Iron Cast (39 page)

In her quietest moments, Corinne could still feel Ada's melody in her head, sliding through the edges of her consciousness. She wondered if it would ever truly leave her. She wondered if all the people they had ever entertained or conned were carrying around pieces of poems and songs deep inside them, maybe never to be remembered, but certainly never to be forgotten.

Gabriel had asked,
How can you realize what it's like for the rest of us?

Maybe for the first time, she knew.

Wordlessly, she lifted her hand, palm up. Ada smiled again, and this time it was genuine. She tapped her fingertips against Corinne's, then threw her arms around her in a fierce embrace. Corinne coughed a little at the impact, though she didn't try to pull away. There was more she wanted to say, like that she didn't think she would be able to sleep because she could still feel Madeline's hand in hers, or that a small part of her believed that this was all a mistake and Johnny was innocent, or that when she thought about Gabriel, her stomach cinched into knots, and she couldn't breathe. She didn't say any of those things right now. She knew she would, in time.

When Ada finally pulled away, they went to lie down on their makeshift pallets. The boys were already asleep. Charlie was on his back, an arm flung over his face. Saint was curled into a ball, snoring softly. As she'd predicted, Corinne couldn't sleep. Her mind raced through the day before, skipping over everything she wanted to focus on and instead lingering horribly on the worst parts, on Madeline in the dead grass, on James sobbing like a child, on Gabriel in the Cast Iron, and on Eva Carson asking the question that Corinne couldn't answer and couldn't escape.

What else is he planning
?

“The liquor truck only comes on Thursdays,” Corinne said out loud. She sat up so quickly that her head spun.

Charlie rolled over. Saint jolted a little but didn't wake up.

“What?” Ada mumbled.

“Charlie,” Corinne said, and when he didn't respond, she shouted: “Charlie!”

He jerked upright and looked around in bewilderment. “What's wrong?” he asked.

Ada had propped herself onto her elbows and was staring at her.

“How many bottles of liquor does the delivery truck bring here every week?” Corinne asked Charlie.

He stared at her for several seconds, his mind clearly trying to catch up to her words.

“I don't know,” he said. “A truckload.”

“Saint,” Corinne said, turning to him. “Saint . . .
Sebastian.
”

Saint made an exasperated noise and stretched out flat. “What?” he demanded of the ceiling, his voice hoarse.

“You're around the Cast Iron the most. How often did Johnny take deliveries?”

“Why would I pay attention to that?”

“Think!”

“Once a week, I guess. Or twice.”

“What about at the warehouse? The one on the wharf?”

“Almost every night,” Saint said. He sat up and ran his hands down his face.

“What is it, Cor?” Ada asked.

“The Red Cat has just as many customers as the Cast Iron, and they only go through one delivery of liquor a week. Why is Johnny taking deliveries at the warehouse every night?”

“How do you know it's alcohol being delivered?” Charlie asked.

“I've been there before,” Saint said. “I helped them unload a couple times a few years ago, before Johnny hired Tom Glenn.”

“I've never been there,” Corinne said. “How big is it?”

“Takes up almost a whole block. It was mostly empty back then, though.”

“I bet it's full now,” Corinne said.

Ada sat up and crossed her legs, tugging the blanket over her lap.

“The Eighteenth Amendment,” she said. “If one more state ratifies it, Prohibition will go into effect next year.”

“And Johnny thinks the law will pass,” Corinne said.

“So he's been hoarding liquor?” Charlie asked.

“Ever since the law banning public hemopathy passed, the Cast Iron has been struggling,” Ada said. “The warehouse must have been his ace in the hole.”

“He kept it a secret so that none of his competitors would catch on,” Corinne said. “He's probably been using the money from the HPA to stay afloat, trying to buy himself time to finish stocking the warehouse.”

“But that doesn't explain why he faked his death,” Saint said.

Corinne swallowed hard. Her head was pounding again. She looked at Ada, who was twisting her blanket between her fists, her expression dark.

“We're dead weight,” Ada said. “He knows he can't keep the club open anymore, not with a ban on both hemopathy and alcohol.”

“He probably thought we'd all scatter once he was gone,” Corinne said.

“Most of the crew did,” Ada said. “When Prohibition takes effect, Johnny will have the largest stock of liquor in Boston— probably in the whole Northeast. He'll be rich.”

“And he won't have to split the profits with anyone,” Corinne said.

“What a piece of shit,” Charlie said, dropping back onto the floor.

“We've been wrong this whole time,” Ada said. She lay down too. Her voice was soft with weariness. “All those cons we pulled, all those people we robbed—we thought we were doing it for the Cast Iron, so that we would be safe. But we were just propping up Johnny on his throne.”

“As a particularly pretentious ass once told me,” Corinne said, “kingdoms always crumble.”

“So what are we going to do?” Charlie asked.

“I don't know.” Corinne flopped down and crossed both arms over her face. She didn't want to think about Johnny, about how easy it had been for him to use them—and how eager she had been to be used. She had spent her whole life trying to always be the cleverest person in the room, and it was just now occurring to her how boundless her own stupidity was. “We should lie low, I guess, for now.”

“Doesn't sound like you,” Saint said.

“Maddy's dead,” Corinne said, a little sharply. “None of us is going to be next.”

“She's right,” Ada said. “Besides, she's got a wedding to attend this afternoon.”

Corinne groaned.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

By the time they had all woken and washed up as best they could, it was nearly two o'clock in the afternoon. Ada spent a full fifteen minutes convincing Corinne that she had to attend her brother's wedding.

“You won't exactly be able to keep a low profile if your mother calls the National Guard to search for you,” Ada argued. “Besides, the president himself wouldn't dare interrupt that wedding. You'll be safe there.”

“What do you mean, me?” Corinne demanded. She looked up from the spot of dried blood on her dress that she was scrubbing at furiously with a damp cloth. “You're coming too.”

“Look at me, Cor. I could play a whole sonata and still not convince your family to let me through the doors of that church,” Ada said. “Besides, I don't want to go.”

Corinne made a face at her but didn't have a ready response. Ada decided that now was as good a time as any to break the news.

“I'm going to see my mother.”

Corinne's gaze snapped back to her.

“You can't. The HPA knows where she lives.”

“Surely we caused enough of a ruckus at the asylum to divert them for a while.”

“You don't know that.” Corinne waved the rag with more dramatics than was strictly necessary.

“I'll take Charlie with me.”

“And what exactly is Charlie going to do?”

“I don't know.” Ada shrugged. “Safety in numbers, I suppose.”

Corinne snorted in a way that would make her mother weep. “If that's what you want to call it.”

“I'm sure I don't know what you mean,” Ada said, fanning herself with mock indignation. But she was relieved that Corinne didn't seem inclined to press the matter further.

Charlie turned out to be even more against the idea than Corinne. It took Ada threatening to go by herself to convince him to come along. Their walk across town—which involved mostly side streets and back alleys—was more silent than Ada would have liked, but she couldn't think of anything worthwhile to say. After their dawn conversation and the revelations about Johnny, everything else seemed trite in comparison. It did occur to Ada, when they neared her mother's street, that Charlie might be afraid. He'd had a close brush with the HPA and could have ended up with a lot worse than a black eye.

She wanted to ask him, but it seemed an unfair question somehow.

Ada wasn't afraid. She knew she should be, but last night had wrung her out. She didn't have the capacity for fear anymore. She just wanted to make sure her mother was safe.

They approached the street cautiously. The agents' car was nowhere to be seen, but Ada knew that didn't mean anything. They could very well be inside the front lobby waiting. They might have already taken her mother into custody, someplace where Ada would never find her.

Ada ignored the gnawing uncertainty and crossed the street. She considered asking Charlie to wait outside, but that seemed too ungenerous considering the circumstances. Her mother answered the door on Ada's second knock. She must have seen them through
the kitchen window. She was wearing a simple brown dress and a vibrant blue head scarf with green flowers. She didn't say anything to them, just opened the door wide.

The silence continued as Nyah served them coffee in the living room. Ada didn't touch hers. Charlie drank his in three gulps, and Ada pushed her cup over to him as well.

“Well,” her mother said, “do I get to know his name?”

“Charlie Lewis, ma'am,” he said, reaching over to shake her hand.

“I am Nyah. It is nice to meet you, Charlie Lewis.”

Ada couldn't stand the pleasantries. She went to the window and opened it, suddenly desperate for the fresh air. Her mother clicked her tongue with a disapproving sound but didn't say anything. Ada breathed in the chill. She didn't want to do this. She wanted to be anywhere but here. The familiar feeling of powerlessness swept over her, but she fought it. She told herself that she did have a choice, and she was choosing to protect what she loved.

“Mama,” she said, turning around to face her, “it's not safe here anymore.”

She was sure her voice would break, but it stayed strong. Her mother was watching her, jaw set, hands folded primly in her lap.

“I know,” Nyah said.

The words were like hammered nails. Ada knew they couldn't go back.

“I've been hiding cash in the hatbox under your bed,” Ada told her. “There's enough for a train ticket and a place to stay for a while. Pick a town at random. Somewhere in Ohio or Illinois.”

“What about your father?” her mother asked. “I am supposed to leave him behind in that prison?”

“He'll understand,” Ada said. “He would want you to be safe.”

Her mother's hands clenched more tightly, and she pressed her lips together. Ada could feel Charlie's eyes on her, and she avoided them. She went to the kitchen counter, found a pencil and a piece of paper, and wrote out the Wellses' address.

“Here.” She handed it to her mother, who didn't reach to take it. Ada set it in her lap. “Write to that address when you're settled, but put Corinne's name on it. She'll make sure I get it.”

Ada stood in front of her mother, helpless to say or do anything further. It was a plan she had thought up years ago, when she'd first gotten involved with the Cast Iron's illegal activities, right after her father was convicted. The idea had been more of an exercise back then. A puzzle to figure out. It had never occurred to her that one day she would have to follow through.

“Thank you, Ada,” her mother said. “You have always taken good care of me.”

Ada glanced at Charlie, who had already stood up, wiping his hands nervously on his trousers.

“We have to go, Mama,” she said. “You should leave as soon as possible. Today.”

Her mother nodded gravely. When she was like this, so solemn and regal, Ada could imagine that the bedtime stories were true. That she really was a queen with a palace atop a mountain, who kept wise counsel with bold lions and clever snakes, who had all the treasures of Africa at her fingertips.

But this wasn't how that story ended.

Ada and Charlie left. As they went down the stairs, it was all Ada could do to keep her eyes dry. There was a white-hot flame at the base of her throat that would not be quenched. Charlie was ahead of her, and when he reached the bottom step, he turned and looked up at her. She loved the way he looked in the plain light, so
honest and open. Like his face had never hidden a secret, had never held a private shame.

“Are you sure you're ready to leave?” he asked.

The tears in her eyes spilled out the corners, and she whirled to run back up the stairs. She pounded on the locked door until it opened, then threw herself into her mother's arms.