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Sammie barked a few more orders into the phone, and once he’d ended the conversation and replaced the receiver, he turned to them. “You need to go. Maybe the watchmen followed you or maybe this is one of their usual checks. Either way, if the Committee finds you here, I could lose everything.”
On the other side of the office, a large bookcase was built into the wall. Sam went over to it and ran his hand along the underside of the second shelf until an audible snap could be heard, and the bookcase hinged from the wall. Behind it was a heavy steel door secured by a series of combination locks.
Before Esta could gather her thoughts, the office door opened, and three people entered. One was the girl with the bubble. She was dressed now, but barely. The glimmering silver evening gown that clung to her lean body revealed almost as much as it covered. Up close, she looked older than she had onstage, where the footlights had washed out the fine lines around her mouth and eyes, but she was still strikingly pretty. Her dark-red hair was pinned up into a softly waved chignon, and her lips were painted a matching scarlet. Her beauty aside, there was a sharp perceptiveness in her wide-set eyes that hadn’t been apparent during her act.
The other two were the Chinese dance team—Paul Wing and Dorothy Toy. They’d changed from their tails and evening gown and were dressed in street clothes. The husband was tall and slim, with a narrow face and eyes as sharp as his cheekbones, while the wife was willowy and petite. Her heart-shaped face was anchored by a narrow nose and a wide, generous mouth. When she performed earlier, her dreamy smile had betrayed a slight overbite, but she wasn’t smiling now.
“What’s the deal, Sam?” Paul asked.
“Watchmen,” Sam said as he finished with the final lock and opened the heavy door to reveal a passageway.
“Any idea who they’re looking for?” Dorothy asked, fear clear in her expression.
Sam glanced at Harte. “I don’t know,” he said, “but it’ll be safer if you get out of here now. Better to be sure.”
The bubble girl, Gracie, folded herself into Sam’s arm, and Esta realized they were together. They made an odd couple, with him being so much older, but they still looked right somehow. Gracie appeared to have a backbone to match Sam’s clear confidence.
Sam placed a soft kiss on her forehead. “Gracie, Paul, Dottie, this is Harte and Esta—they’re old friends of mine. You all have a lot in common, if you catch my meaning.”
Paul eyed Harte and Esta with a new appreciation. “I see…”
“Could you take them on over to the safe house, while I deal with the problem out front?”
“Of course, Sam,” Paul said. “Thanks for the warning, as always.” He’d already taken his wife’s hand, and together they were ducking through the passageway.
Sam turned to Harte. “They’ll show you the way. You’ll be safe there until I get rid of the watchmen out front.”
“But, Sam, honey, I’m not even dressed,” Gracie told him.
“No time for that, sweetheart.” Sam took off his tuxedo jacket and draped it around her shoulders. “Better safe than warm.”
“You built your nightclub with an escape route?” Harte asked, frowning at the dark tunnel ahead of him.
“I didn’t, but it serves my purposes. The building was modified by bootleggers during the early days of Prohibition,” Sam explained. “But it was definitely one of the selling points for me when I decided to open the Pearl. A lot of the best performers have the old magic, and if I wanted the best, I needed to give them a way out in case we were raided.”
Harte gave Esta a blank look, and she realized he wouldn’t have any idea what Sam was talking about.
“The government outlawed alcohol in 1920,” she explained to Harte.
“But you serve drinks here,” Harte pointed out.
“Oh, Prohibition didn’t last that long,” Sammie said. “President Grew repealed the Volsted Act almost as soon as he took office after Harding died, back in ’23.”
Esta’s heart practically stopped. “President Grew” was a phrase that felt as impossible as it was absurd. “I’m sorry, but did you just say President Grew?”
Sammie frowned. “Yeah. Why?”
“You don’t mean Jack Grew?” Esta asked, feeling light-headed.
Sam was looking at her more strangely now than he had when she’d stepped into his office, appearing after fifty years and looking no older than the last time he’d seen her. “What other President Grew would I be talking about?”
“I don’t know,” Esta said weakly. “I’m just having trouble believing that Jack Grew was president.”
“Still is,” Sammie said with a confused frown.
“But that would mean he’s been president since the twenties.”
Sam sighed. “Unfortunately, there’s no law against that. With the Brotherhoods on his side, it’s been basically impossible for anyone to beat him.”
