Speak Easy (Speak Easy 1)

“And you’re the shark?”

He laughed, revealing straight white teeth. “Of course not. I’m here to protect you from the sharks. I have offered this protection to Jack several times already, but each time he has ignored my request to meet and discuss it. That’s dangerous.” His eyes slid sideways to my father.

I swallowed. “How much for this…protection?”

“Ten thousand dollars.”

My mouth gaped open. “Ten thousand dollars!”

“To let him live tonight, I will accept half.”

“I don’t have five thousand dollars,” I said, my eyes filling.

“That’s unfortunate.” He reached inside his coat, and I put my hands out. Daddy was going to die if I didn’t think of something—fast.

“Wait! Just wait. Maybe I can get it.”

“That’s a good girl.” He took his hand from his coat, empty.

My brain was reeling. Was today’s take still here in the office? If it was, they’d probably already stolen it. Daddy kept no spare cash at the garage, I knew that much, but we did have booze. “OK. This afternoon my father and I brought at least twenty cases of whisky here. They’re in the basement, hidden in some rooms beyond the south wall. You can have them all.”

“That ain’t five thousand bucks,” spat Raymond.

“We also have at least two cases of scotch.”

“What kind of scotch?” the man asked.

“Good stuff. Imported from Europe and smuggled through Canada by rail. Expensive—we sell it for one twenty-five per bottle.” I’d just offered all our stock; it had to be worth five thousand, probably more, but I wasn’t capable of arithmetic just then.

The man thought for a moment, his eyes on me. “I’ll accept this offer. On one condition.”

“What?”

“You bring me ten thousand dollars in cash this week.”

“Ten minus five is only another five!”

He shrugged. “Those are my terms. And my final offer to let him live tonight.”

My guts churned—there was no way we could come up with ten grand in a week—but what choice did I have? “Deal. Now will you let us go?”

“I’ll let you go. He stays with me until I have the money.” A smile crept onto his lips. “Why don’t you come down to my club tomorrow night, piccolina? We’ll discuss the details of this arrangement in a more civilized manner, and you’ll bring me one hundred dollars as a sign of good faith.”

I twisted my clammy hands together. “Where are you taking him?”

“Never mind about that. I won’t kill him if you keep your word.” Then, as casually as if he were brandishing a stick of chewing gum, he pulled the gun from his coat and aimed it at my chest. “But I won’t think twice about killing both of you if you don’t.”

Fear gashed my heart so sharply I thought he might have pulled the trigger. “I’ll be there.”

“Splendid.” The corners of his mouth tipped up. He looked vaguely familiar in that moment, but I couldn’t place his face. He was about Daddy’s age, but taller, leaner through the middle. His hair was so dark it appeared black, and his features were narrow and even—no scars or evidence of a broken nose or jaw. “I confess, I didn’t like the idea of doing business with a girl,” he continued, “but this has been almost enjoyable. I feel certain once your father comes to, he will be more willing to negotiate with me. Now, how do we access those rooms?” The gun was still pointed at me, and I could hardly think. My teeth chattered.

“You—you’ll have to move the m-middle cabinet on the west wall first. Then open the phony icebox in the left corner—it has no back—and you’ll see a latch. Pull it. It releases the d-door behind the cabinet.”

He looked impressed as he slid the gun back inside his coat. “Quite an operation here. I can see why the sharks are circling.”

They left Daddy and me alone in the office, and I heard my instructions repeated in the garage. I wasn’t sure how many men were out there, but I knew the chances for escape were next to nothing. Even if I made a run for it, and I wasn’t much of a runner, that left Daddy sitting here alone, his hands tied to the chair. I looked him over, checking for the worst of the injuries. His face was almost unrecognizable—eyes bruised and squeezed shut from the swelling, nose broken again, cheeks and chin nicked with cuts—but I saw no evidence of a mortal wound. I brushed a matted lock of dark hair from his forehead, relieved to see a spot of unbloodied skin. “My God, Daddy,” I whispered. I felt sorry for him, but a little angry too. Why had he ignored this man? Had he thought the threats were idle? For Christ’s sake, he read the papers—and look at what had happened to Vince! He knew what these men were capable of; extortion was their least worrisome crime. I sank to my knees again and clutched his limp arm. “What if I can’t save you?” I whimpered before his battered form went blurry beyond my tears.

While I wept, the men emptied the basement of all our stock. Everything we had would be gone—and now they knew our hiding spot too. I scrambled to my feet when two goons lumbered in, untied Daddy, and carried him out by his arms and legs. When they exited into the alley, I leaned against the doorframe for support.