Chapter 24
24
A s soon as Alistair walked into their shared office, Wanda said, “A shipment is coming in from Canada tonight. I need you and Doris to meet Malone again.”
“Can’t Philip do it?” he asked, tossing his hat in the direction of the hat rack. It missed and fell to the floor.
“I’d rather have him behind the bar. The customers like him, and they drink more when the bartender is friendly.”
“Fine.” Alistair sat in his chair and lit a cigarette. He didn’t particularly want to ride down a bumpy road to the middle of nowhere to meet the bootlegger, but he also wasn’t about to let Doris go alone.
He worked on the accounts for a while, until a knock sounded at the door. He looked up, and was surprised to see Sam.
“Come on in,” he said. Wanda had gone out to the bar area to chat with customers, especially the local police chief whose presence always warranted a visit from the owner.
Sam stepped in but remained near the door. He’d taken off his cap and was twisting it back and forth in his hands, a sure sign he was nervous about something.
The hair on Alistair’s neck prickled. “What’s wrong? Is it your mother?”
“Indirectly.” Sam looked at the carpet rather than him. “We’re about to finish the hex. Vic and I, that is. And, well…”
Alistair sat listening with growing incredulity as Sam spoke. “Are you crazy?” he burst out when Sam had finished. “Nagorski is clearly up to something! You can’t just go off and meet with him, and—and bond with him!”
“I don’t have a choice.” Sam’s voice was calm, almost frighteningly so. “If I don’t do this, my mom will die.”
“Then tell Sullivan, have his men work Nagorski over until he spills whatever these last steps are, and let him handle it from there.” Alistair’s heart pounded—this was bad, and not just because Sam was talking about bonding with another familiar. They were talking about double-crossing Sullivan.
“And if Vic doesn’t? Or worse, if Sullivan abuses the hex, or won’t give it to Mom, or…?”
“So you’re just going to go along with this. You’re going to bond with another familiar, who is at the very least trying to betray the most powerful gang boss in Chicago?” He stood up and went to Sam, grabbing him by the arms. “Sullivan will kill you,” he said, fear making his voice thick. “Please, don’t do this.”
Sam visibly steeled his expression. “I don’t have a choice,” he repeated.
“You do! Don’t throw your life away over this.”
“What about my mother’s life?”
“She doesn’t love you!” Alistair shouted. “None of them do!”
Silence fell, broken only by the rattle of silverware as Reinhold bustled about in the kitchen, and the distant notes of the jazz band. Sam’s nostrils flared, and Alistair wanted to kick himself.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean it.”
“No, you did.” Sam pulled away and took a step back. “And you’re probably right. But it doesn’t change anything.”
The doors from the kitchen swung open and Doris stepped into the hall. “Time for the…” she began, then stopped and cocked her head. “Everything all right?”
“It’s fine,” Sam said, moving away.
And no, this couldn’t happen. He needed the chance to convince Sam—and maybe Doris could help. “Come with us,” he said. “Please.”
Sam paused. “Where are we going?”
Relief that Sam was at least willing to come flooded through Alistair. He could still fix this. “A simple booze run. Malone is flying it in from Canada by plane.”
“Oh.” Sam looked unsure for a moment, then shrugged. “Why not?”
Sam stared out the truck’s window as they drove through the darkened countryside. Away from the city lights, the stars blazed in their multitude. It was a sight he hadn’t seen since he left home.
Alistair’s words had turned his stomach to acid, and once in the truck he rebuffed all attempts to restart the conversation.
Maybe Alistair was right. Maybe his family didn’t love him and never had. He’d been a disappointment since birth, overshadowed by his older brother even after Jake’s death.
It didn’t change anything. His mother was dying, and the responsibility to save her was his alone.
And yes, a part of him secretly hoped it would change things. He wanted to show up at the hospital with the panacea and heal Mom before everyone’s eyes. They’d all be amazed, even the doctors. Word would spread through town about how the Cunningham boy had performed a miracle.
Mom would be grateful. Dad would be proud. Opal would brag about him to all her friends.
What a stupid fantasy. Mom would never want word to get out she’d been healed by magic. No one would know, and nothing would change.
Alistair sat silently beside him, arm bumping against him every time the truck hit a pothole. “Fur and feathers, Doris,” he snapped at last, “are you trying to hit every damned hole in the road?”
“Yes,” she said. “Just to annoy you, of course.”
“Hmph.” He slouched farther down in his seat, then glanced at Sam. Worry lines creased the skin around his eyes. Without saying anything, he put his hand palm-up on his knee.
Sam took it, and their fingers twined together. His throat tightened, and some of the cold resolve he’d clung to cracked.
He didn’t want it to be this way. But Vic wasn’t giving him a choice. He had to go through with this.
After…he didn’t know. He’d be bound to Vic for the rest of his life.
He’d always planned on staying with Alistair, even if they never bonded. But now he understood there was no way he and Vic could remain in Chicago after this. They’d save Sullivan’s son, which might earn them some leniency. But Sullivan wouldn’t want word getting around that they’d successfully defied him. And Vic wouldn’t want to risk Sullivan getting his hands on the panacea hex and using it for his own profit.
They’d have to flee, as quickly as possible. He might ask Alistair to come with them…but would Alistair leave behind his family, The Pride, to travel with them? Would he be able to put up with Vic’s presence, or would the reminder of what he and Sam might have had sour everything?
This might be one of the last times they’d ever hold hands, and it was in a bumpy truck on the way to meet a bootlegger.
The truck rolled to a stop at the edge of a field surrounded by trees. The headlights illuminated some of it; once they were out of the truck, Doris grabbed some torches from the back, lit them, and thrust them into the ground to serve as markers for the incoming airplane.
Sam pushed away all thoughts of tomorrow. He’d never seen an airplane up close, so this would be a new experience. If he could concentrate on that, maybe he could put aside everything else for a little while at least.
After a short time, the sound of a plane engine intruded on the countryside quiet. Distant at first, then louder and louder, until its shadow put out the stars. What would the world look like from such a height? Would all the problems seem smaller, less important, with the whole of a city spread out beneath you?
The airplane circled the field twice, then came in for a landing. The wheels touched the ground, and it taxied slowly to a halt. The door swung open, and a man stuck his head out.
Light burst across the field—headlights, from at least three cars. Engines roared as they plowed up the dirt road, then screeched to a halt. Men leapt out, and the distinctive sound of a shotgun being racked echoed from more than one of them.
“Prohibition Unit!” boomed a magically amplified voice. “Drop your weapons and put your hands up!”