by Debra Dunbar
Hattie looked into the distance, a sappy smile curling her lips upward. “Aye. It was him.”
“You know, if you ever needed God to tell you who to marry, this would be the next best thing to a burning bush.”
Hattie felt her face go hot and jabbed the other pincher in the ribs. “I’m not thinking about marriage. Not right now.”
Maria squinted an eye at her. “That’s a load of bull feathers.”
“You know what these gangs do to their pinchers, yes? They breed them like rabbits in a warren.”
“But you’re a free pincher.”
“Vincent’s not. And there’s a few in the Crew that know what I am. We marry and they talk, then I’m no longer free. And any children we have will be slaves.”
“You think Vincent won’t protect you and his children?” Maria snorted. “You’ve seen that man in action. He may act like a well-dressed goon, but he’s smart and he’s ruthless when it comes to what he cares about. And you? You’ve kept a whole lot of pinchers free, including yourself.”
Hattie squirmed “Until every pincher has the same freedom to choose a life, I’d be a hypocrite looking for my happily ever after.”
Maria rolled her eyes. “You deserve some happiness of your own, Hattie. Besides, have you ever asked what Vincent wants? Because I’m thinking he wants a happily ever after with you.”
“Then what in the hell is he waiting for,” Hattie snapped. “He won’t do more than kiss me, because of some old-fashioned ideas of gentlemanly behavior, but he’s not made any move to take what we have any further in terms of commitment.”
Maria made an odd noise, as if she were holding back a laugh. “That so?”
“I’ve slept in a bed with him twice, and both times he’s kept all his clothes on.” She sniffed. “Last time I’m naked in a towel and he doesn’t even get a wandering hand.”
That did make Maria laugh. The woman put her hand on Hattie’s shoulder. “He’s a chivalrous man, like some kind of knight in a book about King Arthur or something. He respects you, and this is his way of showing it. Plus he knew that you needed sleep more than you needed any tossing in the sheets.”
Hattie glared at the ground. “Well, he’s wrong.”
Maria patted her shoulder. “Give the man time. There’s a lot’s been going on these past few weeks. I can tell he loves you, and I’m sure he’s working up to something.”
Hattie rolled her eyes, thinking that Maria was being overly optimistic. “I was happier without the talking.”
“We could be here for hours. What else do you want to do?”
Hattie slid down the wall, resting on her heels as she crouched against the stone. “Think happy thoughts?”
Maria abandoned conversation as they waited. She ended up on the ground beside Hattie, staring across the back lot at the rear of another building almost identical to this one. Gray stones. Power lines. Fuzzy nighttime light hanging in haloes over streetlamps.
An hour passed, then a portion of another. Maria’s head slipped off the stones, nudging Hattie’s shoulder.
“Oy,” Hattie grumbled with a sharp shrug. “You’re drifting off.”
Maria sniffled and sat upright. “Sorry.”
“Anything?” Hattie grumbled.
Maria pulled herself to her feet, cracking her knuckles before resting her fingertips against the smooth stone blocks lining the exterior of the building. Her fingers pressed into the stone, pushing to the first knuckle as Maria closed her eyes.
“Quiet, now. Some buffalo down the hall is snoring enough to shake my fingernails.” She lifted a brow as she drew in a breath. “Wait.”
Hattie scrambled to her feet.
Maria whispered, “Footsteps.”
“In her apartment?”
Maria squeezed her eyes tight in concentration. “I think so.”
“Good enough to take a shot, then.”
Maria pulled her fingers out of the stone, opening her eyes as she shook out her hand. “What’s the play?”
“I think it’s high time Miss Sharp met Brigid O’Toole.”
They marched around the front of the building, climbing the stairs to the second floor.
Maria eyed Hattie as she pinched light around herself to don Brigid’s face. “How dangerous will it be knocking on that door?”
“Fair point,” Hattie replied. “Give it some space, perhaps?”
Maria scowled as she turned to walk up the hall, while Hattie waited in the stairwell. She adjusted the straps of her dress, then faced the door, stepping away a full pace before giving it a brisk knock. Then they waited. Just as Maria began to turn back toward Hattie, the knob twisted and the door opened a crack to reveal sharp, savage eyes glaring at her from beneath a disorderly mane of blonde hair.
Maria set her jaw. “You Betty? Betty Sharp?”
“Who the hell wants to know?”
“You can call me Maria.”
“You one of Masseria’s people?”
Maria eyed the stairs, then replied, “No. I work for Brigid O’Toole.”
Betty shook her head. “Never heard of her.”
“I think you have,” Maria said.
“Alright, I don’t like you already.”
She closed the door and Maria shrugged at Hattie.
The door opened again. Betty peered at Maria with narrow eyes. “Wait. You said who, now?”
“Brigid O’Toole,” Hattie declared in full Irish brogue as she marched down the hallway. She pinched light around her to brighten the colors of her dress, pulling as much majesty around her as possible.
Betty eased the door open, eyes on this mysterious woman.
Hattie stood in front of her door, hands on hips. “It’s a pleasure meeting you.”
Betty nodded slowly. “You’re the one who’s buying the guns from Maranzano.”
“The same. May we come in?”
Hattie marched for the door before Betty could respond. She pressed the door open, stepping past Betty and into a scene from a jewelry store. Shelves upon shelves of tiny glass figurines glistened in the flickering candle light from Betty’s kitchen. Her table was a solid glass sculpture, a flat surface scalloping out of a clear base shaped with lion’s feet.
Hattie took in the room with wide eyes. “This is absolutely brilliant. You’re an artist, then?”
Betty stood rigid at the door.
Maria consumed the door frame, waiting for Betty to move inside.
Betty picked up the hint and shuffled back into her own apartment as Maria closed the door behind them.
“You’re a gangster or something?” Betty mumbled.
“Gangster?” Hattie snickered. “That’s such a masculine word, isn’t it?”
“What do you call yourself, then?” Betty asked.
“An entrepreneur. It’s a French word. It means ‘one who seizes life by the testes and squeezes until it gives you want you want.’”
Betty grinned. “All that, huh?”
“You work for Maranzano. That was an observation, not a question.”
Betty said, “And you’re ready to go to war with Vito Corbi. Also an observation.”
“Assuming your boss has the means to secure the material I require.”
Betty dropped onto a sofa, crossing her legs beneath her. “I think the question is whether you really have the money.”
“Is there any doubt?” Hattie retorted as she sat in a chair across from Betty.
“More than a little.” Betty eyed Maria. “Who’s your goon?”
Maria stiffened as Betty smirked at her.
Hattie nodded. “She’s been called worse, I assure you. She’s my pincher, naturally.”
“Then you are a gangster.”
“If you insist. Though I feel the time has come not only to retire that term, but the entire group as it stands.”
Betty pursed her lips.
Hattie added, “The gangs, I mean.”
“You’re one of those types.” She uncrossed her legs a
nd moved for the door, brushing Maria aside. “I’ve heard this before. Not interested.”
As Betty held the door open for the two, Hattie remained seated.
“Your life is in jeopardy,” Hattie declared.
“What’s new?”
“They were here, Betty. Today. Masseria’s pinchers were here inside your apartment.”
Betty eased the door closed. “Here?”
“That tall Texan lad? He slipped right through the crack of your door. Good thing you weren’t home.”
“Good thing for him,” Betty spat with a frown.
Maria smirked. “But the short one…you can’t hurt him, can you?”
Betty glared at Maria, then nodded. “Lenny. He’s got some tough skin.”
Hattie said, “They’ve made you the scapegoat. One tiny robbery, and they’re ready to sacrifice a woman on the altar of keeping the peace.”
Betty crossed her arms. “They had me figured out, huh?”
“Wasn’t hard,” Hattie replied. “Glass cuts clean. Masseria isn’t ready to go to war over this heist of yours, which is the good news. The bad news is that he’s put a hit out on your head, and Maranzano is ready to sacrifice you to keep the proceeds. You don’t matter to them,” Hattie said as she stood up. “You’re an inconvenience, for Masseria and Maranzano. The other families won’t call for blood if they spill yours. It’ll be another day, another entry in the ledger.”
Betty’s sucked in a harsh breath, her eyes lighting up with fury.
Hattie lifted a hand. “I haven’t come to get you stirred into a tussle.”
“Then why are you here?” Betty snapped.
“Well, not to put too fine a point on it, I want you.”
“For what?”
Hattie grinned at Maria. “To survive. To join us. To help me create something that’s been a long time coming.”
Betty shook her head. “You’re adding me to the bill of goods? I cost more than all the guns in New York City.”
“Who said anything about buying? Maranzano doesn’t want you. He needs you, but he doesn’t want you. I think you know that. You’ve created more problems than you’ve solved. You’re impossible to control. What use does he have for a woman like you?” Hattie stepped toward Betty. “At least, that’s what he’s asking himself. You should be asking the same question. What use do you have for these gangs?”
Betty’s lips lifted into a smile. “You’re serious?”
“What is it that you want, Betty? Do you really want to play the role of a pawn for these men? Or do you want your freedom, once and for all?”
“Freedom?” Betty laughed. “What woman do you know could call herself free?”
Hattie curled her brow as she thought the question over. “Myself, for starters.”
Betty sighed. “No, you’re in a cage just like the rest of us. You just can’t see the bars. I know what my prison is. I think I prefer it that way.”
“Sounds to me like the sort of thing your keepers trained you to think.”
Betty’s smile melted. “Alright, now you’re really annoying me. It’s time you left.”
Hattie shook her head. “You don’t have to accept things the way they are now.”
“You made me laugh, which is why I’m giving you one more chance. Get out. Now.”
One of the sculptures behind Betty, a coiled serpent wrapped around a pyramid, began to writhe. The serpent uncoiled itself, extending away from the pyramid toward Hattie.
Hattie nodded. “Right.” She turned for the door, gesturing for Maria to go on ahead.
Outside, Maria leaned in to whisper, “That went nowhere.”
“Give her time.”
“How much of that do we have?”
Hattie scowled. “You were where she is, once. You found a way out. Not everyone’s as resourceful as you. Some people need a leg up.”
Maria nodded. “You’re committed to this, aren’t you?”
“Committed to what?”
“Rescuing every pincher you run into,” Maria replied as they marched back toward Brooklyn.
Chapter 20
A thunderous pounding on Vincent’s door jarred him awake. He threw off his top sheet and jumped out of bed, pinching time to check the commotion in the hall. As he eased the door open, pistol at the ready, he found Floresta standing hands on hips. Vincent released the time bubble and glared at the man.
“What the hell?”
Floresta blustered, “Get dressed. It’s going down.”
“What’s going down?”
The doors to Lefty’s and Buddy’s rooms opened, each stepping into the hall with guns in hand.
“Masseria’s mobilizing,” Floresta answered.
Lefty muttered profanities under his breath before returning to his room.
Buddy nodded twice. “Finally, some action.”
When Buddy ducked into his room to get dressed, leaving Vincent alone with Floresta, Vincent whispered, “It’s too soon.”
“No choice,” Floresta whispered back. “Betty Sharp’s gone to ground. Catena had a closed-doors meeting with the Boss, and now it’s war drums.”
“Then we have to tip off Maranzano. Get some guns in their hands.”
“I can’t do it,” Floresta grumbled. “Luciano’s sticking close to Masseria, and it’s all hands on deck. I can buy you some time, but you boys need to be at the Bank sharpish.”
Vincent nodded. “I might have a way. Give me fifteen minutes.”
“How in hell are you going to make it to the Bronx and back in fifteen minutes?”
Vincent shook his head. “Just buy me fifteen minutes.”
Vincent threw on clothes in a fury, double-checking his gun before stepping into Lefty’s room. Lefty was already dressed, working his way into his tailored one-sleeve jacket.
“I’m running up the road. I’ll be back in fifteen.”
Lefty scowled. “Now?”
“Won’t be long.”
“Take the kid, then,” Lefty urged.
“Not an option.”
Vincent gave Lefty a long look, one that Lefty deciphered with a squint and a nod. “Fifteen, then we’re in the fight.”
Vincent hustled down the stairs and out onto the street, flagging down a yellow cab. After a short ride, and a time pinch to bypass Widow Dunne, Vincent found himself knocking on the door to Hattie’s rented room.
The door swung open, Maria brandishing a length of pipe in one hand and a fist in the other.
“Easy,” Vincent gasped as he stepped back.
Maria lowered the pipe with a frown.
“It’s your man,” she called as she turned to let Vincent inside.
Hattie stood from her chair by the window, overalls still on. It looked like she hadn’t even tried to sleep yet.
“What’s the hubbub?” she asked.
“I need you to go to the Bronx.”
“Aye, for what?”
“Masseria’s about to march on Maranzano.”
Maria shook her head with a snicker. “That was quick.”
“What’s happened?” Hattie wondered aloud.
“Not sure,” Vincent said. “But they couldn’t locate Betty Sharp. Seems his consigliere talked him into taking the fight to the street.”
Hattie and Maria exchanged glances.
“What’s the play?” Maria asked.
“Our only chance is to get Maranzano’s people armed and ready. If they can take each other out—”
“What about the rest of New York?” Hattie asked. “Isn’t this likely to kill bystanders?”
Vincent sucked in a long breath, heart pounding as he played out the notion in his mind.
“Bridge,” Maria stated.
Hattie turned to face her. “Hmm?”
“Steer both of them to a bridge. Let them send each other to Hell there.”
Vincent shook his head. “Masseria’s loading up now. They’ll be across the East River by the time you even get to the Bronx.”
M
aria scowled. “Then find a way to stall them.” She nodded to Hattie. “You get to the Bronx. I’ll see what I can do to create a funnel. What say, Brooklyn Bridge?”
“Doesn’t give me much time,” Vincent grumbled.
“Then you’d better move your ass,” Maria barked before shooing him back into the hall.
The Bank was crawling with activity. Men in suits lugged Tommy guns over their shoulders as they loaded up four cars. Men hung on to the sides of the doors, arms gripping for dear life.
Vincent and Lefty sat shoulder-to-shoulder in the back of a Ford as Buddy half-stood with his torso hanging out the side of the car. As the motorcade steered onto 31st, Buddy released a yip-yip and banged excitedly on the top of the car. Vincent and Lefty exchanged bemused glances. This was Buddy’s first big fight, and his Ithaca-infused decorum had surrendered to his youthful enthusiasm.
The parade moved north rather than west. As Vincent eyed the spires of the Brooklyn Bridge fading behind him, he asked, “Where are we crossing?”
The driver, a grizzled man with a white beard, replied, “Queensboro Bridge.”
Vincent fidgeted, looking back toward the southwest.
Lefty lifted a brow at Vincent but said nothing.
After several minutes, the line of cars slowed to a halt. Vincent peered through the windscreen at what appeared to be an otherwise cleared street.
“What’s the holdup?” Lefty asked.
Buddy climbed higher onto the car, then slipped back inside. “Looks like a sewer gave, or something. Big trench in the road.”
Vincent closed his eyes and released a long breath. Maria had made good use of her time. “What’s the nearest bridge besides Queensboro?”
The driver shrugged. “We could try the Manhattan.”
Vincent leaned back against the seat as the motorcade turned to the south. More road ruts created diversions, each sending a new spate of profanities from the front seat. By the time they’d reached the Manhattan Bridge, and discovered its access ramp was blocked, the congestion of morning traffic choked their progress to a crawl. After waiting for ten minutes, the driver waved the group to turn around, and they headed back.
Buddy’s excitement had long since faded, and he sulked in the seat beside Lefty as Vincent watched the Brooklyn Bridge rise in front of them.