Speak Low (Speak Easy 2)

“I want to know where he was going to sell the drugs and for how much. I don’t know anything about that stuff.”

“And why would Enzo even talk to you? You just stole thousands of dollars worth of booze and drugs from him!”

“I’ll cut him in.”

“On his own opium?”

“It’s not his anymore, is it?”

“He’s not gonna see it that way.”

Joey shrugged. “His choice. Thirty percent or nothing. I’m the one that has something he wants.”

I brought my cigarette to my lips again, inhaling and exhaling more slowly. If they met in a dark alley, Enzo probably wouldn’t hesitate to shoot Joey, but he did want to get his money back. This information could change everything.

“I might be able to set up a meeting,” I ventured, watching a ribbon of smoke drift out the open window.

“You can’t tell him about the opium beforehand, understand?” Joey pinned me with a hard stare.

“I do, but that makes it a lot harder to guarantee he’ll agree to talk to you. He’s furious, Joey.”

“I have no doubt you’ll persuade him, now that you two are so close.”

“Stop. Just stop it. If we’re going to work together on this, you have to quit harassing me about Enzo at every turn.”

He switched his focus to starting the Buick, and the engine came to life. “No promises there.”

My jaw jutted forward and I tossed my cigarette out the window. “None here either, then.”

Joey looked over at me once more. “You know, I may have been wrong before.”

“About what?”

“About you. Maybe I don’t know you anymore.”

As he backed out of the driveway and headed for Jefferson Avenue, I kept my eyes on the road. Why the hell was my throat closing up? I should have been glad he recognized that I was different now. Wasn’t that exactly what I’d been saying to myself? And I’d gotten what I wanted—information to give Enzo. If he’d agree to meet Joey without killing him on sight, maybe they could work out a deal. Thirty percent was better than nothing.

The fist of discontent squeezing my throat eased up a little.

I could do this. No one would get hurt. Joey would go to Chicago and stop distracting me with his mouth and his hands and his cooking, and Enzo and I would learn to trust each other.

Of all the lies I told myself that night, the last one was the most foolish.

And the most dangerous.

Chapter Two

Joey’s mom ran a restaurant and boarding house near Eastern Market, and the Lupo family lived above it. With Joey’s sisters married and out of the house, it was just him and his mother there these days. I hadn’t been to the restaurant in years, but it smelled the same when I walked in, like tomatoes and garlic and fresh bread. The dining room was bustling with a noisy supper crowd, and Joey nodded hello to a server setting down a huge plate of what looked like steak in some kind of red sauce. My stomach groaned again, and I cradled it as we took the stairs up to his family’s apartment on the third floor.

“How’s your mother doing?” I asked.

“Not too good.”

“I’m sorry.” Bridget had told me his mother was ill, and I felt bad that I hadn’t inquired after her very much, but with everything going on last week it had slipped my mind.

The apartment door was ajar, and Joey pushed it all the way open. “Ma?”

“She’s in the bedroom.” Marie walked through the wide arch in the wall separating the front room from the dining room, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “Tiny!” She rushed up to kiss both cheeks before hugging me. She looked like Joey, same dark wavy hair and generous mouth, but had little crinkles near her eyes when she smiled and a huge pregnant belly. “It’s been so long. How are you? How’s your family?”