Speak Easy (Speak Easy 1)

Angel held out his hand again but cocked his head at hearing Joey’s name. Did he recognize it? “Perhaps you will enjoy a cigar in the lounge behind that curtain, Mr. Lupo.” He took a cigar from inside his coat and handed it to Joey. “The Miss Detroit is excellent.” He signaled a goon on the room’s periphery. The goon nodded and pulled a black curtain aside, revealing a room beyond it from which pale blue smoke billowed.

Joey took the cigar from Angel and looked at me. “You all right?”

“Sure.” I swallowed my fear along with another mouthful of whisky. At least we were surrounded by a crowd.

Joey stood, adjusted his coat, and disappeared behind the curtain. Angel gestured toward his seat. “May I?”

“It’s your club.”

He lowered himself to the chair, pulling a cigarette from a small gold case. A girl in a short-skirted Club 23 uniform rushed to light it. “Grazie. Allora, Signorina O’Mara,” he began, exhaling smoke. “Your coming here tonight tells me you are cooperative as well as lovely. A nice combination, I think.” His black eyes shone as he looked over my hair and clothing.

I met his gaze but said nothing.

“Did you bring the money?”

Keeping my purse on my lap, I opened it up and removed the bills. Then I placed them on the table, covered them with my hand, and pushed them toward him.

“Splendid,” he said, pocketing weeks of my hard work within seconds. “I should have come to you in the first place.” He tapped ashes from his cigarette into the small tray on the table. “So let’s talk business. I want five thousand dollars by Tuesday night.”

My heart plummeted to my heels. “Tuesday night! That’s in three days—that’s impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible.”

I clutched my purse tight. “I need more time.”

“You don’t have it. Now, you can bring the cash here, or leave it up to me to find you.” He smiled as he stood. “But I believe you’ll prefer the first option. Until then, Miss O’Mara. I do hope you enjoy yourself this evening.” Placing the cigarette between his lips, he offered me his hand.

I felt like spitting on it and bolting, but one glance beyond him reminded me of the men stationed at every doorway. When he was gone, I sat stiffly, unblinking. Hearing neither the crowd nor the music.

Five grand. By Tuesday night. I closed my eyes.

Deadline—the word took on a whole new meaning.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up to find Enzo beside me, a drink in his hand. My traitorous heart thumped double time at the sight of him.

“Good evening.” He lowered himself into the chair his father had just vacated, and I stared coldly, angry that his good looks were matched by his duplicity. He wore his usual three-piece

suit, dark blue tonight, with a light blue shirt and a deep red tie. His hair was brilliantined to a shine. Taking several swallows of whisky, I wondered about the scar on his cheekbone and hoped some girl had scratched him trying to gouge his eyeballs out.

“How are you tonight, Miss O’Mara?”

“As if you care.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

The gall of the man. “You pretended to be a customer, you spied on me, you followed me, and you broke into our boathouse.” Fuming, I leaned forward. “You kissed me.”

“You kissed me, actually.”

Heat flooded my face. “That’s not the point. You knew the whole time what your father was planning to do. It was a dirty trick.”

He drank, looking at me over the rim of the glass, and set the glass down. “It’s a dirty business we’re in.”

I put my hands on the table. “Listen, I’m no crook. I make an honest dollar supplying a harmless demand. What you’re doing is called extortion.”

“Every racket’s legit when it’s all illegal. Don’t kid yourself that you’re above it.” My blood boiled harder as he took a Fatima from his case. “You’re a bootlegger, Tiny. You work the black market, and the black market has its own rules.” Pulling his silver lighter from his breast pocket, he lit the cigarette between his lips. “You follow them, no harm comes.”

I raised my eyebrows. “No harm? That’s not what it looked like last night.”