Speak Low Page 11

  I thought of Joey, agonizing over the decision to give in to Enzo’s demands in exchange for the information he’d wanted for years. If he did, he’d betray Angelo, who might then be tempted to put Sam wise to the scheme. Sam, whose nickname was the Barber because of his skill with a razor, who’d ordered the murder of his own uncle in order to gain a bigger share of the black market spoils.

  What would he do to Joey if he found out about the opium?

  “God, Joey,” I whispered as my eyes filled. “What a fucking mess. Why didn’t you just stay in Chicago to begin with?”

  My nose began to run a little, and I sniffed, wiping at it with my hand. I needed a handkerchief, but I’d forgotten to put one in my purse. Maybe Enzo had one in here somewhere. I checked the glove compartments in the doors. Nothing. Twisting in my seat, I glanced into the back and thought I saw a bit of white peeking out from under the seat. Enzo was always tossing his coats in the back, so maybe one had slipped out. I opened the door, waving off the attendant who came immediately to assist me. Pulling the rear door open, I leaned into the back and slipped my hand under the seat. My fingers closed around a piece of cloth, and I pulled it up. It wasn’t a handkerchief.

  It was a pair of women’s silk underwear.

  I dropped them as if they had scorched me and backed out of the car.

  Heart racing, I slammed the rear door and jumped back into the front, tucking my hands between my knees. What the hell was going on? Some girl had been in the back seat of this Packard and left without her knickers? That meant at some point, she’d removed them—or they’d been removed, I thought, scowling—and there was only one reason a girl doffed her underwear in the back seat of an automobile.

  Bastard.

  Seething, I crossed my arms over my chest. I had no idea what to say to him—part of me wanted to claw his eyes out and tell him he could go fuck himself in his nice apartment because he’d certainly never fuck me there. I recalled the one physical flaw on Enzo’s body, a crescent-shaped scar at the top of one sharp cheekbone near his left eye.

  Maybe I’d give him a matching one on the right.

  Thank God I didn’t sleep with him tonight.

  The moment he got in the car and turned to me, I slapped him again. “You bastard!” I shouted. “Want to tell me what a pair of women’s underwear is doing in the back seat?”

  “What?” Enzo grabbed my wrists so I couldn’t smack him again, but he struggled to look into the back seat. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the lacey little knickers on the floor back there.”

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “You’re not denying anything either.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You’ve never gone parking with Gina in this car, like we did the other night?” My blood boiled as I imagined Enzo in here with me one night and her the next.

  “No!”

  “Then how do you explain it?”

  “I don’t know, Tiny! Maybe she had some clothing in here or something. Yes, that must be it. She’s been moving some of her things to a new place.”

  “A new place at the Statler?” I snapped. “How convenient it would be to have your wife and mistress in the same hotel!”

  “No.” He dropped my arms and rubbed his face with his hands. “Jesus Christ, Tiny. I brought you here tonight because I thought it was what you wanted. You told me it was what you wanted. Your own place. Where you can come and go as you please. Where you can do what you want.” He looked at me. “Am I wrong? Isn’t that what you want?”

  I struggled to reply. “Yes. But no. I mean—not like this.”

  “You don’t want the apartment?” He held up a key. “Because that’s what I was doing in there. Getting you your own key.” When I didn’t take it, he dropped it into my lap. “It’s yours, Tiny. You want to get out of your father’s house? Here’s your opportunity.”

  I stared at the gold key, linked to an oval plate that said Hotel Statler, Detroit, Michigan. “I can’t afford it.”

  “I’ll pay the rent.”

  “I’m not your charity case, Enzo.”

  “I’ll get you a job at the club. I just want you to stay here, so I can see you when I want. When you want. It’ll be fun, just like we said.”

  I sighed, exhausted and overwrought, physically and emotionally. Did I really want to continue fighting him? What did we owe each other, after all? Fidelity? Or just a good time? I played with the key in my lap. “I don’t know, Enzo. I need to think about it. Can you take me home now, please? I’m tired.”

  We went back to the club, where Enzo put me in a different car and instructed one of his men to drive me home. As usual, I had no idea when or where I might see him again, but I was so worn out I didn’t much care. I nodded off several times on the way home and fell asleep the moment my head hit the pillow.

  #

  The next morning I woke up around eight, the sounds and smells of breakfast drifting into my room. The scent of coffee made me whimper a little, and I licked my dry lips. Actually my entire mouth was dry, and my tongue felt swollen. Dammit, who told me to drink so much? Every one of my teeth felt as if it was covered in wool. I tried to sit up and promptly fell back when the sunlight stabbed my eyes. Was it always this bright in here in the morning?

  I flung an arm over my face. I didn’t want to wake up. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to think.

  But over the clink of plates and cups downstairs, I heard Enzo’s voice telling me who killed Joey’s father again. The gunman outside the prison was a hitman named Legs Putnam. And the hit was ordered by Sam Scarfone.

  I couldn’t remember all the names of the men brought to trial for the ambush at the police station, but there were several, and Putnam might have been one of them. A few had been held but released for lack of evidence, and the trial had been a joke. I vividly recalled the day the jury reached a verdict—not guilty, of course. No witness had been willing to testify, and every member of that jury was well aware of the danger involved in deciding against a gangster. They reached a verdict in less than an hour.

  I swallowed hard. Had the same hitman shot Vince too? What would it do to Bridget, knowing the name of the man who put the bullets in her husband, robbing her children of their father, robbing her of the love of her life? She told me repeatedly she’d never remarry. It only happens once, she always claimed, falling in love that way. I’m grateful I had it at all. Some people never do.

  While I liked the idea of that once-in-a-lifetime love, I wanted her to be wrong too, so she could love someone again. But what did I know? I’d certainly never been in love, and I’d never had anyone say he was in love with me. Given the two offers from men I’d had in the last week, it didn’t seem as if love was on the near horizon, either. Joey had invited me to run off to Chicago with him without even so much as a kiss, and Enzo had offered me a luxury apartment, for free, with the idea that we could use it for uninterrupted nights of illicit pleasure. But despite telling me how much he wanted me all the time, he wasn’t murmuring any words of real affection. Once, he’d even admitted to wanting to kiss me one minute and strangle me the next.

  And what about my own feelings?

  Last week I’d been willing to overlook the fact that Enzo had a fiancée—it had almost seemed like a fun little twist in the game. I’d sort of convinced myself that it really didn’t matter, and a few fiery hot sexual escapades with a gangster seemed like the perfect way to kick off my new life as a flapper.

  But was it?

  I slapped my hands over my face. What was wrong with me? I was getting everything I’d wanted, wasn’t I? Enzo had made good on his promise and come through with the apartment, that beautiful apartment at the Statler with a view of the park, my own bathroom, my own space. Would I take my meals in the dining room there? Order breakfast in my room? At the thought of food, my belly rumbled, and I knew I’d feel better if I ate something.

&nbs
p; Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I counted to three and righted myself. My vision clouded a bit, so I closed my eyes and counted again. When I opened them, the room was still. Getting slowly to my feet, I shuffled toward the dresser and looked at myself in the mirror.

  I couldn’t help groaning when I saw my reflection. Not only was my red hair tangled and matted, but I’d neglected to remove my eye makeup, which was smudged around my eyes like a raccoon mask, and I’d put my nightgown on backward. As I pulled it over my head, I remembered wearing it the night I’d been with Enzo in the Packard. I tossed it into my hamper. It needed to be cleaned.

  #

  I spent the day doing household chores with Molly, who was glad to help me out as long as I kept my promise to her about going to the movies without Mary Grace. Daddy had disappeared after breakfast, saying he was emptying the office at the garage of his things and moving them to his new space, and not to hold supper for him. My sisters said goodbye, but I ignored him. We still hadn’t exchanged more than two words since he’d forbidden me to move out.

  All afternoon Molly and I laundered the linens, scrubbed the bathroom, mopped the kitchen floor, washed the windows with newspaper and vinegar, and took the rugs outside to beat them. With each swish of the mop and pillowcase pinned on the line, I fretted about Joey. What would he do? What would I do in his place?

  More important, what should I do in mine?

  I had the power to allow Joey to keep a third of the drug money and discover who’d taken his father’s life—assuming Enzo had told me the truth. The problem was, Joey didn’t just want to know who killed his dad; he wanted to act on it. He wanted revenge. Did I want to be responsible for what he would do with the knowledge? He could go to jail for the rest of his life. Actually, Joey going to jail might be the least painful result—if Sam the Barber heard what he did, there would be consequences. Not to mention what friends of Legs Putnam would do, assuming he had friends. And what price would I pay for betraying Enzo’s confidence? I didn’t think he’d send me to the bottom of the river, but he’d be plenty mad.

  On the other hand, I could just say nothing. Let Joey make his own decision. Let him decide what the information was worth. I hated the idea of keeping something he wanted so badly from him, but it seemed like the safest option.

  Between the agonizing and the household drudgery, I was totally miserable.

  If I accept Enzo’s offer, I’ll be free of these chores. In my mind I saw that apartment once more. I bet the Statler has maid service.

  “Molly.” We were hanging sheets on the line in the back yard, and she had to pull a clothespin from between her teeth to answer me.

  “Yeah?”

  “If I moved out, would you help Daddy with Mary Grace and the house?”

  She stuck her neck out so far I almost laughed. “Move out? What are you talking about?” She shrank back, eyes wide. “Are you pregnant?”

  I smiled, unable to help it. “No.”

  “Then why move out? Where are you going?”

  I continued pinning a sheet and tried to explain without telling the whole truth. “I’d like to move downtown…into an apartment.”

  “With Evelyn or something?”

  “No. By myself.”

  She burst out laughing. “How are you going to afford an apartment downtown by yourself?”

  “Well, I’m going to get a job. And the place belongs to a—a friend, so the rent is reasonable.” Briefly, I wondered what that suite actually cost.

  “Oh.” She went back to her sheet. “I guess it would be OK. Yeah. Actually, I know it would.” Her tone was more positive with each word, and I imagined she was getting excited about the prospect of one less adult breathing down her neck. “I mean, I’m a better cook than you are, anyway, and Mary Grace is certainly old enough to take over some chores.” She stopped and looked at me. “Does Daddy know about this?”

  I sighed. “Kind of. I mean, I told him I wanted to move out, but he didn’t take the news too well.”

  “You’re an adult. You should be allowed to do as you please.”

  Grimacing, I reached for another damp pillowcase from the basket. “He doesn’t see it that way.”

  “Well, I support you. If you want to move out, I think you should do it. I know I’d do it if I were you—in fact, I will do it. As soon as I’m out of school, there’s no way I’ll stay here. A girl’s gotta get out and live a little, you know?”

  I nodded. It would mean more work for her in the short term, but her support made more sense now that I realized she wanted to do the same thing when she was old enough. And if I did it first, Daddy couldn’t stop her. At least, that’s the way she saw it. “Well, we’ll see. I haven’t made my decision yet. Lord, my head is pounding.”

  “You don’t look too good. Your face is a little green. Why don’t you go lie down or something? I can finish this.” She took the pillowcase from my hands and nudged me toward the house.

  “Actually, I prefer the fresh air. Maybe I’ll just stretch my legs a bit. Take a walk.”

  “OK. Just don’t be gone too long—I’m leaving right after supper, remember?”

  “I remember.”

  I headed down the driveway and turned right. The sun was hidden behind clouds, so the day had taken on a gray pallor that suited my mood. I sniffed the air and caught a whiff of something strange, almost metallic. Maybe I wouldn’t walk that far—it smelled like a storm might be coming.

  Chapter Ten

  Without really thinking about it, I walked to Bridget’s. I stuck my head into the store, waved hello to Martin at the counter and took the back stairs up to her apartment. The scent of roasting potatoes hit me just outside the door, and I breathed deeply. Her place always smelled so good.

  “Hello?” I walked into the kitchen without knocking.

  “Hello.” Bridget stood over an ironing board at one end of the kitchen. It folded down right out of the wall, which was handy, but when the stove was on it made for some hot, sweaty ironing in the summertime. She wiped her forehead with a sleeve. “What are you up to?”

  “Just taking a walk. Smells good in here.” I wandered over to a chair and dropped into it.

  “Thanks. Stay for supper?”

  “I can’t. I should make something for the girls and Daddy, although God knows when he’ll return.”

  “He’s busy with the new shop, huh?”

  I pressed my lips together. No good would come of blabbing to Bridget about the gambling if Daddy didn’t want her to know. “Yeah.”

  “And what about you? Now that everything is…settled, are you thinking of returning to school this fall?”

  “If I can afford it, perhaps.” Clearing my throat, I went on. “I’m actually thinking of moving downtown. Getting a job that pays a little better so I can save up easier.”

  I figured she’d protest right away, but she just nodded, dropping her eyes to the blouse she was working on. “Oh?”

  “Yes. I’m…I just… It’s like I told you that day before all that other stuff happened. I’d like some independence.”

  “I can understand that.”

  I looked at her, surprise. “You can?”

  “Sure I can. I was your age once too, you know. Not that long ago, in fact.”

  “I know, but you were always so in love with Vince. I never knew you wanted to live on your own.”

  Bridget tilted her head this way and that. “Well, it wasn’t so much that I wanted to live on my own. And I was in love with Vince. But we certainly had very few opportunities to be alone without Daddy lurking or you three monkeys hanging all over us, not to mention Vince’s overprotective mother who never thought an Irish girl was good enough for her Italian boy.”

  I smiled. “Really?”

  “Really. Oh, she gave us such a hard time. So did Daddy.” She set the iron on its stand and fanned her face. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, it’s hot in here.”

  “Why did Daddy give you a hard time?”

&nbs
p; “Well, Vince and I wanted to get married and he didn’t want us to. Not because Vince was Italian—he was Catholic, at least—but because he didn’t want to be without me at home. Same reasons he’d give you if you announced your intention to leave. I was doing the lion’s share of the work and had been since Mother died.”

  “I never knew you asked permission to leave and marry Vince. I thought you got pregnant and had to marry him.”

  Bridget selected a handkerchief from her laundry basket and laid it flat on the board. “I did.”

  I scrutinized her closely. Was she blushing? After all this time, she was still ashamed of it? Or was there another reason?

  It struck me hard.

  “You did it on purpose.”

  The color in her cheeks deepened to purple.

  “You did it on purpose!” I gasped. “Bridget, I don’t believe it!” My mouth refused to close, and I slapped the table with my palm. “You asked Daddy if you could leave home to marry Vince and when he said no, you got pregnant on purpose so he’d have to let you go!”

  “Shhhhhhhh.” Bridget glanced out the window behind her. “Do you want the whole neighborhood to hear you?”

  “I just can’t believe it.” Blinking in surprise, I stared at my older sister, seeing her in a new light. “Was it Vince’s idea?”

  “No, it was mine.” She shook her head as she smoothed out the wrinkled in the white cloth. “And I’m not sorry. I’ll never be sorry. The years we had together were worth it. The children are worth it.”

  I nodded, sadness squeezing my throat.

  “And I knew you were able to handle things at home without me.” She looked at me then. “And you have. You’ve been wonderful, Tiny. You kept that house running and those girls in line and made good marks in school too. You deserve a life of your own.” Sighing, she dropped her eyes to her ironing again. “I just don’t know that Molly is as capable as you were at her age.”