly anxious about the proceedings.

  He looked to be about her age, thin but with a wiry sort of strength that told her he’d hardly been idle during his adult life. His hair was cropped close around the sides and back, longer on top in a fashion that reminded her of the way Vincent kept his hair. But this man didn’t look to be remotely Italian. He had nut-brown locks that glowed with gold glints in the remains of the firelight, and a sharply angular face with light blue eyes.

  “Quite the tragedy,” she commented, glancing up at him from beneath her darkened lashes. “I hear two customers of the inn started the fire.”

  “Devil Man,” he muttered. “Seen him up north once. People need to steer clear of him and his fire-monsters.”

  Hattie’s blood ran cold. “Devil Man, you say? I’ve heard of him up around Ephrata.”

  He turned his wild eyes toward her. “You know him? He came here looking for the hunter. Someone told him a hunter was after him and he’s tracked the man down south. I was there in the inn. And I have seen Devil Man before. If you avert your eyes and bow your head and pray, he won’t smite you, but some man confronted him and he wasn’t in the mood to let such a thing go. Now we all suffer.”

  Hattie took a measured breath and tried to remain calm. “A hunter?”

  “From Baltimore. Someone threatened him, told him a powerful hunter was on his trail and going to bring him in.” The man’s eyes widened, the whites frighteningly huge around his irises. “He was on edge and this man set him off. There were six people in the inn that lost their lives, two of them children.”