by Debra Dunbar
Hattie took the tea. It warmed her hands as Maria’s words warmed her heart. When she’d passed out at the bridge, Maria had been there, rushing through the crowd to gather her up and take care of her. She’d coordinated the concerned onlookers like a general organizing troops, and when Hattie had regained consciousness, she’d found smelling salts under her nose, a woman urging chocolate on her, and a car waiting to take her back to their room.
She had been grateful for the car—and the chocolate—but most of all she’d been grateful for Maria who’d proven that she not only had Hattie’s back, but that she was a true friend. On their ride back, Hattie had tearfully poured out as many details as she could given the big ears of the cabbie driving them. As soon as Maria had gotten her settled, she’d gone out in search of news about Vincent, with a promise to return promptly.
And the news was no news. A knot of worry settled in Hattie’s stomach as she sipped the tea. No one but Vincent knew she was here. If he’d died, Lefty would, no doubt, have sent a message to her back in Baltimore, but she wasn’t in Baltimore. Her only hope was that the death of a pincher would be big enough news that it would soon be on the streets. In a way, the lack of information was reassuring. One gangster falling to his death in the river among so many who’d been gunned down in the violence wouldn’t have drawn much notice.
Maria left and Hattie finished her tea, falling into a fitful doze. When she woke it was after noon, and she was feeling much better, although she knew it would be a while before she’d be able to pull off any more than the briefest of illusions.
Getting up, she bathed and dressed, then sat in the room wondering whether she should wait for Maria’s return or head out to see what she could hear on her own. If the woman didn’t come back soon, Hattie was determined to leave her a note and go out on her own, at the very least because she was hungry for lunch.
Lunch came and went and she was just getting ready to write that note and get dinner, when there was a knock on her door. Hattie stood, bracing in case Maria’s news wasn’t good, only to see Vincent peek his head through the doorway.
“Glad you’re hear. We need to talk.”
Hattie heard nothing from the rushing in her ears. The man had barely stepped a foot into the room before she’d barreled into him, wrapping arms and legs around him as she sobbed into his chest.
He stumbled against the wall from her onslaught. “Whoa! What…? Hattie, what happened?”
She felt his hands smoothing her hair then wrapping around her shoulders and waist to pull her tightly against him.
“I saw…I though…I…” she stuttered, trying to get enough control of her crying to speak coherently. “If you’d died, I don’t know what I’d do. None of this would mean anything without you—the Charge, my fight against Vito and the Crew, life. Nothing. I know how Sadie felt, because nothing is worth it without you.”
He squeezed her tight and she felt his breath in her hair. “Hattie, what are you talking about? I’m fine. I saw what you did with Betty and that illusion, and I can’t believe you pulled that off. You saved all of us—me, Buddy, and Betty. Why are you so upset?”
“I saw…” she gulped, reliving the memory. “I saw someone fall of the bridge and I thought…I worried…”
He held her tight. “Oh, God. Hattie, if I’d have known that you though…I would have sent a message or something. It was another pincher—one of Masseria’s. Not me.”
She remained in his arms as he rocked her, making soothing comments and kissing her hair and face as his hands rubbed her back. Then when she finally felt like herself again, she eased away and gave him a watery smile.
“That took a lot out of me, you know—the Betty illusion.”
He ran his hands along her face, his smile warm and loving. “I know. And when I met with her this afternoon, I made sure to put a bee in her bonnet, that O’Toole was the only reason she was still alive. I’d expect a visit from her, although who knows what the nut-case might do.
Hattie stood on tiptoe and kissed him. “I had a split second to decide, and I felt horrible risking your life to save Betty. If it had failed…”
“It didn’t fail. In fact, because of you, we’re in an excellent position. You saved a pincher, put Maranzana and Masseria both in a position where they need to reach out to O’Toole for help, and managed to get all the pieces on the chessboard where we want them.” He smiled, cupping her face in his hands. “Can I say how much I love you? How much I think you walk on water, that the world revolves because of you?”
Warmth poured through her. “Well, I feel the same, boy-o”
His dark eyes grew serious, tentatively searching hers for…something. “There’s something I want to talk to you about. The timing’s not ideal, but I’m not sure it ever will be, and I really need to do this while I still have the courage. Hattie, I want—”
The door opened and Maria edged in. “I found out it was a pincher—”
The woman caught sight of Vincent and froze. Then screamed. Suddenly Hattie found both Vincent and herself being enveloped in a huge hug.”
“I’m so glad it wasn’t you!” Maria told him. “I heard that Masseria lost a pincher in the fight, and while some people said it was one of his, others said it was another pincher from out-of-town. I couldn’t manage to get close enough to the bank without Hattie’s illusions to get the real scoop.”
Vincent squirmed in Maria’s embrace, and Hattie hid a smile, knowing he was uncomfortable with having the other woman hug him. Silly man.
He shrugged Maria off and Hattie stepped back as well.
Vincent straightened his jacket and took off his hat. “It was one of Masseria’s pinchers that went over the bridge, which puts him in a difficult position. He’s down to one, not counting Luciano’s pincher Floresta. He’s also down quite a lot of manpower. Suddenly this isn’t such an uneven fight, and Masseria’s worried. He knows he needs pincher power to finish this off—and he wants to finish it off. He’s put a hit out on Maranzano, and he’s let him know this is war.”
Hattie caught her breath. “Pincher power. I’ve made it known that I’ve got pinchers on my team.”
Vincent nodded. “And Maranzano is worried about that. Suddenly you, or rather O’Toole, is the winning ticket in all this. Masseria suddenly needs you to get the upper hand on Maranzano, and Maranzano needs you because he can’t risk having your resources go to Masseria.”
Hattie exchanged a glance with Maria. “How do you want me to play this?”
“Schedule a meeting with both of them at the same time two nights from now at the Juliette Social Club.”
“Both of them?” Hattie knew where he was going with this, but after all that had happened today, she felt this was all coming to a head faster than she’d anticipated.
Vincent nodded. “That’s the plan. Get them all in one room, and let the pair of them die, leaving Luciano to pick up the pieces. And if he keeps his agreement, he’ll be hands-off to anything we do in Baltimore.”
Hattie scowled at Vincent. “And how likely is it that he’ll keep his word?”
Maria snorted. “Next to none.
“That all depends on how impressive we are in this,” Vincent told her. “You show him that you’re a force to be reckoned with, and he’ll leave us alone. He’ll be busy enough dealing with all the families in New York to want to do much down in Baltimore, anyway.”
Hattie thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Tomorrow night? That doesn’t give us much time to plan, or for me to get myself back in order.”
He winced. “Sorry for the short notice, but I had to think fast. Augustus Henry was given the task of assassinating Maranzano. This has to go down before he gets a chance. And he’s motivated. I think Lennie was a friend of his.”
Hattie rubbed her temples. “Was he really that close to the bulletproof fellow?”
Vincent shrugged. “I don’t know, but I get that impression. All I can tell you is Henry disappeared after what happened o
n the bridge, and his specialty is sneaking in and out of places to knife people in the back.”
Maria nodded. “He’s quick to latch on to people, and when he counts someone as his friend, that’s important. He doesn’t take that sort of thing lightly.”
Vincent and Hattie pivoted to stare at Maria.
She continued, “Before things fell apart, he and I exchanged a few pot shots. Nothing serious. It was a gentle war in Cleveland, compared to all this. But he had friends who died at the very end. It rattled him. Hard. He’s not as stoic as he lets on. These things get to him.”
Vincent smoothed a hand over his hair. “How much danger is Maranzano in?”
Maria tilted her head. “A lot. If Henry can find him, that is.”
Hattie turned to stare at the window. “And what about Betty? Do you think she’s game to unleash her fury on Masseria?”
“I think she’s got a lot going on emotionally. She’s conflicted,” Vincent replied. “Whatever you did on the bridge, it got to her.”
Hattie grimaced. “I showed her how close she came to the grave. Put an illusion of herself getting plugged with your young pincher’s bullet into her head and made her live it. Might be the first time she ever really thought about that.”
Maria blinked. “She’s powerful. What she did on the bridge? That took a lot of effort.”
“I think it’s her anger that fuels her,” Vincent said. “It gives her an edge—a razor edge.”
Hattie continued staring through the window. “I think she’s lost.”
Vincent and Maria exchanged glances.
Hattie added, “I’ll have a word with her.”
Vincent stretched his neck. “I should get going before Lefty gets antsy.”
Hattie stood up and approached Vincent with a smirk. “By the by, boy-o… I think I wasn’t the only one who took exception to your reckless ways. Our friend from Deltaville was noticeably upset at you being close to death this morning.”
Vincent shook his head in confusion.
She planted a peck on his cheek. “You go dying on us, and I’ll let him loose to give you a what-for.”
“Then I’ll try to avoid that,” Vincent said with a grin.
Maria sighed as they rounded the last flight of stairs to the floor of Betty Sharp’s apartment.
“What’re you on about?” Hattie whispered.
“They say that insanity is doing the same thing the same way and expecting a different outcome.”
“Who says that?”
“Read it on a train station wall.” Maria crossed her arms at the top of the stairs. “You know, not everyone needs saving.”
Hattie frowned. “I suppose. But is it so dreadful a thought that some of us might?”
“It is when it’s an addled glass-pinching hellcat,” Maria grumbled as Hattie marched down the hall.
Stitching Brigid O’Toole’s persona over herself, Hattie knocked on Betty’s door. The door opened quickly, with Betty Sharp eyeing Hattie with incredulity.
“You?”
“Aye. In the flesh.”
“What are you doing here?” Betty asked, easing the door almost shut, so that only her eye was visible.
“I wanted a word with you.”
“I thought I told you to piss off.”
Betty shut the door and threw the bolt closed.
Hattie glared at Maria who smirked with infinite self-absorption.
She turned to the door and called, “And if I had listened to you, that target pincher on the Brooklyn Bridge would’ve ventilated your skull. But I didn’t listen, did I?”
The bolt threw again, and the door eased open.
Betty muttered, “So it was you?”
“May we come in?” Hattie asked.
Betty peered into the hallway. “Is your guard dog with you?”
Maria stepped into the open and Betty grinned as she opened the door for the two of them.
Hattie walked in and glanced over the shelves of glass figurines, pausing when she spotted Betty lingering by her stove clad only in her underwear. Hattie looked away out of reflex, and Betty snickered.
“You’re the ones barging in on me. What, you want me to go put on a dress for you?”
Maria closed the door. “Do you enjoy being this unpleasant?”
“It suits me,” Betty replied as she snatched a glass of illicit hooch and draped herself over her sofa. “And I see no reason to stop.”
“You can act as tough as you like. I prefer it that way, to be honest,” Hattie told her.
“Who says it’s an act?” Betty asked.
Hattie crouched directly in front of Betty, meeting her gaze with determination. “I do.”
Betty lingered for a second before taking a distracted sip of her drink.
Hattie pressed, “You nearly died yesterday.”
“Occupational hazard.”
“You can make light of it if you like, but you’re here because of me.”
Betty sneered. “Oh, so now you think I owe you? Is that how it works?”
“Not at all,” Hattie replied. “But perhaps it affords me the right to ask you a single question?”
Betty squinted, then lowered her glass. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s the question?”
“What do you want?” Hattie asked.
“What do I want?”
“Yes. What’s your win? Your best-case scenario?”
Hattie held her gaze for a long moment as Betty’s face twisted through a gamut of emotions.
Finally, Betty replied, “For you to leave me alone.”
“I don’t buy that for a second.”
“Then why not tell me what it is you want me to say, so that we can end this, and you can go home?”
Hattie stood up. “You want your freedom, is what you want. You want to go back to that clear, sweet memory between the death of Elmer Capstein and the day the Baltimore Crew delivered you to Ithaca.”
Betty’s face puckered into a vicious scowl.
Hattie headed her off. “Don’t deny it. You asked for none of this. That was the only time you felt freedom. Ruling over Richmond like a Dowager Queen. But it wasn’t the power you wielded that your soul clings to. Is it? It was the sheer, unshackled freedom. You had no one to answer to. No one to tell you no. That you couldn’t go here or there. Couldn’t drink this or that.”
Betty squirmed for a second.
Hattie continued, “But those days were short, and they are in the past. Or, are they?”
“I want you to leave,” Betty muttered.
“And I want you to open your eyes.”
Hattie put her hands on her hips, lording over Betty with just a little pinch of illusion-driven theater.
Betty set her glass onto the table behind the sofa and closed her eyes. “Did Calendo get to you?”
“The question you should be asking is did I get to Calendo?”
Betty shook her head. “You’re no better than the rest.”
“Are you so sure? I saved your life on that bridge for one reason, and one reason alone. Would you like to know what that reason is?”
Betty opened her eyes. “Okay, fine. Why?”
Hattie turned to Maria with a grin. “Maria, do I own you?”
Maria smirked, then laughed. “That’d be the day.”
“Then why in the name of the Virgin Mother are you still hanging about?”
Maria sighed. “Because you’re the best chance I’ve seen for…”
Maria didn’t finish her statement, and Hattie turned to face her.
“Seen for what?”
The two exchanged meaningful glances, Maria probing Hattie for the play. But there was no play. Hattie was putting Maria on the spot, and Betty was watching with intensity.
Finally, Maria answered, “Freedom.”
“Is that all?”
“Real freedom,” Maria added. “Not just escape. A place to live. To be equal.”
Hattie turned back to Betty. “Equality. That’s why I saved you
r life.”
Betty shook her head. “You plan on making sense any time soon?”
Hattie took a seat beside Betty on her sofa, shoving her leg aside to make room. “How many gang lords have you met who were women?”
Betty chuckled. “Are you serious?”
“Precisely.”
“What, are you some sorta suffragette? We got the vote seven years ago.”
“Did we really?” Hattie countered. “As a woman, sure. But as a pincher?”
Betty recoiled just a bit. “Hold on. There’s no way to—”
“You were a free pincher in Richmond. You were free of any accountability beyond what the laws of nature demanded of you.”
Betty shook her head. “That was never gonna last.”
“But what if it could?”
Betty withdrew into her corner of the sofa with a silent scowl.
Frustration overtook Hattie, and she released a long exhale. “What is it with you, then? It’s like talking to a brick wall.”
Betty shrugged. “I don’t care.”
“But you should,” Hattie implored.
Betty set her glass down and leaned into Hattie close enough to force her away.
“Maybe I just don’t trust gangsters.”
“That’s what I am, is it?” Hattie whispered.
“You’re liars. All of you. All you want is to own people. This crock you’re dishing about freedom?” She shook her head. “Just another lie. You want power, and I have it. All us pinchers have it. It scares you that we’re stronger than you.”
Hattie lifted her chin. “You think I’m a liar.”
“You’re worse. You’re a liar who wants me to like you. At least Elmer, and Calendo, and Maranzano…they don’t care what I think. I’d rather a bald-faced deception than getting stabbed in the back.”
Hattie nodded, then stood up. “You know something? You’re right.”
Betty blinked rapidly. “I…am?”
“Aye. I have been lying to you. And no, you shouldn’t trust me. There’s something I need to show you.”
Maria stepped forward. “Don’t.”
Hattie held her off with a palm. “I have to, Maria. I have to come clean.”