Chapter 15
“Fur and feathers,” Wanda began, then went on to expound on the shortcomings of Luke Gallo’s parentage, social standing, and personal habits.
Alistair sat in his chair in their office and listened until she wound down. She was only saying what they were both thinking. Whether he meant to or not, Gallo had screwed up their last chance at staying independent operators.
Well, he was doubtless sleeping with the fishes now, and good riddance to the backstabbing little creep.
Thinking he was smarter than Sam—smarter than Sullivan—when he was dumb enough to go around shooting bootleggers on Fabiano’s behalf.
He’d had a real high opinion of himself, Alistair guessed, and like most men who thought they were geniuses, he was an easy mark.
When Wanda ran out of steam, she said, “I’m going to start making calls, see if we can get the others in early.”
“Family meeting?”
“Family meeting.”
The apartment building Teresa and Reinhold lived in had a phone in the lobby, and Wanda was able to get them in soon. It took her longer to track down Doris and Philip. She even took on lioness form to summon her witch, Joel, though he usually stayed out of their business.
It took until late afternoon for everyone to arrive, Joel being the last since he had to wait until after his final appointment to close his tailoring shop. Holly was there as well, perched on one of the barstools with her ankles crossed. Philip poured everyone drinks without being asked.
“Well?” Doris asked, once they were all settled. “I assume it’s not good news, whatever you have to say.”
“You assume correctly.” Wanda gave them a quick rundown on everything. Holly clasped her hands in front of her mouth and Joel looked worried, but Teresa just exchanged a look with Reinhold.
“So we work for Sullivan now,” Doris said when Wanda finished.
“I could say we’re just getting our booze from him, but we all know it’s more than that,” Wanda said. “He controls the flow of liquor on the entire North Side now, including Towertown. We either do what he wants, or we close our doors, simple as that.”
“Then let’s close up shop,” Holly said.
Silence followed her pronouncement. Wanda’s golden eyes went wide, then narrowed. “How can you say that? We’ve poured our blood, sweat, and tears into this joint for four years. Everything we have is tied up in The Pride.”
Holly gripped her drink like it was a lifeline. “I know, but what if we just sell to Sullivan, pull up stakes, and get out of town?”
“Out of town?” Doris asked. “You want to leave Chicago?”
“It isn’t that easy,” Joel said. “I’ve spent years building my clientele here. It’s none of my business what you do with The Pride, though I thank you for including me in the discussion, but leaving Chicago is an entirely different prospect.”
Alistair shook his head. “I can’t leave—Sam works for Sullivan.”
“Yeah, why isn’t he here?” Doris asked.
“Because he already knows everything I’ve told you.” Wanda rose to her feet and started to pace. “Plus I wanted to let all of you know before opening tonight. There’s no easy answer here that I can see, but if anyone else has any ideas, I’m all ears.”
Philip put both elbows on the bar, frowning. “Is there anyone else we can cut a deal with? One of the smaller syndicates?”
“Sullivan isn’t going to let us out of our deal with him so we can go work with one of his competitors,” Wanda said. “And even if he would, it only puts off the inevitable.”
“What if he expects us to fight for him?” Doris asked, her pale yellow eyes darkening with worry.
“Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.” Wanda glanced down at her wristwatch. “It’s getting late—time to get set up for opening.”
As they all drifted toward their various stations and Joel slipped away, Alistair finished his drink slowly. None of this was good, and it likely wasn’t going to get better.
No one was happy about being beholden to Sullivan, but they didn’t have much of a choice.
And maybe Sullivan would be content to let them continue on as they had been.
Maybe he would agree to only sell them unadulterated booze.
Maybe there wouldn’t be any big changes, and once the gang war was over, things would go back to the way they had been.
Maybe. But he didn’t believe it.
* * *
“Can I talk to you, Sam?” Holly asked.
It was a relatively quiet night for The Pride, so Sam didn’t worry about taking up a table by himself to do some work.
He’d been scribbling down a list of names, trying to figure out who might make the best replacement for Luke.
It was a daunting task—he needed to get it right if he was going to fix things at the hexworks.
No, he needed to get it perfect. And perfection had always been beyond his grasp.
He stuffed the list in his pocket. “Please—I need a distraction.”
“You and me both, pal.” She plopped down ungracefully with a martini in hand. It cascaded through a rainbow of colors, little fizzy sparks popping around the olive. “But unfortunately, I need advice more.”
Sam winced. “Trust me, you don’t want my advice. But I’m happy to be a sounding board.”
She glanced around, then leaned forward. “Did Alistair tell you about the meeting today?”
“Just that there was one, so Wanda could tell everyone what happened. Why?”
“I tried to suggest we cut bait and go somewhere else to try again. Away from Chicago.”
“Somewhere like LA,” he guessed.
She squirmed a little in her seat. “Well, I didn’t say so in as many words. Not that Wanda gave me a chance—she thinks she’s invested too much time and energy in this place to give it up. I guess they all do.”
He let out a sigh. “Yeah. That makes sense.”
“I’m going to try and talk sense into her.
And you should come to LA with us. The movies need hexmen to create effects.
Did you see DeMille’s latest? The papers said he needed a whole team of hexworkers to do the scene where the actors turn into spirits and go to the afterlife.
Plus they’re always hiring familiars, like for the shark fight in that one.
” She put her hand on Sam’s. “We could get away from all of this.”
For a moment, it almost seemed possible. Leave Chicago behind for the sun-drenched land of California, rub elbows with movie stars, create hexes that would dazzle instead of harm.
“Sullivan isn’t going to just let me go,” he said, coming back to reality with a dull thud. “The rest of you, sure.”
“Maybe you could make a deal with him?” she suggested hopefully.
“I don’t know.” What could he possibly offer a man like Sullivan? “Besides, there are people counting on me. I made a mistake with Luke, almost got Glenda in trouble, and…well, I need to fix things here before I even think of LA.”
She looked sad. “Right. Well, good luck with that.”
“Holly—”
“I get it, Sam. I do.” She finished off her martini in one gulp. “I’m going to get another drink.”
“Please, don’t be upset. I think you should go, I really do. And Wanda and the others, too.”
Her wan smile did nothing to relieve the air of sorrow around her. “All of you have your head in the noose,” she said, turning toward the bar. “But not a damn one of you will consider pulling it out until it’s too late.”
He watched her go, his heart in the vicinity of his feet. If only it were as easy as she made it sound.
Alistair emerged from the back, spotted Sam, and came over. “I’m sick of staring at the ledgers,” he said. “And we haven’t had any time to ourselves lately. Want to go see a movie?”
The silver screen would at least take his mind off his troubles. And as Alistair had said, they hadn’t had enough time as a couple recently.
He stood and reached for Alistair’s hand. “I’d love to.”
* * *
The movie they ended up seeing was Christine of the Hungry Heart, about a woman who had terrible taste in men. After, they had a late dinner at a twenty-four-hour restaurant around the corner.
Midnight was in their rear-view mirror when Alistair followed Sam into their house. He shucked off his coat and suppressed a yawn.
“You can go to bed, if you want,” Sam said. “I’m not tired yet.”
“Something’s bothering you.” It wasn’t much of a guess, given how worried Sam had looked when Alistair approached him in The Pride earlier.
Sam cast him a rueful smile. “What isn’t?”
“Good point. Let’s sit on the couch and relax for a while.”
While Sam went into the kitchen to make a cup of hot cocoa, Alistair poured a scotch and arranged himself on the couch. Sam soon joined him, snuggling up under Alistair’s arm and drawing a light blanket over them both.
The last of the tension drained out of his body. Sam was warm and soft, smelling of ink, cocoa, and the faintest whiff of grease from the restaurant. “We need to go on dates more often,” he said.
“I’m sorry I’ve been so busy.”
Of course Sam assumed it was his fault. “Not just you, sweetheart. Sometimes I think I work too much, but Wanda needs me, so…”
“I understand. She’s your family.”
“Yours, too.” And better family than the one Sam had been born into.
As if Sam had read his mind, he said, “I got a letter from Opal.”
So much for relaxing. Sam’s sister was just as bad as the rest of them. “What did she want?” he asked, because no one from that family would reach out to Sam if there wasn’t something in it for them. They hadn’t even sent a card for his birthday in August.
“She’s having a hard time.” Sam finished his cocoa and set the empty cup aside, before rearranging himself so his head was in Alistair’s lap. “She wanted me to come home, though I don’t know what she thought that would fix.”
Alistair stroked Sam’s hair gently, even as he clenched his teeth. “But you aren’t going.”
“No.”
He sounded sad about it, which only darkened Alistair’s attitude toward the other Cunninghams. Or the Cunningham-Dwights, in the case of Opal and her wretched husband.
They’d done nothing but put Sam down, made him feel responsible for everything that went wrong, destroyed his confidence in himself.
Alistair wished he could shake some sense into Sam, make him realize just how poisonous they were.
But Sam wasn’t ready to listen to the truth about his family. Alistair could only hope he would be eventually. “I thought they liked the money you send them. Opal does know Sullivan won’t keep paying you if you go back to Gatesville, right?”
Sam sighed. “I would think so. And Dad…he’s not going to take me back after I let Mom die.”
“You didn’t ‘let’ anyone die.” It was all he could do to keep a growl from his voice. “Do I need to pay your family a visit? I’ll take Doris and Wanda with me. They’ll leave you alone if a tiger turns up on their doorstep.”
“What? No!” Then Sam chuckled unexpectedly. “Though I would like to see the look on their faces…”
So would Alistair, but it wouldn’t really solve anything. “Forget them, and throw your sister’s letter in the trash.”
Sam didn’t answer, so they stayed in silence, Alistair stroking his hair. After a while, he felt Sam’s body relax, his breath deepen, into sleep.
Funny—Sam had been the one wide awake, and Alistair the one ready for some shut-eye. Now their positions were reversed.
The phone rang.
Both of them jumped at the sound. “I’ll get it,” Alistair said, as Sam sat up and rubbed his eyes.
No one called at this time of night with good news. “What’s wrong?” he asked without preamble.
“I just heard on the radio,” Wanda said. “Sullivan’s flower shop has been bombed.”