Part 10 (2/2)

aWell, Iam hungry,a she called after him. She spotted a waiter carrying a tray of shrimp and headed that way.

In her rush, she almost took down a young woman in a silky red gown. aOh, Iam so sorry,a Clara said, catching the woman by the elbow. On anyone else, the gown would have been too loud for polite society, but with her large hazel eyes and flawless skin, this girl looked like a fas.h.i.+on plate.

But her beauty wasnat what was surprisinga”Clara had seen this girl at the Green Mill. aForgive me if this sounds strange, but have you ever been to Chicago?a The girl smiled and, if anything, became even more beautiful. Her features were familiar: large eyes and mouth with a tiny nose, a wispy blond bob, sooty black lashes.

aA few times.a The girl extended her hand. aMaude Cortineau. Nice to meet you.a Maude cut her big eyes back and forth, then pulled a delicate little flask from her red clutch. She took a swig, then held it out.

Clara accepted the flask and took a quick sip. aThanks. So howad a party-loving girl like you end up at a boring event like this one?a aBy accident!a Maude gave a gurgling little laugh, and Clara realized that she was completely splifficated. aI came to New York with my boyfriend but got dragged to this by my aunta”sheas on the committee.a Clara looked out on the room. aSo which oneas your boyfriend?a Maude hiccupped. aOh, Carlito wouldnat be caught dead at this sort of party.a aCarlito? The gangsteras son?a Clara asked, her mind racing. This girl probably knew a lot about the Mob underworld.

Maude nodded. aThatas my boy. The Big Cheese.a aOh, heas so handsome,a Clara said. aWhy arenat you off with him?a aHeas working right now,a Maude whispered. aHeas here to aclean house.a a She took another swig from her flask.

Clara tried not to show her excitement. aThat sounds very mysterious.a aIt is! Well, not reallya”someone killed one of his gang.a Maude fished a cigarette out of her purse. aPeople think it was the Green Millas piano player, but thatas because Carlito is ashamed that it was a girla”some c.r.a.ppy torch singer who only sang the one time before her husband came and dragged her off. Sheas got a new gig at the Opera House now.a A waiter walked by. aOoo, look, finger sandwiches. I love those. Anyway, nice meeting you, Cora.a Maude walked off after the finger-sandwich-bearing waiter.

Gloria, her Gloria, had killed someone? Claraas first instinct was to laugh. But that certainly explained why Gloria had left town in such a hurry. If Jerome had been in danger, nothing would have stopped her cousin from protecting him.

Clara found Marcus talking to a decrepit old woman who looked as if shead been roused from the grave for this party. Clara pulled him over to the corner of the room.

aThat was rude, Clara,a he protested.

aJust listen to me for a minute,a she said, quickly relaying everything Maude had just told her. aAnd to think I was just trying to get a juicy story out of Maude.a Marcus caught Claraas arm in a firm grip. aClara, you cannot write about this. Give me your word that you wonat. Gloria will be arrested, Jerome will be killed. G.o.d, you might even be killed, too.a aOf course I wonat,a Clara said. aI a wasnat even thinking of that.a But now she was thinking about it.

Wasnat Marcus being a little hypocritical? He gave her this high-and-mighty speech about writing something more than society drivel, and now when shead found something truly serious, he was basically forbidding her to write about it? That didnat seem fair. There would always be real consequences to writing these kinds of storiesa”that was what made them news. There would be people she might hurt, grim truths she would bring to light that might better have been left buried. It seemed that nothing she did in her writing career would make Marcus happy.

Clara swallowed. What would a real journalist do?

Fifteen minutes later, Clara breezed through the front door of the Manhattanite offices. A black janitor was mopping the lobby floor. He tipped his hat to her and kept at his work. She flashed her press pa.s.s at the desk guard, got into the elevator, and rode it to the fourteenth floor.

She wasnat disappointed when she saw light seeping out from underneath Parkeras office door. She knocked lightly. aParker? Itas me, Clara.a aCamon in,a he called.

Clara had been here a fair number of times nowa”shead written three aGlittering Foolsa articles, including the Twiggy Sampson story, and she met with Parker to receive her a.s.signments and her edits afterward. But those meetings were always during the day.

Parker was sitting in front of his typewriter with handwritten pages scattered around him and a nearly empty mug of coffee. Instead of his usual impeccable suit and tie, he just had on a white s.h.i.+rt and nondescript trousers. Daytime Parker was handsome and stylish, but Clara was surprised to find that nighttime Parker was downright s.e.xy.

From the way he was staring, it didnat seem as if he minded the way Clara looked, either. aWhere are you coming from? Couldnat be worka”a flapper wouldnat be caught dead with a hemline that low.a aYou donat like it?a aI didnat say that. You look sensational.a He gestured with his coffee mug. aIad offer you a cuppa joe, but this is the last of it. Iave been drinking for about three hours.a Clara laughed. aYouall be up all night! Too much caffeine.a Parker blinked. aIsnat it normal to stay up until six in the morning?a Clara gave another laugh. aNo, I donat think it is.a aAh well. I guess I need a woman around to tell me these things.a Clara didnat know how to respond, so she awkwardly pulled her article out of her bag. aI thought Iad drop these edits off. Sorry I didnat get a chance earlier.a aItas fine.a He looked at the clock on the wall. It was ten to midnight. aAnd technically youare still on time, so thank you for that. Letas go over this.a She hadnat been expecting Parker to review her work in front of her. aNow?a aWhy not?a Clara knew she should go home and get some sleep. But Parker had never wanted to go over edits together before. So she walked around the desk and sat next to him. Their chairs were close; their legs were almost touching.

Clara leaned back regally in her chair and laced her fingers behind her head.

aWhat are you doing?a Parker asked.

Clara grinned. aJust seeing what itas likea”you know, sitting behind the desk instead of in front of it.a He laughed. aKeep going at the rate you are now and you could be sitting here someday. Although I donat know how youad expect your reporters to remember any edits you give them, not with those big blues of yours to distract them.a She blushed. aYou really think I could be an editor?a aSure. Youave got an eye for what matters in a story, and youare not sentimental. Youave got a flair for sharp language. And youare willing to work hard for what you want instead of accepting marriage to some Harvard millionaire. Not that the fellow wouldnat be a lucky man aa He trailed off, his green eyes radiant. aIs there a, uh, lucky fellow in your life?a aI, um aa Yes, there is a lucky fellow and his name is Marcus! her mind screamed at her. But the words wouldnat come. aYouare getting awfully personal, arenat you? I thought you were all work and no play.a A strand of his wavy dark hair fell into his eyes. aI love to play, as long as I have a good partner.a Claraas stomach started to swirl. She felt guilty for not telling him about Marcus. But things were complicated. aLetas get started.a Clara felt a bit of a rush as Parker read over the column. He laughed in the right places, and his cuts made her writing sharper than it had been before.

aA gin bath!a Parker said. aReally?a Clara only burst into embarra.s.sed laughter. It was nice to joke with someone, the way she and Marcus used to.

After about forty-five minutes, Parker rubbed his temples and said, aAll right, I think weare done here. Good work.a He picked up a photo of Twiggy that would run alongside the article. aIall tell you this mucha”she has nothing on you, doll.a A silence settled between them, and Clara stood up. The compliments were nice, of course, but it was time to leavea”before anything happened that shead regret. aI should probably go.a Parker stood up as well, trailing behind her to the door. aI guess Iall go wrestle with the coffeepot,a he said. aIave got an idea for a story and I donat want to lose it.a Parker would never judge her for staying up all night to write her stories. Unlike Marcus, he would encourage her to follow every exciting lead she came across. aYou know a I got information on what could be a great story.a aOh? You want to pitch it to me?a aIam not sure if I can,a Clara said, suddenly feeling nervous. aI have some, uh a moral questions about writing it.a He leaned closer. aWhat do you mean?a aThe story involves someone close to me. And publis.h.i.+ng it could possibly hurt her. What do you think I should do?a aIam a journalist,a Parker replied. aThe only morality that matters to me is the truth.a He took her shoulders in his hands. aWhat about you?a She could see in his eyes that he wanted to kiss her. His fingers trailed over her shoulders, under her hair, and toward the nape of her neck. Before she had even thought of what she was doing, her own hands had settled on the soft white linen of his s.h.i.+rt. She could feel his trim torso through the cloth, only a thin layer of material separating her skin from his. She could feel her chin tilting upward, her lips parting in antic.i.p.ation.

Then Marcusas face flashed into her head.

She jerked away. aI have to go.a She clumsily slung her purse over her shoulder. aHave a good night.a Parker started to speak, but Clara was already out the door, in the elevator, watching as the doors closed and she was alone with her thoughts, the warmth of his breath still lingering on her cheek.

VERA.

aWelcome to the Ritz-Carlton, miss,a the doorman said. aMr. Demartino is waiting for you in the dining room.a The doorman was only a little older than her and looked a bit like Evan, making her stomach lurch.

Vera had never been inside such a luxurious hotel. And clearly, the hotel had never seen a young black woman in an evening gown. Vera was quite conspicuously the only black person in the joint who wasnat dressed like a maid or a bellboy.

aThank you,a she said. She had never had more than a couple of dollars to her name; shead never received anything but hostility from the sorts of folks who stayed in fancy hotels like this one.

Her black heels sank into the scarlet plush carpeting. The entire lobby glowed with money and refinement, and she could feel the rich white peopleas eyes boring into her with each step she took. Past the elevators were the restaurantas gold-handled gla.s.s doors.

If Vera hadnat been so worried about Evan, she might actually have enjoyed herself.

Inside, the matre da at the podium scowled. Then his face split into a broad, cold smile. aYou must be Mr. Demartinoas special guest.a Vera nodded. What did he mean by special guest?

The matre da picked up a menu. aRight this way, mademoiselle,a he said in a fake French accent.

Vera followed him to a table at the back of the restaurant. Of course the gangster wouldave warned the Ritz staff that he was meeting a black woman for dinner. That was why they were welcoming her instead of slamming the door in her face.

Men with guns and power tended to have that kind of effect on people.

But tonight the tables were turned. Vera had a gun in her purse and a mission, and n.o.bodya”especially not some two-bit mobstera”was going to stop her from rescuing Evan.

Demartino was sitting at the farthest table in the restaurant. He had a huge booth all to himself. He looked as if he was in his early twenties. His ma.s.sive body looked uncomfortable in a formal suita”this man belonged in a plain s.h.i.+rt and pants with suspenders.

aYouare not the gal I asked out earlier,a Demartino said, but his confusion quickly changed into a sick grin. aThough Iam not complainina. Youare an even choicer tomato than the other one.a That was exactly why Vera had worn her most expensive sleeveless black dressa”a gift from an admirer at the Green Mill. It was a Madeleine Vionnet, and the sheer silk chiffon felt luxurious against her skin. Shead accessorized with the (real) pearl necklace her father had spent ages saving up to buy for her mother and a matching (fake) pearl headband.

Vera returned Demartinoas smile. A jagged scar started between the middle and index fingers of his right hand and ran up under his cuff. Shead never met him, but she knew this gangsteras nickname from the Green Mill: Hatchet. He was a high-level goon of Carlitoas.

So that was whoad s.n.a.t.c.hed Evan.

aMollyas boyfriend didnat want her out with another man, even one as handsome as you,a Vera cooed. aSo I volunteered to come in her place.a She sat and leaned her elbow on the table. aIt works out pretty well for everyone, since Iave got a favor to ask.a Demartino lit a cigarette. aWhatcha need? Some dough? Daddyas got you covered, baby lamb.a Vera ignored the fact that a lamb actually was a baby sheep, so it made no sense to refer to her as a baby lamb. aI need you to take me to Carlito Macharelli.a He snorted. aOh, thatall be a good one to tell my buddies later. Ha! Take her to Macharelli,a he said to no one in particular, dragging heavily on his cigarette. aHa! Too funny. Youare a hoot, baby lamb. A regular owl.a Vera didnat laugh. aIam serious.a After a moment, he stopped laughing. His smile got bigger. aNo way.a He straightened his jacket. aNow, if ya ainat here to have a good time with me, Iam off ta find someone who will.a aWait!a Vera said.

aSweetheart, Iam doing you a favor,a Demartino said. aCarlito donat take kindly to anyone demanding anythinga”not even good-looking dames like yourself. He may be young, but heas tough, and heas got a lotta muscle behind him. Baby boyas got a big daddy, and even I donat mess with that. Now scram.a He started to scoot out of the booth.

aBut Carlitoas here to find Gloria Carmody and Jerome Johnson,a Vera said coolly. aAnd I know where theyare holed up.a Demartino slid back into the booth. His face looked a little panicked. aWhat do you know about that?a aYou grabbed the wrong person this afternoon. Evan? He doesnat know anything. I know where Jerome and Gloria are living,a she lied. aBut Iall only tell Carlito myself.a She stared at Demartino until he looked away. aYou still want me to scram?a aWhy would you want to tell Carlito? Iam a h.e.l.l of a lot friendlier.a aItas Carlito or n.o.body. So whatas it gonna be?a Demartino lifted a hand to flag down the waiter. aI need to use your telephone.a The waiter nodded. aRight away, sir.a aWhatas your name, doll?a Demartino asked.

aVera,a she replied.

aWait here.a Demartino followed the waiter out of the restaurant.

Veraas hands shook. She pressed them flat on the table. What if he was just calling some goons to come take care of her? He was the only lead she had. How else would she find Evan?

She sighed in relief when Demartino returned with the waiter. aGet a cab for me and the lady. Weare going to Rickas Steakhouse, midtown.a Rickas Steakhouse was packed, the small tables pushed tightly together and a fog of cigar smoke filling the room. There were no women in sighta”every guest was a man in a flashy suit. Several of the men had scars on their faces, and even the ones who didnat had the look of hardened criminals. Carlito and his men must have picked this place as their base of operations while they were in New York.

aHey there, honey!a one man yelled at Vera when she pa.s.sed. aI was just gonna ask for some coffee with my desserta”guess now I donat have to!a Vera clutched her beaded purse a little closer and tried to ignore the catcalls as Demartino led her to the back of the restaurant.

A group of four men were playing poker around a square table and smoking cigars. The one with a mountain of red chips in front of him was none other than Carlito Macharelli himself. His hair was slicked back, his gray suit perfectly tailored, and his face starkly handsome in the arrogant way of someone who is never told no.

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