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Twenty-Two
God, lover of souls, swaying considerate scales,
Complete thy creature dear O where it fails,
Being mighty a master, being a father and fond.
—Gerard Manley Hopkins,
from “In the Valley of the Elwy”
Sally slipped one of her working dresses over her head, barely refraining from rubbing the fresh bruise on her arm. She cast a sideways glance at Capone, who was whistling as he used her mirror to knot his tie. With her money tucked in his pocket, he’d be heading out for a night of carousing.
She’d be hitting the streets to replace what he just took.
A few more weeks. As soon as Baker came back to town and she got what Roman wanted from him, she’d be out. She didn’t know where she’d go or how she’d survive when she got there—all she knew was that she had to get gone.
She’d had the same thought eighteen months ago, back in the mountains of Maryland, when she couldn’t take one more belting, couldn’t stand to hear one more time that she was the very Eve who had destroyed all of mankind. Anything, she’d thought, anything would be better than this.
She’d been wrong then. But she surely wasn’t now.
She couldn’t scrub away the filth from the constant stream of men anymore. She couldn’t keep things tidy enough to offset the discoloration of the bruises. She couldn’t keep painting a smile on her face for the likes of Capone.
It didn’t matter where she went. She could make it work. She was a whole lot smarter now than she had been upon arriving in Chicago. Smart enough not to make the same mistakes again, anyway.
“Say, Sally.” Capone tightened his tie and turned to face her. His smile stopped a few degrees shy of warm. “I’m thinking of moving you to the Four Deuces. With your looks, we can make a lot more from you than we’re doing here.”
A few months ago he had made a similar announcement, moving her up from one of the hovels with its cots and cubicles and bare bulbs. She had jumped at the lure of a room to herself, a real bed. He obviously assumed she’d be jumping again now.
Sally reached for a shoe. “Is this required, or are you asking my opinion?”
“Why?” Capone’s black brows pulled down. “You really wanna stay here?”
“No, but…” She didn’t pause to wonder why she was about to steer the conversation this direction. Doing so had just become second nature lately. “Well, Ava offered me a room at her place, said Manny would pay off my debt to you.”
Capone snorted and shook his head, smirk in place. “Sure, baby. Of course, it’s also going to go down fast when the old man’s pinched.”
This was getting too easy. “You think he will be?”
“You oughta know. You’re the one playing spy for the Prohibition cop.”
His tone was dull, flat. Not accusing per se, but only because he’d already judged and condemned. She silently cursed herself for not considering that he’d have her followed, especially after that dress incident. He thought he had to have to control over everything.
Of course, reacting at all would be tantamount to admitting subservience, and she wasn’t about to do that. She pasted indifference on her face and shrugged. “A buck’s a buck, right? But he don’t tell me nothin. And heaven knows Manny’s gotten himself out of everything else they’ve thrown at him.”
“Not this time.” A low chuckle rumbled out of his throat. “Not as long as he sticks to that stupid, dated code they brought with them from Sicily.”
Sally lifted one inquisitive brow, turning her mouth up at the corners. She had practiced that expression in the mirror and knew it made her look amused, impressed, but also cynical. The weapons she carried on these streets. “Code?”
“Omerta. You know, the thing that says it’s fine to kill another mafioso, but you better never turn him in to the cops. In this particular case, it means that all the evidence is pointing at Manny, thanks to Eddie getting a bit too fresh with the old man’s moll and ripping her necklace off, and he’s too old-fashioned to point somewhere else.”
She cocked her head to the side and made a show of studying him. Not that he was making any attempt to cover up his point, but she was still surprised. “You saying you framed him, Al?”
His grin was positively mean. “I’m usually for a more direct means of getting my way, but once in a while it’s expedient to let the bulls take a guy down. If I put a bullet in him, his lieutenants would step up and then come after us. Manny and Torrio have been rivals long enough that they’d know it was us. But let the cops take him down, and it’ll result in a nice, long trial. Turmoil. Perfect set-up for us to step in and start muscling them out.” He shook his head, eyes glinting. “Wasn’t so sure it was going to work, there for a while. But that boyfriend of yours stepped up when the local boys didn’t.”
“Yeah, good ol’ Roman.” She moved over to him, straightening his tie even though it didn’t really need it.
He gripped her wrist and glowered at her. “Let’s get something straight, doll face. I don’t trust you. I’ve let you play your little game with O’Reilly because it was convenient for me—the sooner these old-world bosses get taken out, the better. But once Manny’s out of the way, that means your cop’s gonna start looking around for another target, and it ain’t gonna be me. So when this thing’s over, you better sever your ties with him, or I’ll have your neck snapped as easily as I did Eddie’s.”
