Speak Low (3 page)

“I might be able to set up a meeting,” I ventured, watching a ribbon of smoke drift out the open window.

“You can’t tell him about the opium beforehand, understand?” Joey pinned me with a hard stare.

“I do, but that makes it a lot harder to guarantee he’ll agree to talk to you. He’s furious, Joey.”

“I have no doubt you’ll persuade him, now that you two are so close.”

“Stop. Just stop it. If we’re going to work together on this, you have to quit harassing me about Enzo at every turn.”

He switched his focus to starting the Buick, and the engine came to life. “No promises there.”

My jaw jutted forward and I tossed my cigarette out the window. “None here either, then.”

Joey looked over at me once more. “You know, I may have been wrong before.”

“About what?”

“About you. Maybe I don’t know you anymore.”

As he backed out of the driveway and headed for Jefferson Avenue, I kept my eyes on the road. Why the hell was my throat closing up? I should have been glad he recognized that I was different now. Wasn’t that exactly what I’d been saying to myself? And I’d gotten what I wanted—information to give Enzo. If he’d agree to meet Joey without killing him on sight, maybe they could work out a deal. Thirty percent was better than nothing.

The fist of discontent squeezing my throat eased up a little.

I could do this. No one would get hurt. Joey would go to Chicago and stop distracting me with his mouth and his hands and his cooking, and Enzo and I would learn to trust each other.

Of all the lies I told myself that night, the last one was the most foolish.

And the most dangerous.

Chapter Two

Joey’s mom ran a restaurant and boarding house near Eastern Market, and the Lupo family lived above it. With Joey’s sisters married and out of the house, it was just him and his mother there these days. I hadn’t been to the restaurant in years, but it smelled the same when I walked in, like tomatoes and garlic and fresh bread. The dining room was bustling with a noisy supper crowd, and Joey nodded hello to a server setting down a huge plate of what looked like steak in some kind of red sauce. My stomach groaned again, and I cradled it as we took the stairs up to his family’s apartment on the third floor.

“How’s your mother doing?” I asked.

“Not too good.”

“I’m sorry.” Bridget had told me his mother was ill, and I felt bad that I hadn’t inquired after her very much, but with everything going on last week it had slipped my mind.

The apartment door was ajar, and Joey pushed it all the way open. “Ma?”

“She’s in the bedroom.” Marie walked through the wide arch in the wall separating the front room from the dining room, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “Tiny!” She rushed up to kiss both cheeks before hugging me. She looked like Joey, same dark wavy hair and generous mouth, but had little crinkles near her eyes when she smiled and a huge pregnant belly. “It’s been so long. How are you? How’s your family?”

“Um, good.” I exchanged a quick glance with Joey. “We’re all well. And you?”

“I’m well too, thanks.” She dropped a hand to her stomach. “Just exhausted.”

“Go home, Marie.” Joey set his coat on the back of the sofa and took the dishtowel from her. “I can take it from here. I don’t have any plans tonight, and I promised Tiny a decent meal. As you can see, she needs one.”

“Shush, Joey Lupo. She looks just fine.” She winked at me, and I wondered if she thought there was something between us.

He turned to me. “Let me just go see how she’s doing and then I’ll fix us something. I haven’t eaten either.”

“And I’ll say good-bye to Ma and be on my way.” Marie attempted to undo the apron strings at her back.

“Here, let me.” I untied them for her and she slipped it over her head.

“Put it on, Tiny,” said Joey, grinning as he backed through the arch. “I’ll give you a cooking lesson. God knows you need one.”

I glared at him as Marie dropped the loop around my neck. He was right, I did need a cooking lesson, but I certainly didn’t feel like one tonight. I couldn’t stop thinking about that opium sitting in the boathouse. Could I convince Enzo to meet with Joey without telling him about it? What would he do if he knew it was there, unguarded? The boathouse was locked and Joey had my key—the rotten thief—but locks were never a problem for Enzo. A smile crept onto my lips and I tried to wipe it off.
Quit thinking about him. Joey will wonder why you’re blushing.

Left alone, I looked around the apartment. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d visited here. The wood floors were clean but creaky, and the furniture was Victorian style, with curvy backs and sides and faded burgundy upholstery. Floral-patterned paper covered the walls, on which hung family photos and religious paintings. A crucifix hung over a Brunswick phonograph in the corner, and a porcelain statue of the Blessed Virgin rested on a side table. Sidestepping away from it like a skittish pony, I perched on the edge of the sofa. A photo album rested on the coffee table, and it was open, as if someone had recently been looking at it.

Glancing back at the doorway to the hall, I sat back with the album on my lap and turned to the front of the book. Photographs of the Lupo family were fastened at the corners onto black pages, beginning with a wedding portrait of Mr. and Mrs. Lupo. I studied Joey’s father. He looked a lot like Joey, actually, and I wondered how old he’d been when he married. Twenty? Twenty-one, like Joey was now? He and Vince had worked for the Scarfone family, and they were killed the same day, victims of an ambush on the boss, Big Leo Scarfone, right outside the police station. Neither Bridget nor Joey had fully recovered, although more than two years had passed.

I perused photos of the Lupo family as it grew, quirking a lip at babies in a frilly white baptismal dress and chuckling aloud at the photo of Joey in knee pants, looking miserable and yet adorable in his First Holy Communion portrait.

“Cute little devil, wasn’t I?”

I jumped at his voice over my shoulder, and stiffened when he leaned down over the back of the sofa to look more closely. His jaw was so close to mine I could smell his aftershave. If I tilted my head just the right way, my cheek would rest against his. “Devil being the operative word.” I scooted sideways and stood up. “But I like the outfit. You should wear knee pants more often.”

“Thanks, but I don’t think that suit fits me anymore.” He grinned as he straightened. “It’d probably fit you, though. You’re about the size of an eight-year-old boy.”

“Very funny.” I pulled the apron away from my white blouse. “Do I really have to wear this? You’re not actually going to make me cook anything, are you?”

“I thought you wanted a lesson. Here, I’ll tie it.” He motioned for me to come forward and turn around, and I felt his hands at the small of my back as he tied the strings. A funny ticklish feeling fluttered through my belly. “There. Now at least you
look
like you know what you’re doing.”

I faced him. “Appearances can be deceiving.”

Joey looked skyward. “Now she figures it out.”

#

“Is that spaghetti?” I peered over Joey’s shoulder at the large copper pot full of boiling water, into which he’d thrown two handfuls of some kind of long noodle.

“No, it’s fettuccine. Please tell me you at least recognize the vegetable.” He gestured toward a second pot.

I peeked in. “Green beans.”

“Thank God. Now go slice the bread and set the table.”

While I did that, Joey warmed up some meatballs in the oven and poured some red wine. When supper was ready, we sat across from each other at one end of a table meant for eight, and I quickly devoured the meal in huge, blissful bites. The meatballs and noodles were lightly coated with a savory tomato sauce, and the green beans glistened with butter and lemon. “Oh my God, it’s so good.” I forked my last bite of meatball and shoved it in my mouth.

“I’ve heard that about my meatballs.”

I narrowed my eyes at him and was about to make a sharp-tongued remark when a face appeared in the hallway leading off the dining room to the bedrooms.

“Ma, what do you need?” Joey jumped up from his chair, throwing his napkin on his empty plate. “Why didn’t you call me?” He led her into the dining room by the arm as she took small, unsteady steps in battered house slippers. It was as if she’d aged twenty years since I’d last seen her, perhaps only a year ago.

“Mrs. Lupo, hello. It’s nice to see you again.”

“Hello, Tiny. Please forgive me for not welcoming you to my home myself. I’m no feeling so well these days.” Her accent was still pronounced despite fifteen years in this country. She offered me a rueful smile and let Joey help lower her into a chair at the head of the table.

“Think nothing of it, really. Joey has been a very welcoming host.”

Her face brightened a little as she looked at her son. “Like his father was.”

Joey cleared his throat. “Are you hungry?”

“No, no. I came out to say hello and finish the dishes.”

“I’ll do the dishes. You can rest. Would you like to listen to the phonograph a little?”

“I’ll help with the dishes, too,” I offered, stacking our plates together.

While he moved his mother to the sofa in the front room, I rinsed the dishes and silverware in the large kitchen sink and retrieved the soap from a low cupboard. Soon I heard music coming from the phonograph, which got louder when Joey propped open the swinging door to the kitchen. Wordlessly he took his place next to me, toweling off the dishes I washed and then setting them in the rack to finish drying. I ignored the light hum under my skin at his proximity, but I did steal a few looks at his hands as he worked. When the last dish was in the rack, Joey sighed and shook his head. “I need a drink.”

“Sounds good.”

He looked at me. “Let’s go up on the roof.”

#

Ten minutes later we were sitting in the starlight on the building’s roof, each with a tumbler of whisky in hand and the bottle between us. Joey tossed back his drink in one gulp and poured another.

I sipped mine, enjoying the way it burned down my throat and spread liquid warmth in my belly. “Thanks for supper. It was delicious. I really should take a cooking lesson from you sometime.”

He shrugged. “If there’s time before I leave.”

“For Chicago, you mean?”

“Yeah. Once I settle things with the cake eater and get my ma moved into my sister’s house, I’m going.” He glanced sideways at me. “You’ll miss me, huh?”

I punched him on the shoulder. “Yeah, what will I do without someone around to call me Little Tomato, make fun of my cooking, and tease me mercilessly about my size?” But I was unsettled by the realization that I would miss seeing him. I’d miss hearing his voice, knowing he was around if I needed him. As we looked at one another, a light breeze ruffled my hair, and the strains of a waltz drifted up from an open window. To break the spell, I sipped my whisky and changed the subject. “It’s nice up here.”

“I used to come up here with my pop.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We’d escape my mother and sisters, and he’d let me smoke while he told me about the stars just like his father did when he was a kid.” His voice cracked a little.

“You must miss him.”

Joey nodded, took another drink. “Every day.”

“I’m sorry.”

He was quiet a moment. “I wish I knew for sure who did it. I hate that the bastard got away with it. I’d like to make him suffer, you know? Pay for what he did.”

I nodded, although I didn’t know what it must be like to have that burning need for revenge inside me. I knew about loss, though. “I miss my mom every day, too.”

“It’s been rough on you, huh? With those kids at home.”

“Yeah. Some days all I want to do is escape it all.” Another silence followed, during which I grew increasingly uncomfortable with the way he was running his eyes over each feature on my face—my eyes, my cheeks, my lips. Was he starting to lean toward me?

“So you know about stars?” I looked up at the sky.

“Don’t sound so shocked, college girl. You’re not the only one with brains around here.” Joey drank again and leaned back on his hands.

“Nursing school isn’t exactly college. And right now I don’t have the money to go back in the fall.”

“Ask your pop for the money. He owes you, I’d say.”

“Easier said than done. I have no idea what his business will be like from now on. If Angel insists on a high cut, he won’t be making as much, especially if he’s got to cut the River Gang in too. Are they still intent on transporting all loads across the river for a fee?”

“Yeah. But I still don’t get why your dad met with Angel today.”

“That’s because I haven’t told you the final piece of the story.” I took a deep breath. “Angel released Daddy and me in exchange for making a business deal that sort of makes him a partner in the bootlegging operation.”

Joey sat straight up. “What do you mean, released you?”

“Well, after you left for Chicago with the stolen load, Enzo’s younger brother Raymond and his buddy Harry lured me to the boathouse with the ransom money, stole it, and took me to a cabin in the woods, where they’d also taken Daddy.”

“What!” Shock rippled through the word. “What the hell for?”

“In their greedy little minds it made sense—they thought they’d use the ransom money to start running dope or something, and Raymond wanted to prove to his father he was a big-time player, like his brother.” I took another swallow, grateful for the numbing buzz of the whisky. “But it backfired because Harry kept calling Raymond stupid, so Raymond shot him and dragged his body into the woods. Then Daddy and I convinced him we’d go into business with him to show his father and brother how important he was.”

“Jesus Christ, are you kidding me?” Joey’s mouth hung open, and he ran a hand through his thick, unruly brown hair.

“Nope. But once he brought me back to town, I managed to escape and get to Enzo.”

Joey’s eyelids lowered. “Let me guess. He’s the fucking hero.”

“Not exactly.” I ignored his sarcasm. “Angel was furious with Raymond for interfering, and he was already mad at Enzo about the hijacked booze.”

“Good.” Joey picked up his glass for a gulp.

“So I got Angel to release us both by assuring him Daddy would work for him, or at least pay him the percentage he’d wanted in the first place.”

“Fucking brilliant.”

I stiffened. “I did what I had to, Joey. I was scared.”

He closed his eyes, leaned back on his elbows, and tipped his chin up, exhaling toward the sky. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone here.”

Right then I made the decision not to tell him that Raymond had wanted me as part of the deal, or how he’d attacked me at the club last night—not only would he feel more guilt, but I’d have to tell him that it was Enzo who broke into the room and fought off his brother before I clubbed him with a heavy lamp. And then later, in Enzo’s room…

I shoved the memory of sex with Enzo from my mind. “It’s not your fault, Joey. You did everything you could to help me get that ransom money. I’m so grateful to you, and Daddy is too. We have our freedom, at least; the rest is just a business deal.”

Joey didn’t open his eyes right away. I wrapped my arms around my knees, and we sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to a scratchy piano waltz coming from the phonograph downstairs, before he spoke. “You need to go back to school. Get out of this business. It’s not for you.”

Tipping sideways a little, I elbowed him. “Look who’s talking. Haven’t we had this conversation before? I believe it was you who said,
‘The movies make you want things. I’m gonna get ‘em.’
”

He shook his head. “We’re different, Tiny. You’ve got the brains to make something of yourself without being in danger all the time.”