Speak Easy (3 page)

My stomach churned. The cops found unidentified bodies in the Detroit River all the time these days. Almost nightly, said the papers. Guys who’d been shot, beaten, drowned. I fought off the nausea by quickening my pace.

As I ran past darkened houses, a memory surfaced without warning—Daddy surprising me with a new Hawthorne bicycle on my ninth birthday and teaching me how to ride it. Running alongside me down this very street shouting encouragement. Clenching my fists, I dug my nails into my palms as I reached the end of the block and stopped to catch my breath.

Then with fear lodged like a hatchet in my chest, I turned the corner and inched through the alley toward the garage, my feet crunching on the gravel. At the back door, I closed my right hand around the handle and twisted—unlocked. I pushed it open and stepped in, hearing nothing but my own quick breaths. Seconds ticked by.

I was beginning to wonder if it was all a joke when I heard a rusty voice behind me. “Glad you could make it.”

The door slammed and a meaty hand clamped over my mouth. An arm snared my waist. Cackling, the man walked me deeper into the garage, pushing my legs with his own. Too terrified to resist, I moved forward like a rag doll in his grip.

When we reached the office door, he kicked out a leg and it creaked open.

I was struggling to make sense of the shadowy shapes in front of me when someone switched on the lamp—I gasped behind the sweaty, smothering palm.

On the chair was my father, slouched and bloody.

At his temple, the barrel of a gun.

Chapter Three

Thick arms like iron chains held me fast when I struggled to get to Daddy. I whimpered against the hand over my mouth.

“Well. No one told me you were so lovely,” said the man holding the weapon. Even in the low light I could tell he hadn’t been the one to deliver the beating. Daddy’s face was a swollen red and purple mess, but not a speck of blood marred this man’s white shirt. Not a black hair was out of place.

He nodded to my captor, who released me. I rushed over to my father and put a hand on his neck. His skin was warm, but I couldn’t find a pulse. “Is he dead?”

“Looks that way, don’t it?” snapped the voice behind me. I glared at him. He was younger and stockier than the well-dressed man, and his jaw was shadowed by whiskers where the older man’s was clean-shaven. His wrinkled blue shirt stained with blood.

“Now, now.” The well-dressed man spoke very gently for someone holding a gun to a person’s head. “He isn’t dead yet. No need to be cruel.”

My fingers finally located a pulse. Thank God. “What do you want?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“Is she armed, Raymond?”

Raymond started to grope me from behind.

“Stop it! I’m not armed!” I shook him off. “Please! Why have you done this?”

The older man put the gun down and picked up his black suit coat from the desk, brushing it off before slipping into it. “Your father has refused to acknowledge my offer of protection.” He adjusted his cuffs. “He’s testing my patience.”

“That’s right,” put in Raymond.

“Raymond, please.” The man tucked the gun inside his coat.

“Protection…protection from what?” I asked.

“From anyone who might wish to harm him or his business, of course. These days it could be anything—bombing, arson, the murder or kidnapping of a family member.” He listed these things as if he were reciting the menu at a roadhouse diner. I shivered, even though I was sweating.

“I don’t understand. Why would anyone want to harm us or the business?”

“It’s nothing personal,
piccolina
. In fact, it’s a compliment. Your father is a small fish, but he runs such a good operation, he’s caught the attention of bigger fish.”

“Sharks,” said Raymond.

“Exactly,” agreed the man. “And sharks, when they see the fine meal of a small fish, they get greedy. They get hungry. They want a piece of the meal for themselves.”

“And you’re the shark?”

He laughed, revealing straight white teeth. “Of course not. I’m here to
protect
you from the sharks. I have offered this protection to Jack several times already, but each time he has ignored my request to meet and discuss it. That’s dangerous.” His eyes slid sideways to my father.

I swallowed. “How much for this…protection?”

“Ten thousand dollars.”

My mouth gaped open. “Ten thousand dollars!”

“To let him live tonight, I will accept half.”

“I don’t have five thousand dollars,” I said, my eyes filling.

“That’s unfortunate.” He reached inside his coat, and I put my hands out. Daddy was going to die if I didn’t think of something—
fast
.

“Wait! Just wait. Maybe I can get it.”

“That’s a good girl.” He took his hand from his coat, empty.

My brain was reeling. Was today’s take still here in the office? If it was, they’d probably already stolen it. Daddy kept no spare cash at the garage, I knew that much, but we did have booze. “OK. This afternoon my father and I brought at least twenty cases of whisky here. They’re in the basement, hidden in some rooms beyond the south wall. You can have them all.”

“That ain’t five thousand bucks,” spat Raymond.

“We also have at least two cases of scotch.”

“What kind of scotch?” the man asked.

“Good stuff. Imported from Europe and smuggled through Canada by rail. Expensive—we sell it for one twenty-five per bottle.” I’d just offered all our stock; it had to be worth five thousand, probably more, but I wasn’t capable of arithmetic just then.

The man thought for a moment, his eyes on me. “I’ll accept this offer. On one condition.”

“What?”

“You bring me ten thousand dollars in cash this week.”

“Ten minus five is only another five!”

He shrugged. “Those are my terms. And my final offer to let him live tonight.”

My guts churned—there was no way we could come up with ten grand in a week—but what choice did I have? “Deal. Now will you let us go?”

“I’ll let
you
go. He stays with me until I have the money.” A smile crept onto his lips. “Why don’t you come down to my club tomorrow night,
piccolina
? We’ll discuss the details of this arrangement in a more civilized manner, and you’ll bring me one hundred dollars as a sign of good faith.”

I twisted my clammy hands together. “Where are you taking him?”

“Never mind about that. I won’t kill him if you keep your word.” Then, as casually as if he were brandishing a stick of chewing gum, he pulled the gun from his coat and aimed it at my chest. “But I won’t think twice about killing both of you if you don’t.”

Fear gashed my heart so sharply I thought he might have pulled the trigger. “I’ll be there.”

“Splendid.” The corners of his mouth tipped up. He looked vaguely familiar in that moment, but I couldn’t place his face. He was about Daddy’s age, but taller, leaner through the middle. His hair was so dark it appeared black, and his features were narrow and even—no scars or evidence of a broken nose or jaw. “I confess, I didn’t like the idea of doing business with a girl,” he continued, “but this has been almost enjoyable. I feel certain once your father comes to, he will be more willing to negotiate with me. Now, how do we access those rooms?” The gun was still pointed at me, and I could hardly think. My teeth chattered.

“You—you’ll have to move the m-middle cabinet on the west wall first. Then open the phony icebox in the left corner—it has no back—and you’ll see a latch. Pull it. It releases the d-door behind the cabinet.”

He looked impressed as he slid the gun back inside his coat. “Quite an operation here. I can see why the sharks are circling.”

They left Daddy and me alone in the office, and I heard my instructions repeated in the garage. I wasn’t sure how many men were out there, but I knew the chances for escape were next to nothing. Even if I made a run for it, and I wasn’t much of a runner, that left Daddy sitting here alone, his hands tied to the chair. I looked him over, checking for the worst of the injuries. His face was almost unrecognizable—eyes bruised and squeezed shut from the swelling, nose broken again, cheeks and chin nicked with cuts—but I saw no evidence of a mortal wound. I brushed a matted lock of dark hair from his forehead, relieved to see a spot of unbloodied skin. “My God, Daddy,” I whispered. I felt sorry for him, but a little angry too. Why had he ignored this man? Had he thought the threats were idle? For Christ’s sake, he read the papers—and look at what had happened to Vince! He knew what these men were capable of; extortion was their
least
worrisome crime. I sank to my knees again and clutched his limp arm. “What if I can’t save you?” I whimpered before his battered form went blurry beyond my tears.

While I wept, the men emptied the basement of all our stock. Everything we had would be gone—and now they knew our hiding spot too. I scrambled to my feet when two goons lumbered in, untied Daddy, and carried him out by his arms and legs. When they exited into the alley, I leaned against the doorframe for support.

The older man appeared to my left. “Miss O’Mara. You’ll find me at Club 23 tomorrow night.” His eyes dropped to my disheveled clothing. “Wear something pretty.” Placing a black fedora on his head, he followed the others out the door, shutting it behind him.

I rushed over to lock it, but when I turned around, my skin prickled with the awareness of someone.

I wasn’t alone.

Knees trembling, I searched the shadows of the silent garage, gasping when I saw a slender man in a dark suit standing about ten feet away, perfectly still. Watching me.

Enzo.

I clenched my jaw. “Go to hell.”

He moved closer, and the sight of his handsome face both thrilled and appalled me. I stiffened when he stopped right in front of me and smiled. “Tell them Angel sent you.”

#

As soon as Enzo was gone, I locked the back door and returned to the office. Sinking into the chair, I put my hands to my head and tugged on my hair. Where were they taking Daddy? And how on earth was I going to come up with ten thousand dollars this week? I had no booze to sell, no talent for rebuilding hearses, and no hiding spot with emergency payoff cash tucked away.

But I had to get it somehow. They knew who I was and how to find me. And if they could find me, they could find my sisters. My nephews. They could bomb not only the garage but the house or the store.

Bridget had been right about Enzo.

Burning with anger, I realized Enzo had to have known about the kidnapping plot when he kissed me in the boathouse. Bastard! Why didn’t he say something then? He could have warned me, but instead he’d let me walk right into this trap. Maybe I’d even been part of the trap—he’d asked questions, followed me, discovered the boathouse.
Damn him. I should have known he was trouble.
But I’d never been good at resisting temptation. It wasn’t in my blood.

I chewed my thumbnail.
Ten goddamn grand.
I only knew one way to make that kind of cash, and since I’d just given away all our stock, the only resource I’d have to start with was my envelope full of tips. My tuition money. Crossing my arms over my belly, I lay my forehead on the desk in defeat.

Within seconds, a pounding on the back door had me bolting upright. My heart hammered wildly as I switched off the lamp and waited. More pounding, then the thumping of bodyweight being thrown into the door.
Move, you idiot!

I ran out into the garage and frantically searched for somewhere to hide. My eyes roved right and left—I couldn’t open the roll-up door fast enough to escape onto Jefferson, and the only other hiding spots were the basement or—gulp—a hearse. When a gunshot blasted through the back door, busting the lock, I squeaked in terror and took a running dive into the hearse with no back end. I yanked on a curtain from the window and the whole rod came down. Burrowing underneath the black velvet and curling into a ball, I was starting a Hail Mary when I heard slow footsteps. Then creak of the office door.

Silence.

When the footsteps started up again, they seemed to be coming toward me. I curled tighter into myself, my body stiff with terror. The intruder came closer. I stopped breathing.

Then, for five agonizing seconds—nothing.

Finally, I could stand it no longer. I opened my eyes and peeked out.

Joey stood at the back of the hearse, aiming a pistol at me.

“Tiny?” He dropped the gun and gawked. “What the hell are you doing?”

“It’s a long story,” I said. “Which I might tell you, if I can ever breathe normally again.” I hoped I hadn’t wet myself. Why the hell did everybody have a gun all of a sudden?

Joey tucked his into his waistband and reached for me. “Well, I’m glad you’re not dead. I’m staying at Bridget’s tonight and when I heard noise down here, I looked out the window and saw a body being carried out and put into the back seat of a sedan.”

I let him drag me to the edge of the hearse by my forearms and pull me out. My rubbery legs threatened to buckle. “Yeah, that was Daddy. He’s not dead though.
Yet.
” I put both hands on my stomach, which was still pitching.

“What?” His voice cracked on the word.

I took a breath and explained, starting with the phone call and ending with my swan dive into the back of the hearse.

“Jesus. Your dad mentioned there might be some trouble.” He scratched his head. “Who were the guys? Did you recognize them?”

“There were five at least. The older one who did the talking was well dressed and maybe in his forties. Dark hair. Didn’t look like the type to do his own dirty work. Two younger guys were with him, and a couple goons.” I decided not to tell him that one of the younger guys was the fancy suit I’d been talking to in the alley.

“Did you get names?”

I hesitated. Naming names was against the rules; it got people into trouble. But I thought I could trust Joey. “One of them might be called Angel.”

“Angel DiFiore, that son of a bitch.” Joey nodded in recognition. “That’s the older one. The younger two were probably his sons, Enzo and Raymond.”

My mouth fell open. Enzo was Angel’s
son
?

“Angel is an associate of Tony Provenzano,” Joey went on, “the bastard who put the hit on Big Leo Scarfone and got my father killed.”

I sucked in my breath. “Was Angel involved in those murders?”

“He wasn’t put on trial, but that don’t mean he wasn’t.” Even in the dark, I saw the fury in Joey’s stance. “He came from Brooklyn a while back, and his operation was on the west side of Detroit, but now he’s over here with his sons, muscling in on the east side rackets. He’s pissing some people off.”

“How do you know so much?”

He shrugged. “I got ears.”

“Is he a bootlegger?”

Joey shook his head. “He runs a club, lottery, races, and a bunch of other things you don’t want to know about.”

A series of clanks from the alley made us both jump. “Let’s get out of here.” I grabbed his arm. “Can you come home with me?”

“Been waiting years for you to ask me that.”

I almost choked. “Please.”

We walked back at a fast clip, and I jumped at every cricket chirp and cat yowl. I checked on my sisters the minute we got in, relieved to see them both sound asleep. Mary Grace clutched a small stuffed bear she claimed she didn’t like anymore. I brushed the strawberry hair off her pale forehead and tiptoed out, shutting the door behind me.

Joey was in the kitchen. “You got anything to eat?”

“Are you kidding? How can you think about food?”

“A guy can always think about food.” He shot me a look over his shoulder. “Among other things.”