Sons of Thunder (9 page)

“Oh, you know. Big Al and the outfit. They’re trying to take over his part of town.”

Markos equated it to the Turks and Greek War, and vowed silent allegiance.

“Here we go.” Gretchen returned with a box, opened it, and pulled out a wool coat in the finest shade of amber, like the beaches of Zante at sundown. It buttoned on the side and bore thick fur at the lapel and wrists, striped in black and gray. He ran his fingers through the fur, could almost hear Sofia in it, humming her delight.

“It’s perfect.”

“It’s raccoon—all the rage.”

He found the price tag of the coat, and his mouth dried.

“Oh, darling, don’t worry.” Hedy tweaked him on the cheek. “It’ll be worth it when she flings herself into your arms.”

In his wildest dreams. Ever since he’d rented her a single room over Uncle Jimmy’s restaurant, he’d barely seen her. He missed listening to her breath on the other side of the curtain.

He couldn’t bear to remember her singing.

“Oh, what is this face? Is she still not talking to you?”

“She spends all her free time with Dino, going to the penny movies and learning English.”

“You should bring her with you some night. I wouldn’t mind.” Hedy winked at Markos and he blew out a breath, trying to pinpoint why that idea rattled him.

“Naw. She’s…”

Hedy raised a thinly plucked eyebrow, pursed her red lips, waited.

“Not you.”

She smiled. “Well, of course she’s not, darlin’. But you said she likes to sing. Maybe she could favor us with a little ditty.”

The idea of Sofia on stage, in a dress cut above her knees, pearls swaying as she cooed into some microphone…

“I can’t afford the coat, Hedy.”

“Oh, horse feathers. We’ll put it on my account. And I’ll tell Jimmy to give you an advance in pay in time for Christmas. But she needs a hat to go with it.” Hedy nodded to Gretchen, who boxed the coat up as Hedy led him to a room dedicated to hats—wide-brimmed felt hats with veils and the shell-like cloche hats that Hedy wore so well.

Markos picked up a skullcap with a wide, lacey trim around the outside.

“Of course, she’ll have to cut her hair if she wants it to fit,” Hedy said.

Markos handed her back the hat. “I’ll just take the coat.”

Hedy led the way to a cashier while Markos fumbled with the math. He’d owe Uncle Jimmy a year of pay at the rate Hedy had him spending money. But it took cash to be a dandy, as Hedy put it. She’d already redressed him in a pair of oxford bags and saddle shoes, an early Christmas gift.
Can’t have my companion dressed like a ragamuffin.

And Uncle Jimmy seemed to want him to squire his girl around town. He had practically handed over his Model T after taking Markos into the country to teach him to drive, although his true test of faith in Markos came in handing over Hedy to Markos’s arm. Markos couldn’t deny the power that coursed through him, motoring through the traffic of Chicago, beautiful Hedy Brooks reclining behind him, puffing out circles of cigarette smoke. And, she hummed. Low and raw edged, tunes that made him watch her in the rearview mirror, even as she powdered
her knees or rouged her lips with her pinky finger in her signature Ox-blood red hue.

A part of him that he didn’t recognize loved Chicago. The city had an avant-garde, almost adolescent feel, with the dapper dons, the flat-chested girls swinging their pearls, the hot jazz, and underground gin-rooms secreted in basements and behind slotted doors of candy stores and groceries and shoemaker’s shops. Life buzzed below the crust of the city, accessible with passwords that he memorized daily.

He’d learned to blend into the crowd, watching Hedy woo her audience at Tony’s—or even some of the other gin-mills; the Green Door, Lottie’s, the Rainbo Club. When she crawled onto a baby grand to perform, he appeared to lift her back to the floor; when one or two of the sheiks who wanted her favors forgot she belonged to Jimmy the Greek, he gave them a gentle reminder. Just Jimmy’s name seemed enough.

She made Markos feel twenty-eight rather than eighteen.

“Let’s get
you
a coat too,” Hedy said, fingering the collar of his father’s wool coat. “This is so…old.”

He caught her soft hand. “No thanks.” But he did allow her to choose a white silk scarf and drape it over his neck.

Winter cast a dismal pallor over the city as he hiked out to the car then collected Hedy from under the awning, where the footman held her bags and his coat box.

She climbed in. “I’m serious—bring Sofia to Tony’s tonight. I’d love to hear her sing.”

Markos pulled away from the curb, the car splashing through blackened pools of icy water. Yes, he’d love to hear her sing too. But not at Tony’s.

No, Sofia wasn’t a canary. Never would be.

Sofia wasn’t in her room when he returned to the restaurant. She’d shown up for her regular hostess duties during the restaurant’s dinner hour, but vanished by the time he finished taking out the trash. Markos paused outside her room, his hand formed to knock, when he heard laughter inside. Then, Dino’s voice, teasing, something in English. Markos couldn’t make it out. He palmed his hand on the door a moment before hustling to the bathroom to clean up for Hedy.

Just wait until Sofia saw the coat. Then she’d see that, while Dino was still a child…Markos had become a man.

The night had turned crisp as he walked home late under the lamp-lights. He’d retired the coupe in Uncle Jimmy’s garage two blocks away and carried the coat box under his arm, his collar turned up. Snow, soft, almost ethereal, drifted from the sky, turning to diamonds under the streetlights. He hummed one of Hedy’s tunes, tried out a step he’d seen from the hoofers tonight. Someday he’d ask Hedy to dance—she always tried to hide the longing in her eyes, but he sensed it as she watched the fellas sway with their ladies.

Probably Uncle Jimmy wouldn’t mind if he took her for a twirl around the floor.

The restaurant’s fluorescent sign had flickered out; Zante’s finally silent after the day’s chaos. He used his key to open the front door then slipped inside.

Streetlight glimmered on the slick wood floor, across the glass countertop. The smell of lamb and onions embedded the walls. He ran his hand along the smooth counter as he moved toward the back.

A captured breath from one of the wooden booths stopped him.

He turned, froze.

Sofia sat in the shadows, her hair down long, her blue eyes watching him.

“Sof—what are you doing here?”

She looked at her hands palming the table. “Just sitting. Waiting.”

“Waiting?”

She lifted a shoulder. “For you. I do, sometimes. You always walk right by, without seeing me.”

He did? He stepped to the booth, set the box on the table. “I didn’t know that.”

“Now that you’re home, I’m going to bed.” She moved to rise.

He put a hand on her shoulder. She recoiled as if he’d burned her.

Oh. He pulled his hand away. “Listen—I was going to wait until Christmas, but…” He found a smile and pushed the box toward her.

She looked up at him. “What’s this?”

“Your Christmas gift.”

“But—I don’t have anything for…” She shook her head. “It’s not Christmas yet, Markos. Let’s wait.”

He sat down opposite her. “Please, open it.” How he longed to see her face, but the shadows hid her expression from him.

Finally, “Okay.” She lifted the lid. He turned on the lamp in time to see her mouth open.

“Oh.” She ran her hand over the coat, held it up. “Oh.” But her tone sounded more pain than joy.

She let the coat drop and covered her mouth with both hands. Shook her head. The bubble of happiness turned to bile inside him. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s not—I can’t accept this. It’s too expensive.”

“No it’s not. Hedy is getting me—Aw, never mind. It’s perfect. C’mon, try it on.”

She didn’t move. “No.”

“What are you talking about?” The anger in his voice surprised
him. “But—but—You
need
a coat. You’re practically freezing to death in your old sweater…”

“It was my mother’s sweater.”

“It’s ragged. It makes you look like a—a village girl.”

“I
am
a village girl. I’m not one of your fancy shebas—”

“How do you know that word?”

“I know a lot of things, Markos. Like that woman you’re always with. She’s a—a—floozy. They call her a
charity girl.”

He hated the swirl of anger, how he wanted to yank her words from her mouth. “Hedy’s
not
a charity girl. She’s a singer. And Uncle Jimmy’s girlfriend.”

“Not only Uncle Jimmy’s.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I think you know.” She stood up. “Is that what you want, Markos? A flapper? Someone who runs around with her knees naked, swinging pearls, her hair so short it looks like a man’s?”

He just stared at her, trying to get a fix on her words.

She shook her head, her jaw tight. “This was a mistake. Thank you for the gift, but I don’t want it. Give it to—Hedy Brooks.”

“It’s not for Hedy Brooks! She has plenty of fancy things.”

“That’s right, she does. She shouldn’t have you too!”

“She doesn’t.” He stood, touched her shoulder. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that you’re in love with her.” She’d let her voice drop low, trembling, but she could have been shouting at the top of her lungs for the way it hit him.

He stepped back, staring at her, the shimmer of anger in her blue eyes, her dark hair long and over her face. She breathed in hard, as if waiting for his response.

He had no words, only a roaring in his head.

She slid away from him. “I shouldn’t have waited for you. I don’t know what I was thinking—Maybe—Just, good night, Markos.”

He grabbed her arm. “It’s not true, Sofia. I’m just her driver.”

She seemed thinner than he’d remembered. In fact, standing next to her—closer than he’d been, really, in weeks, she seemed almost fragile. “Let me go, Markos.” She pried his fingers away.

“No—I told you, I’m not leaving you. I mean that.”

“The Markos I know already left.”

“I don’t understand you! What are you saying?” Now his voice hissed, and he heard in it something unfamiliar, something even dark.

“Nothing—I just wish—I miss the Markos I knew.”

The Markos she knew? “I haven’t changed. I’m just trying to make a life for us.”

“You’re not the same. Ever since you started working for Hedy. Something inside you feels…different. Dark. It’s in your eyes. You don’t look at me the way you used to. And now, you…you smell like…
her
.” She curled her nose up. “Perfume and cigarette smoke, and…hooch.”

Another word. He wasn’t sure he liked any of them coming from Sofia’s pretty lips. “It’s my job, Sofia. I have to carry Hedy’s coat, drive her around, keep her safe.” He stalked back over to the table. “At least I’m not going to movies every day and stealing from apple carts.”

She drew in a quick breath.

He tightened his jaw, picked up the box. Turned. She had her arms wrapped around herself, tiny and stiff in the blade of streetlight. “Is that what you think I’m doing every day?”

He stood there, the box between them, hating himself for the words boiling inside, for wanting to splash them on Sofia. Why was he the only one who had to hurt? “I don’t know what you’re doing. But I know you
seem to prefer Dino’s company to mine.” He winced at how petulant the words sounded and shoved the box at her.

Her eyes darkened. “Dino and I’ve been attending classes. English classes at the Greek Orthodox Church. He wants to go to school. Make something of himself. He’s even been working for Mr. Kazalos at his apple stand.”

Oh.

She took the box, set it on the counter, ran her hand over the lid. “I know you’re trying to take care of us, Markos, but I’m afraid I’m losing you. Every day you sink into a place I can’t see. I’m screaming, but you don’t hear me.”

Her blue eyes sheened with tears as she looked up at him. “Please, Markos, quit this job. I don’t need a coat. I don’t even need my own room. I miss being with you and Dino. I—”

The picture window exploded.

Markos threw his arm around Sofia, flattened her to the ground.

Shots peppered the room, shattering the canisters of candy on the counter, splintering the mahogany counter, shredding the padded stools. Markos scooted Sofia to the bank of booths, curled with her under a table.

Then bullets destroyed the cigar box display, chipped at the chandelier until it crashed to the floor. Glass splashed across the polished wood. Sofia screamed, and Markos slapped his hand over her mouth. “Shh. They’ll hear you.”

Then, just as abruptly as it began, the shooting stopped. Motors revved on the street, peeling away.

Markos didn’t move. Just held Sofia’s shaking body to himself, pinching his own fear back. He closed his eyes, listening to glass drop from the front window, the sounds of feet thundering down the hallway above, Sofia’s soft sobs. “Shh, don’t cry. I’ll protect you.”

But behind his words, he heard hers—
something inside you feels—dark.
Indeed. Even now darkness filled his chest. Bracing, hot, like a batch of strong hooch. It seeped through him, calming, as if he’d surrendered to a darkness he’d been fighting too long.

Probably even since he left Zante.

He held her close. Drew in the smell of her hair, the softness of her skin, so painfully familiar, as Jimmy’s men burst into the room.

“It’ll be okay, Sofia. I promise.” The words tumbled out, soft at first, gathering heat, power. “I promise.”

She rolled in his arms, staring up at him, her eyes wide. Then without a word, she untangled herself from his arms, climbed out from under the table, and left him lying in the destruction of Zante’s.