Chapter 14
Some of the panic Alistair had been holding at bay slipped away once they were out of the speakeasy and back on the street.
Damn Gallo for an idiot and a coward. He’d involved Sam in his mess, and Alistair had been afraid Sullivan would turn his displeasure on him as well.
He still might, but at least it didn’t seem like it would be lethal. If it was, neither of them would have left the basement alive.
Alistair let go of Sam but remained one step behind. Turner limped to a car parked outside under the watchful eye of another of Sullivan’s thugs and slid behind the steering wheel. “In the back,” Sullivan ordered, and got into the passenger seat.
No one objected when Alistair climbed in after Sam. Turner started the car and began to drive slowly up the street.
“You didn’t have any clue?” Sullivan asked without preamble. “None at all?”
“No.” Sam swallowed, but his nerves seemed to be holding up. Or he was putting on a good show. “That is, I knew he wasn’t happy about being passed over for promotion, but I never thought…”
“Fabiano also knew he was unhappy. That means someone was talking out of turn.” Sullivan swiveled half-around in his seat to look at Sam, his eyes cold.
“I blame myself—I assumed all of the problems in the hexworks had been taken care of when Vic died. Since we can’t go back and fix it then, it’s going to be fixed now. Lenny will help you.”
Because he didn’t think—probably correctly—that Sam was up to the job? Or because Turner was going to be looking into Sam, too?
“Unless,” Sullivan went on, and now his gaze was on Alistair as well, “the leak is coming from somewhere else.”
He bristled. “Like hell. I don’t talk about anyone’s business, not even mine. And before you start accusing anyone else, Wanda wouldn’t put up with it. You know that—you’ve met her.”
Sullivan didn’t know it, but Alistair had him figured as a man who put a high value on his own ability to judge people. Despite the fact he’d worked elbow-to-elbow with Bobby Watts, who’d been selling him out the whole time.
Sullivan seemed to relax fractionally. He turned back to the front of the car. “Speaking of your sister, remind her our deal is now in effect.”
Damn Fabiano, and Gallo, and Sullivan, and everyone. What a fucking mess.
“And Mr. Cunningham,” Sullivan said, and he wasn’t happy with Sam, not at all, “I want five-hundred copies of the counter to the look-away hex completed and distributed by the end of the week.”
“Yes, sir,” Sam replied. His voice was steady, but Alistair could feel him trembling.
The car pulled to a stop in front of The Pride. Sullivan waved them out, and they stood on the sidewalk and watched it drive away into the night.
* * *
The next day was one of utter misery for Sam.
Luke was dead and there was no use pretending otherwise. Bellinowski didn’t just have him beaten and run out of town. Given the proximity of the speakeasy to the river, it seemed likely Luke’s body was on the bottom, fish even now swimming through the strands of his hair, nibbling at his flesh.
The thought made him sick to contemplate. If he’d just noticed sooner, confronted the problem instead of letting it fester, maybe this all could have been avoided. Maybe Luke would still be alive today.
Instead, he had another name to add to the string of bodies in his wake. Jake, Mom, Luke. Who would be next?
Not Alistair. Please God, not Alistair.
Turner was already there when Sam walked in. “Don’t look so glum,” he said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Why, you didn’t even get a proper dressing-down from the boss!”
Sam shuddered to imagine. “That’s true, I guess.”
“You guess!” Turner laughed. “Trust me, Choirboy, it could’ve gone a lot worse. We’ve just got to plug the leaks in this ship, and it’ll be smooth sailing from here on out.”
Sam doubted it would be that simple, but he wasn’t going to argue. They went together up to the lab and waited for Glenda to arrive.
She bustled in five minutes late, her hair windblown and missing her hat. “You wouldn’t believe the morning I’ve had,” she said, opening a cabinet and throwing her purse inside. “First, I found a hole in my stockings, just as I was about to go out the door. And then…”
She trailed off once she spotted Turner, then glanced at Sam. Whatever she saw on his face must have worried her, because she said, “Is everything all right?”
Sam didn’t want to be the one to tell her…but it was his responsibility. “Luke…he was working with Fabiano. He slipped her the look-away hex and…did other things.”
All the color drained from her face, and she sat down heavily. “No. No way. Not Luke, he wouldn’t, he couldn’t.”
Sam sat down beside her. “I thought the same thing. But it’s true.”
She looked like she might burst into tears. “But why? I don’t…I don’t understand.”
Either she was a terrific actress, or she was genuinely confused. Unfortunately, Sam no longer trusted himself to know which. Truth hexes had been all the rage in the nineteenth century; too bad they’d been long proven not to actually work on unwilling subjects, because he could have used one now.
“You spent more time with him than I did. Did he say anything, do anything…?”
“No.” She bit her lip. “I mean, he wasn’t entirely happy lately, but…”
“And why is that, Miss Walker?” Turner prompted.
She glanced at Sam. “Luke, um, well, he thought Sam was too young to get Vic’s job after…
you know. He expected to get it because he’d been here the longest.” A flush touched her cheeks, and she hastily added, “I told him it wasn’t like that, he shouldn’t feel, you know, offended.
Sam’s better at hexmaking than either of us, it makes sense for him to be the one in charge. Luke…didn’t like hearing that.”
“And what about you?” Turner asked.
“Me?” She looked blank a moment; then her eyes widened when she realized what he meant.
“No! I don’t want Sam’s job, are you kidding?
That’s too much responsibility and too many long hours—no offense, but I’ve got my own life to live outside these walls.
I like working here, and I’m grateful to Mr. Sullivan for the pay, I don’t mean to suggest otherwise.
But I also like going home and not thinking about it again until I’m back on the clock the next morning. ”
She looked scared now, and it twisted Sam’s heart like a wringer. “It’s okay,” he said, touching the back of her hand lightly. “We’re just trying to figure things out.”
“Did Luke express his dissatisfaction to anyone else here?” Turner asked.
“Not that I know of, but I wasn’t exactly keeping track of his every minute.
” Glenda bit her lip again. “I know I said I like leaving work behind once it’s time to go home, but I did go out to dinner with Luke once or twice.
I thought he just wanted to let off steam, complain away from the ears of the boss. ” She glanced at him. “Sorry, Sam.”
“No, I understand.”
“Where did you meet?” Turner pressed.
“Some place out near Franklin Park. Club Firebird. I thought it was a long way to go, there are plenty of joints closer, but he said he didn’t want to accidentally run into anyone else from the hexworks.”
“I know the joint,” Turner said. “What happened during these gab sessions?”
“I listened to him complain and tried to reason with him. I said he’d get his chance, just be patient, Mr. Sullivan was bound to open up a new hexworks sooner or later just to keep up with demand, and he’d be a shoo-in to run it.
” Her shoulders slumped. “I thought I’d gotten through to him, because lately he hadn’t been complaining nearly as much.
We haven’t met for dinner in…a month, maybe? ”
“I see.” Numbness swept over Sam, but underneath it was a familiar sinking sensation.
He should never have taken the job. He should have listened to Alistair and found some way of saying no to Sullivan in the first place. There had to have been some polite way to decline, some other deal to be struck.
But he hadn’t, and now Luke was dead. And sure, he’d made his own decision to become a killer, but if he’d just succeeded Vic them none of this would have happened. The bootleggers would still be alive, the look-away hex never re-discovered in the first place.
“I swear, I didn’t know anything about what he was doing,” Glenda said, her tone desperate. “He never took me into his confidence or anything like that. He just wanted someone to complain to.”
“Of course, Miss Walker,” Turner said soothingly. “No one suggested otherwise. Sam, I need to borrow the telephone in your office.”
Since Turner seemed to expect Sam to accompany him, he stood up, patting Glenda on the shoulder as he passed by. Sam unlocked the office and they went inside. Turner shut the door after them.
“Club Firebird is one of Fabiano’s,” he said without preamble. “One of the waiters probably overheard Gallo running his mouth and passed word along. Dumb mug.”
“Do you think Glenda had anything to do with it?” Sam asked anxiously.
Turner considered for a moment, then shook his head.
“Nah. But we’ve got to be sure. You go over all your records twice, make sure no other hexes have gone missing.
Same for supplies. And keep an eye on her—maybe have some of your boys follow her for a few days, make sure she isn’t talking to anyone she shouldn’t be. ”
“I’ll have to replace Luke.”
“That’s your business—just be sure they’re squeaky clean first.”
The irony of promoting someone ‘squeaky clean’ through the ranks of a criminal enterprise wasn’t lost on Sam. “I will.”
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a few calls to make.”
Sam nodded. As he shut the door behind him, he turned to see Glenda hunched over her desk, sobbing quietly into a handkerchief.