Speak Easy (Speak Easy 1)

“Not even me?” His tone dared me to admit it.

I swallowed.

“You don’t.”

Staring at his scraped-up hands holding the cup, I said, “I’m just scared.”

“Look at me.” I lifted my eyes to his. “I made you a promise last night. I intend to keep it.”

“But you’re going to that hijacking tonight, and if you’re shot or—”

“Nothing will happen to me.”

“Vince probably said the same thing to Bridget before he left for the police station that day.” It was out before I even realized I was comparing us to my sister and her husband.

He took a deep breath before speaking. “That was different. Vince and those guys were totally unprepared. They got ambushed. We’re planning things carefully and they don’t know we’re coming.”

“That’s an ambush,” I pointed out. “Just as many people could wind up dead. And what if Angel somehow figures out it was me who told you guys when the rum would be here?”

Joey shook his head. “He won’t. Far as he knows, there’s no connection between you and the River Gang.”

“You’re the connection. He met you at the club, remember?” I recalled how Angel had reacted upon hearing Joey’s name. “Maybe he remembers your father.”

“Angel’s not gonna be at the tracks tonight,” Joey said irritably, getting up from the table. “You think he drives his own trucks?” He set his coffee cup in the sink.

“Enzo met you too.”

He spun around. “Enzo won’t be driving the trucks either,” he snapped, his face reddening with anger. “Those two fucking dandies don’t do the heavy lifting. And even if he is there, we’ll have masks on, so he won’t be able to recognize me.”

Masks. Oh, God. “Joey, please let them steal the rum without you. You don’t have to do this gang stuff—you could get a regular job.”

“A regular job?” He said it as if I’d suggested he ingest mustard gas for fun. “A regular job? You know who drives the nice cars in my neighborhood, Tiny? You know who has the fancy clothes, the big bankroll, the nicest houses?”

Of course I did—men with Cadillacs and bodyguards who carried machine guns. Men who had apartments in high-rises. Slick custom suits. Hooded eyes and beautiful lips. “Yes.”

“Well, I’ll be damned if I spend sixty hours a week on an assembly line for a few bucks a day just to make rent. Other schmucks can sweat blood working those jobs, but not me.” The cut on his temple started to bleed. “And you wouldn’t do it either.”

“Yes, I would. It’s honest work. And anyone can make his way up.” Standing, I picked up a clean napkin and reached to dab the blood on his head, but he backed away from my hand.

“Ha. That’s a movie. And here’s the thing about the movies, Tiny. They make you want things.” He poked his chest. “I’m gonna get those things.”

I pitched the napkin onto the table. “You’re gonna end up like your father, Joey! These aren’t toy guns you guys carry around. It’s dangerous!”

“Now who’s treating who like a child?”

I opened my mouth and snapped it shut again.

“I’m sorry you’re scared.” His voice was low but firm. “But I’m going. And whatever I make off the heist tonight, I’ll share with you. You need me to be there.”

My gaze leveled his. “Don’t say you’re doing this for me.”

“I’m not doing this for you.”

I’d sort of hoped he might argue with me.

#

I usually worked for Bridget on Wednesdays since it was Martin’s day off, but when I checked in with her at the store, she said she could get along without me for the day. Something in her expression stopped me from rushing out, though. I waited until the store was clear of shoppers to ask about it.