Boom. Crash. A roar. Fuel to the fire. Men yelling. Through the smoke, a shower of sparks. Liquor bottles explode.
“Leroy. Leroy.” She sobs. Chest heaving. Trying to breathe. So tightly bound she can only move her head.
Gator Joe’s back wall and roof cave in. Whoosh. The crackle of flames as they lick and climb and dance. She squints through the blaze.
The smoke. Lungs burn. The heat. Gator’s gone.
Eyes roll back and head rolls forward. Darkness.
The smell wakes her again. Still dark. Broken windowpanes hanging in frames; reflected light from a witness moon painting the fallen walls silver gray. A few orange licks of flames. Tendrils of smoke curling.
In agony, her head pounding, metal taste in her mouth. She turns her head to see Lucky—he’s been dragged outside and tied to the tree beside her—blood oozes from his head, eyes closed.
Leroy? Where is Leroy?
Edith squints. Her eyes tear. She blinks, trying to focus, looking past the burned wreckage. Is the barn still standing? She gulps, then sobs. It is. The barn is still standing.
Dizzy. Head spinning. Stomach heaves. Through the smoke, movement in the grass. A snake. It twists and winds. Slithering closer.
Am I in Hell? Is this the Devil? Coming for me? Because of Mickey?
She hears it hiss, its tail rattles as it raises its head, weaving back and forth. Edith’s eyes are trapped by it, following the movement. It weaves from side to side.
To mi śmierdzi. I smell a rat, Kitten.
“Mickey?” It’s been months, but Edith would recognize that voice and that Polish cursing anywhere.
Right here, doll, the voice whispers in her ear.
She tries to turn her head to see him. He’s just behind her. When she looks away from the snake, poof, it’s gone.
“Mickey? Her voice like sandpaper. Cough. Her head droops. It hurts to have her eyes open.
You gotta wake up, Kitten. There’s too much smoke.
“Sleep.” Edith mumbles, her eyes closed.
Edith!
Her head jerks up. Her eyes, swollen and red, snap open. She blinks and squeezes them shut then open, trying to clear them. She licks her cracked lips. “Where are you?”
Watching your back, doll. Like I always do. How you gonna get out of this one?
Edith pulls against the ropes. They dig deep and hold her fast. “Lucky? Can you hear me?”
Lucky moans but doesn’t raise his head.
It won’t be that easy.
Edith closes her eyes, her head slips forwards. Tears run down her face.
What’s this crap? A quitter? Not my Kitten. Claws like a tiger. Come on, Edith.
She rolls her head and opens her eyes. The dawn just beginning to show the charred bones of Gator Joe’s.
“Ashes. It’s all ashes. Like my life.” Tears run black down her face, soaking her nightgown. Her heart pounds. She gags. Her stomach twists and heaves. She gulps in breath.
“It’s gone.” She moans. “It’s all lost.”
Diabeł. Diabeł. Go to hell, Edith. You’re only a failure if you give up.
She tugs and pulls against the rope.
It’s just a building. Nobody died. You’ve seen a lot worse. Am I right? Like that night in the hotel? Or is that too close to home? Bang, and all your Mickey problems gone.
“Skurwsyn. You bastard.” Edith twists, determined to fight him head on. “That wasn’t my fault. You drove me to do it.”
Ha, see, I was right; there’s still some fight there. Good girl. Hang in there.
“Mickey? I’m sorry.”
Ah, Kitten. Lots for us to be sorry about. Sorry for hurting you. Sorry for letting you down. But never sorry for loving you.
“Can you forgive me?” Edith’s raspy voice barely a whisper.
You gotta forgive yourself first, Kitten.
Gone. Mickey’s gone. The only sound the hiss of burnt wood. The waves. A pop of sparks. She tugs and twists. Her skin scrapped raw.
“Miz Edith? Miz Edith?” Leroy’s voice hisses from the shadows.
“Here, Leroy. I’m here,” she whispers back. Coughing, her throat raw. “Are they gone?”
“Yup. Hold still. I got a knife.”
Edith can feel the rope tug, gnawing against her skin, the knife sawing through the rope.
“Ugh. Almost there.” The rope begins to loosen, Edith pulls against it. Leroy cuts through and the rope slithers to the ground.
Edith also falls to the ground. Leroy crouches beside her. “Are you hurt, Miz Edith?” She pushes herself onto her hands and knees, swaying. Deep, racking coughs. She shakes her head, trying to clear it.
“Lucky. We need to help Lucky.” Her raw throat can only whisper.
Leroy helps to lift her. The two struggle to free him. Edith’s fingers aren’t working right. Her arms shudder. She has no control.
Working away at the knots, Leroy gets Lucky free. Lucky collapses into Edith’s arms, his weight forcing her to the ground again. She lies there, exhausted, coughing.
She pats Lucky’s face, shakes his shoulder. “Lucky? Can you hear me?” A loud crash as something falls behind her.
Leroy pulls on her arm. “Come on, Miz Edith. It ain’t safe here. Come on. Can you make it to the dock?”
The two drag Lucky down the path toward the water. Edith coughing through the smoke. Her ribs burning. The three collapse on the wooden dock. She and Leroy turn to look. The rising sun showcases the horror of their home.
Small stumps of boards stand upright like jagged teeth. The veranda collapsed on itself, a pile of smoldering boards. Through the debris, Edith can see the stove and refrigerator, half-buried under charred wood, standing in an open space that was once the kitchen.
She chokes back a sob, coughs. “You okay, Leroy?”
“Yup. I heard ‘em when they broke in and I ran out and hid in the trees like you told me to. I saw them throw kerosene on Gator’s. And then the fire. I couldn’t see you. Or Lucky. I figured from the yelling they had you. Jumping and hollering like a bunch of crazy people. I came looking as soon as they were gone.”
Edith coughs and spits. She struggles but manages to sit up. “Can you check the Rex to see if there’s any water?”
Leroy scrambles into the boat, throwing ropes and other items aside. He holds up a jug, squinting at it. “Looks like whiskey, Miz Edith. Maybe only one or two swallows left.”
“Good enough.” Coughing and spitting.
He hands her the jug and she gulps it down, the whiskey burning a path to her gut. She wretches, clenching her stomach.
“Miz Edith? You gonna be sick?”
Edith falls sideways. She leans over the edge of the dock, vomiting into the water. She lies there shivering. The rough wood cool and damp against her cheek. Tears.
Leroy rubs her back. “It’ll be okay, Miz Edith.”
They sit together, the dock gently rocking. Lucky coughs and tries to sit. He moans. Edith drags herself upright, leaning heavily on Leroy. “Hush, Lucky. You’re all right. We’re all right.” Another crash. Sparks fly upward and disappear.
“What we gonna do?” Leroy asks, huddled against her. She slips one arm around him.
“I’m sure Darwin will be back with the Marianne in the next few hours. We’ll wait here.”
Edith looks back at the shell of Gator Joe’s. At the shell of her dreams. Ashes. Just like my life.
Chapter 65
T here’s no hiding from the harsh, bright sunlight. It scours the inside of Edith’s eyelids. Lying on the dock, it’s almost too much for her to open them and face the scene before her. As long as she lies there, it can be a dream. An awful, ugly dream.
She sniffs—the smoke in her hair and on her skin makes her stomach heave. She opens her eyes.
“I gotta get clean. Leroy, give me your shirt when I come out of the water, okay?” She knows her nightgown will be transparent, but modesty be damned.
Edith slips off the dock into the cool
water. Relief. Clouds of ash and soot swirl around her and are then carried away by the waves. The sea salt stings in all the tiny cuts and raw skin. She rolls and dives, taking a few strokes out to deeper water, away from Lucky’s and Leroy’s eyes. She pops up and there’s another figure on the dock. Cassie. She holds up a bundle of clothes. Leroy’s face is buried against her.
When Edith gets out of the water, Cassie slips a dry Miccosukee blouse over Edith’s head and helps steady her as she steps into a long skirt.
“Cassie. I don’t know where you came from, but you are an angel.”
“The cards showed me you needed help. I came.”
Lucky rests on the dock, streaked with black soot. His eyes are bright white against his gray face.
“You need a swim, too,” Edith says, laughing.
“I no swim,” he says, shaking his head.
“You smell bad, Lucky. You’ve been in the water before. Leroy will help you,” Edith says.
Cassie gently peels Leroy’s arms from around her waist. She and Leroy help Lucky stand and wade into the water. Lucky gets knee deep and his shaking legs collapse. He sits. The waves wash around him, the water cloudy and muddy with ash and soot. He stands and moves a few steps closer to the shore, where it’s shallow, and lies down.
Cassie hands Edith a large jug of water brought from camp.
“No martini ever tasted as good. Thank you. Really, thank you, Cassie.”
“I’m glad you are all right. Leroy, bring Lucky over here for something to drink.”
Everyone turns at the sound of an approaching boat motor. Edith waves at the Marianne. “Thank God.”
Leroy helps steady the boat, beginning to tie it up to the dock. Darwin leaps off, scooping Edith into a crushing embrace. “What the hell happened here?” he asks Cassie over Edith’s head.
Everyone talks at once, anxious to tell him their part of the tale.
“There was a fire.” “The Wharf Rats came and burned the place down.” “Miz Edith and I were tied up.” “I cut the rope and saved them.”
“What happened to your head?” he asks Lucky, whose head wound has started bleeding again.
“Rat hit me.”
Darwin holds Edith at arm’s length. “Are you hurt?”
“Just sore. Scrapes and bruises. And I keep spitting up great, vile gobs of gray stuff.”
He hugs her again, then slaps Lucky on the back. Kneeling in front of Leroy, Darwin says, “You are a hero, little man. You saved them. You’re one tough kid.”
* * * *
Settling everyone in the barn, Darwin heads to town for food, water, blankets, and first aid supplies.
When everyone’s fed and tended to, with Cassie watching over Lucky and Leroy, Darwin and Edith survey the remains to see if anything can be saved. They slowly circle the building.
Edith’s heart breaks when she spots the metal frame of her little blue bed—charred and twisted.
“Noooo.” She comes across bits of charred label on shards of shattered glass. “Mickey’s special whiskey.” None of the precious bottles survived the fire. Her last bit of Mickey is gone, too.
The stuffed alligator that had hung mischievously above the bar now lies on the ground; a scorched hulk with blackened teeth and smoke-damaged glass eyes. Burnt offerings, all of her things.
Sobbing, Edith allows Darwin to lead her down to the Rex where she can meet her grief head-on, but with privacy.
Sitting in the stern of the trawler, Edith watches the sun dip into the sea.
Lucky, now leaning against the side of the boat, tells them that Leroy has gone back to the camp with Cassie, ‘for a few days, until things get sorted here’. He coughs and returns to the barn to rest, giving the charred bones of Gator’s a wide birth.
Edith turns to Darwin. “Gator Joe’s is gone.”
“Thank goodness no one was hurt.”
“Oh, I hurt. Right to my soul, Darwin. It’s all gone. Everything. All my dreams literally up in smoke.”
“It’s just a building, Edith.”
“Our cash float is gone, burned up. Thank goodness I’d made the week’s deposit at the bank in Miami the day before.” Edith looks up at Darwin and then away to the horizon, choking back a sob. “But Gator’s was more than just money and a building to me. I was going to make something for myself. Of myself. Now, they took it away.” A tear rolls down her face.
“Like I said, the building’s gone but that doesn’t mean you quit.”
They sit, the waves and the hope gently rocking Edith.
“I might rebuild, but not here. This dream is dead.”
Darwin shrugs. “Up to you, but this spot is special. You knew it from the first day. Shame to walk away, especially if it’s to make another start on some busy city street somewhere, like a thousand other joints.”
“You think I should rebuild?” Her body tenses, waiting for his answer.
“That’s going to be up to you, Edith.”
“A good gambler knows when to fold, Darwin. I think this whole idea is a lost cause.”
Darwin regards her with a small grin. “I thought you were all about second chances?”
Edith laughs within a sob. “Oh, I’m on chance number four, or maybe even five. Long past two, anyway.” She thinks of Mickey. Kittens are cats. “Cats have nine lives, but I think I might be pushing it.”
“You had a nice little set up here. Maybe you can rebuild and make it even better? Isn’t Mae always after you to have a nicer place? Well, build it. You said you’ve got some money from the sale of your house. Leroy, Lucky, and I can help. And that Cleo gal is mighty useful, too.”
“I don’t know, Darwin. The Wharf Rats are still out there.”
“I was never one for letting goons like the Wharf Rats beat me. I’m surprised you are. Weren’t you married to the King of the Bootleggers? The baddest gangster in Philly?”
“They took it all away, Darwin,” Edith wails.
“Take it back.”
She stops and looks at him.
“What’s it going to be?” Darwin asks.
Edith shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Not good enough, Edith. You’re going to need to be all-in if you’re going to lick those Wharf Rat bastards. You’re one fierce dame, Edith Duffy. A gun moll, for goodness sakes. Married to the famous Mickey Duffy. I can’t see you turning tail and running.”
Edith sits straighter. Slowly, she begins to smile.
“Now there’s the gal that I’ve been looking for.”
“For the record, I was never a gun moll. I was never a bit of amusing fluff.”
Darwin chuckles. “Of that I have no doubt. So, you’ve made a decision?”
Edith nods. “Yes. Take it back. Rebuild. The new place is going to need a strong foundation, and there’s nothing stronger than trust and friendships. I’m going to need you all to help. Go far, go together.”
Darwin grins back. “Why not talk to that Cleo dame? We may be able to put up new walls, but we’re gonna need her to stock the bar.”
Edith closes her eyes, the setting sun warm on her face. “Gator Joe’s is gone. If the plan doesn’t work, change the plan. But never change the goal. I’m going to have my own club with customers lined up the door. Charlie Chaplin and the Prince of Wales will come to have adventures here.”
Edith’s eyes latch on a heron wading along the shore, looking for its next meal. “But I’m going to be smarter about it this time. Those Wharf Rats will never see me coming.”
* * * *
Cassie chuckles as Leroy’s snores rumble from the tent.
“That’s the sound I’ve been missing. That boy. I’m glad he’s safe. That everyone’s safe. But now that Leroy’s been fed and tucked into bed, I gotta find out what happens next.”
Under the shelter of the chickee, Cassie holds the tarot deck it to her heart. She closes her eyes and opens her mind. She shuffles then fans them, face down, in front.
The first card she pulls shows three
maidens dancing together in a tight circle with cups raised in a toast. The image is full of joy and celebration. Cassie releases a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
One woman is dressed in white for strength, one woman is clad in red for justice, and the third woman wears yellow for energy. Cassie smiles. “Here we have hope. Your friends and family are here to support you, ah-ma-chamee, and lift you up to even higher levels of success. They will stand by you through thick and thin. They’re always there for you.”
She puts the card aside and draws another one. “Ah, another three. There is a great deal to look forward to here, ah-ma-chamee. It looks like there’s going to be a hammer in your future.” Cassie grins as she studies the three men on the card. A stonemason, an architect, and a monk consulting plans for a church. Three coins or pentacle shapes form part of the church design.
“Remember Edith, each person has an important role to play, and when you come together as a team, you can create something much more significant than if you were to do this on your own.”
The palms rustle. Leroy’s snores reach her.
“You have gathered together quite the crew: Darwin, Cleo, Mae, Lucky, and Leroy will help you… all different. All giving you their friendship and loyalty. You should let them. Listen to them.”
The frogs sing.
“Leroy is serving a purpose, keeping you going, getting you connected to those that will care about you. And so far, he’s safe.”
Cassie watches the empty chair across from her.
“Of course, you are nowhere near the finish line just yet, but you have got the ball rolling and are making things happen. Keep going, ah-ma-chamee.”
All will be well. She turns and looks toward the sleeping tent when she hears Leroy cough. After a moment, his snoring starts up again. All will be well.
She scoops up the cards and shuffles again. Breaking the deck into three stacks, she recombines the stacks into one pile, setting it down in front of her on the table.
Superstitiously, she shifts her chair; blocking the view of the table to the tent, shielding Leroy. “And now, Mr. Preacher-Man, what’s in store for you?” She takes the top card, turning it over to see a man lying dead on the beach, ten swords thrust through his back. She smiles again. A smile of cold revenge. “And my day keeps getting better and better.”
Gathering Storm Page 36