The Canary Club Page 6

  “I have, thank you. And thank you for seeing to me. Masie says you fetched a doctor. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

  “Nonsense,” Dutch sputters. He’s a slender man, a long narrow nose, grey-yellow hair, and a slim, flat mouth. Like JD and Masie, he’s dressed to the nines, his double-breasted suit open to reveal a light mauve shirt with a tall white collar. “You saved my life, son. That’s not something I take lightly.”

  His words strike me like a blow to the stomach. Saved…his life?

  JD chimes in, cutting a chunk of sausage and holding it on the tip of his fork as he speaks. “If you hadn’t stepped in like that,” he points the fork at his father, “that bullet wudda taken him right in the chest, no doubt about it.”

  “Similar tragedy recently took a good friend of mine, Joey Noe. It would seem I have made some folks very nervous with my expanding business.”

  My eyes catch his, noting the only resemblance between him and Masie is revealed in their shape and shade. I nod once.

  “You don’t look surprised to hear this,” Dutch says, his gaze hardening on me. “You work for any of the families before?”

  I take a deep breath. “No, sir. I recently did a stretch in the Tombs. Word travels fast in there.”

  Seeming to relax, Dutch nods, putting his cigar out with a rough stomp. “What were you in the clink for?”

  I stare down at my plate, mostly to avoid the weight of Masie’s eyes on me when I speak. “Theft, sir. But it was a bad rap. I found a bag of cash behind the trash bins near my place. The cops caught me with it, but I didn’t steal it—not that anyone believed me.”

  I leave out the part where the bag belonged to Dickey, who had ditched it there before running to my place to hide out when the heat came down on him. I don’t mention it had been my intention to return it to the people Dickey robbed. None of that really matters to anyone but me, anyway. It doesn’t pay to do good in this world. My father followed the rules all his life, and where did it land him? Six feet under when a hoodlum tried to knock over his watch shop. He’d taken three in the chest, and we—well, we’d lost everything.

  “Figures. I swear the coppers in this city couldn’t spill water out of a boot with the instructions on the heel.” He pauses, pointing at me again. “But I bet you know who done the deed, don’t ya?”

  I swallow. “I might have some idea.”

  “But ya kept your trap shut. That’s what people don’t understand these days, loyalty.”

  Glancing over at JD, I see he’s downing his food as if he were starving, hardly paying attention to us at all.

  Dutch sits back. “Let me ask you something, Benny. May I call you Benny?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Benny, back in my day, we took care of our own. We rewarded dependability, and we punished disloyalty. None of this calling the cops and going to court—none of this nonsense with lawyers and judges. We had our own justice. So let me ask you, do you think I should track down the people who did this? Would I be wrong to seek out justice for this slight done to us?”

  I raise my eyes to Masie, who is watching me with sharp, grey eyes, her expression unreadable. Seeing a glass of water in front of me, I take a sip before answering.

  “Yes, sir. I think you should find the people responsible. Not on my account or for revenge, but because, and pardon my bluntness, sir, you clearly have enemies. And it’s best to know who your enemies are, so you can decide how best to deal with them.”

  “An eye for an eye, that’s what the bible says.” JD finally speaks up, and I catch a cold glare exchanged between father and son.

  “That’s true, it does,” I interject, feeling like I’ve stepped in the middle of something I probably should have steered well away from. “But what do I know? I’m just a delivery boy.”

  When Dutch turns his gaze on me once more, a chill drives its way across my skin. “No, you aren’t, not anymore.”

  The blood in my veins freezes at his words. Raising my chin, I stare him right in the eye, “I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped. But I do need this job, sir. Please don’t can me. My father died a few months back, and I’m the sole provider for my family now. I can do the job, even with one good arm.”

  “Fire you? My boy, don’t be silly. I’m giving you a promotion. I need someone like you in my organization. Someone I can trust. With what happened to Joey—what almost happened to me—I think having another guard at my side would be very beneficial. Someone with quick reflexes and a good head on his shoulders. And I think you’re just the fellow for the position. Whadda ya say?”

  What can I say? Refusing him, especially now as I sit at his table wearing his clothes, seems like a quick way to land myself in a pine box. “Of course, sir. I’m happy to accept.”

  “Good, good. Now that’s settled, let’s talk turkey. I want you to come by the club tonight. Let me introduce you to the rest of the crew.”

  It doesn’t seem like a request, so I just nod.

  Across the table, Masie stands, her chair grinding across the stone floor. “Well, if you boys will excuse me, I have rehearsals.”

  Leaning over, she gives Dutch a quick peck on the cheek, leaving a strawberry-red stain behind. It takes all the strength I have not to turn to watch her sashay from the room.

  It’s nearly suppertime when I return home. Ma flies into my arms, her face streaked with tears. I clench my teeth against the pain as she squeezes me tightly. It’s not until she releases me and steps back that I can draw breath again.

  “Dickey said you’d been shot…” she begins, her voice trembling.

  “I’m fine. It’s not so bad. The doc stitched me up. Truly, Ma.” I try to soothe her, but she steps away, her fear quickly turning to fury.

  “I told you that job would be trouble,” she says, poking a finger into my chest.

  I hold up my hands. “It wasn’t like that. There was somebody coming out of a building behind me; I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  She snorts derisively. “I’ll have them put that on your tombstone.” As soon as she says it, she flinches. “No, I didn’t mean that. But Benjamin, I can’t lose you again.”

  Thomas pokes his blond head around the corner from the kitchen. “Did you really get shot?” he asks, his eyes wide.

  “I did, and it had nothing to do with my job,” I lie, leveling a look at Ma. She waves me off, turning instead to Thomas.

  “Come on, dear, let’s take some soup to your sister, then you can help me with the wash.”

  Thomas groans and disappears around the corner. Ma spares me one glance before doing the same. Pulling the last of my cash from my pockets, I keep a few bucks and add the rest to the coffee tin on the window ledge before letting myself fall onto the sofa, kicking my feet up on the table. I know I should tell her about my promotion, about every detail of what I’ve agreed to take on. But I can’t. Partly because I can’t stomach seeing the look of disappointment on her face—yet again. But mostly because I’m not entirely sure how I feel about any of it just yet. Nervous? Excited? Terrified? A combination of all three? Forcing my eyes closed, I manage to fall into a light, restless sleep. When I wake, Ma has already left for her shift and Thomas is cooking dinner. Sagging with relief that I don’t have to lie to her anymore today, I make my way to the kitchen to help.

  The smell of potatoes and pot roast thickens the air, making my stomach grumble in protest. My shoulder is aching badly enough that it’s making me sick to my stomach as I set out the plates. As I watch Thomas, I know what I should do. I should go to Dutch tomorrow and thank him for the opportunity, but politely decline the job. It’s one thing being a nameless, faceless cog in the machine, but it’s quite another to be standing beside the guy pulling the strings. And the difference could mean leaving Thomas, Aggie, and Ma alone again.

  Just as my resolve begins to set, I hear the front door open and close from the other room.

  “That smells heavenly,” Dickey calls, stepp
ing into view. “Glad to see you’re back on your feet there, Benny.”

  Reaching out, I tousle Thomas’ hair. “Why don’t you see if Aggie wants to come out to eat?”

  He glances between us, then takes the cue, ducking under my arm and out of the room.

  “It was an awfully close call,” Dickey says, plucking a carrot from the pot and popping it in his mouth.

  I nod. “That’s what JD says.”

  “What happened? Dutch insisted on taking you to his place for the doc. I didn’t wanna argue. Besides, you seemed like you were in good hands.”

  “Well, I suppose he didn’t want any cops asking questions. I don’t blame him for that. But the doc did a good job. It hardly hurts.” I hesitate to tell him the rest, but I suppose he’ll find out anyway. “And he offered me a promotion. Wants me to work as one of his guards from now on.”

  Dickey whistles. “Guess the old man was pretty grateful you took the lead for him. Helluva way to get a better gig, though.”

  I shake my head. “It wasn’t exactly planned. Just my stupid, normal bad luck.”

  He laughs. “Well, something good came out of it for once, at any rate.”

  When I don’t respond, he pulls out a chair and sinks into it. “Let me guess, you’re thinking of declining?” Withdrawing a Lucky from a tin in his pocket, he sticks it between his teeth. “Not a good idea, Benny.”

  I snatch the cigarette. “You can’t smoke that in here. You’ll set off Aggie’s breathing problems. And I have to refuse the job. I can’t risk going back to the clink, or worse…getting shot again. I might not be so lucky next time.”

  Snorting, he leans to the side, resting one arm on the table. “Benny, I hate to break it to you, but if you didn’t have bad luck, you’d have no luck at all. I mean, you could get hit by a trolley tomorrow. Or struck by lightning. Or have a piano dropped on you. That’s just the sort of luck you have.”

  “That doesn’t mean I should invite trouble,” I defend, tossing the Lucky back to him.

  He catches the pack in one hand and stuffs it in his jacket. “At least this way you can earn some real scratch before you go.” He snickers, but I don’t join in. “I’m serious. Where else are you gonna make that kinda dough? Who else is gonna give a nobody like you—with a felony record—a job that pays well enough to take care of your family if something happens to you? Nobody. Not in this city.”

  I hate to admit it, but he makes a good point.

  “I’m telling ya, just take the job. JD is good people. If something happens to you in the line of duty, he’d take care of your family. He’s that sorta fella.”

  I rub my chin, considering his words. “You really think so?”

  He raises one hand. “I swear. I’d take care of them myself if it came to it. But you can’t let this opportunity pass you by. People wait their whole lives for this kinda break. You’re morally obligated to accept on behalf of the poor schmucks stuck in nowhere gigs, grinding out pennies a day until they work themselves into early graves.”

  “I never thought I’d see the day where you were lecturing me about moral obligation,” I retort.

  Dickey grins. “The world is full of surprises, Benny.”

  I start to fill four plates. Dickey sits in Ma’s chair as I gather the kids. Thomas continues to ask how I got shot, making little Agnes pale even more.

  “Your brother’s a bona-fide hero,” Dickey cuts in, pointing at me with a fork full of roast. “He saved a man’s life. And not just any man, but a very important one.”

  “Like the governor?” Agnes asks in her small voice.

  Dickey opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. “Sort of, Aggie. But the important thing is that I’m fine.”

  I shoot Dickey a glare. He lets the subject drop until I get them cleaned up and into bed.

  After dinner, Agnes wraps her waifish arms around my neck. I carry her to bed while Thomas and Dickey clear the dishes. She’s warm again. Her mysterious fever has been up and down, despite the new medicine Ma bought. I give her a spoonful and she dutifully sucks it down, cringing from the bitter taste.

  “How are you feeling, Aggie?” I ask, tucking the blankets around her.

  She licks her lips before answering, as if carefully considering her response. “Mostly tired, I think. But better now that you’re home.”

  Her eyes flutter closed and I stare at her face, brushing the hair back from her forehead and leaving a kiss there. She’s not getting better—that much is clear. Her eyes are rimmed in red, her cheeks sunken. I haven’t heard her laugh in weeks, not since I’ve been home. Not even when I’d handed her the new doll I bought for her. She used to be such a joyful little thing, all sunshine and curls. Something tickles the back of my nose, and I have to set my jaw against it.

  I kiss her forehead again and leave, closing the door behind me.

  “How is she?” Dickey asks, his voice a whisper.

  I shake my head. “I feel like she’s fading away.”

  “What are you gonna do?” His tone is almost accusing. Am I going to risk her life for the sake of my own stupid pride? Or am I going to do what needs to be done?

  Sighing, I steel myself. “I need to go to the club tonight,” I say, retrieving my borrowed suit coat from the couch. “Dutch says he wants to introduce me to some of his crew.”

  “What did your ma say about that?”

  I frown. “I didn’t tell her. I want to keep her out of it as much as possible. But I gotta do something. Aggie needs to see that specialist in Albany.”

  He slaps me on the back. “Well, if your ma finds out what you’re doing, you’ll be praying for someone to pump you fulla lead again.”

  I almost tell him I don’t care. That it doesn’t matter. Both of those things are true. I’d sign a deal with the devil himself to help that little girl. And besides, it’s not as if I had much of a choice. Something tells me that Dutch Schultz is not a man used to being told no.

  But I don’t say any of that. I just nod solemnly. “And don’t I know it.”

  My dressing room is unusually cold tonight, I realize, lighting the French lavender candles on my vanity. The room has electric lights as well, but I prefer the dim, dancing glow of firelight. The pulse of the music beyond my door creates soft ripples in the mirror. I retrieve my pink satin and lace chemise, wrapping myself in a robe before sitting to apply my makeup. Rubbing lotion into my hands to help warm them, I examine my face closely. The recent weeks of not sleeping are taking their toll, and deep bags rest beneath my eyes. I struggle to remember the last time I slept deeply, the last time I woke feeling rested.

  If I’m honest with myself, it had been the first night after I returned home, and even that was more likely caused by sheer emotional and physical exhaustion.

  With a deep sigh, I open the drawer. Pulling out my compact powder, I begin meticulously applying it layer after layer, grateful for the semester of theater classes I’d taken and everything I learned about applying stage makeup. Over the past months, I’ve concealed more bruises, dark circles, and red, post-crying eyes than I ever imagined possible.

  A gentle tap at my door makes me pause.

  “Masie? It’s me.”

  Without waiting for an invitation, my father steps in. He’s in his evening suit, hair carefully combed back so it lays tight against his scalp.

  “Hello, Daddy. Is everything alright?”

  He takes a seat in the empty chair behind me, and I have to turn to face him.

  “Masie, have you seen Vincent recently?”

  A lump forms in my throat. I was never good at lying, especially to him. But evasion, that’s quite another thing. “Not in a few days, at least. Not since you brought him to the house. Why?”

  He stands, drawing one hand down his face as he paces the small room. “I got word from one of my boys. He’s got a warrant out on him. They’re saying…” He hesitates, locking his eyes on mine after a tense moment. “They’re saying he murdered a kid.”

&nbs
p; “A kid?” I ask, sure I’d misheard. Vinnie was many things, but a child killer? “There’s got to be a mistake.”

  Daddy leans against the door. “He was just supposed to take the kid for a few days. Shake up his father a bit so he’d be more reasonable. Something musta went south.”

  I’m so appalled I can hardly speak. When I finally do, my voice wavers for only a few words before my mouth runs away with me. “Wait, you knew about this? Kidnapping children? What’s next? You gonna start drowning babies in the river like a sack of unwanted kittens? Is there no line you won’t cross? Nothing and no one you won’t sacrifice in pursuit of your all-mighty buck?”

  He takes two long strides my way, closing the gap between us so quickly I almost don’t see it. I pop to my feet, standing toe to toe with him, knowing I’ve said too much, gone too far. But I can’t help it, can’t stop the words from spilling out of my mouth, filled with bitterness and disgust. “What kind of coward tortures children for their own benefit?”

  I see the hand coming, but I don’t move. Don’t flinch. He smacks me across the face so hard my knees nearly buckle. It’s not the first time I’ve taken a blow, and I’ve learned that the best thing to do is to crumple to the floor, let the tears flow freely to stop the beating. But I don’t. I hold myself upright, and though my face stings so badly tears roll down my cheeks, I straighten, looking him in the eye.

  “I’m your father and you will show me respect.”

  “Respect is earned,” I bite back.

  This time, the hand shoots out, taking me by the throat and squeezing. “How dare you?” he screams in my face. “Everything I do is for you, for this family.”

  Fighting to draw breath, I gasp, dark spheres forming in my vision. “If you break my neck, I won’t be able to sing.” I force the words out, a hoarse whisper.