11. Eleven
Smoke curled from the cigarette in Smuggie’s fingers, the nub almost close enough to burn. Too bad he didn’t have another. Or a drink. Something to numb the headache pounding behind his eyes from lack of sleep and problems that shouldn’t be his to think about. From the shadow of an alley, he watched the lawyer and the lady captain disembark her steamer before he took another draw. The last of the paper burned away, and he scorched his thumb. He dropped the rest in the dirt.
Durkin seemed to think these two would lead him to the rest of the lost bank haul some slick fella from St. Louis had swindled him out of last summer. Doubtful the mess with Mickey’s gang had anything to do with this patsy and his dame. They were after a sunken treasure. Same nonsense got the elder Mr. Gray bumped off. Happened occasionally to random goofs who stick their noses where they don’t belong.
Smuggie waited alongside the mercantile building and jerked his cap low over his eyes. The two approached, their conversation growing louder as they neared.
“Lucas will probably want to keep a frog as a pet instead of letting Bo fry it,” the man was saying.
That earned a laugh from the woman, who carried a small dog on her hip. She was pleasant looking with big eyes, a pert nose, and rosy lips. The trousers she wore clung to her curves, and the top button of a man’s shirt hung open to expose the hollow of her throat. Little wonder Gray had picked the girl over some greasy bloke to treasure hunt with.
They passed by him without glancing his way and continued to the old buildings crouching along the riverbank. Funny how his world looked different in the daylight. Rather than the warm glow of welcoming bars and the pleasant cool of darkness, harsh light exposed every dusty detail and neglected roof sag. He didn’t like to rise for a day’s work until the sun started to sink below the trees.
He fiddled with the pistol in his jacket pocket to calm the trembling in his fingers while he gave the two a head start, but he still itched for another cigarette.
This assignment was simple, if annoying. Shadow Gray and see where he went and what he discovered. Any indication he was sniffing too close or any hint he knew where Scissors hid that stash, and Smuggie had been ordered to run straight to the big boss. He didn’t often deal with Durkin directly. The shyster and this skirt must have gotten under the boss’s skin.
After flipping up his collar and settling his brim as close to his eyes as possible, he stepped out of the alley to follow.
The bright light seared his eyes even from underneath his wide hat, and he had to blink away the sting. Usually, there were other blokes for this kind of business, but most of the higher-ups were busy with what was going on down in those caves. Leaving men who normally did the job of hiding cargo on unsuspecting vessels to take up spying instead.
Didn’t sit right.
His long legs closed the distance too quickly, but it didn’t matter. They were too busy chatting to pay him any heed. Simple people like them didn’t worry about rivals sneaking up from behind to off them, so they tended not to notice their surroundings like they should.
They stopped after a bend in the road, and he had to draw up short or hazard getting too close. He cursed under his breath and acted like he’d been looking in a shop window. His insides churned. Didn’t need them being able to identify him to any coppers.
They started walking again, but when he turned to follow, the miniature mutt the woman carried poked its head out from behind her shoulder.
It growled.
Smuggie hesitated, but the chattering couple didn’t notice. The woman bounced the dog to shush it. They wove through a gathering crowd on the sidewalk, making it easier for him to blend in.
The dog’s eyes locked on him, and it growled again. This time, the woman paused and looked behind her. He sidestepped into the shadow of a nearby alley.
Better to risk losing them than lose one of his fingers because of a dog. Durkin had made the penalty for being discovered all too clear, and a smuggler needed all his fingers. Besides, he knew where they were heading. They’d gone to that same eating hole twice already.
He could wait.