Her small fists waved around like a newborn infant, though didn’t make contact with anything but her own face. She screamed and not soon after a large hand slapped over her mouth, silencing her indefinitely. The fingers pinched at her face, squeezing her cheeks all the while warning her to stay quiet or else she would get something much worse. The hand over her mouth tasted like dirt and salt and something else she didn’t want to know.
Her small body wasn’t much of a challenge for the men who tossed her about like a rag doll.
The sausage-like fingers squeezed around her body, taking full control of her movements—she couldn’t do a darn thing. She was completely at their mercy, and the realization brought a surge of tears. Would they kill her? In seconds, her body slammed against the back seat, and then the men brutally slipped a sack over her head, tying it snugly around her neck, nearly cutting her flesh. The fight or flight response took over, and those infant sized fists waved around again only to amuse the men.
“We have a live one, gentlemen,” a deep voice said. A wheeze followed his sinister laugh.
“This should make it more fun,” said another voice—a familiar voice. How many men were in the car? They laughed harder as the car sped away to who knows where.
Norma stopped fighting. She’s been kidnapped, and there was nothing she could do about it. Tears spilled down her face onto the sack circling her head. Would the men bump her off? She couldn’t push down the untimely thought that she would soon meet her maker. She cried silently, deciding it would be best if she didn’t fight them until she knew who they were and what they wanted.
****
Henry paced in Norma’s apartment. He probably wasn’t welcome, but he’d suffer those consequences just to see her. And explain why Annabelle was in his office. But she wasn’t home. She hadn’t been home either from the looks of the two-room apartment. The cold blankets, perfectly straight, over the plush bed and the bitter cold air swirling in the apartment clued him in. The fireplace was empty and ash-filled as if it hadn’t been relit since their lovemaking last night. And like all the times before, he assembled the kindling at the bottom of the iron grate and with a match sparked a flame.
Damn. He groaned, wanting to beat the top of the mantel with his bare hands but didn’t. Atop the fireplace were photos of Norma’s family. The man with piercing eyes caught his attention. Those eyes were exactly like Norma’s eyes. He winced at the surge of emotions warming his body—he never had that sort of reaction. He never felt so overwhelmed with feeling for someone. All he wanted was to hold her again, look into her honey eyes, and kiss her mouth until they were both delirious with love.
He threw his hands over his head, bending at the elbows. Over and over, Norma’s face flashed in his mind. She was hurt the moment she saw Annabelle sitting on his desk. He wanted to punch himself for even allowing Annabelle in his office. Damn his mother for giving that poor girl false hopes. It pained him to think a woman like Annabelle cost him the woman of his dreams.
Where could she be?
He paced back through the spotless kitchenette and to the minuscule bathroom again. There wasn’t anywhere to go in her small apartment, but it seemed so large without her in it bundled up near the fireplace. Without her, the apartment was desolate.
The knock at the door startled him from his thoughts, though it didn’t help that his nerves were shot. He jumped at the hearty knock and raced to pull the door open. He didn’t know whether to be angry that Norma had been out in the dark, or relieved she finally came home safely. Norma wasn’t on the other side of the door. Ingrid stood in front of him, her mouth dropped open.
Damn.
“Do you know where Norma is?” Henry asked Ingrid, never mind the greeting.
“I-I-I don’t—” Ingrid tripped over her tongue. Her blue eyes darted in all directions. The Jane couldn’t look him in the eyes.
“I don’t think she’s been home.” Henry looked out into the street. The darkness crept into the brownstone community, and all that shimmered were the gas lamps at each door step. After he surveyed the surroundings, he stepped aside for Ingrid to enter the small apartment.
“She stayed late at the Daily.” Ingrid lunged toward the blazing fireplace for warmth. She removed her wool coat and tossed it over a satin settee in the living area near the kitchenette.
“She what?!” Henry was outraged. Too many things could happen to a delicate woman like Norma in the streets of Chicago. It killed him to think further about it.
“I told her not to walk home alone. But I suspect she did,” Ingrid offered, glossy eyed. She looked down to her shoes, then back up to him. She made eye contact then. “You’re her mystery man, aren’t you, Mr. Chapel?” The yellow flames from the fire danced in Ingrid’s jewel-toned eyes.
If Henry didn’t know better, she was scared and quickly looked away after she posed the question. He pressed his lips in a thin line. Perhaps he should stop that. His hands raked through his hair. Damn Norma for getting him all balled up with her assumptions and defiance. He loved her fiery spirit.
He softened his voice, turning to Ingrid who stood near the fire, arms crossed over her chest. “Yes. I am.”
“You and Norma?” Ingrid cracked a smile. Her eyes twinkled with triumph. Did she suspect it all along?
“Yes.” Henry smiled for the briefest moment. “Me and Norma. Stubborn, sass-mouthed Norma.”
“I could see it in her eyes the first day you took over the Daily, Mr. Chapel,” Ingrid said, her arms falling to her sides.
He chuckled. His Norma always had so much in her eyes. Any person could see straight through to her soul if they only looked in her eyes. “Let’s just say Norma was the last thing I expected to find at the Daily.”
“We have to find her, Mr. Chapel,” Ingrid said, her voice dropping an octave. She bit her bottom lip. “I think she might be in trouble.”
“What trouble?” He couldn’t stand to think of Norma in any trouble. He didn’t know what he would do if she was in a pickle. If she was in trouble, he’d go as far as he had to go to rescue her. Put his own life in danger if he had to.
“She’s been pursuing Elsie’s disappearance. Been in the speakeasies looking for her, asking questions…” Ingrid said, her eyes wide again.
Henry’s heart fell to his stomach. He’d suspected she was doing as much. She was not a woman that would let things go. She was not a woman who could sit around and do nothing. If he’d only believed her and helped her, she wouldn’t be missing. The woman he loved wouldn’t be in grave danger.
“She said she saw Elsie, the governor’s niece,” Henry said, his voice above a whisper.
“You know?” Ingrid asked.
“I do.” It was nothing he was proud of.
“I’m worried, Mr. Chapel.”
“That makes two of us, doll.”
Chapter Nineteen
Henry pressed down the gas pedal, hard. His car could handle it. He was on a mission, and it was the most important mission of his whole life. No newspaper trouble could come close to the kind of trouble his Norma was in, and he would save her at any cost—if he wasn’t too late. Damn.
He couldn’t allow the thought of failure to creep in his mind. Failing was not an option, never had been. All of his determination led him to the ultimate task of finding Norma and taking her home, unharmed. Damnit. He slapped an open hand against the coal-colored steering wheel. How could she be so stupid? How could she even think Annabelle interested him? Damn him for dismissing her claim. Plain and simple, he should’ve believed her. At least he should have looked at that damned telegram. He could’ve at least done that. Focus Chapel.
He raked a hand through his hair, didn’t care if he looked like a bum. Only one emotion described what coursed through his veins. Worry. He would never forgive himself if something happened to Norma.
With a keen eye on the icy road, he turned down the appropriate streets until he came upon the dark alley—the lion’s den—attached to the Jazzy
Cat. The wheels of his motorcar slithered down the street until he found an acceptable spot to park. Once he slammed the door, he didn’t bother to slip on his coat even though Mother Nature required it. She could go straight to hell, he mused, wiping a speck of snow from his shoulder. Scanning the alley, he found his legs taking control, and in moments he was at the back entrance assaulting the wooden door with the secret knock.
Derek, the doorman, poked through, his stoic face cracking into a goofy smile.
“Paper man! A little early for you, no?”
He didn’t have time for greetings. “Is John John or Vito in there?”
Derek frowned. Apparently he wasn’t used to Henry’s don’t-trifle-with-me tone. “John John? Vito?”
“Yeah. You deaf, Derek?” His voice cut the icy air. “Are they here or not?”
“Why are you looking for those two?” Derek glanced back. Why was he so nervous?
Henry slammed his fist on the doorjamb—that would probably hurt later—and stepped closer to Derek’s face. Henry was about the same height and much more fit; he could take the door guy if he had to. “Don’t worry about it. Are they in there or not?”
Derek glanced around, avoiding Henry’s intense glare.
For emphasis, Henry drew back his fist, and with all the force he could muster, flung his balled hand forward and punched the door frame near Derek’s head. He jumped, nearly falling backwards. Henry gave him a chance to give up the information, but he didn’t. Why? Was he in cahoots with those goons? Henry stepped closer, oblivious that his knuckle had split and blood eased down, saturating the cuff of his white shirt.
“Are they here or not?” he growled.
Derek lifted his hands, covering his face, trembling like a little girl. “Yeah, man, John John’s in the V.I.P. room with some broad. I don’t know where Vito is. Haven’t seen him in days. I heard he skipped town.” He couldn’t stop talking. Shame Henry had to nearly bash his face in first.
Henry, straightened up, smoothed down the front of Derek’s shirt. “Now was that so hard?”
Derek’s eyes were akin to the wide peepers of an owl. He didn’t speak, only nodded. Henry didn’t know Derek was such a Jane. It amused him.
“Do me a favor.” He stepped into the hallway and out of the angry hands of Mother Nature. “Stay out of the V.I.P. room for at least ten minutes.” Because that is how long it would take for him to make John John talk.
Derek nodded, stepped farther back and didn’t take his eyes off Henry until he broke through the light-rimmed door.
The walk through the Jazzy Cat wasn’t as smooth as he hoped. The crowd sucked him in at every turn. Every step he found himself greeting a Jane here, a sap there. He’d love to tell most of those ossified birds to go find themselves. It infuriated him even more. What if John John handled his business and left the V.I.P. room? He couldn’t risk that and resorted to exposing his bloodied knuckle to anyone who came his way. That kept the dumbbells away.
At the far end of the Jazzy Cat, past a secret door and a small set of narrow stairs to the legitimate general market storefront, was a small room only a scarce few knew about. Henry didn’t like to think about how he knew the room was there; he’d taken a dame or ten in there before. Charlie, the speakeasy manager, had a soft spot for the resident paper man and let him use the room whenever he wanted. He cringed to think about what he’d done in there with those women whose names now he couldn’t remember.
Henry hesitated before he stepped to the door, reaching in his pocket, fingering the metal shiv he’d stored there just in case he found himself in a pickle. It wouldn’t be the first time he had to exert force over a brute, though it would be the first time he’d used a weapon if it came to blows. But that’s what he’d do for Norma. Come to blows. He’d use a shiv on any man that would harm his girl. My girl.
Two seconds later he burst down the door, startling the broad straddling John John while he sat on the sofa with his pants down to his ankles. Then it came, the scream. The highest pitched scream filled the air, and the blonde tumbled to the floor, trying desperately to hold together her open dress. Henry made eye contact with the blonde, and he knew those blue eyes. He knew those lips. He knew the hands that reached up and covered her face. Annabelle.
“What the hell is goin’ on?” John John stood, pulling up his pants.
“Where is Norma?” Henry barked, completely ignoring Annabelle, who looked like she’d seen a ghost.
“Who?” John John spit, coming close to Henry’s face. He had a lot of nerve stepping up to him.
It would be Henry’s pleasure to bash John John’s face in. “Where is Norma?” He dared John John to mess with him.
John John flicked his hand, dismissing the question. “I don’t know no bitch by that name.” His eyes faltered a little, and Henry caught it.
“Henry,” Annabelle called out, standing, finally piecing her dress together. “What are you doing here?”
“Get out of here, Annabelle,” Henry spit, though he still didn’t look at her. He couldn’t—she was tainted in his eyes.
“Henry, please.” She stepped closer to him and touched his arm. He flinched.
“Get out of here, Annabelle!”
“Oh, I see what this is.” John John grinned, his eyes shifting between Henry and Annabelle. “You’re mad because I took this broad?” He pointed to Annabelle. “She wasn’t even that good.”
Henry’s face blazed with the heat of twelve fireplaces.
“You bastard!” Annabelle hollered.
“Get out of here, Annabelle,” Henry barked again, his eyes firmly on John John who crossed his arms, amused and proud of himself.
“Henry, I’m sorry.” Her hands found his arm again, and again he flinched. “Please don’t be mad.”
“Get the hell out of here, Annabelle!” He would remove her himself if she didn’t leave.
“I loved you, Henry,” she said, her voice above a whisper. He finally looked at her, drawing in her black smeared eyes and swollen mouth. Only one word that came to mind. Pathetic. It saddened him to see her that way.
“Just leave,” Henry said.
She left, and it was only John John and Henry, staring each other down. Sizing each other up. Waiting for the other to make a move.
“I don’t know nothin’ ’bout this Norma bitch.”
“You’re a liar.”
He winced. The sap didn’t like being called a liar, eh?
“Don’t no one call me a liar,” John John said, his voice dropped an octave.
“Well, I’m calling you a liar. Liar,” Henry challenged, ready to pull out his shiv at any moment.
“Now, listen here, I don’t know you, and you don’t wanna know me. I’ll give you one last chance to walk away clean.” His eyes gleamed with the promise of violence. That wouldn’t stop Henry, though. He’d come too far.
“That’s awfully nice of you. So, it would only be fair of me to extend the same offer to you.” His voice was icy cold. “I’ll give you one more chance to tell me where Norma is. And you know damn well who Norma is.”
Silence.
The ice in the room solidified the blood in Henry’s veins.
His eyes dilated at every muscle movement, every blink, every breath John John took. He was breaking down. Henry could see it in his eyes.
“I might know a dumb broad named Norma, but I don’t know nothin’ ’bout her,” he finally said.
Henry reached for him; he couldn’t stand someone speaking of Norma in those terms. “Listen, you worthless sap, don’t you ever speak about her like that.” Henry grabbed at John John’s split collar shirt, crushing the fine material in his bloodied hand.
“Get off me!” John John grabbed Henry’s wrists, crushing the injured hand in the process.
“Ahhh!” Henry let go. The pain tore through him like fire, and in his brief moment of agony, John John took a swing. His balled fist rammed the side of Henry’s cheek.
He flew back but caught himself
on the small chair near the sofa.
John John was swift, but not swift enough. Henry lunged forward and grabbed his shoulder before he could make a run for it and pounded his fist into the man’s ugly face. John John fell to the floor with a grunt. He scrambled up and lunged at Henry, who threw another punch on his nose. Never did Henry think he’d use those boxing skills he learned from his father—the one thing his father was proud of him for.
“You sonofabitch.” John John growled from under his hands catching the blood falling from his nose.
Henry panted. Fighting took up more energy than he last remembered. “You tell me where Norma is, and I’ll not pound you to smithereens.”
John John lunged again, but this time, lost his balance, and Henry was on top of him in no time flat. “Tell me where she is!”
“I don’t know where she is!” John John cried from under the weight of Henry’s knee on his chest.
Henry reached in his pocket and put the shiny shiv to John John’s throat, prepared to use it.
“Okay! Okay!” he pleaded, his eyes shut tight. “I’ll tell you!”
“See. That wasn’t so hard. Was it?” Henry pulled the shiv away from John John’s throat.
Chapter Twenty
Norma didn’t know where she was. The space was dark in the sack encasing her head, and the wall behind her back was hard as stone. She heard the faint sound of a jazz band playing in the distance, or perhaps it was a Victrola. Her bottom crashed against the hardwood floor, which was colder than the snow outside where she may as well have been.
The strings of the itchy sack over her head squeezed her neck, and the rope around her wrists tore at the delicate skin. Luckily her ankles were still free, though she didn’t dare kick out at the bastard who caressed her thighs. Air was getting scarce inside the sack, and she wondered if that was where she would take her last breaths.
Love Easy Page 18