Chapter 17 #2
“Lovely.” Jay scoffed and looked off to the side. “Don’t you crave safety?”
“Controlled chaos makes me feel safe, in a way now. It means there’s some awareness that the world is a bad place.”
“And when the police catch us on the road with a bunch of jewels in the car?”
“Please.” I knew his question was not serious. Weeks ago, he almost let Cannon Cleary fall off a building. “You’re not afraid
of the police.”
“I sort of am.” Jay winced and massaged the meat of his knee. “I think I got a cramp.”
I removed his hand, replacing it with mine, to dig into the sore spot for him. “We’ll put the money into things and make it
look like it was earned, or you could dump it into one of your father’s banks and say he earned it.”
“My father’s banks? How?” Jay talked about his father like he was a long-lost stranger who’d spent his entire life at this
mansion.
I noticed that Jay seemed freer when he was left to himself. I think his father thought every negative emotion brought a negative
outcome, so there’d be no use for the feelings like anger and rage—the ones he couldn’t tie into a neat bow.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Shouldn’t you know? You’re a bootlegger.”
“I don’t,” he said, flatly.
I looked at Buchanan’s house—that white palace of excess and perfection, with long balconies and windows blocked by black portieres. The clouds behind it were like swan wings sprung in flight, spraying pinks and whites in front of the sun.
“I have reason to believe Buchanan’s corruption runs deeper than a lot of people realize,” I said. “Without money, he’d be
forced to face the true person that he is.”
“True, he would.” Jay looked around, seeming eager to change the subject. “I do hope karma comes around for him eventually.
Say, do you want to go to Coney Island next Sunday?”
I forgot I was turning eighteen next week, maybe because going even deeper into adulthood filled me with dread. Spending the
day with Jay was the best gift I could give myself. “Sure,” I said.
I didn’t question the things he wanted to do with me. I accepted every perk.
“Or we could do an orchestra outing at the Lafayette,” he said.
“Sure,” I repeated.
Jay reached over for his watch on top of his pile of clothes. “My father will be back soon.” He looked back at his house with
worry. “You may want to get going.”
As I stood and gathered my things, the weight of the plan hung in the air between us. I’d gotten no answer. But that also
meant I hadn’t gotten a no. I could feel something in him that was unsatisfied—the same way I was, though it may have been
about something different.
Jay fixed his gaze on the horizon, lost in whatever thoughts were brewing in his head. I almost thought we’d work through this in a sudden moment of clarity, but then he turned around halfway and gave me a strangely formal nod.
“Stay safe,” he said softly.
Oh, that made me heated! “You’re not going to walk me out?” I asked, bass in my voice.
“Oh.” Jay jumped up, his expression like a dog’s who’d been caught peeing on a rug. “You’re right. Apologies.”
I tried to hide the rolling of my eyes as we walked through the yard and into the house. Everything was quiet. Then he sent
me off, watching from the doorway as I went, alone into the world of my plans.
Later, I sat on the stoop, and Daisy walked the rows of Auntie’s crop garden, searching for ripe tomatoes. We’d decided that
we’d attend the gala at the Buchanan mansion, during which Cannon would receive an award. Daisy would go, just to support
her boss’s event, and I’d go as her escort.
I hadn’t forgotten what Jordan had said about Cannon. It was easy to speculate now that Buchanan was the one paying him off
and stalling out the investigation, but I wanted to know.
The gala would be flush with cops, and we’d be there to overhear their conversations, as their lips were loosened by the very
alcohol they spent their days sweeping the city to confiscate.
Every now and then, the breeze lifted Daisy’s skirt, and she didn’t fix it, only lilted in the wind like an apple, almost
fallen.
Uncle Beet opened the door behind us. “Nick, your auntie said she wants to give you this suit for the gala.”
Daisy filled a basket and took it into the house. Meanwhile, I left to find Auntie in the washroom slipping a hanger through a blazer for a three-piece forest-green suit. “This used to be your uncle’s, but I think it will look great on you too. See if it fits.”
I checked it out in the mirror. I liked the Norfolk jacket—it looked good on me, but the sleeves were a bit too big. Auntie
attached a West Egg pin to the lapel because she still loved the coveted ribbon of status, even though hate had taken it down.
“There’ll be a good bit of journalists at this gala, won’t there?” Auntie asked. “Get your foot in where you can.”
Ah, making connections. I hated the idea. But each time I thought of disappointing her or Uncle Beet it felt like betraying
my own parents. I was planning to break a few safes before the spring arrived. Life insisted I do this, and I was going full
speed ahead. I couldn’t crank the brakes.
“It’s hard to get a real job as a writer without my certificate,” I told Auntie, almost as a coded apology for my plans. “The
school burned down before I could get it.”
“All the more reason to make a good impression. Good luck tonight,” she said with a smile. “I know you’ll do great.”
Auntie, I’ve taken to the streets, and they’ve taken me, I wanted to say. Isaiah was right—so much of growing up was simply taking charge of your life without explaining a thing.
I went back into the house and found Daisy in her room, trying on a top in front of the mirror.
I studied a necklace sitting on her table. “What’s this?” I asked as I entered the room. It burned dark blue like the night
ocean waves.
“It’s sapphire,” Daisy said after she saw me looking. “Nick, why don’t you wear it tonight?”
I examined the gem and the tag. “Buchanan’s Jewelers? Did he . . . give you this?”
“Charlie did, back when he was trying to pursue me. He’s generous with his father’s things,” Daisy returned with a shrug.
When she was finished dressing, she pulled a giant piece of rolled-up parchment from inside the closet.
“Come here, I want to show you what I’ve been working on.” She unfolded a sketch, beckoning me to hover over it. “I’ve been
marking on the map where I’ve seen safes in Buchanan’s house. Tom revealed at least two of the locations to me while drunk,
but I think the more important ones are in the vents—one in the library, in the space under the mounted elk, and the other
is hidden somewhere in his bedroom. I’ve never seen it, so we may not be able to reach that one. And we still need to figure
out how to open them.”
“Easy,” I said. “Grease.”
“Grease?”
“It’s a chemical you can use that makes a concoction that burns safes. My mentor taught me how to crack them in a manner of
ways, but that one is the easiest. I still have his tin of it.”
“Okay, Nick.” Daisy looked impressed. “So I’ll leave that up to you. If you can get away tonight, try to scope out all the
places I’ve marked so you can know exactly where they are later.”
It was happening. And tonight, at Buchanan’s mansion, we’d lay the groundwork necessary to pull it off, whether Jay chose
to help us out or not.
In Buchanan’s driveway later, I got out of the car first to help Daisy out, and we set out to navigate through the maze of Harlem’s most esteemed. People and activity filled the round lot; policemen and politicians spilling out of limos.
I spotted Mr. Cleary, Cannon’s father, holding open the door for his wife and their perfect Cannon. I’d understand his motives
by the end of the night. Why was he leading an investigation into the fire? Was this a cover-up for a sinister deed? Had he ever been on the victims’
side?
Daisy and I spotted Jay at the same time by the lion fixture at the front steps. “There he is,” Daisy said, walking forward
to greet him.
I got the sudden urge to squeeze a thorny stem on a rose. Instead, I retied my cummerbund and hoped no one would come and
talk to me.
“Oh, Nick!” And of course someone was coming to talk to me—Cannon.
“I meant to give you this,” he said, fishing a small pamphlet from his jacket pocket. “The Harlem police department is hiring.
I know you must be looking for a place to live now that the Blue House has met its tragic fate. There’s still time for you
to get off the streets and become something more.”
I took the flyer and examined the image on the glossy paper—Cannon himself dramatically lunging and pointing a gun. “Only
problem is I’m a writer—not a cop.” I crumpled the pamphlet in my hand and gave it back to him. “Thank you, though.”
Cannon sneered as he took it, holding it like a wet rag. “If you insist on ruining your future, be my guest.”
“My future will be fine, thanks.”
“Hmm.” He straightened his posture and the pamphlet.
“Congratulations on the promotion,” I said. “It must be tiring doing the Buchanans’ dirty work.”
I watched to see if he’d flinch, but he was stone-faced. “I work for what I have—legally. Unlike some people.” And he spun away from me.
Damn. Left alone once more, I spotted Daisy and Jay walking up the stairs and into the home of Tom Buchanan. I decided to follow
after them. I’d attended as Daisy’s escort after all, and I’d have to stay close to her, so it seemed like I had a reason
to be here.
Inside, wide marble steps led down to an expansive room lit by crystal chandeliers. The beveled ceiling helped give the room
its dimensions as an event space. Linen-draped tables sat to the side of an open dance floor and temporary stage. The white
faces and blue stares caused my stomach to nearly erupt like a sleeping volcano. My kind was hardly welcomed.
How could I move through this room unnoticed? All eyes would be on me, no matter what I did. There’d be no poking around without intense scrutiny. In the far-off corner