Out of Time (17 page)

He rolled his neck, trying to work out the kinks. A night in the little wooden chair had done little to help his mood. Now, his body was twisted in the same knots as his heart.

He went from store to store, pushing his way through the crowd. She had to be here. This was the sort of place she’d seek. Get that cannoli she’d talked incessantly about. Pastry shop after pastry shop and still no Elizabeth.

Could he have made a bigger cock-up of the situation? He should never have let things get as far as they had. Never should have given in for one moment of perfection.

Damn her. She should have, at the very least, had the decency to tell him where she was going. She could be anywhere in the city. Anything could be happening to her.

With a force of will, he pushed that thought aside and continued through the crowd. He’d find her sooner or later. Not that he had the slightest notion of what to say when he did. His stuttering apology last night only drove her further away.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and felt the cool, embossed metal of his grandfather’s watch. His fingers ran over the surface. Odd, how in only a few days it had become a talisman. An anchor to reality. But it was nearly meaningless without her. He gave a short painful laugh. What wasn’t?

As he neared the end of the block, he mapped out his next move. Take the subway uptown and work his way back. Surely she wouldn’t leave the city. No. He had the watch. She’d come back to him, if for no other reason. Cold comfort.

He was about to reverse his course when he felt someone watching him. He turned around quickly, scanning the crowd.

In the shadows of a doorway stood an old woman, arms wrapped under a black shawl, dark eyes boring into him.

Then he noticed the hand-painted sign that adorned the window next to her—Spiritualist and Medium. Undoubtedly, one of the many charlatans that had found a way to profit from people’s suffering. A legacy of the first World War.

After the war, after any time of great sorrow, people looked for answers. So much loss led to questions about life, death and what lay between. Some turned toward religion, and people like Aimee Semple McPherson came into power. Some turned away from everything, and others turned toward the slightly less ordinary.

Spiritualism had been reborn. Finally out of the back rooms and dark alleys, the movement was big business. From the average housewife to the cream of society, nearly everyone embraced the prospect of speaking to a lost loved one.

Simon eyed the old woman with undisguised disdain. His years in the occult had led him to more than his share of impostors. He’d even, for a brief time, considered following in Houdini’s footsteps and spending his life debunking those who’d gain from others’ pain. But he’d had his own battles to fight.

“You have lost something?” the woman said, in a thick Italian accent.

His frustration nearly let loose in a biting reply, but he stopped himself. He had far more important things to do than expose a two-bit hustler, although it was tempting.

She glared at him and wrapped her shawl more tightly about her shoulders before turning her attention to a young, sightseeing couple.

Simon rounded the corner, leaving Mulberry Street behind, and headed toward Old Saint Patrick’s. He spent the rest of the afternoon searching for her. Charlie hadn’t seen her, and the small tremors of anxiety he always carried with him grew until he was frantic with worry. He’d make one last check of the apartment, then he’d go to the police. Timelines be damned.

He keyed into their rooms and stopped dead in his tracks. Elizabeth was sitting at the small table, very much alive.

He breathed a sigh of relief and closed the door behind him. “Where the hell have you been?”

Elizabeth kept her gaze out the window and gave a bitter laugh.

His relief was pushed aside by a wave of anger. “The least you could have done is left a note. I looked all over the damn city for you.”

She turned slowly in her chair. “Now, you found me.”

Her calm was maddening. “What were you thinking?” he said and strode toward the table.

She stood and met his anger with her own. “I don’t think you want to know.”

Simon clenched his jaw. She was right about that. He didn’t want to know.

“But since you asked so nicely,” she said icily. “I think it’s best if we don’t share an apartment anymore. I wouldn’t want any more mistakes, would you?”

He winced and tried to think of something rational to say, which was distinctly lacking in this conversation. “Elizabeth—”

She walked away from him and busied herself with preparing her outfit for the club. “I should have enough money by the end of the week.”

She couldn’t be serious. He couldn’t let her move out. There simply had to be a way to convince her not to. God knows, it was hard enough to protect her as it was, but if she weren’t with him…

“Don’t be absurd,” he said and winced as soon as the words left his mouth.

She arched an eyebrow in challenge. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was I being absurd?”

“That’s not,” he stuttered and shoved his hands into his pockets. “That’s not what I meant.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. You made yourself quite clear last night. I’ll have my own place by the weekend.”

He fought against the urge to take her in his arms. Tell her it was all a mistake. That he’d made the mistake in pushing her away. But his feet wouldn’t move. He had done the only thing he could yesterday, but he couldn’t let her leave.

“Like it or not,” he said, as evenly as he could. “We’re in this situation together.”

“No. We’re not.” She picked up her costume and lifted her chin. “We need to keep up appearances. But since that’s all they are, where I spend my nights is none of your business.”

King flicked the long ash of his cigarette out of the back window of his car and leaned forward to see across the street. These rounds were growing more and more tedious. It was hardly the first time Victor had collected payments. What could possibly be taking so long?

Impatient to move on to the inspection of the new club in Chinatown, King reached for the door handle. His gloved hand froze in place as he saw a familiar face walking up the sidewalk in the late afternoon shadows. Elizabeth Cross.

She was a puzzle, that one. One he’d enjoy solving.

She looked around nervously, and King leaned back in his seat to hide his face. She didn’t give any sign of seeing him or recognizing his car.

What was she doing here?

Just as she reached the doorway to the pawn shop, Vic stumbled out and nearly into her, the big oaf. She sidestepped him and went inside.

Curious.

Victor lumbered across the street toward the car.

“Hey, boss,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “That dame from the club, she’s—”

“Shut up and get in the car,” King hissed.

With one last ponderous look back at the pawn shop, Victor did as he was told.

King stared at the door to the pawn shop, his mind sifting through possibilities. A few minutes later, Elizabeth emerged. She pulled down the rim of her cloche hat and hurried off down the street.

King waited until she was out of sight before opening his door. “Wait here.”

He swiftly crossed the street and entered the shop.

One patron who was idly looking through the wares turned white when he saw King. Lowering his eyes to the ground, the man scurried for the door, leaving the shop empty.

“King,” Smitty said with a broad, false smile that faded and quivered under King’s gaze. “The payment was in full. I double checked it.”

King waved the notion away with his hand and looked down into the glass case before moving his gaze back up to Smitty. “That woman who was just here. Did she buy something? Sell something?”

“Neither one,” Smitty. “She’s paying off a ticket.”

King stared at the man, impatient that his needs were not already anticipated.

“Oh,” Smitty said as dawn broke. “It’s an odd one. I should have come to you about it,” he added quickly as he dug around behind the counter. “It’s right up your alley, with the collecting.”

King waited while the man opened and closed drawers.

“Here it is,” he said triumphantly as he turned and unfolded a bit of cloth.

King could barely believe his eyes. “How did you—?”

His hand went quickly to his own breast pocket where he felt the outline of the ring inside. He stared down in disbelief. Identical, even down to the crack along the scarab’s back.

“It’s probably a fake,” Smitty said. “Not worth much but—”

King picked up the scarab ring and held it up to the light. “Oh, it’s worth a great deal, Mr. Smith. A great deal. To me.”

Elizabeth ignored him all the next night at the club, never once even glancing in his direction. Simon managed to play the music, but he wasn’t sure how. Her anger was well deserved, but that was hardly a comfort.

He finished his set and sat on the piano bench watching her lean against the bar, waiting for her order to be filled. She tucked a few stray strands of hair behind her ears and gave Charlie a fleeting smile.

The night dragged on painfully slowly. The bar was doing a brisk business for a Monday night, but every couple, every happy reveler was nothing more than painful reminder of something he’d never have. He watched her as she greeted each table with a smile. He hadn’t realized how much he’d come to rely on her smile. How much that simple thing meant to him. Now they were all for someone else. He was starting to feel truly maudlin when the buzz of the crowd softened to a whisper. Every eye in the club was on the man in the doorway.

“King!” Charlie said with forced enthusiasm. “Your table is waitin’ for ya.”

The dark haired man nodded his head once and took a seat along the far wall. Simon nearly forgot his place in the song as he leaned to his right to get a better view. So this was King Kashian? He used so much oil in his hair, there was enough left over for his smile.

Dix went to his table, but he waved her off. His dark eyes traveled across the room until they found their prize. Elizabeth. Dix signaled for her to come over. King’s gaze raked over her body, and Simon hit a sour note. He covered quickly, then strained to see them through the crowd.

The man’s look was positively indecent. King waved a gloved hand and gestured for Elizabeth to join him. She shook her head. Good girl. King leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. Elizabeth put her tray down on the table and took a seat.

They spoke for a few minutes until King turned and nodded toward Simon. Elizabeth followed his gaze and said something in response. King laughed, and they both turned away.

What the bloody hell was she doing?

Simon ground his teeth with growing aggravation. He wished he could see Elizabeth’s face, but all he could see was King’s smug expression. They were too far away for lip reading, but it was clear enough that the gangster was enjoying her company. A bit too much.

Simon played a few more standards, trying not to race the tempo, but his heart wasn’t in the music. After a few more minutes, King pushed his chair back and stood. He gave Elizabeth a courtly bow and a not so courtly leer, before heading for the door. She took up her tray and walked to the bar. Simon finished the last bars of “S’Wonderful”, ignored the smattering of applause and walked over to her.

She was waiting for an order to be filled when Simon gripped her by the arm and forced her to turn toward him. “What was that all about?”

Her eyes were cold, and she wrested her arm from his grip. She turned away and grabbed her tray. “Thanks, Charlie,” she said, and moved back into the crowd without giving Simon another glance.

He grunted in aggravation and ran a hand through his hair. What did she think she was playing at? They knew King was dangerous. Why didn’t she just go and play in traffic, for God’s sake?

“You all right, Professor?” Charlie asked as he served up a particularly vile smelling concoction.

Simon gave a terse laugh. “Fine.”

“Sorry about King. Fancies himself a real cake eater.”

“Really?” Simon said, unimpressed. “And I suppose fraternizing with the clientele is part of Elizabeth’s job.”

Charlie frowned. “It ain’t like that. When King wants to talk, ya talk.” He put down his dishrag, leaned against the bar and nodded toward Elizabeth. “I don’t know what you did, Professor. But if I were you, I’d fix it.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Simon said, bristling.

Charlie shrugged. “I’m just sayin’ flowers might not be a bad idea.”

“I don’t remember asking you for advice on our relationship. I’m fairly certain it’s none of your business.”

Charlie’s kind eyes grew hard. “Anything affects the club is my business.”

Simon cocked his head to the side in challenge. “If you have a point, I suggest you get to it.”

Charlie sighed. “Look, I like ya. Well, I like Lizzy; you’re a pain in the ass. But Lizzy likes ya, so you can’t be all bad.”

“Thank you,” Simon said dryly.

“Alls I’m sayin’ is: men, we mess up. Don’t always know why, but I know one thing. You got a good thing in Lizzy. Do what you gotta do. Cause trust me, there’s always somethin’ or somebody there waitin’ to take it away from ya.”

Simon nodded and turned to watch Elizabeth. If Charlie only knew how true that was.

BACK AT THE APARTMENT, Elizabeth kept her distance and her silence. They hadn’t said more than two words since their brief contact in the bar. Simon continued to sleep in the chair. Nightmares plagued him. Awake or asleep, it didn’t seem to matter. No matter how hard he tried, doubts crept in. He told himself time and again that he’d done the right thing, but the truth inched its way to the surface. He wasn’t protecting her at all. It wasn’t a matter of sparing her the infliction of his inevitable failure, it was something much simpler. Something far less noble. She was right. He was afraid. Petrified actually. The idea of loving someone, of being loved in return frightened him beyond words.

More often than not, he’d ended the relationships before they could begin. Then Elizabeth had come into his life. All the walls he’d built were slowly being worn away. Until now, when the cracks became fissures, and the walls started to crumble. He could feel the past repeating itself. Was he strong enough to face it all again? Or could he change his destiny?