Speak Easy (6 page)

“It is! He let me speak with Daddy on the telephone. Then I asked him if he would intervene for me with his father, ask for more time.”

“Why would he do that?”

I bristled. “Maybe he likes me.”

Joey snorted. “Sure he does. So will he do it? Intervene, I mean?”

I turned my face to the window.

“That’s what I thought.”

Somehow I was as angry with Joey for saying that as I was with Enzo for denying my request. I tried to think up a sharp remark but failed.

Joey turned onto my street. “Did you talk to Blaise?”

“Yes. Twelve cases, after dark tomorrow night.”

“And you’ve got the money?”

“Yes. It’s everything I’ve made this summer so far.” The words tasted bitter in my mouth.

“I’ll meet you at the docks at nine thirty.” He pulled into my driveway, and I faced him.

“I don’t need you, you know. I can do this myself.”

“I
said
, I’ll meet you at nine.” He stared straight ahead.

“Fine.”

“Fine!”

“Good night, then!” I opened the door and slid out. I was about to slam it shut when he looked over at me.

“Tiny.”

“What.”

“You can’t trust him.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “This from the boy who stole my underwear for profit.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Yeah, well, I have a good memory.”

Joey focused his attention out the front window again.

I slammed the car door and went inside.

After checking on the girls, I undressed and washed off my makeup. When I was in my nightgown and under the covers, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Angel’s deadline loomed above me like the blade of a guillotine. And Enzo’s refusal to intervene on my behalf cut deep, especially after what had happened between us.

Don’t trust him, Joey said. And I didn’t, not one bit. But I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

I didn’t even try.

Chapter Six

After attending mass with my sisters, I walked to the store to pick up the notebook I kept of our customer phone numbers and addresses. This afternoon I’d make some calls, see how much whisky I could sell over the phone before I even picked it up. I said hello to Martin and scooped up the notebook from a drawer behind the counter while he rang up a shopper.

Since I was there, I decided to face Bridget. My feet felt heavy as I plodded up the stairs. I wasn’t looking forward to lying to her, but there was nothing she could do to help, and she’d only worry herself sick about Daddy. On her apartment door was a note for me.

Took the kids to the park for the afternoon. Come for dinner if you like. B.

My shoulders released some tension as I exhaled. Saved—at least for now.

When I got home, I placed a call to Al Murphy, an old friend of Daddy’s who ran several small speakeasies nearby and always bought his whisky from us. His wife answered, but she said they were getting a little low on Canadian Club and placed an order for eight cases. If she’d have been in the room, I’d have kissed her. Next, I started making phone calls to customers on the list, concentrating on the wealthier homes first. By late afternoon, I figured I had about ten cases sold all together. See? You can do this. Chin up. About five o’clock, my stomach began growling, and I remembered Bridget’s dinner invitation.

It gave me an idea.

“Girls!” I shouted out the kitchen window into the yard. “We’re going to Bridget’s for dinner! Come in and wash up!”

We cleaned up and walked over to Bridget’s, where she served us meatloaf, green beans, and mashed potatoes. A basket of fresh-made bread was on the table, and a plate of chocolate chip cookies sat on the counter. Watching Mary Grace gobble it all up, a wave of guilt washed over me. I never served meals like this—how the hell did you turn meat into a loaf anyway?

After dinner, Molly and Mary Grace took the boys outside while Bridget and I cleaned the kitchen. “Bridge,” I began, rinsing off a plate, “could the girls sleep here tonight?” They were always glad to stay with her because she let them wander down the street to the ice cream parlor, where local kids lingered on summer nights.

“Sure. Why?”

“You remember how I said I hadn’t kissed a boy in a long time?”

Bridget set down the plate she was drying and looked at me. “Ye-e-e-s.”

My face got hot under her stare. “Well, I have a date tonight. And I’d like the house to myself.”

She squealed and snapped my behind with her dishtowel. “Who is it? Anyone I know?”

“No. Just someone I met recently.” I kept my eyes on the bowl I was scrubbing. “So it’s OK?”

“Absolutely. I love having them here to help with the boys.”

“Thanks.” Relieved, I finished washing the dishes and kept the chat on safer topics. Bridget didn’t even question the story about Daddy going to Cleveland. She was much more interested in what I was going to wear on my date, where he was taking me, and what we’d do afterward. I told more lies than I could count.

After saying goodbye to the girls, I walked back home in the fading light. I had about an hour to change out of my church clothes, pull the four hundred twenty bucks from my stash, and get to the boathouse.
At least the weather is good
, I thought as I climbed the steps to the front door.

But my hands were shaking, and I dropped the key twice before getting it in the lock.

#

Joey was already on the boat when I arrived. He reached for me with one hand. “Need help?”

Shaking my head, I jumped on board, but I stumbled a little, bumping into him. “Sorry.”

He caught my upper arms to steady me, and his chest looked so broad and comforting, I almost laid my forehead on it. “Nervous?”

“A little,” I admitted.

“If you don’t want to go, I can manage this alone.”

“No. It’s my operation. My responsibility.” Too much depended on this to leave Joey in charge.

I sat down on the bench at the center of the boat while Joey untied the rope tethering us to the dock. Like me, he was dressed in shabby dark clothing, and the floppy cap was back on his head. We didn’t talk the entire way across the lake, but he did hand me his jacket when he noticed I was shivering. I shook my head, but he held the jacket out until I took it and draped it across my shoulders. It was warm with his body heat.

At the Canadian docks we met Blaise, a jowly, pot-bellied French-Canadian who took the cash I offered and never looked up from it. He shuffled through the bills and tucked the wad out of sight, and as the money disappeared into his pocket, I fought the urge to throw myself at him and demand it back. How long had it taken me to save four hundred twenty dollars? How many cases had I smuggled, hauled, and delivered, knowing at any moment I could be questioned or arrested? And what were the chances I could earn it back by the end of the summer? Would I have to put off school for another semester? Or year? My insides knotted with anger as Joey and I loaded the whisky into the boat.

“Don’t turn sharply or go too fast,” I ordered as he started the motor.

He gave me a look that said
shut your trap
.

“Listen, the last thing I need is booze I’ve just paid for to go right to the bottom of the lake.”

“Sit down, Tiny. I know how to drive the damn boat.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but then I remembered my mother’s advice about honey. Since I wanted to ask him about getting me a gun, I bit my tongue and sat. As we moved slowly away from the docks, I tried to think of the best way to approach him about it. I hated to keep asking him for help, but I had no one else to ask.

“Joey…I want a gun. Can you help me get one?”

He looked at me without speaking, and I couldn’t read his expression in the dark.

“Please?”

“Why do you want a gun? Do you even know how to use one?”

“You could show me. I’d feel safer with one.”

“There’s nothing safe about a girl carrying a gun. Plus, you’d never shoot it. I know you.”

“What? You do not! I would too!” The wind picked up, whipping my hair around my face, and I tried to hold it away from my eyes so I could glare at him.

“I’ll think about it. Now hold on, looks like the lake got choppy.”

He was right—the rough, black water tossed the boat relentlessly, and I held my breath practically the whole the way across the lake. Once, I looked back at Joey and found him staring at me, which sent an unfamiliar shiver up my spine. After that I forced myself to keep my eyes straight ahead. Finally we arrived at the boathouse, and as he worked to secure us to the dock, I watched his hands in the moonlight. He had nice hands, actually. Strong but not meaty, with solid wrists and dexterous fingers. Something fluttered in my belly again.
Quit it. It’s goddamn Joey.
I jumped up onto the dock before he could offer to help me.

“I’ll hand up the sacks to you, and then we’ll take them into the boathouse,” he said.

I nodded. When he held out the first case, our fingers touched, and I took it quickly to avoid prolonging contact. Then I lashed out, because that was more comfortable than acknowledging an attraction to him. “Did you fix the lock on the garage yet? It’s been three days.”

“Don’t nag. I bought a new door this afternoon, and I’ll put it in tomorrow.” He handed me another burlap sack, and I grabbed it from the bottom.

“Well, you’re the one who busted it up.”

He paused before holding out the next case.

I pressed my lips together. “Sorry. I’m just—wound up. Thanks for fixing the door. I don’t want those hearses stolen.”

Joey was quiet a minute. “You have the keys for those hearses?”

“Yeah. Why?” I took the last case from him and he hopped onto the dock next to me.

“We might need them.” He grabbed two sacks and headed for the boathouse.

“Oh, no,” I said, close on his heels. “I’m not driving one of those death wagons around.”

“You’re awfully particular for someone so desperate.”

“Well, it’s my desperation, not yours. I’ll do things the way I always have.” We reached the door and I set down the whisky to dig the key from my skirt pocket.

“You can’t do things the way you always have,” Joey said. “No one can.”

I tugged the padlock open. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“This is just the beginning, what happened to your pop. Now that he’s caught the attention of bigger guys, his days as a lone whisky hauler are over.” He shouldered by me.

“Says who?” I picked up my whisky and followed him in. Moonlight filtered in through the high window and suffused the boathouse with silver-gray light.

“Says the big guys.” Joey set his sacks down, lifted his cap and ran a hand through his hair. “Things are changing around here, Tiny, and small-timers like him aren’t gonna be allowed to run booze free and clear like they have been.”

Part of me knew he could be right, but I didn’t want to admit it. And I had no energy left to argue with him. “I guess that will be his problem then. But right now, all I care about is getting all this sold tomorrow.”

We loaded Al Murphy’s whiskey into the boathouse and put four cases in the Ford for the neighborhood deliveries. “I’ll follow you home,” Joey said after opening the driver side door for me. “We need to talk.”

I didn’t see why it was necessary, and I was completely exhausted, but I said OK.
Maybe I can try again about the gun
, I thought as I started the car.

Clouds had moved in, so moonlight was scant as I bumped along the drive toward Jefferson, but I couldn’t risk turning on the headlamps until I was a safe distance from the boathouse. The whisky bottles clanked in the back.

At my house, we unloaded in silence, hiding the whisky behind a false panel Daddy had put in the pantry. Afterward, Joey followed me into the front room and sank onto the sofa. “Are your sisters here?” he whispered as I switched on a lamp.

“No. They’re at Bridget’s.” I sat at the opposite end of the sofa. “What is it you want to talk about?”

Joey took off his hat and tossed it between us. “You remember I told you about those guys I knew from school, the River Gang?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, they’re taking over all booze smuggling on the water, starting now, north and south of the city.”

I crossed my arms. “What the hell does that mean, taking over?”

“It means from now on, you want to run booze from Canada by boat, you gotta contract them as kind of a…taxi service. They buy and transport the load for you.”

I tilted my head. “How sweet of them. And what do they charge for this service?”

“A percentage of the load, whether the cargo makes it or not.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, say the cops catch them. You gotta pay the River Gang even if the load has to be dumped or gets confiscated.”

My jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me? That’s nuts, Joey! Nobody is going to pay them!”

“Then there’s gonna be a lot of bodies at the bottom of the river.” He looked me in the eye, but it felt like he’d kicked me in the gut.

“So there’s no risk to them whatsoever! Brilliant, these guys. And you said they went to the Bishop School?” The Bishop School was where you ended up after being tossed out of too many regular schools. Joey used to run craps games in the yard there.

“It was bound to happen, Tiny. There’s too much money to be made, and with war coming…”

“What war?”

Joey rubbed a finger back and forth under his bottom lip, saying nothing.

I threw my hands in the air. “Christ, Joey!”

He dropped his hand. “All right, here’s your history lesson. The Scarfone and Provenzano families have been fighting each other for control of the Italian criminal rackets for
years
—tons of guys shot, knifed, blown up, whatever. Then about four years ago, they each get a big hit—Provenzano’s sister and brother-in-law are shot coming out of their house, both killed. Then two days later, Scarfone’s brother’s body is found in a beer barrel on Riopelle. He’d been shot through the head and butchered.”

My stomach heaved.

“Anyways, at that point the two sides apparently decide enough’s enough with the killing. A sit-down is called, and they draw up this peace pact.”

“A peace pact?”

“Yep. My pop told me about it. Signed in blood and everything. Territories in the city and surrounding area are mapped out and each faction is given a slice of the pie. Some small gangs are recognized, but the big players are still Scarfone and Provenzano. Things are calm for a few months. And
then
”—he paused—“Prohibition passes, and the stakes go way up. We’re talking millions in bootleg liquor since Detroit can funnel in so much Canadian whisky and beer.”

I had a pretty good idea how this story ended. “So let me guess. Two years ago Provenzano decides to hell with the peace pact and has Big Leo Scarfone taken out at the police station.” I looked over at him; he was staring straight ahead, jaw set. “I’m sorry,” I said softly, remembering his dad was killed that day too.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. And after that, what’s left of the Scarfone group kinda re-organizes, but it isn’t real tight. The older guys don’t like the younger ones, so they’re not respecting the pact, neither. They’re moving in on other territories, taking over rackets that don’t belong to them. Like Angel coming over here and shaking down guys like your dad.”

I’d never thought of our operation as a criminal racket, just a business. Before all this, my biggest fear had been a bust by the cops. “So now what?”

“So now the younger guys have decided to break from the old gang altogether,” Joey went on. “We’re gonna do our own thing on the river.”

I grabbed his arm. “
We!
Joey, have you lost your mind? After what happened to your father, how can you get involved in this gang stuff?”

He shook me off. “Forget about me. The point is, Angel doesn’t have any right to be over here, running booze or anything else.”

“Oh, but it’s OK for the River Gang to come out of nowhere and start demanding a percentage from any bootlegger on the water?”