Trouble Boys (White Lightning Book 5)

by Debra Dunbar

  “That’s Buddy Seiler.”

  “Another one of you Baltimore gremlins?”

  Vincent smiled. “Yes.”

  “What’d you want?”

  “Sparks sent us,” Vincent replied. “There’s a meet at the cash room.”

  Lenny scowled. “Someone’s gonna pop that smug little shit right in the puss one of these days.”

  “Who, Floresta?”

  Lenny plodded forward after Buddy, who had started walking. “Gets his nose halfway up Luciano’s can, and now he thinks he’s the new prime.”

  Vincent squinted. “Prime?”

  “Prime pincher.”

  “Like Jonas O’Donnell?”

  Lenny crossed himself. “God rest his fucking soul.”

  Vincent thought it over as they proceeded up the street. “I was under the impression that O’Donnell wasn’t the personable sort.”

  “Yeah,” Lenny replied. “And that suited me just fine. Do your damn job. Go home. The higher-ups leave you alone and you get on with gettin’ on. Tongue-waggers like Sparks just get you volunteered into one hare-assed plan after another hare-assed plan. Early morning meetings so they can hear their own voices. Hell with him.”

  “So, who is the prime pincher if not Floresta?” Vincent ventured.

  “Sure as hell ain’t me,” Lenny replied.

  Buddy called from half a block up, “Which building is it?”

  Lenny pointed to a beige-stoned three-story just two doors down and across the street. “Top floor. We own the building, but we let out the bottom floor to keep up appearances.”

  They crossed the street, ducking between cars. As Vincent reached the far side, Lenny paused, glancing back at the ground. Without checking the traffic, he doubled back, bending over for a nickel lying flat on the road.

  A driver pumped the horn as he tried to steer free of the man. As the tires angled to the side, the entire vehicle fishtailed, sending half a ton of Ford engineering into Lenny. The front fender struck him in the shoulder, crumpling in on itself as the tire popped with a long hiss. The car’s rear end lifted several feet, dropping back onto the ground as the driver bloodied his nose on the steering wheel.

  Lenny stood up to examine the nickel, giving it a polish on his lapel before turning and shuffling back to the sidewalk without so much as a scratch.

  Vincent stared at the wreckage of the car, then again at Lenny.

  “You bulletproof, too?” Vincent asked.

  “When it counts,” he said as he pocketed the nickel and moved for the building.

  Later that night, Vincent stood outside the building, Pockets and Betty beside him. He had a plan for getting all three of them inside, but it had some significant risks. If this didn’t go off seamlessly, then he might end up Masseria’s number-one suspect in this robbery.

  “What’s the layout?” Polizzi asked.

  “Everything’s on the third floor,” Vincent replied as he watched Betty for sudden moves. “They got two apartments connected. Knocked a door into the adjoining wall. The safe’s in the second apartment. That hall door’s barred up good and tight. Be easier to punch through a wall than try it.”

  “So we go through the first apartment.”

  Vincent nodded, buttoning his jacket as the three huddled beneath a street lamp. A cold breeze flowed through the city, bringing a last gasp of the passing winter with it.

  Polizzi eyed the beige-stoned building from the corner. “I’m guessing they got a small army inside, loaded for bear?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Passwords?”

  “I think they got people watching from the first two floors. They’ll know if an uninvited guest shows up.”

  Betty crossed her arms. “Then how do we get in and out without them seeing us?”

  Vincent pinched time, walked around the back of Betty, then released the bubble again. “I have my means.”

  She jumped, twisted on her heel, then sent a fist into his jaw.

  Vincent’s head snapped to the side. He rubbed his jaw with a wince. “Remind me never to do that again.”

  Betty breathed hard through her nose, hands still clenched into fists.

  Polizzi chuckled. “You two are chicken and dumplings.”

  “More like chicken and a lit stick of dynamite,” Vincent muttered as they moved across the street.

  “Alright,” Vincent whispered as they reached the corner of the building. “They know me. I can get most of the way up. That’s all I’ll need. When I have a clear path, I’ll pull the two of you inside. Get ready for it, and if you pop into a room out of nowhere try not to gasp or shout or anything.” He peered at Betty. “Like taking a swing at the nearest mook.”

  Betty scowled. “No promises.”

  Vincent pulled open the door and entered the building. The hall lamps flickered from flimsy wiring, giving the front stairs the appearance of motion. He paused for a couple seconds in case one of the Masseria guards had staked out the first floor. No response.

  He proceeded up the stairs to the narrow halls of the second floor, allowing his shoes to clack against the floor boards and treads of the stairs to announce his presence.

  The moment he cleared the second landing, a door opened. A broad-shouldered thug in a suit stepped out of the door with a pistol in his hand.

  “Alright, hold it,” the man grunted.

  Vincent lifted his hands. “Take it easy, fella. I was here this morning.”

  The thug eyed him. “Don’t remember you.”

  A second door opened behind Vincent. This time a thin man in spectacles stepped into the hall.

  “It’s okay, Chuck,” the spectacled man declared. “He’s one of the Baltimore pinchers. He’s on the up and up.”

  Chuck with the Shoulders stepped back through his door, closing it gently behind him.

  Vincent peered at Spectacles. “Thanks. I lost my wallet today. Trying to retrace my steps.”

  The man nodded upstairs. “Most of the boys are into their cards. Go on up. It’s three knocks, then one, then two.”

  Vincent nodded, then took several steps toward the stairs. When the door closed behind him, he pinched time and pulled himself back down the stairs before releasing his time bubble.

  Betty jumped when he popped back into the flow of time in front of her.

  He held up his hands, bracing for her to take another swing. “Hey, easy.”

  Polizzi asked, “What’s the lay of the land?”

  “No one on the first floor that I can tell. Second floor, they have two lookouts.”

  Betty sneered. “We can take them out easily enough.”

  Polizzi groaned. “No, no, no. We’re in and out. No trace we were ever here.”

  Betty huffed and turned away.

  Vincent said, “I can pinch time and get us past the second-floor landing, but it’ll be work. I’ll have to dead-carry both of you up a flight of stairs.”

  Betty shook her head, still facing away. “You’re not laying a hand on me.”

  “Oh, shut up,” Polizzi snapped.

  Vincent rubbed his chin. “Unless…”

  “Unless what?” Polizzi prodded.

  “I haven’t tried it in a long while. It’s tricky. Takes concentration.”

  Betty turned to face him. “You’ll have to use your brain? We’re doomed.”

  Vincent ignored her. “When I pinch time, I create a bubble in the normal flow of the cosmos. Like a big rock in a fast-moving river. The spot right behind it turns into a whirlpool.”

  “Yeah?”

  “The bigger the rock, the more power it takes. Which means I try not to overextend the size of the bubble.”

  Polizzi shrugged. “Yeah, and?”

  “Well, I usually pinch the bubble of frozen time right over top of myself. It’s easier, and it’s how I’m used to doing it.”

  Betty narrowed her eyes. “But you can freeze time over someone else with you.”

  Vincent nodded. “Exactly. I did it�
��maybe twice before. Long time ago.”

  Polizzi asked, “What are the downsides?”

  “Takes more energy. Plus, the time bubble pops easy if I get distracted.”

  Polizzi said, “But the upside is we can march up those stairs without them being the wiser. It’s clean.”

  “The cash room is on the top floor. If we get you two up the stairs, you can wait while I give the daily knock.” Vincent peered at Polizzi. “Is it worth the risk?”

  “It’s up to you.”

  With a nod, Vincent turned back to the front of the building. He led them through the front door. Once they reached the top of the first flight of stairs, he held out a hand for them to wait. Vincent focused on the doors which the lookouts had popped out of. He closed his eyes and visualized the space of apartments across the hall one from the other. This would take not one, but two remote bubbles of frozen time.

  Vincent fanned out his fingers, tuning out his thoughts enough to feel the flow of time streaming past him. This subtle rush of seconds upon minutes tingled against his fingertips. He reached out with his consciousness to feel the rhythms and rushings inside and around his targets. With a gentle urging, he began to slow the flow of time around each apartment.

  “How long is this going to take?” Betty whispered.

  Vincent’s magic dropped. He opened his eyes to glare at Betty.

  Polizzi gave Betty a quick thump on the arm and Vincent started over, reaching out to create two bubbles of frozen time around each of the lookout rooms. The strain was considerable, and he found the two bubbles impossible for him to maintain. With a cock of his head Vincent laced the two bubbles together. The chaotic energies cascaded one into the other, finally settling into one humming pulse. Vincent eased that pulse into a slow beat, and then finally into a muddy stillness.

  He moved forward, the others behind him. Motioning for them to continue up to the next landing and hold still, he positioned himself in the spot he’d left when he fetched the others. Then Vincent released the time pinch.

  The energy crashed back into the normal flow of time. The first door opened, and the broad-shouldered lookout nearly leapt into the hall.

  Vincent glanced up at him impassively. The man muttered something under his breath, stepped back into the room and closed the door.

  First obstacle passed. On to the next.

  Vincent climbed to the others at the top of the next landing, pointed to the second door on the right and gave them a gesture to wait. He walked up to the door and did the secret knock. A bolt threw open, and a short man with a greasy comb-over stared up at Vincent.

  “Yeah, what?”

  “I was here earlier today. I think I dropped my wallet when I reached for a—”

  The man opened the door, cutting off Vincent’s practiced alibi. “Yeah, alright.”

  The short man turned back to a table with three of his coworkers, all with cards fanned out in front of their chests. Piles of cash and coin sat on the table, ready for the next wager.

  Vincent wandered into the room, searching around for the mythical lost wallet. The cover story gave him a good excuse to take in the room and the men inside. The cash room door was on the far side of the room, which would be easier on Vincent.

  He crouched down next to a sofa, pretending to look underneath for his wallet. He balled fists near his knees, clamped his eyes shut, then extended another bubble of frozen time over the card table. This was easier than two entire apartments. Confined space, limited radius. The bubble snapped into place, immobilizing the four men at their game.

  Vincent eased back up to his feet, finding it easier to move and maintain focus. He opened the hall door and gestured for Betty and Polizzi to approach.

  When Polizzi entered the room, he stopped to take in the scene before him.

  “Well, ain’t that a thing?” he whispered, eying four men frozen in time.

  Betty brushed past him. “It’s overrated”

  Vincent sighed. “This one’s easier than the last floor, but let’s not take any more time than is necessary.”

  Polizzi strode for the cash room door, pointing to it with a questioning look to Vincent. Vincent nodded. Polizzi reached for a padlock barring the door shut with a solid iron hasp, giving it a tug to test.

  “Okay, Betty,” he muttered. “Time for your voodoo.”

  “So, you picked up lock-picking since Ithaca?” Vincent asked her.

  Betty peered at the card table. With a quick jab, she thrust her arm into Vincent’s time bubble.

  He released a guttural breath as if someone punched him in the gut. With a redoubling of his willpower, he steadied the time bubble as Betty snatched a glass ashtray from the table, dumping the contents onto the lap of one of the card players.

  She strolled toward the padlock as Vincent released a long, whistling breath.

  “Please don’t do that again,” he huffed.

  Polizzi glared at the ash covering the gangster’s trousers. “What part of ‘leave no trace’ confused you?”

  Betty pressed the ashtray against the padlock. The chunk of steel sank into the glass like a hot knife through ice. Once the entire bottom of the padlock was immersed in a solid sphere of glass, Betty closed her eyes and gripped it with her fingertips. Tiny cracking noises filled the air as the glass filled the interior of the locks, manipulating the tumblers. Finally, with an exhale, Betty opened her eyes and pulled the lock open, slipping it from the hasp.

  “Neat trick,” Vincent said.

  Betty glanced at him over her shoulder, her brow lifted, mouth pulled into a triumphant grin.

  “The safe’s gonna be the hard part. Keep the time bubble up,” Polizzi told Vincent. “We’ll crack the vault and grab the stash as fast as we can.”

  Vincent nodded as Polizzi pulled the door open.

  The man stopped at the threshold, lifting his chin. “Damn…”

  Vincent peered over his shoulder into a room bare of furniture save for a single desk in the center of the room. The rest of the space was full of paper boxes loaded with dollar bills, a few stashes of jewelry, and no safe to speak of.

  “That’s a lot of loot,” Vincent said. “How many trips, do you think we’ll need? I don’t know if I can hold these mooks and the rooms downstairs at the same time, or manage this twice. I’m already feeling queasy.”

  Polizzi winced. “Just one trip. Give me a minute.”

  Polizzi entered the room, closing the door behind him.

  Betty stood next to Vincent, crossing her arms, hate radiating from the woman.

  “Can you tell me something?” Vincent asked her. “Why do you have it out for me? I mean, I know what they did to you at Ithaca. They did it to us both.”

  Betty glared. “You had it easy, you horse’s ass.”

  “There was nothing easy about it.”

  “Ten times easier than what I went through, and you know it.”

  He shook his head. “But that wasn’t my fault, and you know that.”

  “Who says this is about Ithaca, anyways?” She turned to face him. “You kidnapped me. Strolled right into my bar and took me to Vito Corbi.”

  “After you glassed my hands to the bar.”

  “After you threatened me.”

  “After you tried to kill me last year.”

  “After you killed my husband!”

  Vincent squinted. “Did Capstein really mean that much to you?”

  “How would you know what he meant to me?” she spat. “You killed him, then tried to sweet talk me into your little cult before his body was cold.”

  Vincent shook his head. “I seem to remember you trying to seduce me into sneaking you away from Capstein and up to Baltimore behind his back. Besides, the man was a lunatic. He was trying to scoop up or murder as many free pinchers as he could.”

  “And what were you doing?” she snarled. “Haven’t you been on the hunt for years, now?”

  “That’s…that was different.”

  “How?” she de
manded. “Because you’re supposed to be the good guy? You’re forgiven for everything you’ve done, every life you’ve taken? Just because you’re you and I’m me?”

  Vincent felt a trickle on his upper lip. He turned to find a hand inside the time bubble reaching slowly for cards. He balled his fists and refocused with a quick swear under his breath.

  “I hate you,” she declared. “It’s just that simple.”

  “Ain’t nothing simple in this life, Betty.”

  She snorted. “That’s what they want you to believe.”

  Vincent glanced at her. “They?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Unhappy with your situation? Maranzano not paying you enough?”

  Betty turned away, pacing toward the hallway door. “I told you to shut up.”

  “You want to know what I think?” he ventured.

  “You do love the sound of your own voice, don’t you?”

  “I think your hatred keeps you going. It got you through Ithaca. It’s getting you through Maranzano and certain defeat at the hands of Masseria’s gang. It’s the one constant in your life, and now that you’re working with me, you’re starting to see me as a human being. And that’s upsetting the one solid thing in your life. And I reckon that’s got you feeling rattled.”

  Betty leaned against the wall, her face twisting in fury. Before she could reply, the cash room door opened. Polizzi staggered out, face pale and clammy, a drop of blood running from his nostril. He turned and closed the door, taking a moment to catch his breath as he reached for the lock.

  Betty held out a hand, the remains of the ashtray lifting as a blob into midair, sliding to her palm.

  “We…should move,” Polizzi wheezed. As he replaced the padlock.

  Vincent eyed him in concern. He looked fine, otherwise. No cash stuffed into his trousers or jacket. No jewelry dangling from his lapel. But the man was clearly at the end of his magical reserve.

  Betty opened the hall door, guiding Polizzi through as he steadied himself against the door jamb.

  Vincent told them, “Wait at the top of the stairs. I have to play this out.”

  They closed the door behind themselves as Vincent crouched by the sofa once again. He released the time bubble, the weight of the persistent effect lifting like a Ford off his chest.