Sons of Thunder (10 page)

Dino!

He kicked through the thin jaws of the cave’s mouth, surfaced fast. Gulped a breath. Dino!

Markos’s own voice echoed through the dark chamber, even as he thrashed in the water. He clawed for the surface.

The cool waters of the tunnel tugged at his feet. A wave rushed in, threw him against the rocks. Light exploded in his head, even as he went under again, gulped water.

Markos! His name sliced through the darkness, someone at the other end.
Markos!

The current tugged, sucking him in even as he fought it.

Markos!

He opened his eyes, breathing hard, sweating, despite the chill of the room. He listened for the voice.

Nothing, except Dino’s even breathing from the cot near the wall. Markos turned in his bed, the springs squeaking, his body quivering with the freshness of the dream, the sound of his name, as if being called from a distance, echoing through the darkness of the cave.

He stared at the fingers of moonlight tearing at his ceiling.

When he woke again, morning spilled into the room from the small, grimy window over the bed. Dino had vanished, his bedclothes and blanket in a tumble on his cot.

Markos expected to hear the sounds of delivery trucks, maybe the aroma of coffee, frying eggs on the griddle.

Pulling on his pants, he snapped his suspenders onto his shoulders, slipped his feet into his saddle shoes, and headed downstairs.

The chaos in the restaurant seemed even more damning in the daylight—shards of glass glittering on the floor like knives, tables pocked and splintered, chairs overturned, the glass countertop shattered.

The coat box sat on the counter, drilled with holes. He couldn’t bear to look inside.

Uncle Jimmy sat in a back booth, nursing a cup of coffee with a man Markos didn’t know. He motioned him over. “Markos, I want you to meet my friend Joe.”

Tall and thin, with a short crew cut, Joe looked Markos over with a pinched look, earthy eyes. He drummed his fingers on the table, as if tapping out words to himself like the rat-a-tat of the Tommy guns that had leveled Zante’s. Finally, in broken Greek, “You see the outfit who did this, kiddo?”

Markos shook his head. Joe fingered the fedora that lay on the table, tightening his lips into a knot. Then he met Jimmy’s eyes with a look Markos couldn’t decipher and slid out of the booth. He slapped Markos on the back before replacing his hat.

Markos slid in opposite his uncle. “Who was that?”

“Someone who’s watching out for us.” He gave Markos a grim look. “Listen, from now on, I don’t want you to leave Hedy’s side. You’re on her like some sort of glue, you understand me?”

“What about the restaurant?”

“What restaurant?” Jimmy held out his hands. “Naw, Scarface just started a war.” He hooked his hand around Markos’s neck. “This is time for family to stick together, boy. Don’t let me down.”

CHAPTER 7

“Hedy, how long have you known Jimmy?”

Markos sat facing the door, inside the cramped quarters of her private dressing room at the Blue Moon. The place swam with her perfume, the cloying smell of a woman’s clothing. He’d wanted to park himself outside, in the hallway, but Jimmy had come by that first night, seen him loitering on the wrong side of her door, and nearly took off his head.

Now he just tried not to glance in the mirror, where the bright bulbs illuminated her array of make-up pots, jewelry, and discarded headdresses. Or the hosiery that hung over the top of the dressing screen.

“I’ve known him about two years.” Hedy’s voice emerged from behind the screen. Thankfully, she’d learned to slow her words, to enunciate. He understood her most of the time. “He picked me out of a chorus line at the Rainbo Gardens, sent a message back to the dressing room, and was waiting for me when I came out. That was that.”

“You fell in love with him?”

“Love? What’s love, anyway? He’s handsome and rich. And he made me feel beautiful.”

You are beautiful.
Markos clamped down on the words before they escaped.

“Can I ask you a question, Hedy?”

“Shoot, doll.”

“Who is this Scarface?”

“You mean big Al Capone. I told you about him already. He runs the outfit on the other side of town. He’s been trying to take over the business in Chicago for a couple years now.”

“The business?”

“The racket, you know? It’s like a war. Big Al’s guys go into a joint like Tony’s, put the bite on him for protection money. You know, from the fuzz, although plenty of them’s on the dole. Or maybe the business is legit, and it’s just a smoke-and-cards game. But see, say Jimmy’s guys have already been there, and they don’t like Al’s men cutting in on their profits. So, they attack Big Al’s outfit. They hit him, only, he hits them back, harder. Like last year—a gang from Al’s outfit, armed with a bunch of violins, rubbed out Bugs Moran’s entire gang, and on Valentine’s Day too. Bugs, of course, got away. They always do. But that’s what it’s about. Dough.”

Really, sometimes Markos could make out the words, but he had absolutely no idea of their meaning.

“But Jimmy’s really in it now. Aiello’s threatening all-out war on Scarface.” She slipped out from behind the screen. “So, what do you think?”

He turned, and his breath caught in the cotton of his chest. Low-cut black sequined dress, high cut at the knees, white patterned stockings, a feathered headband, and a boa.

“Do I look shiny enough for the New Year?”

He must have managed a nod.

“Not bad for a girl from Ames, Iowa. And to think only three years ago, I’d run away from home, headed to the big city.”

Her words were a blur, but he nodded again.

She came close, played a tune on his face with her fingers. “You’re such a gentleman, Markos. That’s what I’m going to call you. The Gent.” She lifted his chin. “You know, if you wanted to kiss me, you could.”

This, he understood. Heat rushed to his face.

She laughed. “It’s the New Year, kiddo. You get one kiss.”

“You’re Uncle Jimmy’s girl.”

Her smile fell, just for a second, then she laughed. “Aw, you’re the smart one, aren’t you?”

Smart? Sometimes he felt like an idiot next to Hedy.

She sat at the dressing table. He knew he should turn away, but he couldn’t quite find it in him. Instead, he watched as she curled her hair tight to her face with her fingers, held it there for a moment. She rouged her cheeks, her earlobes. Lined dark kohl on her green eyes. Used her pinky to apply her blood-red lipstick.

Her gaze flickered over to him. “You like watching me get ready?”

He turned away, burying his face in his hands. Her laughter trickled high. “Oh, Markos, you’re such fun!”

His chest burned. “I’ll wait for you out in the hall.” Finding his feet, he pushed away the chair, reaching for the door. But she had crossed the room and now planted her hand over his. He turned even as she slid close, her hand on his chest. He hadn’t noticed how small she was, really, without her costumes, or wrapped in her vamp persona. Now, she seemed almost petite, even…needy. Especially since the tease had left her eyes. Her fragrance wound around him, tugging at him.

“He won’t want me forever, you know.”

Markos stared at her, his hands at his sides, fighting the urge to run them down her skinny arms…

Her voice turned low, bore a huskiness she usually reserved for her songs. “I know Jimmy has other girls.”

“Hedy, he loves you.” Markos’s voice sounded thirteen, with a hitch in it.

“Aw, he loves himself. Loves having a dame on his arm.” She ran her finger down Markos’s cheek, eliciting a trail of fire.

He caught her hand. Her eyes. “Do you love him?”

Her voice turned flat. “Does it matter?”

“If you don’t, why don’t you leave him?”

Her laugh came out harsh, and he winced, startled. “Nobody leaves Jimmy the Greek. Unless it’s in a coffin.” She shook her head, patting his chest. “You haven’t figured that out yet?”

“I—”

“He’s using you, Markos. Just like the rest of us. He’s got a plan for you, and you’re not going to escape it.”

“He’s family. He’d never do anything to hurt me.” The strange panic had died, swallowed by the familiar simmer inside. He closed his hands on her arms to move her away.

She gave a little huff, raised one of those sleek brown eyebrows. “We’ll see.” But she resisted his push, lifting her face, those red lips just inches from his. So close that— “But we can have a little fun all the same, can’t we?”

Markos sucked in a breath, held his hands up in a sort of surrender, as if she might be a pineapple—a mafia bomb. Oh…yes, he wanted to kiss her. Wanted to taste those lips, wanted to know what it might feel like to pull her curves into his arms. A coy smile tipped her mouth even as he breathed in her intoxicating, sweet smell.

He leaned toward her.

“Besides, you know he’s already found his next sheba,” she whispered, her lips parting.

His gaze went to her mouth, so red, like a Zante pomegranate, and probably as…sweet….

So close—

Oh. He closed his eyes, leaned his head against the door. “Please, Hedy…don’t.”

“Oh, Markos.” She pulled away, tease in her smile, tucking her fingers into the lapel of his father’s coat. “I don’t know why you wear this. You know it’s not you anymore. I would happily buy you a raccoon coat.”

He’d been lit on fire. He curled his hands around her wrists, noted that they shook, pulled her grip from his coat. Finally heard her words. “What do you mean, he’s found his next sheba?”

She gave a chuckle, winding her fingers into her pearls. “Don’t think for a second that you can dangle a pretty girl under Jimmy’s smeller and not attract his attention. He’s had his gaze on Sofia since the second you dragged her into Zante’s.”

Markos stiffened. “Sofia?”

She laughed. “She’s the same age I was when Jimmy found me. And look at me now.” She smiled, but it quivered, just a little.

Nineteen? Hedy was nineteen? His shock must have whisked through his eyes. Her smile vanished.

“What?”

“Nothing…it’s just…let’s go. We don’t want to be late.”

“You don’t believe me, do you?”

He blinked at her.

“Tell me this…do you really think that Jimmy wanted you to protect me…or just keep you away from his new girl?”

“Sofia is
not
his new girl.” His voice, however, shook.

“She will be.”

“He’s family.”

“He’s a man. And he’s not
her
family.”

Markos just might be ill—he needed to leave this too-seasoned room, and fast. “She’s…a village girl.”

Hedy sighed, patted him again on the chest. “So was I.” But her smile wavered.

An image of her rattled through him then—her blond hair long and braided, her face clean, tanned by the sun, wearing a simple dress….

It scared him, just a little too. He put his hands on her shoulders, so tiny beneath his grip. “Hedy, why don’t you…just leave? Can’t you go home?”

She sniffed—it sounded more like a smirk. “Home? How do you go home after you’ve become a girl like me?” A tear at the edge of her eye slurred her makeup. He ran a thumb under it.

She caught his hand, drew it to her lips. “Yes, you’re the Gent.”

He stood there, suddenly not fooled for a moment by her dark, dangerous eyes. “Not really, Hedy. Not really.”

She pursed her lips, nodding. “Yeah. Well, more than most.”

She turned her back to him, picking up her purse. “My mama sent this to me last week. Of all things, a Bible verse.” She pulled out a crumpled letter. “Like it would matter.”

“What does it say?” He could hear his own mother’s voice, reading from her frayed book. He hadn’t thought of that for…well, it seemed as if that life had never really existed.

She lifted a shoulder. “Second Timothy 2:13. I remember it from the tent meetings.” She transformed then, right before his eyes, into the vamp he knew, playing a part, her voice rising as if she were behind a pulpit. “‘If we believe not, yet he abideth faithful: he cannot deny himself.’”

Again, he wished he understood her words.

She dropped the letter in the trash bucket at her feet and swished past him from the room.