by Debra Dunbar
“Yeah, me, too.” He sighed. “And speaking of which, how is Brigid O’Toole feeling today?”
She jabbed him in the ribs. “She’s tired of doing the heavy lifting.”
Vincent chuckled and gathered her under an arm to stroll back away from the wharf. “I had to think fast and cover for you with Polizzi. If I’d known you were pulling out some alter ego, I would’ve been prepared.”
“It was a bit of an improvisation. But it’s working.”
“I’ll say. Catena wouldn’t shut up about you.”
Hattie paused. “What, now?”
“I think you’ve made an impression.”
She relaxed a bit under his arm. “Good to hear. I was really worried I’d blown it with him. So, what have you found out so far?”
“Luciano’s behind all of this,” Vincent told her. “He’s behind Vito getting a new pincher, us being summoned to Masseria. It’s all been orchestrated by Luciano through Sparks Floresta.”
Hattie winced. “He’s a real bastard.”
“No argument here.”
“I saw him with you at Masseria’s.”
“You’ll remember him from the Ithaca auction.” He stopped and swiveled to face Hattie. “Speaking of which, do you remember the glass pincher at that same auction?”
She nodded. “Capstein’s wife? The one who nearly cut your leg off in front of everyone?”
“She’s sworn to kill me, if that paints a more colorful picture.”
“You seem to have that effect on women,” Hattie teased. “So what about her?”
“Do you remember who bought her at that auction?”
“Just some goons from New York.” Hattie’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, no. She’s with Masseria?”
“Maranzano.”
“Well, isn’t that just a handful of shite?”
Vincent chuckled. “She nearly cut me to ribbons the other night. Polizzi reined her in, but this won’t be easy.”
“Wait,” Hattie tilted her head to look up him. “Why were you talking to Polizzi?”
“That’s Luciano’s play. Double-deal on Masseria. Give Maranzano a hand destabilizing their power base. Then get them both in a weak position. Bang, bang. Luciano’s the last man standing. If we help make that happen, he’ll give us carte blanche to go after Corbi.”
Hattie scowled. “Why would he do that?”
Vincent stared back to the fish market and the water beyond. “He got to talking about the future of pinchers and doing business. Talking about progress. I don’t know if he was shining sunlight up my trousers, or if he’s ready for the sort of future you and I’ve been talking about.”
She eyed him askance. “Sounds a bit too good to be true.”
He shrugged. “At the very least, he’s sympathetic to pinchers in some way. At least Floresta’s sold. Might be why they were hot to trot trying to land me at that Ithaca auction.”
Hattie crossed her arms. “I’m not about to trust another gangster. They do this, boy-o. They devour each other like lions.”
Vincent wrinkled his nose. “Lions eat each other?”
Hattie laughed, then shook her head. “Don’t call me out on my metaphors. I have enough problems.”
“Right now, Luciano is the one in play. We let Masseria’s people take down Maranzano. Then when they’re softened up, we go for the kill. Both houses are toppled. Luciano is the Capo di tutti Capi. Then we can turn our full attention on the Baltimore Crew.”
Hattie sighed. “Ever get the feeling we could just do it ourselves and save some trouble? I mean, we’re playing in the devil’s sandbox already.”
“The worry has always been that we take down Corbi only to find him replaced by some New York goons with more smarts and firepower,” he countered. “Getting a commitment that the New York families will ignore what we’re doing in Baltimore, that they’ll keep their noses out of our business, is key.”
“You’re right.” The tension returned to her face once more. “I’m going to meet Maranzano today.”
Vincent nodded. “I’m meeting with his pinchers again tonight. Any advice?”
“He’s losing the war. He knows it and Masseria knows it. That silver-mopped lawyer of his drove that much home. Shouldn’t be too much of a chore convincing him you’re on his side. I suspect he wants to believe it, anyhow. What I’m worried about is Sharp.”
“Yeah,” Vincent said. “Me, too.”
A voice barked from between buildings, “Then you’ll need backup.”
Vincent nearly jumped out of his skin as he turned to spot Maria peering at them from an alley. “Well. That’s just unsettling.”
Hattie looked over at the earth pincher. “What’re you doing here?”
Maria stepped up beside them. “My job. Watching your back.”
Vincent chuckled. “You think I’m that dangerous?”
Maria shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, I work for her. Not you.”
“But you want to back me up with Maranzano’s pinchers?” he asked.
Maria nodded. “It’s why we’re here, right? If this glass pincher is so damn dangerous, you’ll want someone watching over you from the shadows.”
Hattie nodded. “It’s a good thought.”
Vincent scowled. “Yeah, if I wanted a babysitter—”
Hattie punched him in the arm. “This was your idea, you turnip. You brought us here to help.
He lifted his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I have an escort, so you’ll have to find your own way there, though.”
“She’ll have been there all day,” Hattie told him. “Remember?”
“Oh. Right.”
They reached Mrs. Dunne’s house. The old woman was sweeping the stoop, pausing to lift a brow as the trio approached.
“Top o’ the morning,” she declared in a scratchy brogue.
“Good morning,” Vincent replied with a grin, placing a kiss on Hattie’s cheek before turning to Maria. “The meet’s at nine p.m.”
He strolled up the street, a vigorous conversation taking place behind him. He just kept walking, leaving Hattie to whatever issue her temporary landlady might have taken with that kiss.
Night fell at some point that day. He’d spent most of it indoors with Buddy, discussing the finer points of their magical limits. Buddy, as it turned out, could easily kill himself by attempting to hit a target too far away. Vincent kept the descriptions of his own powers general, and suspected Buddy had done the same. It was common among pinchers to understate their own abilities.
The trick would be finding yet another way of brushing off Buddy tonight, before his intrigues with Floresta could commence. Though Lefty seemed resigned to Vincent’s evasion, he took delight in making it difficult. So, Vincent feigned a stomach ache and made his exit through the window, scaling the fire escape to the street where Floresta was waiting.
“Took you long enough,” Floresta grumbled.
“You have the luxury to come and go as you please, you mook. Don’t start.”
Floresta drove to some tenements on the border of Queens and the Bronx, where Polizzi and Betty were waiting. As Vincent stepped out of the car, Betty turned her back to him.
Polizzi stepped forward to shake Vincent’s hand. “She’s in a mood.”
“When isn’t she?”
“Good point. Alright, the big man won’t be joining us tonight.”
Floresta scowled. “I was told he’d be here.”
“Yeah, well, plans change.”
Vincent asked, “What changed?”
“He had a meet today with some broad from Baltimore. Got him in a twiffle.”
Vincent lifted a brow. “A twiffle?”
“The closest thing the old man gets to excited. He ran off to Atlantic City to press some flesh and pull some strings. He put this in my hands.”
Betty marched away.
“Is she gonna be a problem?” Floresta asked Polizzi.
“Nah. She knows better than to thumb her nose at the
boss. She’ll get it done.”
Vincent shook his head, feeling as if they’d completely lost control of the situation. “What is it we’re getting done, anyways?”
Polizzi gathered them into a huddle. “So, Masseria owns four or five buildings in and around Brooklyn. We’re too low in manpower to scout them all out, but we know that he keeps most of his treasury in one of these apartments.”
“He keeps his money in an apartment?” Vincent asked.
“Safer than a bank.”
“How do you figure?”
“Banks don’t got as many choppers guarding the vault.”
Vincent nodded. “I suppose so.”
Floresta cleared his throat. “I know which one.”
“I figured as much,” Polizzi said.
“The one on Bergen,” Floresta added. “In Prospect Heights.”
Polizzi turned to Betty, who watched from several yards away. “Bergen.”
She grinned at him. “I told you.”
“Yeah, yeah…” Polizzi turned back to the others. “The plan is to hit their treasury at night. We do it clean, quick and quiet.”
“No guns blazing?” Vincent asked.
The pocket pincher shook his head. “We can’t afford to light the fuse just yet. We’re down on manpower, and the other families are about ready to back Masseria as it is. If we pop off the firecracker, it’ll be curtains for all of us.”
Floresta nodded toward Vincent. “Our man, here, has a way with getting in and out quiet-like.”
“Yeah. Time pincher, huh? That’ll be useful.”
Vincent frowned, feeling completely lost and not liking it one bit. “So, this is a robbery?”
“The old man’s ready to buy some guns for this Baltimore connection. He’ll need cash, and every cent Masseria don’t got is as good as a dollar in our pockets. You just get me inside their money room. I’ll get it out.”
Vincent smirked. “How much cash can you stuff into those magic pockets of yours?”
Polizzi shrugged. “I’d love to find out!”
“Alright,” Vincent sighed. “When?”
“Has to be tomorrow night,” Polizzi replied. “We got a window, what with the baby and all.”
Once more Vincent was completely lost. “What baby?”
Polizzi gestured to Floresta, who answered, “Two of Masseria’s pinchers had a baby last month. The parents got greased in a dust-up a few weeks ago, so Masseria has a good dozen or so of his best men guarding the tadpole. They’re thin on skilled manpower right now.”
“That’s convenient,” Vincent drawled
Floresta shrugged. “Yeah. It’s almost like I planned for this.”
“How many pinchers does Masseria have in total?”
“Four,” Floresta answered. “The baby obviously won’t be of any use for at least a decade. That leaves three. You’re looking at one of them now. Which leaves Lenny and Augustus.”
Vincent squinted. “I haven’t seen hide or hair of these pinchers since we got here.”
“There’s a reason for that. Lenny’s got a problem.” Floresta made a glass-tipping gesture. “He likes to bend the elbow. Only got worse since O’Donnell took the dirt nap.”
“And the other?”
“Augustus,” Floresta reminded him. “That’s the one you gotta keep your eyes peeled for. He’s a colored man from Texas. He’s all smiles and southern charm and likes to hang back in the shadows, but when Masseria needs someone taken care of quietly, he’s like the grim reaper.”
“What’s his power?”
“He’s a Squeeze Pincher. You give him a crack under a locked door, he’ll press himself flat and slip through that crack before he slips a knife between your ribs.”
Vincent frowned. “How will we know if he’ll be at this money room?”
Floresta said, “Leave that to me. The three of you just get the cash without being seen. I’m serious about that. Masseria can’t know Maranzano’s people were behind this.” He pointed to Vincent. “And even worse, that you’re involved.”
“I got it,” Vincent muttered. “Alright. Tomorrow night, then.”
Polizzi shook his hand.
Vincent turned to Betty, then lifted a hand. “Give me a second, gents.”
He stepped up the walk toward Betty, who crossed her arms with a sneer.
“What?” she snapped as Vincent stood in front of her.
“We’re gonna be working together, Betty. Like it or not. This is delicate. You understand glass, so let me get metaphorical. This whole plan to take down Masseria is a glass figure with tiny, thin pieces. You and I? We’re putting strain on those pieces. Too much strain, and the whole thing’ll snap. And then we bleed.”
Betty glared. “You don’t have to talk to me like I’m a child. I understand the situation.”
“I’m just saying, let’s ease up on the pressure. Huh?”
“Look. You do your part. I’ll do my part. We don’t have to talk. We don’t have to look each other in the eye. And when it’s all done and Masseria goes down, then I’ll kill you.”
“And in the meantime?” Vincent asked.
“In the meantime, I’ll do my best to keep pointed objects away from your throat.”
Vincent shrugged. “What is your part in this, anyway?”
Betty uncrossed her arms and stepped past him. “Someone’s gotta pick the lock.”
As Vincent followed her back to the others, he scanned the surrounding alleys and rooftops for Maria, hoping he hadn’t just wasted her evening.
Floresta drove him back to the Monarch, dropping him off three doors down for Vincent to find a way to make a discreet entrance. Instead, Vincent lingered in an alley between a grocer and a haberdashery. He pressed his back against the bricks and waited.
In time, a woman swept around the corner, breathless.
“I was too far away to hear. Anything you need me to tell Hattie?” Maria asked, panting.
He grinned at her. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow. Are you okay?”
She shook her head. “Couldn’t…get a car. Had to run.”
“Appreciate you being there,” Vincent said. “Sorry, you ran all that way, though. I’ll let Hattie know what went down in person.”
Maria’s face drew long. “It’s just… Does she not trust me?”
Vincent frowned. “What makes you think that?”
Maria turned to lean against the wall alongside Vincent. “She keeps taking these meetings without me. I’m not included in what you both talk about. And now you won’t even tell me what went down back there.”
“She wants you to guard her back. Hard to do that when both of you are in the room. And I know she updates you on everything that’s going on, including what I tell her. The reason we meet alone is…” He grinned sheepishly. “Well, we don’t have a lot of time for romance lately, you know.”
Maria snorted, then covered up the laugh with her hand. “Okay. Fair enough, I guess.”
“Listen, I probably shouldn’t tell you this,” Vincent added. “Hattie invited you on this trip for one specific reason. She wanted to prove to the rest of the Charge that you were someone she could trust, someone she can rely upon to pick up the reins when needed, to be a leader. She’s not waiting for you to screw up. She’s waiting for you to deliver.”
Maria blinked at him in surprise. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to deliver? She’s here and there and everywhere, and I feel like I’m in a whirl just trying to keep up with what she’s planning and doing.”
“That’s Hattie.” Vincent smiled. “I feel the same way most of the time. I can’t even manage to find a way to ask…” He didn’t finish the sentence. Hell, it almost slipped out.
Unfortunately, Maria was sharp enough to piece it together. She spun around and gripped both of his arms. “Are you serious?” she squealed.
He squirmed away from her. “It’s nothing. Never mind.”
Maria pressed, “You’re popping the question?” Her face broa
dened into a delirious smile. “When? When are you gonna—?”
“I don’t know, dammit.” He stepped in to lower his voice. “It’s harder than it looks.”
“Do you have a ring?”
He nodded.
“Okay. Alright. She wants me to deliver? I’ll deliver. And so will you.” Maria reached for his head, tousling his hair.
“Hey,” he grumbled, pulling away to smooth it back down.
“We both got work to do.” She stepped for the street, pausing to turn back to face him. “Thanks, though.”
“For what?”
“Understanding.”
He shrugged, then nodded.
Maria trotted away, rounding the corner of the alley and out of sight while Vincent stood stiff, straightening his hair. Well, he was going to have to trust Maria eventually. Might as well have been tonight.
Chapter 14
“C’mon, boys. You’re leaving a girl to drink alone?”
A round of faces wreathed in sweat and five o’clock shadows grinned bashfully back at Hattie. She lifted her empty glass to give it a waggle at Pauly.
He shook a quick martini for Hattie, or rather for Brigid, reaching underneath the bar for the good stuff. None of the boys gathered around her seemed eager to press her for conversation, much less anything untoward. They hovered in a cloud of expectant silence, cowed at this point by the legend of Brigid O’Toole and her new association with Salvatore Maranzano.
“Well, if you’re all to be so ungallant, then I suppose there’s nothing for it but to buy you lot a round.”
Pauly lifted his chin as the young bucks finally responded with a cheer. He grabbed a mismatched assortment of shot glasses, pouring from the watered-down bottles. As the bargain basement gin was passed around and pounded by the patrons, Pauly gave Brigid a discreet nod. There was no way he would actually charge her for the drinks. Especially not with Maria looming in the corner like a panther poised to strike. No, Hattie knew she was robbing him blind by giving away his liquor like that. She’d make it up to him somehow.
“Hey, uh… Miss?” one of the men ventured. “Where ya from, anyways?”
“Old Dublin Town, boy-o,” she replied. “Where we know a thing or two about having your hard work trodden on by fat men who never leave their desks.”