Sons of Thunder (11 page)

Zante’s contained a chill conjured more from the destroyed silhouette of the restaurant than the wind hissing through the cracks between the boards of the front window. Markos let himself in through the back, climbing the narrow stairs to his room. As usual, he looked for a light on in Sofia’s quarters, some puddle of life leaking from under the door. But why would she be up at 3 a.m.? He let himself into his darkened, frigid room.

Dino huddled in a ball under his blanket on the cot. Markos shed his father’s coat and laid it over his brother’s form. Then, shucking off his shoes, he pulled off his clothes, folded them on the dresser, and moved toward the bed.

Hedy’s husky voice twined through his thoughts. And not just the songs she’d sung tonight, but her warning over a month ago—
Nobody leaves Jimmy the Greek.

He would. The thought kept turning in his mind, as if on a spit. He would save up his money, get train tickets for all three of them, and go…somewhere. Start over.

Maybe in Minneapolis. Wasn’t that where Dr. Scarpelli said he was headed?

They wouldn’t live with the Scarpellis. But Dino could borrow some books, learn to be a doctor. And Markos and Sofia could get married.

Most of all, they’d be safe. From Scarface Al.

From Uncle Jimmy.

He’s had his gaze on Sofia since the second you dragged her into Zante’s.

He didn’t want to believe it. But a coldness settled deep into his bones, in the well of his stomach, tightening every time Hedy climbed on stage.

Yes, they had to leave.

Someone had left a package on his bed. Bound in dark paper and twine. He picked it up.

“It’s from Sofia,” Dino said, behind him. He leaned up on one elbow. “She said it was a late Christmas gift.”

Markos closed his eyes, wincing at the memory of her beautiful coat in tatters, although she’d taken a needle and thread to it and tried to repair it. He hated that she wore it, scarred. He longed to buy her a new one, but he still owed Jimmy too much, saw his paycheck shrinking every week, thanks to the interest Jimmy tacked on.

“Look what she gave me.” Dino pulled back the covers. “Socks! Three pair!”

Markos pulled the twine to release the package. The paper fell open. He snapped on the lamplight and it pooled over a knit brown blanket. He ran his fingers into it. “It’s so soft.”

“I saw her working on it. She said you didn’t have one.”

He picked it up, and the length of it fell to the floor. He imagined her hands working the needles, row by row, brought it to his face, and inhaled. It smelled like her, orange blossoms…the scent of home. Crazy tears whisked into his eyes. “No, I don’t have one.”

He wrapped it around himself, turned off the light, and climbed onto the bed. The springs squeaked under his weight.

“Do you ever think about home, Markos?” Dino’s voice emerged soft and quiet.

Markos watched the moonlight trickle over the worn floor, Dino’s discarded dark shoes. “All the time.”

“I miss the sea. The taste of it on my lips, and chasing sea turtles.” He looked over at Markos. “You remember that last night, right before Theo’s wedding? How Lucien and I chased that turtle into Whistler’s Drink—”

“I don’t want to talk about Lucien.” Although the mention of his friend dredged up his expression as he’d stood on the pier.
Markos, don’t go!

Markos curled his fists tight into the blanket.

“He made me laugh,” Dino said.

“He was foolish. And someday you would have figured that out.”

“He was my friend.”

Markos closed his eyes.

Silence. Finally, “I’m sorry for that trick I played on you, Markos. It was Lucien’s idea, even before he jumped off the boat. He knew you’d chase me into the cave. Knew you’d panic if you thought I’d drowned. He knew how afraid you were of the cave.”

Markos glanced at him in the wan light. Were Dino’s cheeks shiny?

“It’s okay.”

Dino shook his head. “No, it’s not. I should have never forced you to come in after me.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have.”

“No. You always came after me. You wouldn’t leave me there.” Dino reached up, wiped his face with the meat of his hand. Markos looked away.

“Sofia says you’re learning English at the Orthodox Church.”

Dino stared at the ceiling. “Papa Minos caught me trying to steal the communion wafers.”

“Dino!”

“I’m sorry. I saw them, and I was hungry. Now I sit in his office and read to him, in English.”

Markos would have to thank Papa Minos. Although probably a guy like himself shouldn’t be setting foot in a church. He hadn’t crossed himself for so long, God would probably cringe if he tried.

“Sofia said you’ve been working for Peter Kazalos. He’s nice to you?”

“Yeah. He goes to church sometimes. I like him. He reminds me of Papa.” Dino fell silent. Then, “Markos…do you think we’ll ever go back?”

Markos’s throat burned. “I don’t know.”

Dino’s breath shuddered, as if he might be trying not to cry. “I miss Papa and Theo. And I’m starting to forget Mama’s voice. Do you remember it?”

You are the eldest Stavros now, and it’s up to you to take care of him. Don’t let me down.
“I try to.”

“I sometimes imagine her, standing at the end of the pier, her arms open wide as we get off the ferry. Just like that time when we went out and the storm came up and we had to camp on the north side of the island. When we returned, she was standing on the shore worrying her prayer beads—remember that?”

He remembered her tears. Remembered the tremor of her voice as she scolded him for not making it home earlier, right before pulling him into a clench.

Remembered the softly breathed prayers of gratitude.
Go, Markos. God will deliver you.

Really, Mama? He closed his eyes. Because it surely felt as if God had stayed behind, in Zante, His feet glued in the soft sand of the shore.

“I gotta surprise for you tonight, kiddo.” Hedy held out her gloved hand for him to take as he helped her from the car. He’d parked away from the road, in the alley, aware of the drive-by shootings at gin joints habited by friends of Jimmy.

“Consider it a Valentine’s Day gift.”

“What is Valentine’s Day?” Markos held out his arm for her as he led her down the steps to Tony’s. He rapped on the door, the little slot slid open. “Wrigley,” he said.

The door swung open and music curled out around him, tugging him inside.

“It’s the day of love,” Hedy said, hooking one skinny arm around his neck, turning to smile at him. He winced at the bite of alcohol on her breath.

Disentangling her arm, he ushered her into the room. He helped her off with her jacket, hung it on a rack next to the door. Men nodded to her as she swept by them, their eyes hanging on longer than Jimmy would have liked. A few women lined up at the bar, smoking cigarettes. Another stood in the front of the room, mourning out a jazz tune.

“I thought Jimmy would be here.” Hedy leaned against the bar, her red lips in a pout.

He hadn’t seen Jimmy for days—but the newspapers detailed the bloodbaths from the night before, like the scores of a baseball game. Grainy black and white photographs of the fallen from both sides of Chicagoland.

Worse was when the innocent died—children, a mother walking home from market. Between the despair of the soup kitchens and the blood on the streets, Chicago had become a war zone.

Markos scanned the room for familiar faces, nodded to a few of Jimmy’s lackeys. If they were here—yes. “Jimmy’s sitting up in front. C’mon, I’ll bring you up—”

“No—” She yanked her hand from his grip. “Let’s stay here.” What looked like panic flashed through her eyes, but she smoothed it with a milky smile. “Just—wait.”

Markos ordered her a drink, nothing for himself. She smiled over the brim of her glass at him as the announcer got up and introduced the next singer.

Only the name stuck with him.
Fifi.

She emerged from the side, a slender gal wearing a short white sequined dress, her stockings rolled down below her knees, high heels, skinny arms. And short bobbed, wavy black hair. She turned her back to the audience, letting the light splash over her as the piano trickled out the first notes.

She turned, stepped up to the mic, head down. Her hair fell over her face.

There’s a saying going ’round and I begin to think it’s true

His breath caught. He knew the tone, had imagined the voice, but had never heard actual words—

It’s awful hard to love someone, when they don’t care ’bout you

Tangy and intoxicating, the song trickled across the audience, as the singer raised her head.
Once I had a lovin’ man, as good as many in this town

“I told you you’d be surprised.”

Sofia.
Her voice tremored even as she sang out, now meeting the eyes of her audience, one by one by—one.

But now I’m sad and lonely, for he’s gone and turned me down, now.

I ain’t got nobody and nobody cares for me.

Markos couldn’t move, despite the hot roaring inside.
Singing.
Sofia’s words tore through him. He clutched the side of the bar, watching Jimmy, his hand on his drink, smiling up at her.

He knew that smile. Seen it before, for Hedy.

I got the blues, the weary blues…

Hedy turned to look at him. “You okay, kiddo?”

“I’m not a kiddo,” Markos said, his hand wrapping around her upper arm. “I’m only a year younger than you.” His gaze stayed, however, on Sofia, burned to the sight of her swaying side to side, her beautiful hair shorn, her eyes darkened, her lips blood red. The transformation only made her look younger, as if Jimmy had plucked her right out of some mother’s arms.

His arms.

“Ow, you’re hurtin’ me, Markos.”

Hedy’s eyes betrayed real pain. “Sorry.” He loosened his grip as he pulled her toward the door.

And I’m sad and lonely, won’t somebody come and take a chance with me?

Her mouth tipped up into a smile as it landed on Uncle Jimmy.

I’ll sing sweet love songs honey, all the time…

“Where we goin’? I don’t wanna leave—Markos!” Hedy’s voice lifted as she tore away from him. A fella near the door rose from his table.

“He giving you trouble, lady?”

If you’ll come and be my sweet baby mine…

Markos stepped back, breathing hard, his chest knotted. He shot another look at Sofia.

She’d seen him, and for a moment, recognition registered in the flutter of her voice. ’
Cause I ain’t got nobody, and nobody cares for me.

“C’mon back, Markos.” Hedy grabbed his hand.

Sofia stared at him hard as Hedy dragged him back to the bar.
Won’t somebody go and find my man and bring him back to me…

Then she flashed her beautiful smile once more on her benefactor. Jimmy blew out a long breath of cigarette smoke.

It’s awful hard to be alone and without sympathy… Once I was a loving gal, as good as any in this town but since my daddy left me, I’m a gal with her heart bowed down….

Her last notes trickled out, and she ended with a blush, a coy smile that only Hedy could have taught her.

Markos shot her an accusing look, and Hedy shrugged. “A gal’s gotta have a protégé.”

But Hedy swallowed, too fast for her own good, and looked away.

Uncle Jimmy leaped to his feet, clapping even as he reached out for Sofia. She sashayed toward him, took his hand.

A fist had Markos by the chest, squeezing out his heart, his lungs. Especially as Sofia leaned forward and kissed Jimmy’s fat cheek.

“I gotta get outta here. Stay if you want,” he growled to Hedy. Even her hand on his arm couldn’t stop him as he banged through the crowd.

He brushed by two men in overcoats, just entering. Something sharp clipped his leg, as if—

No.

He turned, spotted the bulky outline of a Tommy gun against the second man’s flowing coat.

“Jimmy, look out!” Markos launched himself at the shooter as he brought the gun up to his hip. The other had already begun to spray the room.

Screams, the pepper of shots, shattered glass, shredded tables—people dove to the floor.

Hedy clung to the counter, eyes wide in shock. Markos scrambled to his feet just as the gunman turned his aim on her. He heard her screams—or maybe his own—as the bullets tore through her body. “Hedy!”

She twisted and fell in heap.

One of Jimmy’s men launched himself toward the gunner Markos had taken down, and dispatched him with his handgun. Another took aim, took the other shooter down.

Thirty seconds, tops. Hedy lay bloodied, her body chewed with
bullets, eyes unseeing. Women screamed, stepping over bodies as they ran toward the door. Markos pushed against the crowd toward the stage. “Sofia!”

Please, oh, please, God—

Jimmy lay on his side, cursing. A bullet had nicked him—blood poured down his arm.

Under the piano, Sofia curled in a ball, shaking. “Sofia!” Markos crawled under it, pulled her free. “Are you okay?”

She shook, her eyes in his, and he didn’t get an answer. He ran his hands down her arms. “Are you bleeding?”