Speak Easy (4 page)

“Well, all I can think about is that ten thousand dollars.” I sat down at the kitchen table with a stubby pencil and piece of paper while Joey foraged for a snack. Some quick math told me I’d have to move about fifty-six cases of whisky to clear ten grand. Scribbling more numbers, I figured I had at least enough in my shoebox to buy twelve cases after taking out the hundred I had to give Angel tomorrow night. If I sold them all, I’d have just over two thousand bucks—a far cry from ten. But maybe it would be enough to buy me some time.

“So. What’s your plan?” Joey munched on some Uneeda Biscuits right from the box and straddled the chair across from me.

“My plan is to get the damn money. What choice do I have?”

He was silent a few seconds, then spoke low. “You don’t want to go to the cops, do you?”

“Are you kidding me? I know better than that,” I scoffed. “Angel’d kill him. And I don’t want to tell Bridget about this yet, either. She’ll panic.”

“Do you think she has the money, though? Maybe she’d give it to you.”

I shook my head. “She’s on her own with three boys, and she has Martin to pay too.”

“Who the hell is Martin?”

“The assistant manager she hired after you left for Chicago. Anyway, after what happened to Vince, I don’t want Bridget involved at all.”

“OK, but she’s gonna notice your pop’s missing.”

I thought for a moment. “I’ll tell her he went down to Cleveland to deliver a car to somebody. He’s done that before.”

Joey shoved one last cracker into his mouth and brushed off his hands. “I’m coming with you tomorrow night.”

“That’s not a good idea. You might run your mouth and cause trouble. Besides, what harm can they do at a crowded club?”

“You don’t want me to answer that question. I’m going, and that’s that.”

I thought about arguing, but realized it might be smart to have someone with me, even if it was big-mouth Joey. “OK, fine.”

“Now let’s talk about getting those ten G’s,” he said. “That’s a lotta dough.”

“I need to make a run as soon as possible.”

Joey rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Tiny, I think you need…some friends in this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re a girl alone trying to defend yourself against guys who hustle people for a living, and that’s putting it nicely. You need allies.”

I blinked at him. “Like who?”

“Well, I got some friends I know from when I was at the Bishop school. They used to be with Big Leo, but they’re kinda doing their own thing now. They call themselves the River Gang, and—”

I put my hands up. “No. No way. I’m not getting involved in any Italian gang wars, Joey. All I want is to pay off Angel DiFiore and get Daddy released.”

“But DiFiore’s not just going to go away. Even your dad is going to need allies after this.”

“That’ll be his problem then. I’m not interested in revenge or power or allies or anything else—I just want my father back. Now are you going to help me or not?”

Joey exhaled and scratched his head. “We’ll need dark. Tomorrow night’s out. How about Sunday?”

“OK.”

“Do you have the money to buy with?”

I swallowed. “Yes.”

“What about a distributor?”

“I’ll call our usual guy, Blaise. I just hope he doesn’t get prickly about selling to me without Daddy there.” My stomach turned over. “And I hope the boat has enough gasoline.”

“Leave that to me.” He swung his leg over the top of the chair and picked up his cap from the table. “I better go. Delivery truck’s coming early in the morning and I told Bridget I’d help unload.”

“What time will we meet tomorrow night?” I whispered, following him to the front door.

“I’ll pick you up at nine.” He paused, glancing over my shoulder up the stairs. “Do you want me to stay?”

Yes. The word popped into my mind before I had a chance to think about it. Joey noticed my hesitation.

“I don’t mind staying here, if it will make you feel safer.” His voice was soft and low, and it was the first time I’d ever heard him say something like that without joking. Standing there in the dark, I was tempted to tell him to stay. With his full, familiar lips so close, I was tempted to do more than that.

What the hell is with you today? Say goodnight!
“No,” I said, stepping back. “You can go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

After he left, I locked the door, crept into my room, and undressed. Wearily I climbed back into bed and lay there, my body numb with fatigue but my brain buzzing with questions. Where were they keeping Daddy? Would they hurt him again? Were we safe here? I chewed on the edge of the sheet. Now that I knew a locked door was no match for Enzo DiFiore, I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel safe again. What was his role in all this? And why had he kissed me like that?

My eyes slammed shut. Jesus, you couldn’t trust anybody. Not even men with movie star faces whose kisses felt like fire in your veins.

Rolling to my side, I crooked one elbow underneath my head.
I’m a horrible person. How can I even think about kissing Enzo with Daddy being held hostage?
What was the matter with me? And had I really been tempted to kiss Joey at the door? That boy had been nothing but trouble my entire life, and now it looked he’d make a career out of it. Was he working for the River Gang? It was hard to believe he’d want the same kind of life his father had—or the same kind of death. But he sure had a lot of information. Could I trust him?

I wanted to trust him.

But I also wanted a gun.

Chapter Four

After settling the argument between my sisters—Molly lost, I said she had to take Mary Grace to Electric Park—I told them Daddy had gone to Cleveland for a few days, and if they stayed out of trouble while he was gone, they could each pick out a new skirt or blouse from the Sears Roebuck catalog. Then I broke up the fight that ensued when Mary Grace said Molly was hogging the catalog behind the locked bathroom door, which is where she insists she has to go if she wants any privacy at all.

I spent the rest of Saturday morning stocking shelves at the store, jumping out of my skin every time the bell over the door rang, and wiping my sweaty palms on my skirt. I managed to avoid Bridget, who said she needed some fresh produce and took the kids down to Eastern Market. Since Martin was minding the store in her absence, I went over to the garage, where it looked like Joey had attempted to repair the busted lock but hadn’t finished the job. Inside the office, I dug Daddy’s directory out of the desk and called Blaise at the Cloverly Inn.

“Yeah?” barked a gruff voice.

I cleared my throat. “I’m calling for Jack O’Mara.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh, I need to make a pickup. Twelve cases. Tomorrow night, if possible.”

“It’s possible.”

“Can I make the pickup after nine?”

“Thirty-five per. I’ll meet you at the docks.”

There
, I thought, allowing myself a sliver of triumph as I hung up. But when I replaced the directory, I noticed someone had been in the secret compartment at the back of Daddy’s bottom desk drawer, the one where he kept the ledgers. I reached in and felt around.

Empty.

“Damn it,” I whispered. Money slipped through Daddy’s fingers like water but he kept meticulous records of what we sold and to whom. My blood iced over as I thought about where those ledgers might be—and worse, where they might end up. Angel had probably taken them, but why? Daddy was sunk if he turned them over to the Prohibition Bureau.

He could go to jail. And I’d be on my own with the girls for years.

Shoving that predicament from my mind, I walked back to the store, focusing on a more immediate problem: I had nothing to wear to a place like Club 23. Two Sunday dresses hung in my closet, but neither was what you’d call smart, and I certainly didn’t want to walk in there looking like a girl on her way to mass. Also, I didn’t want Enzo to think he’d bested me—he’d taken me by surprise, of course, but I wanted him to know I couldn’t be broken so easily.

Later that afternoon I approached Bridget as she rang up a purchase for a customer. Behind her, the boys were stacking empty boxes in the stock room and then knocking down their cardboard tower with glee.

“Would it be all right if I left a bit early today?” I asked when the customer had gone.

“Sure, I have Martin here.” She smiled at me. “Go do something fun. It’s Saturday.”

Right.
“Uh, I need a little bit of money from my tip envelope. Is your door open?”

“Should be. How much do you need?” She glanced behind her. “Thomas! Don’t shut Charlie in that box, he’ll suffocate!” While she rescued her youngest child from his brothers, I snuck up the stairs before I had to explain why I was taking every penny I had.

#

My closest girlfriend was Evelyn LaChance. She still lived with her parents too, and their house was only a couple blocks from ours. Evelyn attended nursing school with me, but during the summer she helped out at her family’s bakery. On Saturdays, she only worked mornings, so I walked to her house and found her in the bedroom she shared with her twin sister Rosie, folding laundry and stacking it in neat piles on her bed.

“Hey, I was just thinking about you,” she said. “Want to go to the movies tonight?”

I perched on the edge of the dresser. “I would, but I actually have plans.”

Her plump mouth formed on O. “A date? With who? Where?”

I winced. “Don’t call it a date. With Joey. To a place called Club 23.” I wondered how much was wise to tell her. I was dying to divulge the entire story about kissing Enzo in the boathouse, but I didn’t see how I could without revealing the rest. “It’s for my father…he has business there.”

She hugged a folded pair of white bloomers to her chest. “God, you’re lucky. Joey’s so handsome.”

“You think so? He drives me crazy with his big mouth.”

“Mmm, that mouth drives me crazy too.”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s not what I meant. I’ll put in a word for you, but right now I need you to help me find something to wear.”

She tossed the bloomers aside. “Let’s go to Hudson’s. Rosie’s working.” We walked to the streetcar stop and caught a crowded car heading downtown. I kept my purse clutched tight to my side, since I’d stuffed the entire envelope, fat with small bills and change, inside it.

Rosie worked at the cosmetics counter at J.L. Hudson’s department store on Woodward. Even at four in the afternoon, her face was painted-on pretty, crowned by curly locks of golden blond hair cut fashionably short. They were twins, but it always struck me how different they were—in both looks and demeanor. Where Rosie was long-legged and slender, Evelyn was almost as short as me, with a rounder face and thicker middle. She wasn’t unattractive, just plain—but any girl could look plain next to Rosie, who was as tart as she was beautiful.

“Tiny has a date tonight,” Evelyn announced breathlessly. “With Joey Lupo, going dancing at Club 23. She needs help finding something to wear.”

“No kidding.” Rosie tilted her head, like she might be seeing me in a new light. “Club 23, huh?” Glancing at the huge clock on the wall, she nodded. “I’ll take my break now and help you out. God knows you’ll need it.”

She accompanied us to the dress department on the sixth floor, where she began pulling dresses off the rack for me to try on. “Lord, Tiny, you’re so short I don’t know what will fit,” she complained. “But you are nice and skinny. Let’s try these.”

“Isn’t that a little flimsy?” Evelyn asked when I had the first one on.

I knew what she meant, but I liked it. It was slate blue satin underneath and had a sheer chiffon overlay in the same color. It had a V neck and no sleeves—a first for me—and hung straight to my hips where its satin sash was tied in an intricate knot on the left. The skirt hung in fluttery panels with a zigzag effect. Glancing at my purse in Evelyn’s hands, I wondered how much it cost—I’d already be down a hundred bucks tonight, and I needed four hundred twenty to buy whisky with tomorrow. Since I was usually so frugal, even the nicest dress in my closet cost less than ten dollars. Something told me this one would be considerably more. “How much is this?”

“Hmm.” Rosie stood back and pursed her lips. “Good color for you, matches your eyes.” She circled me like a vulture.

“What does it
cost
?”

“Around twenty, I think. Maybe closer to thirty.”

My heart plummeted. But then I imagined Rosie in the club wearing this blue number while I stood next to her in my green-checkered church dress.
To hell with the cost.
“I’ll take it.”

“Good.” She nodded. “You’ll need new stockings—sheer black,” she said, scrutinizing my lower legs. “With roll garters. Then new shoes, with higher heels.”

“And a lipstick,” I added.

Rosie pointed at me. “Now you’re talkin.”

When I boarded the streetcar for home, I carried bags that held the dress, a pair of black stockings and satin-covered roll garters, black satin t-straps with high heels, a tiny silver mesh evening bag, and a pale peach lace-edged step-in—which Rosie had assured me was all I needed to wear under my dress. She also helped me choose a tube of lipstick called Red Velvet and told me she’d be home at seven if I wanted her to help me get ready. My envelope had taken a huge hit, but I still had enough to pay Angel tonight and buy twelve cases tomorrow. Barely.

Back at my house, I prepared supper—scrambled eggs and bacon, the one meal I didn’t habitually screw up—and gave the girls permission to go to the movies. I told them I was going out and wouldn’t be home until late, but I warned them to observe their regular curfew or else. Molly’s eyes lit up, and I figured she’d be tempted to take advantage of my absence, but I also knew Mary Grace would tattle on her first chance she got. After doing the dishes, I drove over to the LaChance house, my purchases in the back seat.

I felt like a doll as they worked on me up in their room, fastening my dress and fussing over my hair and makeup. “You’re so lucky to have this naturally wavy hair,” Rosie said, curling it around her fingers. “And such a perfect little body, straight up and down. I know girls who’d kill for that figure. It’s just right for all the new dresses.”

“I could never wear this.” Evelyn fingered the soft chiffon.

“Ya got that right,” said Rosie with a snort. “OK, now the powder and rouge.” Her fingers fluttered and smudged across my face while I tried to hold still. “There. Now, when you get home, rinse your mouth out with Listerine and then put on the lipstick, like this.” She took my new lipstick and put it on her own lips. “Try to make a little bow on the top, like I did.” She puckered and preened in the mirror over their dresser.

“Got it.” I stood to look at my own reflection. My chin-length hair was styled neatly around my made-up face, and Rosie had lent me a black beaded headband, which hid half my forehead. The blue of the dress brought out the color of my eyes, and I loved the way the sheer black stockings peeked out from under the zig-zag hem. Even more, I adored what I couldn’t see—the way the stockings were rolled to just above my knee and held there by the garters, the decadent feel of satin against my unbound breasts, and the looseness of the step-in compared to the usual body-binding corselette.

“You look like a million bucks,” Rosie said, a rare compliment from her.

“Thanks. I owe you.”

“Can you get me into Club 23?” One penciled brow peaked above her hopeful eyes.

“Maybe next time,” I told her, although the last thing I wanted to do was make an entrance into a club next to Rosie.

Back at home, I brushed my teeth and did some final primping in my bedroom mirror, thankful for the privacy while I practiced walking in my new heels. It took me a few tries to get the bow lips right, but I thought I had a reasonable imitation by the time I heard a knock on the front door.

When he saw me, Joey’s eyebrows shot up. “Damn, Tiny. If I didn’t know it was you, I’d say you were beautiful.” He was wearing a dark brown suit, white shirt open at the collar, no tie or hat. The suit looked a bit worse for wear, but he’d tamed his hair and shaved, revealing clear skin and a strong jaw. My insides performed a funny little flip.

“You’re a riot. But I’ll thank you to just keep quiet tonight.” I pulled the door shut behind me and walked to his car, a black Ford much like mine.

“Don’t you want me to get the door for you?”

I waved him off. “This isn’t a date, Joey. Just get in and drive. Do you know where we’re going?”

He nodded and slid into the driver’s seat, stealing a glance at my legs before starting the car. I smoothed the dress over my thighs and pressed my knees together.

Neither of us spoke on the way downtown.

The block he parked on looked perfectly ordinary, lined with darkened sandwich and coffee shops, a florist, a shoe store, and a photography studio. Steam rose from grates on the cement, and the electric streetlights cast a yellowish glow.

“Where’s the club?” I asked as we got out of the car.

“Right over there, I think.” We walked down the street and he pointed to the florist’s door, which had the number 23 painted on it. “See that opening in the sidewalk? That’s a stairwell to the cellar, where the entrance is.”

We descended the cement steps. At the foot of the staircase was a massive metal door, which Joey knocked on.

No answer.

He pounded a little harder.

Nothing.

I was about to tell him to forget it, this couldn’t be the place, when we heard a few clicking sounds, like the door was being unlocked from inside. I pushed it open, and we stepped inside a dark, closet-like space with a second door ahead of us.

“That wasn’t so hard,” I said. But when the big metal door slammed behind us, we were trapped in the blackness. Immediately my heart began thudding, but within seconds, a tiny slot at eye level—well, more Joey’s eye level than mine—opened up.

A pair of eyes appeared. “Yeah?”

“Is this Club 23?” Joey asked.

“Get lost.” The slot closed.

“Angel sent me,” I said loudly. The slot opened again.

“Who said that?”

“Me. Down
here
.”

The eyes found me and the voice attached to them laughed.

“Listen, can we come in or not?” I asked irritably.

“Sure, you can come in,” the voice said. “If Angel sent you, you’re in.” The door opened, and we were directed down a dark, low-ceilinged hallway with a red-tiled floor and black-painted cement walls toward the club’s main room. The music grew louder as we approached. At the end of the hall were two red velvet curtains, tied back on either side.

My heart raced as I took in the club’s cozy underground opulence. The front third of the room was dominated by an elevated stage, where a dozen musicians shook the walls with a driving rhythm. The rectangular dance floor in front of it was two tiers lower than where I was standing and packed with dancers. Cocktail tables edged the floor, and crescent-shaped booths with plush red velvet seating rimmed the next two tiers. The walls were also lined with a few intimate, red-curtained booths, and the room was crowded with elegantly dressed men and women, many of them dancing or smoking, all of them drinking. The dark wood bar ran the length of the back wall, and the cocktails were served in real glasses, not mugs or teacups like I’d seen in other joints. White linen dressed the tables, and the waiters wore tuxedoes.

A hostess seated us at a small cocktail table near the dance floor. Joey ordered a whisky and asked if I wanted one. “I’ll have Canadian Club. With ice.” In speakeasies it was important to order your poison by name—otherwise you couldn’t be sure what was in it. The hostess disappeared and we sat listening to the music for a few minutes, my eyes scanning the room for Angel or one of his sons.