Jezebel (11 page)

Oblivious to the quarry
tracking him, Shane picked his way across Sixth Avenue and climbed
the opposite curb.

“
Hey, Shaney Boy!”

Shane
stopped cold. Even though he knew he should’ve kept going,
stubbornly putting one foot in front of the other, he did not.
Avoidance served him well both inside and out of the ring, but he
never ran.

Slowly, Shane turned around
and planted his feet. If he needed to throw a punch or dodge a
bullet, he made sure his weight was evenly distributed. Sleek, with
enviable curved lines and a high gloss, shine the coupe deserved
admiration, but Shane zeroed in on man sitting in the back seat.

A bitter
taste settled in his mouth and he wished he’d taken the doorman
up on his offer. “What do you want, Gould?”

“
Just
being a good Samaritan by offering you a lift.” Grinning, Gould
rubbed his palms together. “
Harah!
Shit! It’s cold as a witch’s tit out here.”

He never ran, but Shane
wasn’t stupid either. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m
strap hanging it.”

Shane
jabbed his thumb toward the subway station’s entrance and
Gould’s grin melted. And it he wasn’t mistaken the other
man’s eye twitched. Expecting retaliation, Shane pulled his
hands out of his pockets and let them hang at his sides. He would be
damned if he died like some bum on the street.

In a move, Shane half
anticipated, Gould jerked his head. The door swung open and one of
his cohorts jumped out. His hands jammed in his trouser pockets, the
punk didn’t look none too happy about being out in the
elements.

“
Zukh
…look…I’m
even being polite by opening the door.” Gould’s tone was
conciliatory, but Shane smelled a rat.

Cursing his bad luck and
over-inflated ego, Shane climbed in. Not making himself too
comfortable, he sat stiffly with his fists resting on his knees.
With his lightning quick reflexes he could at least get off a punch
or two before any of them were the wiser.

Oblivious
to his tactical defense, Gould grinned as he rubbed his palms
together once again. “See how warm and toasty it is in here,”
he gushed. “Me and the boys was just saying it felt like it
was gonna snow.” Gould leaned forward and smacked the front
seat. “Ain’t that right fellas?” he asked, to which
both men nodded and offered up affirmation.

Not up for chitchatting,
Shane met the other man’s exuberance with silence. Still, Gould
didn’t miss a beat. “So where were you headed?”

“
Flatbush,”
Shane lied. He’d given up his dreams he’d be damned if
they would intrude upon his personal life as well.

“
Get outta here!”
Gould slapped Shane’s arm like they were old pals. “All
three of us are from the same neighborhood. Ain’t it a small
world?”

Gould smacked his hand
against the seat again and both goons responded on cue. Their
laughter grated over Shane’s nerves like a trash talking,
overrated boxer.

“
It sure is, boss,”
the driver chirped.

“
Small world,”
the other asserted.

Gould’s gaze slid to
the only odd man out and he sneered, revealing slightly, discolored
teeth. “I should’ve figured you lived round our way. You
can’t throw a stick in Flatbush without whacking a Paddy.”

“
Whack a paddy.…”
The goon driving tugged on his shirt collar as he found Shane in the
car’s rear view mirror, “…really funny, boss.”

Shane clenched his fists so
tightly his fingernails bit into his palm. Better he take the pain
than inflict it on the two-faced shill, who now owned him lock, stock
and barrel.

Maintain
your cool.
He didn’t need to do anything stupid. There was too much
riding on their undesirable association. Still, there was more than
one way to strike a blow.

“
What’s this, a
knitting circle?” Shane managed to dredge up what passed for a
chuckle.

Gould blinked once, then
again. “What’d you say?”

“
A knitting circle.
You’re chattering away like my nana used to.” Shane
clutched his shoulders and started to rock back and forth. “Oh,
it’s so nice and warm in here,” he cooed in a
high-pitched voice. “I didn’t know we were from the same
barn set.” Shane shoved Gould’s shoulder with a loud
cackle. “You should come over for some tea.”

One of the goons coughed,
but Shane wasn’t completely positive he was just clearing his
throat.

“
Mick…bog
jumper…potato eater…fuck you and your ethnic slurs. I’m
half Irish and proud of it.” Shane leaned toward Gould until
their noses almost touched. “But you and me…we aren’t
friends,” he reiterated for the second time that evening.

Gould ruminated in silence,
a muscle working in his jaw. From experience, Shane knew the other
man was simply trying to figure out a way to work the situation back
into his favor.

There wasn’t any need.
Despite his comeuppance and Shane’s misguided ethics, Gould
would continue to have him on the ropes.

“
You’ve been
training hard?”

One simple question and
Gould effectively knocked the wind from Shane’s wings.

“
On
the canvas every day,” Shane said. Deflated, he sat back,
putting some distance between them.

Knowing he’d gotten to
him, Gould became animated. “That a boy!” he said wagging
his finger. “You need to keep up appearances, you know for the
Commission and the press.”

Shane
snorted. Notoriously corrupt, the New York State Athletic Commission
didn’t care if he ran twenty miles a day or slept in a tub of
beer every night. The press on the other hand shaped the public’s
perception. If the public felt they were duped, they’d be less
inclined to pay any future gates. To the Commission, the take was
the begin all and end all.

“
Speaking of
appearances…I got wind Johnny Ferruci’s gonna drop by
before the bout.”

Shane frowned. There wasn’t
anything unusual about that. Boxing promoters always checked out the
fighters on their card.

Gould stroked his narrow
chin and looked almost contrite. “It might benefit you if he
doesn’t get wind of the company you’re keeping.”

Shane
knew exactly to whom Gould was referring. Incoherent with rage, he
grabbed the door handle at the same time he pounded the car’s
soft top. They were crossing Manhattan Bridge and the crosswinds
snatched the car from side to side. Shane didn’t care. He’d
take his chances.

“
Stop the goddam car,”
he yelled.

The car kept going as if
he’d never said a word.

With
exaggerated slowness, as if speaking to a child, Gould said, “You
know how Italians are and if Ferruci sees or hears about you mixing
company. He might call the whole thing off. Heck, he might even
black list us. I won’t get made and you’ll never have
another shot at the belt. Instead, you’ll stay on the fringe
fighting exhibitions like some carney.”

Be
careful what you wish for.
Shane spent the past five years wishing for a shot at the Garden and
then one fateful day it fell in his lap. But not in the way he’d
wanted.

Shane’s gaze drifted
to the window. It was beginning to snow. Flakes danced and brushed
against the car glass. Some stuck, forming a crystal-like cobweb.
Much like the one he’d found himself entangled. Unfortunately,
Shane was too selfish to disentangle himself even when Gould
unwittingly presented him with the best case scenario.

The coupe slowed, stopping
for a red light. Noting the location, the intersection of Flatbush
and Tillary Avenue, Shane calculated the walk. It was a forty block
hike, in the sleet and snow but he’d endure the elements just
to be done with Gould.

“
I’ll get out
here and walk the rest of the way,” he said, pulling on the
handle. The door popped open and as Shane alighted, Gould slid over
and took his seat.

“
I’d
hate for you to get ideas. If Ferruci removes you from his card,
that’s it. No more chances.
Z
e
nigmar.
So, are we on the same page?”

Shane took his time
buttoning his coat before answering.

“
Are
we
on the same page, Brennan?”

“
Like ink,”
Shane said, stuffing his hands in his pockets and offering up the
phoniest smile he could muster.

The car pulled away from the
curb, but Shane waited for it to turn the corner before he turned
about and headed back east.

CHAPTER Eight

“
Rise and shine,”
Celeste chimed, slinging back the heavy brocade curtains in Trudy’s
bedroom windows. She grinned wickedly when her cousin dove under the
chenille bedcover.

“
I’ve got
breakfast, so get up.”

Trudy peeked from under the
covers. “What time is it?”

“
Half past ten.”

Trudy moaned. “Way too
early, now get out.”

Celeste ignored her cousin.
She slid the breakfast tray off the dressing table and set it on the
bed between them.

“
Trudy, please. I’ve
already cleaned the house, visited the grocers and picked up our
order at Green’s.

“
Did you pick up my
white tux?” Trudy mumbled.

“
Sure did, now get
up,” Celeste ordered.

As commanded, yet with the
pace of a snail, Trudy pushed back the covers. “Bagels and
lox?”

Celeste picked up a bagel
and sliced it open. “I need some advice,” she said, while
slathering both halves with cream cheese. “I’ve got a
date tonight.”

“
Well aren’t you
Miss Popular.” Trudy’s eyes widened. “Just don’t
end up with worms. Hiram’s pushing sixty.”

Offended, Celeste almost let
her have it. Instead, she handed her a bagel. “Not him, the
prizefighter.”

“
Well slap me and call
me Lois Lane.” Trudy stacked her bagel with slices of smoked
salmon, pickled capers and red onion. “I didn’t think you
liked him.”

“
I didn’t…I
mean I don’t…I think I might.”

With food in her mouth,
Trudy mumbled, “Either way I’m not totally surprised…
‘thou who protest too much’.”

Celeste pursed her lips in
consternation. “A little overboard?”

“
Like the Titanic.”
Celeste snatched up a velvet pillow and let her cousin have it.

“
Hey! Don’t beat
the messenger. You asked.”

Trudy settled back against
the pillows. “Glad you wised up. I wouldn’t even mind
letting him put his shoes under my bed.”

Celeste nibbled her lip.
“You think I’m wrong for stepping out so soon after my
father’s funeral?”

Trudy shook her head. “You
need some fun after that spectacle,” she said with a shudder.
“All those people falling out and carrying on. You would’ve
thought Marcus Garvey had died.”

Celeste
ignored a sudden swell of sadness. “It was a mess wasn’t
it?”

“
A hot mess.”
Trudy leaned back with a sigh. “I’m just glad it’s
over and done with. You deserve a spot of sunshine. Just make sure
he treats you like a lady and not some grove picker.”

Celeste fell into the
mountains of pillows at the head of the bed. “He was a doll
wasn’t he? And he smelled yummy. It should be illegal for a
man to smell that good. Oh Trudy, I gave him such a hard time. I
don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“
Nothing
wrong with you, honey. You just drew the short straw when God handed
out parents. Go out on a few dates. Fall in love.”

“
You must have
forgotten he’s white,” Celeste pointed out. “Men
like him don’t jump the broom with women like us.”

Trudy
brushed aside Celeste’s argument with a flick of her hand.
“Love can come in any form. All I’m saying is its high
time you stop carrying that monkey on your back and live the life you
deserve.”

The thought of drying out
put a sour taste in Celeste’s mouth. Her appetite sufficiently
ruined, she slipped from the bed.

“
Where are you going?”

“
I have an appointment
with my father’s attorney this afternoon.”

Trudy
instantly perked up. “Want some company?”

“
No. This should be a
quick meeting. I’ll be back by the time you get your second
wind.”

Her cousin stretched her
arms over her head and the sleeves of her silk pajamas puddle around
her elbows. “How’d you know I was going for another
twenty winks?”

“
We’re first
cousins,” Celeste reminded her.