Speak Easy (Speak Easy 1)

“Not so fast, doll.” That voice…it was familiar, but I couldn’t place it. Confusion clouded all my senses.

My purse—I need my purse, I thought through the haze. There’s something in there that will help me. I felt around for it the best I could, but my efforts garnered only a squawk of laughter.

“Don’t bother, toots. I got the goods right here—the money and the heater. Quite a piece you were packing. Not as good as mine, though.” It was then I noticed the machine gun on the seat behind him. “But

I’m gonna pat you down anyway. Been waiting to get my hands on you.” He knelt and groped me roughly, taking perverse pleasure in running his hands all over me. He laughed some more, an annoying, scratchy heh-heh-heh that prompted my brain to make a connection.

The pimply-faced goon, Raymond’s friend.

I licked my dry lips. “Harry?”

“You remember me, huh?” He pulled off the mask.

“Unfortunately.”

He squeezed my upper arm and snarled. “Kinda brave for a little girl without her gun. If I hear another insult, you might end up without more than that. Like your pretty face.”

“What do you want with me? You got the money, so just let me go.”

“No chance. Now stay put.” He started the engine, and we took off, heading downriver. Looking back, I could see Daddy’s boat bobbing next to the dock. Clarity was returning with painful jabs to the head. Am I being kidnapped? Where’s Daddy? Are the DiFiores behind this? But it didn’t make sense—unless Enzo had lied about my father being missing and set me up. Was the entire phone conversation a ruse? It was possible, but why would Angel need to trick me into giving him the money a day early? Why wouldn’t Enzo have just taken it earlier tonight?

I tried to piece everything together as the boat picked up speed. The heist, the false alarm, the necklace, Enzo and I at the boathouse, the package from Joey, Enzo and I in my bedroom, the phone call, the brick through the window, the blow to the temple, being tied up and taken somewhere by Harry.

But I was completely baffled.

I tried not to panic as the boat swooped through the chop. Stay calm and think. Was it possible Harry was working alone? “Where are we going?” I shouted over the motor, tucking my knees inside my elbows. Suddenly I was chilled to the bone.

“Niagara Falls, doll. For our honeymoon.” He cackled with glee.

“Did you take my father?”

He looked at me. “Maybe.”

“Where is he?”

“At the bottom of the river, waiting for you.”

“You son of a bitch!” I yelled, kicking at his ankles and seething when he laughed. Frantic to escape, I looked at the black water. I considered jumping in and swimming for it, but knew I’d be no match for a machine gun, especially with my hands tied. I’d be dead in seconds, my bullet-riddled body found days later by some unsuspecting bootlegger or fisherman, the account written up in the papers. Girl Caught in Crossfire of Bootleg Wars. I didn’t want my sisters to suffer that. Hunkering down, I hugged my knees to my chest again and kept my face averted from Harry. If I had to look at him, I’d be sick. Where is he taking me? Did he really kill Daddy? And why doesn’t he just kill me, if that’s what he’s going to do? Finally, I laid my forehead on my knees and wept.

Eventually, we reached some unlit docks along the river. I saw no one around. Harry pulled up and tied the boat to a post. After jumping onto the wooden platform, he reached down for me and I was forced to give him my arms. He yanked me roughly to my feet like a small child and marched me to a dark-colored Chevrolet. Opening the door, he shoved me in the back seat. “Lie down back there and be quiet. I don’t have any problem taking you out of this, so you better behave.” He slid into the driver’s seat, placing his gun and my purse beside him, and started the car.

Could I reach the gun? Not without his catching on to me. I lay back across the seat, wiping my nose on my sleeve. I was trapped.

#

After an endless drive on horribly bumpy roads that made my head feel as if someone was beating it with a crowbar, Harry slowed the car. I sat up and looked out the window at a small dilapidated cabin, lit only by the Chevrolet’s headlamps. Panicked, I searched for other houses but saw nothing—just woods. The headlamps went off, and blackness enveloped us. Harry spoke over his shoulder. “No use screaming, so keep your mouth shut. I don’t like girl noise.”

He put his gun in his coat and got out. When he opened my door, he locked his fingers around my upper arm and dragged me toward the cabin. I’d have a bruise tomorrow for sure. If I have a tomorrow. He led me up a few creaky wooden steps to a lopsided porch and knocked on the front door—a rhythmic series of long and short staccato beats.

“That’s not the knock,” complained a voice from inside.

“Shut your mouth and open the fucking door, you idiot,” shouted Harry. “I’ve got her.”

The door opened, revealing a sparsely furnished room with a plank floor. Ahead of me, a beat-up brown sofa was against the wall. A square table and two mismatched kitchen chairs were off to the left, and in the low light of a few kerosene lanterns, I saw the dim outline of crude bathtub gin equipment in the corner. The door slammed behind us, and lurking there in the shadows was Raymond DiFiore. “Hiya, doll. Glad to see me?”

“No.” I narrowed my eyes at him, then looked around for Enzo. If he’d set me up, I was going to kick him in the balls, and then kill him. I was pretty sure Raymond would let me.

“Where do you want her?” Harry asked, releasing his grip on my arm.