Hallow Point (21 page)

* * *

“Look, Ramona…”

“No, you were right.” She sounded distant as we walked through the blustery gusts back toward the L. Distant, but not angry.

My heart sank. Think I mighta preferred angry, frankly.

“We’ve only just met, really,” she continued, makin’ a real close study of the sidewalk ahead—obviously too important for her to look at me. “And while we may… understand each other… Or I
thought
we did…”

My gut made like I just got punched. With a tree trunk.

Don’t think she noticed.

“…you
don’t
have good cause to trust me yet. I shouldn’t have expected it of you.”

Oh, shit…

“Ramona, sweetheart, we just need a little more time to—”

“Isn’t this the station? We wouldn’t want to miss our train.”

I bet you can guess how pleasant the ride was for me, so I ain’t goin’ into it. Suffice to say, we got where we were going.

B
etween multiple hops on the L, and some deliberate stalling on my part—cat I was searching for wasn’t gonna be as easy to find in the daylight—the sun pulled the western horizon up to its chin like a blanket before me’n Ramona reached our next
real
stop. And lemme tell you, she was just thrilled as all get-out when I put her wise to where that was.

“
Wonderful
. More gangsters. Do you protect all your clients this way, Mick? Or are you charging me the Judas goat special rate?”

“Relax, doll. Nobody’s gonna hurt you.”

“Oh, I’m
so
relieved. Was it the guns or the criminal records that convinced you?”

I decided nothin’ I might say was gonna make the situation any better. Though sarcastic humor was still an improvement from the
no
humor she’d been tossin’ my way.

I’d been here before. Kenson’s Fine Smokes, which was exactly as much of a cigar vendor and club as I’m a human. We swept past the cases and containers of cigars, cigarettes, and enough pipes to build an organ. A few of the rooms off to the side even had people actually smoking.

Not fooling anyone, though.

Last time I was here, with a slightly different face, there’d been a line to get through the seriously heavy door in the back of the shop. It was a lot earlier in the evening this time around, and on a weeknight, so Ramona and I just strolled right on up to the two lunks in off-the-rack suits standing nearby.

I dunno, maybe the Mob buys ’em wholesale. And no, I don’t mean the suits.

“Once we’re inside,” I whispered, “follow my lead. Don’t make like you like me
too
well. And if anything goes down, don’t try’n help me. Just get outta the way. Most trouble boys won’t treat a skirt as an enemy unless you give ’em real good reason.”

Her blinkers were big as doorknobs. “What happened to ‘nobody here will hurt you’?”

“That’s what I’m making sure of. Ain’t you been listening?”

“I should have hired a Pinkerton.”

Since I couldn’t tell if she was putting me on or not, I decided to assume it was a joke. Safer for me that way.

I was all ready to crawl into their heads if I had to, but for the most part it wasn’t necessary. They asked the usual (and the same as they’d asked me last time): who I was, how I’d heard about the place, was I packing, and so on.

They found my wand when they patted me down, of course, and then I
did
fiddle with their thoughts a bit, just to make ’em a tad more gullible. I fed ’em my usual spiel—about how I don’t carry heat, but use the “stick” to fill out the holster so it bulges as if I did—which is really pretty dumb.

Course, this was also the first time Ramona’d seen that what I had in the harness wasn’t exactly a roscoe. She couldn’t seem to settle on any one expression.

“What?” I asked as we stepped on through.

“I… you…”

“Both of us, yeah. You havin’ second thoughts?”

“Mick, I passed ‘second’ so long ago, I’m well into double digits.”

Real encouraging, I found that.

Wasn’t much happening on the dance floor, this early. They didn’t even have anyone actually playing yet, just an old record-player blurting out some Wayne King for about three couples to romp to.

The bar, though, was already flowin’ strong with people and hooch.

Imagine that.

I felt fingers tighten around my arm, and tried to think through the faint electric hum that seemed to flow through me at the touch.

“You okay, doll?” Then, when she didn’t answer, “Don’t tell me this is your first time in a speakeasy?”

“No,” she breathed, clearly distracted. “Not first, but… first since I was a girl. What if there’s a raid?”

“Won’t be.”

“How do you know?”

Not sure I bothered to shrug. “Just know.”

“Anyone tell you lately that you can be surprisingly reassuring?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Do you suppose there might be a reason for that?”

Couple minutes spent wandering the place made it pretty plain the boss was out. I figured as much when I saw his private booth was empty, but wanted to be positive.

I watched everyone, for a while. Dancers danced, drinkers drank and waiters waited. Finally spotted an older guy dressed a lot like the servers, but better, and figured he might be important enough to know something from nothing.

“Hey! Bo!” I called out to him. Then, as he sniffed and turned, “They train you on the job for that sneer, or is it a required skill for being hired?”

He sniffed again. “Can I help you… sir?”

“Yeah.”

He waited. Gink was irritating, so I waited, too.

“Well?” he finally demanded.

“Well, what?”

“How can I help you?” It wasn’t loud enough to be a shout, but it had enough volume, if you dig what I mean.

“Thought you’d never ask. Mr. Scola gonna be in tonight? And if so, you know when?”

“Mister…”

Huh. It was
mister
now, not
sir
.

“Even if I was privy to my employer’s schedule, I don’t see how it would be any business of—”

Sigh. Into the noggin I go, then.

I asked him again, this time with more’n just words.

“He told us to have his table ready at half past ten, though it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s a bit later than that.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard.”

I left him wondering why the hell he’d just sang to me like that. Then again, I didn’t want him noodling
too
hard on it, and he
was
an obnoxious son of a bitch, so before I’d completely withdrawn from his mind, I planted a convincing image of a dribbled wine stain down the front of his coat.

Have fun washin’
that
out, pal.

“You dance, sweetheart?” I asked as I took Ramona’s arm.

“Uh, not often…”

“Good thing I ain’t askin’ you to do it often, then.”

I half guided her, half pulled her out onto the carpet. Current tune was pretty soft, and there didn’t look to be any musicians winding up anytime soon, so we kept to slow, simple steps.

Just as well. Not sure I coulda concentrated on complex with an arm around her and her hair against my face.

Then she turned her head just a bit, her cheek against mine, lips right by my ear, and yeah, then I
knew
any kinda concentration was a losing proposition.

“What are we doing, Mick?” she whispered.

I lost a step and almost stumbled. Asking her if she could dance, and
I
was the one making a cement mixer of myself.

“What?”

“Here. Dancing. Why?”

Oh
. Not sure if I was relieved or sad that that’s what she’d meant.

“Waiting. Couple of tunes, and we’ll grab ourselves a table and a cheap snort. Gives us an excuse to be here.” Then, lying through my teeth, “It’s just to help our cover, that’s all.”

“How long?”

“Maybe ’til ten-thirty. Maybe later. Long as it takes, doll.”

She sighed and said nothing more. When she tightened her grip, round about the third song, I hadda bite my tongue to keep from asking some fool questions I knew I’d regret.

Yeah, I know, I’d said we were only gonna cut the rug for two or three tunes. Wound up being, I think, seven. Whaddaya want from me?

Right about the time the last record stopped with a quick scratch, and a stocky but graceful black woman in a sapphire-blue dress started makin’ love to the microphone, I saw him walk in.

Looked much as he had last time, though his tux jacket was tabby-cat grey instead of the white he’d worn then. Same rodent-tail mustache, and while I ain’t sure if it was the same ceremonial blondes on his arms or the same Mob soldiers around him, they were damn close enough.

I barely waited until they’d planted themselves in the booth and ordered a round.

“Go sit over there,” I said to Ramona, pointing to an empty table. “Don’t come near that booth.”

“But—”

“Ramona, I told you nobody’d hurt you, and I hate being made a liar. So go already! Please.”

You know how to scowl at someone with concern? Not sure I do. She did, though. She muttered something I didn’t catch, on account of the noises the musicians were makin’ as they set up shop—all black, of course, ’cause God
forbid
a white man play backup to a black woman in this day and age—and stomped off, lighting up and taking a deep puff from an Old Gold as she went. Seemed to be heading for the bar, not the table. But hell, maybe she just needed a shot or a sandwich.

I wasn’t halfway to the corner booth when two of Scola’s boys got up and cut me off.

“Private,” one of ’em rumbled at me.

See, when I’d done this months ago, I’d had this whole rigmarole planned out to gimme an excuse to see the guy. It was real clever and everything. Tonight? Tonight I was gonna have to be more direct with the big fish, so I figured I might as well start with the small ones.

Soon as I was sure the first gorilla was looking at me real good, I sucker-punched him. In the brain. A quick meeting of the eyes, a shove of willpower and magic—not to convince him of anything or make him see what ain’t there, just to overwhelm him a few ticks. Didn’t much wanna have to bother finessing both of ’em. Gink rocked on his heels and proceeded to drool some.

Now, the second goon,
he
got a more controlled dosage. I shuffled his feelings, sliding suspicion to the bottom of the deck and the boredom and monotony of standing guard in this speakeasy—night after night after night, where nothing happened and he almost never had cause to give any troublemakers the bum’s rush—to the top.

Then I just smiled politely and walked on by. He acknowledged me with a grunt that woulda had to pack on twenty pounds to qualify as a syllable, only just remembering to walk with me back toward the table.

“Hell is this, Donny?” Scola asked, scowling. “I been here ninety seconds, and already you let someone in here to bother me? Didn’t even see you pat ’im down.”

I didn’t have to look close to see that he and his other guys’d taken precautions ’cause the first mook hadn’t. Figured at least three heaters were aimed my way under the table. Maybe four or five, if either of the girls was carrying.

“Don’t give him too hard a time, Bumpy,” I said, taking a seat opposite him. Every one of ’em had that “guy’s scrambled worse than an egg” look on their mugs now. “I just convinced him how important it was that you and me barber some.”

“That right? So why don’tcha convince
me
?”

Quick sideways glance, and down, and sure enough, he was wearing that same charm—slender chain with silver’n iron tokens—on his left wrist. Didn’t figure it was too strong, or I’d have felt more from it, so I could probably get into his head anyway, but… I didn’t much care for that “probably.” I was
sure
I could poke on through with the help of the L&G, but if I went for something under my jacket, the joint was gonna have a sudden surge in the slug population.

So instead, hands on the table in front of me, I pointed at that wrist.

“Because they’re easier for me to
persuade
than you.”

Fella’s peepers blew up so big they shoulda been floating at the end of a string at the fair, and I didn’t have to get behind ’em to see the wheels turnin’ in his head. So now it was all down to what he knew about the supernatural, what he
thought
he knew about the supernatural, and what he thought about what he thought he knew about the supernatural.

Uh, by which I mean, it was an even bet whether he’d jaw with me for a bit, or just try to fill me full of daylight right then and there.

Pretty certain he gave some real consideration to both.

“Everybody outta the booth,” he ordered. “Go get yourselves a drink.
One!
Any you bastards get lit, it’s your ass.” Then, when they reluctantly stood, “Not you, Gina. You stay.”

One of the blondes, a tall glass of water in a black dress so tight I wondered if she shed it monthly and grew a new one, sat back down. Curiouser and curiouser. She smiled at me, nice and empty-headed, but behind the simper I saw something deeper. And darker.

No Orsola Maldera, by a stretch and a half, but she knew some of the old ways. Clever way to hide a witch, I hadda admit.

The other moll, though, didn’t seem wise to it.

“Why’s Gina get to stay, Vinnie? Why can’t—?”

“Get outta here, already! I wanted to hear a broad whine at me, I’d have brought my wife!”

Last time I talked about this guy, I said something about “store-bought class.” Guess he hadn’t gone back to complete the set.

“All right, pal,” he growled. I couldn’t help but note his mitt—and the roscoe I’m sure was in it—was still under the table. “First off, we ain’t business partners and we ain’t friends, so next time you call me ‘Bumpy’ you’re gonna wish you hadn’t.”

I almost did, right then, just to annoy him, but I decided I didn’t need to be quite
that
childish.

“Second…” He paused long enough for the waiter to approach, deliver his drink—and the witchy chippy’s—and scram again. He hefted the glass in the hand he
wasn’t
keeping hidden. “We met before? I know faces, and I dunno yours from a dog’s ass, but you still seem familiar.”