Chapter Twenty–Six #2
The gun is gone. In its place is a worn, black leather book and a pen.
My fingers itch to touch the book. Sure, and it must be important.
No one is in the room to stop me, but I spy around, just in case.
I’m safe for now, but my heart keeps thumping like a herd of horses.
I take the book from the drawer, and it falls open to a page about halfway through.
A thin black silk ribbon holds Mr. Carboni’s place. I slide it out of the way.
All I see are columns of messy numbers and letters with no explanations.
For the first few pages, the rows of entries are crossed off.
I keep flipping pages, and I find more names.
Some are crossed off or have a star drawn in the margin beside them.
But listen. A few of them names are awfully familiar.
I’ve no strength when it comes to resisting temptation or puzzles, so I turn ahead a few pages and try sorting through what I see.
RUSSO
200 WARD PKR
MORETTI
XX
BAUER
TUNN KEY
TONY?
* GRAYSON
$1,500 DOM PKR
MORETTI
XX
WALLY
DISCUSS NOV
FIORE
ON-SITE SUPPLIER INTERFERENCE
O’LEARY
$150 WARD PKR
MORETTI
X
MURPHY
DOCKS WHISKY – 10%? 8%
SERGIO
GIRLS TOO
DUFFY
ON-SITE 20 WORKERS IRISH $?
EVANS
HOTEL INTERFERENCE X
WARD
COURIER $ LIGHT
At the top of the next page, it looks like Mr. Carboni’s made a list of things he has to do.
This list is different from the others, and it’s full of items. With all those dollar signs, it must be important.
At first, I can make nothing of it, then a bigger picture starts to fill in the gaps, and my pulse races.
This guy is about to get rich beyond your wildest dreams.
The book feels hot in my hands, and yet I cannot stop reading.
OCTOBER
IN:
LIQUIDATE HOLDINGS IN CRESCENT STEEL CORP.
— $35,000
CANCEL QUEBEC ORDER
— $900 (Oct 12)
LIQUIDATE ACCOUNT C. brOKERAGE
— $50,000
UNITED RAILWAYS (SHORT)
— $20,000
LIQUIDATE DOM SUB CONTENTS
— $2,200
COLLECT DEBT REYNOLDS
— $1,500
W/O “BAD DEBT” S. PORTER
— (DECEASED)
OUT:
WALKER & SONS DRY GOODS
— $8,500 (INITIATED OCT 12)
INTEREST PAYMENT M. CALDERONE
— $4,000 (OCT 11)
P. RUSSO
— CLEAN QUEENS STREET (OCT 13)
SLOAN (INSPECTOR)
— $2,000
SECURE QUEEN STREET WH
— $11,000
H. GREENE FOR DISCRETION
— $3,500
DOM SUB
— $10,000 APPROVE BID
EMERG FUND
— $10,000
MARKET W/D TRANSFER TO CASH RESERVES
— $75,000
J. BATES CLEAN
— $1,000
COURIER D.W.
— $100
OTHER:
RELOCATE SAFETY-DEPOSIT CONTENTS TO MONTREAL brANCH
FILE GRIEVANCE: EVANS
DISCUSS WALLY: EVANS
I run my finger down the lists, curious.
“Dom Sub” is in both lists. Dom is short for Dominic, which is Italian like Mr. Carboni, but Dom could also be short for Dominion.
That would make sense, since a lot of this is to do with real estate and banking.
And if it is, what if Sub means subbasement?
Is he keeping something down there? Like what?
Whatever it is, I might see it in the chambermaids’ room, but there are loads of other places to hide things. What could it be?
It seems to me the “in” list must mean “money in.” So if he sells something, that’s how much cash he gets for it. What in the subbasement—if that is what he’s talking about—is worth $2,200?
Scariest of all is that I know some of the names on that list, don’t I?
Evans? Wally? Courier D.W.? Could be I’m wrong, but I don’t think I am.
The most frightening is “Courier D.W.” My stomach curdles, seeing that.
’Tis Damien, I’m sure. He’s to be paid $100.
That’s enough to buy half of Dublin, I’d wager.
I’ll never ask where it came from, for I know it’s dirty.
Frankly, I don’t know why Damien would stay working at the hotel if he’s making money like that with Mr. Carboni.
Mind you, Mr. Carboni’s job comes with a world of risk.
The second name on the list that I know is Evans, which shows up twice. It worries me to no end that it’s Mrs. Evans. The first time she’s mentioned is to do with “interference,” and I wonder if that’s about me. The second is “file grievance.” What’s it all mean?
And then… I don’t know any Wally, but sure, hadn’t Bianca said that Mrs. Evans and Mr. Carboni had talked about a Wally? And Mrs. Evans had looked afraid?
My head’s swimming with questions as I flip through the pages.
Ah, this would be a treasure for the police, no doubt.
Not that I’d give it to them. Not a chance.
I’m not getting in the middle of any of this.
No more than I am already, I mean. And nobody but me knows that I know any of it.
I keep turning pages, and when I reach the back cover, I notice the book feels unbalanced.
It almost falls from my hand. That’s when I spot a slit in the leather, a sly wee pocket.
I reach into the opening and my fingers touch something small and metal. I pull out a brass key.
A sound in the washroom alerts me—the rattling of loose pipes again, and I am suddenly back where I belong: in the room, cleaning, not somewhere else, playing with secrets.
My hands shake as I drop the key back into its pocket, then lay the ribbon where it originally marked the page.
I place the book back where it belongs, fighting the impulse to slam the drawer shut.
Once it’s been closed without a sound, I rush to the washroom and I get scrubbing.
I’m no more than a regular chambermaid cleaning the washroom, I tell myself.
I have never snuck a peek at any sort of list written by the city’s king of gangsters.
No way. I know nothing about a gun or strange numbers or anything.
My hands shake madly, and I grip the cleaning cloth tighter.
I shouldn’t have seen that book in the first place. I feel sick.
I’m scrubbing the toilet when I hear another sound travelling through the pipes. I’d swear on Granny’s life, it’s men talking, though I cannot make out what they’re on about. That’s all right. None of this is my business. Except—
I pull away with a gasp. Maybe I’m mad, but I’d swear ’tis my name I heard just now. My name, then laughter. Holy Mother, who is it that’s talking about me? And why? And where is it coming from?
I back out of the room when I’m done. My stomach is rolling again, and I feel off-balance. The bathroom is spotless, but my mind is spinning. I brace my body against the doorframe, calming myself.
Listen now. No one but me and Mr. Carboni know about the book and what’s in it, whatever it is.
God help me, I want to forget it, but I cannot stop seeing the names and numbers.
The dollars he’s written recently are much bigger than what was on the old pages.
I also can’t forget that grin on Mr. Carboni’s mug when he stuck his thumb in his chest and told Bianca and me: This guy is about to get rich beyond your wildest dreams.
And what’s the little key for? There were no markings on it at all.
Good Lord. What have I gotten myself into? What am I to do?
I never did tell Mrs. Evans about Mr. Carboni’s pistol.
I’d not have told her about the ten dollars if she hadn’t seen it herself.
But this book now. If I go to her about it, she’ll be angrier than a hornet, knowing I’ve snooped.
I could lose my job. ’Tis only that her name’s there.
Maybe it means nothing. There must be a boatload of Evanses out there.
But what if it is about her? Seems more likely to me.
She did tell me, didn’t she, that her husband died because of Mr. Carboni.
And there’s that mysterious Wally. As much as I want to stay out of it, not saying anything to her seems like a dangerous gamble.
I have one other worry: Bianca. If she gets that loan she told me about, the one I warned her about, then her name will show up on his list. There’s one Fiore on there already, though it’s crossed out. I can’t help thinking of her father and wondering…
I have to do something, but I’m weary to my bones. My body craves my bed, and my eyelids keep jumping. Bianca’s right. If I keep all this inside of me, I’ll bust apart.
Mrs. Evans, sure, she deserves to know. When I am done my day, I knock on her office door, and she invites me in.
“How are you, Miss Ryan? Are you faring all right without your granny?”
Even after two months, emotion ties a knot in my throat. Tears are always close at hand for me these days. “I miss her, but I’m all right. ’Tis good to keep busy.”
“That’s true. Busy hands are good for the mind.” She tilts her head, observing me. “Tea?”
“That sounds grand. Thank you,” I say.
She gestures toward a chair, so I sit. I feel my bones settle onto it, taking their rest. As she coaxes the water to a boil, I stew over what needs saying. The kettle sings before I’m ready, and a steaming cup lands before me. Mrs. Evans sits back in her own chair, waiting for me to speak.
“I need to tell you a thing,” I say in a tiny voice, “and you’ll be vexed, I’ve no doubt of it. I’m awful sorry, but it weighs too heavy on me to keep it from you.”
“This sounds serious.”
“You know I do not gossip about our guests, and I never snoop.”
“I know that, yes.”
I take a deep breath. “The truth of it is, I have broken that rule, and more than once.”
A frown sharpens her expression. This can only get worse from here. The only way to go is forward, before my courage deserts me.
“ ’Tis…’tis Mr. Carboni, ma’am. I’ve seen a thing or two I must tell you about.”
She covers her mouth.
I’ll tell you, my chest is so tight from holding in all these secrets, ’tis like I’m in a corset. I am afraid of what I’ve seen, and I’m awful disappointed in myself for letting Mrs. Evans down. I take a quick sip of tea, hoping it will help settle my stomach.
“Of all the guests, Miss Ryan, you should not be prying into Mr. Carboni’s things. I have warned you before to stay away from him.”
“Yes, ma’am, and I’ve been doing my best, so I have. ’Tis only he… seems unwilling to stay away from me. But you see, I need to tell you what I found in his room. In his nightstand.”
“Miss Ryan!”
I drop my chin. “I am aware I should not be opening drawers, but someone had spilled water into it the first time, so—”
“The first time? Good heavens!”
“Yes, ma’am. Then, well, I had to dry the spill, so I opened the drawer, and sure, I came on a gun. It frightened me terribly. I told Damien, and he told me, as you do, to keep my distance from Mr. Carboni.”
She frowns. “I hope he is avoiding him as well.”
I don’t answer, because I know Damien is still working for him. I stopped begging him to be careful. I must trust that he knows what he’s doing.
“I did not tell you about the gun because I feared you’d be cross with me, and also because a man’s pistol is his own affair, isn’t it? But today ’twas gone. Instead, there was a notebook. I, the fool that I am, well, I took it and had a read.”
Mrs. Evans has gone a little pale.
“I don’t know what came over me.”
“Go on.”
“I think it could be Mr. Carboni’s own diary.
There’s lists of money, of things he must do, and there’s people’s names.
” I swallow. “I’ll tell you, I was so frightened, half of the words blurred, but I did see you were on the list, Mrs. Evans.
He wrote ‘interference’ by your name, and he said he would be filing a grievance against you. That’s why I’ve come to you.”
I don’t tell her my Damien’s on the list as well. And maybe Bianca soon enough.
“Is that right.” It’s not a question.
“Also, I found a key inside the back cover. A small brass one with no markings at all. I couldn’t see what it might fit. I put it back in the book, though.”
“And the book itself? What did you do with the book?”
“Sure, and I put it back in the drawer quick as a wink. He’d notice if it was missing.”
“Wise. And you have mentioned this to no one else?”
“Not even Damien. I came straight from the room just now.”
“I see.” She frowns. “A key. Well, that could go anywhere. Can you remember anything else that was on the pages?”
“Another list was all about money changing hands, coming out of bank accounts. Looked like he was buying and selling buildings and the like.”
Mrs. Evans taps her finger on the desk, thinking. “Mr. Carboni knows a lot of things about a lot of things, and most of those are illegal. He has many people advising him, which means he often knows what to do before others do.”
“Mrs. Evans, may I ask a personal question?”
“I suppose.”
“Who is Wally?”
She’s stricken. “Was Wally’s name written in the book?”
“Only once. Mr. Carboni wrote that he wanted to file a grievance against you, then he would discuss Wally with you.”
Mrs. Evans seems smaller all of a sudden, and softer.
She exhales, thinking, then she shares her story with me.
“Wally is my younger brother. It was just him and me for a long time, then he went to war. Over there, he lost his legs, and when he was back here, he’d many ghosts crowding his mind.
Some people say he’s mad.” She purses her lips and slumps back in her chair.
“But he isn’t mad. He’s hurting is all. Wally is very smart.
He couldn’t bear to be left in an asylum and be forgotten.
He was never made to sit around and feel sorry for himself.
” Her brow draws down slightly. “So, Mr. Carboni took him out of the asylum and gave him a job in accounting for his… business.”
She has more to say, so I am quiet.
“My brother seems content doing that. I’m sure he knows that most of what he is doing for Mr. Carboni is against the law, but after all he survived, that doesn’t bother him.
Wally is busy, and he is being paid. That’s all he wanted.
The trouble is, Mr. Carboni uses him as a chip against me.
If I anger him, he might do anything to Wally.
He could fire him, or he could do worse.
” She meets my gaze. “Listen closely to me, dear. Mr. Carboni has done terrible things in the past, and he will keep doing them. I planned to move you to a different floor for your work, but I… Please understand, I can’t right now. ”
I had overheard her saying that, and I know why she can’t. Mr. Carboni told her not to change a thing… or else.
“Stay away from him, Rosie. And forget about that book. Don’t mention it to a soul. Your life might depend upon that.”