Chapter 11 #2
Robbie looks alarmed. “Oh no, I would never do that.”
“I’m not sure I can trust you. I’d feel better if you shared a secret about yourself. That way, we’d be even.”
“I don’t have any secrets.”
“Oh, yes, you do,” I insist. “You stayed quiet about seeing me at the Club DeLisa, which means you were inside the Club DeLisa, and in the basement, ’cause downstairs was the only place I hung out.
” Sweetly wrinkling my nose, I continue, “And if you don’t tell me the truth, I might have to confess to Major Thomas that you’re making him foot the bill for a woman who is nothing more than a floozy.
” I fold my arms over my chest. “I bet he wouldn’t like that at all. ”
“You’d be surprised.”
“What? I don’t believe I heard you correctly.”
“You promise to keep a secret?”
“So you do have secrets?” I smile and quickly cross my heart. “Sure, I promise. Come on, Robbie. Spill it.”
“I ran numbers out of the Club DeLisa for a spell. That’s why I was inside that basement gambling hall pretty regularly. You know they had a policy gambling wheel, too.”
“Now we’re cooking,” I say gleefully. “Yeah, I know that wheel. I never ran numbers. I knew a few big-time operators but made better money doing other things. You aren’t the straw man I thought you were. Who’d you work for?”
“I can’t tell you who I worked for unless we make a pact.”
I gaze at him suspiciously. “What kind of pact?”
Robbie makes a fist, holding it too close to my face, but raises only his pinky finger. “From now on, we’ll keep each other’s secrets. No matter what. Pinky swear.”
I look at him and then at his finger and wonder what in the hell he is goin’ on about. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
“Pinky swear—it’s the best kind of swear. It means that whoever breaks the promise must swallow a thousand needles. So we have to trust each other completely, never share our secrets with anyone else, and never lie to each other. It also means we’re best friends.”
“What?” I am so confused. “Are you making this whole thing up?”
“No, ma’am.”
I stare him in the eye, searching for a dent in his armor. But I need him to keep his mouth shut about the Club DeLisa and me. Neither can I allow him to mention his trip to the Savoy Ballroom for my suitcase. So, I guess I’m doing this thing with him. He interlocks his little finger with mine.
“Okay,” I say slowly. “Pinky swear—we’re friends. It’s official.”
Robbie’s grin is enormous. “Best friends who keep each other’s secrets and never lie to each other.”
“Yeah, yeah. Now tell me, who’d you run numbers for?”
He chuckles. “A few years back, right after the stock market crashed, a group of colored businessmen from Bronzeville started a small enterprise to raise capital—that’s how they put it, and, well—”
“Stop stonewalling me. Who was it?”
“Major Thomas was one of the businessmen but was also in the rum-running business back in the day.”
“Wow. That might explain why Tony Schaefer wants to teach him a lesson.” The puzzle pieces are coming together. “How old were you?”
“Ten or eleven years old, but I saw you there a couple of years ago.” Robbie puts his cap on his head. “Who’s Tony Schaefer? And what lesson?”
Damn. Why did I let that slip outta my mouth? “Just a guy I used to know with some history with Major Thomas.”
Grand Central Station, New York City
The attendant calls out, “Final stop, Grand Central Station, New York City.”
Robbie and I cry in unison, “Thank God.”
All night long, the bumpy train ride fluctuated between annoying cold and scorching heat without rhyme or reason. But now, all is forgotten and forgiven. We are in New York City.
Exiting the train is chaotic. Crowds surge, nearly knocking me over as I lug my heavy tweed suitcase and clutch my purse under my arm.
I glance sympathetically at Robbie, who is far more burdened than I am.
I can’t fathom how he manages to stay upright with everything he’s carrying.
Bags are strapped to his back, stacked on his head, wedged under his arms, and clutched in each hand—every part of his body where something can be held or balanced is in use.
“Where did all this stuff come from?” I ask. “I don’t recall you bringing that much aboard.”
“I had a redcap help me bring them on board in Chicago, but there aren’t any around here. They must all be helping the first-class passengers.”
“Where are we meeting the Hartfields and Katherine Dunham?” I am distracted by his balancing act. “Hand me some of that stuff. I want to get to our meeting place now.”
“All right, all right,” Robbie replies.
Pushing through the train station with our luggage, knapsack, and other belongings, we finally arrive at the baggage claim after what feels like forever.
“We’re supposed to meet them here,” Robbie states.
“Well, I don’t see them. You should search around and find them. I’ll stay here and guard our things,” I suggest.
Robbie comes back a few minutes later. “I can’t find them anywhere.”
“Are you serious? Were any of them even on this train?” Robbie doesn’t respond. A redcap taps him on the shoulder and gives him an envelope. He tears it open, reads it, glances at me, and winces. It’s bad news.
“What does that note say?” I let go of the suitcase handle and let the knapsack slide off my shoulder. “Tell me what it says.”
He clenches his jaw. “We missed them. They’ve already taken a yellow cab to Harlem. We’ll meet them at the YMCA.”
Without uttering a word, I lift the straps of the knapsack onto my shoulders, pick up my suitcase, tuck my purse under my arm, and take hold of another bag with my free hand.
“We better get going if I’m ever gonna see Vivian Jean Hartfield and Katherine Dunham before we board the ship tomorrow,” I say. “Where can we catch a cab?”
With a grimace, Robbie finishes loading the other bags. “We don’t.”
“So, we aren’t taking a cab?” I shake my head.
“We’re taking the subway.”
“I’ve never been on a subway.”
“Follow me. It’ll be fun.”