Trouble Boys (White Lightning Book 5)

by Debra Dunbar

  The sounds of gambling and merriment resumed. One of the gangsters swore loudly as he brushed ash off his lap.

  Vincent stood up with a shake of his head. “Sorry boys. Looks like I wasted your time.”

  Only one of them looked up in response. The comb-over goon squinted.

  “You okay, fella?”

  Vincent shrugged.

  The man pointed to his own nose.

  Vincent lifted a finger, wiping some blood from his nostril.

  “Oh, yeah. Smog gets to me sometimes.”

  The man nodded. “Yeah, it’s been hell this year.”

  He returned his attention to his own cards as Vincent took his leave of the room.

  The others huddled at the top of the stairs. Polizzi looked even paler.

  “You gonna make it?” Vincent whispered.

  “Less talk,” Polizzi replied. “More beating of feet.”

  Vincent slipped down the next flight of stairs, giving his nose another wipe with his finger. He clamped his fists closed, focusing on the two apartments. The load on his system was almost too much. But they were so close. It was almost done. He had to pinch those apartments one more time.

  Just one more time.

  He gripped the handrail to the stairs and threw all of his power into it, bridging the two bubbles to lighten the load.

  “Go. Now.”

  The others bustled down the stairs as his grip on the time bubbles thinned. As they reached the landing, Polizzi’s footing weakened. He stumbled and Betty tried to catch him. Flailing, Polizzi’s arm slammed into Betty’s chest, knocking her several steps down the hall.

  And right into the bridge of frozen time between the two apartments.

  A surge of pressure hit Vincent in the chest, sending his guts into a twist. The room spun, and he nearly fell down the last few steps as the load jerked the very life out of him. The bridge between the two bubbles snapped. Vincent’s spinning head could only grab hold of one of the two bubbles.

  One guard frozen in time. One not.

  Betty yelped as she fell backward onto the hall floor. Footsteps pounded behind the first door, which swung open to reveal the broad-shouldered lookout.

  “The hell?” he grunted, surveying the scene before him. One pale-faced man with a bloody nose, and a woman sprawled on the floor.

  “Pockets!” the thug grunted, lifting his piece and giving it a cock.

  Betty reached for the chunk of glass that had fallen from her hand as she fell. The glass snaked into the air in a savage arc, wrapping around the lookout’s gun arm.

  He wheezed as a wet, slicing noise filled the air. The gun dropped to the floor, along with the rest of the arm below the elbow.

  The thug stared at his arm in shock.

  Betty whipped the line of glass back behind her head, sending it around the man’s neck.

  Vincent closed his eyes, focusing his attention on the last remaining time bubble rather than the sound of a pop and something heavy hitting the floor.

  A hand landed on Vincent’s shoulder. He opened his eyes to find Betty staring at him. “Are you good?” she asked.

  Vincent nodded.

  “Then let’s go.”

  They made it down the last flight of stairs, and the last of Vincent’s power failed, dropping the time bubble overhead.

  As they staggered out onto the street, Polizzi pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket, waving it three times in the air. A car down the block swung onto the street, pulling to a stop beside them. Betty opened the back door, shoving Polizzi inside. She nodded for Vincent to join him. Once they were all loaded, the driver pressed his foot down.

  They made it to a train yard outside Queens as a light rain began to fall. Polizzi was barely hanging on to consciousness as both Vincent and Betty helped him through the mud of the yard and into a storehouse. Three men had gathered with oil lamps, a bare table set in the center of the building.

  Polizzi chuckled. “Gonna need…a bigger table.”

  He unbuttoned his jacket and reached inside to produce a wrapped stack of ten-dollar bills. And another. Then another. He continued, pulling handfuls of cash from inside his jacket until the entire surface of the table was covered with a single pile of cash. As the money poured from Polizzi’s jacket, Vincent watched in wonder.

  “So, that’s why they call you Pockets?” Vincent asked.

  Polizzi looked up at Vincent, some color returning to his face. “Sorry, pal. Thought you knew.”

  Soon the table was covered with stacks of cash high enough to wobble. Polizzi then turned to his trousers pockets to unload the jewelry, dropping them in neat piles onto the ground. Vincent left Polizzi to unload the haul, turning back to the open door and the falling rain. Betty lingered by the door, arms wrapped around herself.

  “You saved our bacon back there,” Vincent muttered.

  “I saved myself.” She shifted her weight. “They’ll know it was me. Arm and head cut clean off. Only one glass pincher in town. Masseria’s going to know it was us. I’m a dead woman.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. His goons don’t look that smart.”

  Betty shook her head. “Catena is. He’ll put it together. And Maranzana doesn’t care enough about me to save my neck either.”

  “Sparks will run interference for us. Let’s not worry until it’s a problem.” He turned back to take in the loot they’d robbed. “Think this’ll put Masseria back at all?”

  She shrugged. “That’s big picture stuff. I’m just here to kill.”

  “Are you, though? Or are you just biding your time?”

  She glanced at him with a puzzled expression. “Biding time for what, exactly?”

  “I don’t know. Something better to live for?”

  “Have you found anything better?” she asked, her lip curled in a sneer.

  Vincent nodded, feeling a sappy smile curl his lips upward. “Yeah. Matter of fact, I have.”

  Betty stared at him for a moment before looking away. “Yeah, well…you’re an imbecile.”

  A grunt behind them captured Vincent’s attention. Polizzi staggered for the table, reaching to steady himself. His hand slapped the side of the cash, sending it and himself spilling onto the ground.

  Vincent rushed over to check on him.

  Polizzi coughed, spitting up some blood.

  “You gonna make it?” Vincent asked.

  Polizzi caught his breath. “Remind me never to do that again.”

  He gestured for one of the goons standing over him. The man produced a flask and handed it to Polizzi who unscrewed it to take a sip.

  “A little white lightning?” Vincent asked.

  “Curative. One of the boys who used to work for us made some before he got stitched last fall.”

  “Water pincher?” Vincent prodded.

  Polizzi nodded, his breath returning in deep heaves.

  Vincent guided Polizzi to a sitting position as his health returned. Polizzi stood, steadying himself as he handed back the flask.

  Vincent patted his chest. “Good work.”

  “You, too. Learned a new trick tonight, huh?”

  Vincent shrugged. “Maybe I’m not such an old dog. Speaking of good work, I think Betty deserves…”

  They turned for the open door, but Betty was gone.

  Polizzi grumbled, “Now, where’d she run off to this time?”

  Vincent trotted for the door, staring out into the dark nighttime rain. No sign of Betty.

  “She was worried Masseria’s people would link her to that surgical butchering she pulled off,” Vincent said. “Maybe she’s gone to clean up?”

  Polizzi shook his head. “That woman’s a bag of cats. There’s no figuring her out.”

  Vincent continued staring into the rain, wondering if that was true.

  Chapter 16

  “Whoever did this thing, I want him dead!” Joe Masseria paced around the meeting room, shoulders hunched. Words continued to pour from his mouth with spits and snarls as he mixed It
alian with English.

  Vincent watched Catena from his position in the room. The consigliere stood vigil in the corner, arms bent, hands in his pockets.

  Masseria waved a fist in the air. “There will be blood! I will return this attack tenfold!”

  Everyone in the room stood stiff, bracing for an order to go to war. Floresta stood alongside Vincent in an equally stiff posture, though he seemed pleased enough before the meeting with their accomplishment. Luciano, for his part, seemed as uninterested in Masseria’s bluster as Catena.

  Once Masseria had expended his anger and his saliva, he spun on a heel to exit the room, slamming the door behind him. After a few seconds of silence, Catena eased himself away from the corner to address the rest of the room.

  “Alright, gentlemen,” he began, “we have work to do. The damage is about thirty thousand in cash, and five thousand worth of gold and gems. We got the worthless sons of bitches who decided playing cards was more important than guarding the cash locked up downstairs. So far, they seem to know nothing.”

  Catena’s eyes shifted toward Vincent, then away again.

  “There was one body at the scene. Lou. Some of you knew him.”

  A few nods in the room.

  “He was cut to pieces by whoever did this. Floresta? We have the body downstairs. I want you to take a look. See if you can sniff out whether there are any pinchers in town with that sort of talent. The usual suspects…and newcomers.”

  Floresta nodded once more, glancing to Vincent as Catena dismissed the meeting. The two huddled together by the front door as the rest of Masseria’s crew received marching orders.

  Vincent whispered, “Masseria seriously doesn’t know who’s behind this?”

  “Catena sure as hell knows,” Floresta replied. “Which means he’ll bring the talent into this.” He nodded in warning as Lefty approached around the desks with Buddy in tow.

  “I think we came at the right time, Floresta,” Lefty said. “Your pals in Queens decided to make this trip interesting.”

  Floresta shrugged. “If it’s Maranzano’s people, then they’ve just decided on an early retirement.”

  Buddy stepped forward. “Is this normal? No one knows anything?”

  Lefty patted him on the shoulder. “Oh, they know. This is pageantry. Bluster meant to get the blood up with the foot soldiers.”

  They all fell silent as a figure approached. Luciano pulled his hands from his pockets and gestured with a single finger for them to follow him onto the street. The group filed through the front doors, gathering around Luciano as he squinted in the sunlight.

  “No war,” the man said. “Not yet. We find the glass pincher.”

  “What glass pincher?” Buddy asked.

  “What about your pinchers?” Lefty asked, ignoring Buddy’s question. “Is this on us contractors, or are your boys getting in the game?”

  “You meet with them today. Behave yourselves.” Luciano turned and walked up the street.

  Floresta sighed. “Well, folks. We have ourselves a ballgame. You’ll meet with Lenny and Augustus today.”

  “Are those all the pinchers you got?” Lefty asked.

  “Unfortunately. It’s been a bloody month.”

  “What about Maranzano?” Lefty prodded. “What does he have in terms of magical power?”

  “A glass pincher by the name of Betty Sharp. And then there’s Pockets.”

  Lefty nodded. “Betty, I know. What about this Pockets fella?”

  Vincent muttered, “I’m familiar with him. He’s a pocket pincher. If he can hold it, he can stuff it in his coat.”

  Lefty chuckled. “Seriously? What use is that?”

  “You’d be surprised,” Vincent muttered.

  The Baltimore delegation withdrew for a light lunch, waiting for word from Luciano where to meet the others. Word came late afternoon. They were to meet at a closed-up theater on the south side of Queens near Harlem.

  The rain from the previous night had swept the streets clean, and a warm front from the south kicked enough humidity into the air to make the city feel uncomfortable. As they waited at the theater for Floresta to arrive, Vincent shuffled over next to Lefty.

  “Things are about to pop off,” Lefty grumbled. “Hope you’re ready.”

  “I’m ready.”

  Lefty checked Buddy’s location. The youth had his back turned to the two, inspecting a leaflet that was discarded from a show several months before the theater was shuttered.

  Lefty whispered, “Tell me you had nothing to do with this robbery.”

  “I had nothing to do with this robbery,” Vincent replied matter-of-factly.

  “Then why is it I don’t believe you?”

  “When would I have time or resources to knock over Masseria’s cash room? Besides, you heard the man. If Betty Sharp is in the city, do you really think I’d be in line to help her butcher the people we’re here to help?”

  Lefty lifted his chin, then nodded. “Good point. Though that might prove problematic for us later.”

  “Trust me, I know.”

  Lefty peered at Buddy again. “He’s loosening up. I don’t know what you told him, but he’s been talking you up.”

  Vincent blinked. “What?”

  “Yeah. Asking me when the two of you can put your heads together. He’s trying.” Lefty jabbed a finger into Vincent’s chest. “You have a chance to keep this boy from making all the mistakes you made. So, consider that. Will ya?”

  Vincent gave Lefty a sober nod.

  A figure approached from the south, a lean black man in a wide-brimmed Stetson and a long coat. His face was lean, as was the rest of his frame.

  “Heads up,” Vincent called to Buddy.

  The stranger stood in front of the group, hands on his hips. “Why, there y’all are,” he boomed. “Punctual. I like that.”

  Vincent stepped forward, a hand extended. “Vincent Calendo.”

  The man eyed his hand. He gave Vincent’s hand a shake. “Augustus Henry.”

  Lefty gave the man a nod. “Call me Lefty. And that one’s Buddy Seiler.”

  Augustus turned to glance up the street. “So, Sparks and Lennie are late as usual?”

  Vincent shrugged.

  “Yep.” Augustus eyed the doors. “Still locked up?”

  Buddy reached out to test the doors, which rattled but remained closed.

  Augustus pulled off his hat to reveal a shining, bald head. He held the hat out for Buddy. “Hold that for me, Buster.”

  Buddy squinted at the man as he pressed a hand against the crack between the doors.

  Augustus nodded, then turned to the side, pressing his shoulder against the crack. He inched into the doors, his body easing onto the brass stiles as if melting into them. He gave Buddy a wink as his face disappeared between the doors as easily as a slip of paper. And then he was gone.

  Vincent muttered, “Well, that’s gonna sit in my head.”

  After a while, a clatter from the side alley caught their attention. Augustus rounded the side of the building with a smile. He reached for his hat, snatching it from Buddy’s hands and setting it back onto his head.

  “Y’all follow me.”

  They entered the theater building from a side entrance which Augustus had unbolted from the inside. The building was dark and musty. Dust hung in the air, dancing like krill through the air vaulting above rows of velvet cushioned seats facing an art deco proscenium.

  “Guess they cut off the power,” Lefty grumbled.

  Vincent nodded to a row of windows above the mezzanine, all battened shut with sliding shutters.

  Buddy reached into his pocket to pull four nickels.

  “Give me a little room,” he said.

  Vincent eased away as Buddy rotated his shoulder, loosening the joint. He bent his knees to shift his weight back and forth, then whipped a nickel into the air as if skipping it across a pond. The nickel sailed across the room, flipping sideways as it curved up over the balcony rail. The slug of metal sm
acked a lever beside the shutters, and the slats dropped open to send a shaft of dusty light pouring into the space. He continued three more times, each nickel slicing an impossible arc through the air and dropping the shutters open with unearthly precision.

  When the last shutter had opened and the space was well lit, the others offered Buddy a hearty clap.

  Vincent nodded as Buddy reached to wipe a trickle of blood from his nostril. “Was it the distance?”

  Buddy grinned at him. “Trick shots aren’t easy.”

  “You’d rather just shoot a bastard in the street, huh?”

  “Better I shoot him than the other way around.”

  The front doors rattled as someone attempted to pull them open. A spate of profanity muffled against the locked doors as the rattling subsided.

  Augustus cupped hands over his mouth to shout, “Side door, Lennie!”

  After a minute, Lennie entered through the side, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the dim light inside.

  “Ain’t no one got a damn key to this place?” the man grumbled.

  Floresta entered behind Lennie, reaching for a wall switch with a handful of purple light. The bulbs along the proscenium flickered to life with angry buzzing.

  Augustus tipped his hat to his compatriots. “Got a plan for us, Sparks? Or is Lucky leaving us to kick up our own mischief?”

  Floresta took a seat in one of the chairs, crossing his legs. “Everyone with a brain knows Maranzano’s behind the hit on the cash room. Poor Lou had an arm and his head nicked off his body clean.”

  “That hellcat bitch of his, huh?” Lennie grumbled.

  Floresta sighed. “Time’s not right to bring this into the streets. Maranzano hit us on the sly. Lou probably stepped out at the wrong time. Otherwise, this was supposed to be bloodless. Least, that’s how I size it up.”

  Augustus chuckled. “Well, it weren’t.”

  “Where does that leave us?” Vincent pressed.

  “Masseria put Luciano in charge of this. Lucky’s word on this is to keep it quick and quiet.”

  Buddy asked, “Why don’t we just clean house? I don’t understand.”

  Floresta uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “There are political considerations. We have the other families in line. We might lose their cooperation if we make this fight…vulgar. Whichever families go full-war end up weaker once the dust settles.”