Page 31 of The Devouring Time

She looks surprised. “That’s it. Don’t get me wrong, Vitali isn’t the only one—Widdershins is a major entry point for illegal liquor. Everyone knows it, but the prohees—that’s prohibition agents, Grandpa.”

“I knew that!” I exclaim indignantly, and am rewarded with an impish grin.

“Sure you did. Anyway, the prohees don’t seem to be able to do a damn thing about it. Maybe for the usual reason, by which I mean hefty bribes, but even then they usually make an arrest or two just so it looks like they’re doing something. Not there, though.”

The waiter returns with our drinks, which thankfully look nothing like the horrible Widdershins Special that Adrian had tricked me into trying. “I’ll signal if we need you,” Cleo tells the waiter, and he vanishes with alacrity.

“Does Vitali have a presence here?” Adrian asks after taking an appreciative sip of his drink.

I try my martini and am relieved to find it tastes as expected—or perhaps a little better, since the alcohol doesn’t have the raw edge of most illicit booze. Perhaps Adrian was right and his sister is keeping real imported liquor for herself and her friends, or maybe the Clam House is just a better quality of speakeasy.

“Not in Harlem. He distributes to the Lower East Side, though.”

“And Myers works for him.”

“I can only repeat what I’ve heard, but Frank Myers is one of Vitali’s top lieutenants. Tony Gabrielli is under him.”

If Myers is high up in a crime syndicate, why the devil was he pretending to be a butler? “What about Zebulon Hart?” I ask. “How is he involved?”

Cleo shrugs. “Never heard of him.”

Adrian sits back, chewing at his lower lip. I can’t help but watch the flash of white teeth against the plumpness, imagine nipping at it…

No, I am not having these thoughts. Adrian still believes I killed a man, or had him killed, over a book auction. And for all I can remember, maybe I did.

My life is already too complicated. I’m not going to add to that with romantic fantasies.

“What about Chrono-Flav?” he asks Cleo. “Or Chrysalis?”

“The first sounds like something I’d order at a soda fountain, and the second at a butterfly convention.”

“Or a moth,” I say, flashing on the image of the death’s-head hawkmoth superimposed on an hourglass.

Cleo shoots me an odd look. “Sure, whatever you say.” She turns her attention to her brother. “Level with me, Adrian—are you in trouble?”

“I’m working a case for the insurance company, that’s all.”

“And that’s why you show up looking like you rolled around in a fireplace, asking about a bootlegging syndicate?” She shakes her head. “Do you even have a change of clothes?”

He makes a face. “I lost my bag when we were attacked by a family of cannibals.”

“I don’t know why I bother.” Her roll of the eyes makes it clear she thinks he’s making it up. “What else do you need?”

“Have your boys keep an eye out for anyone suspicious, especially if they start asking questions. In the meantime, I could use a new suit and some toiletries. Actually, we both could.” He turns to me. “We have to assume your apartment is being watched.”

Of course we do. I start to reply, but am interrupted when George hurries up. “Someone’s asking around about Adrian and Mr. Caine.”

22

Damn it—despite our caution, we must have been followed. I exchange a glance with Adrian, who frowns in consternation.

All of George’s attention is on his employer. “You want me to send him on his way, Miss Cleo? Or invite him in for a…”—he cracks his knuckles—“…private chat?”

My instinct is to go for the first option. But we’re protected here, surrounded by Cleo’s men. So long as the man isn’t carrying a bomb, perhaps we can take advantage of the situation.

“Can we question him?” I ask Cleo.

She arches a brow, but shrugs. “Sure thing.”