Iron Cast (20 page)

“Good to know we sat through three hours of drivel for that gem of information,” Corinne said. “Between that and Babe Ruth maybe we can find this bastard before he shoots someone else.”

“We should go,” Gabriel said, standing up beside her. “That's all we came for.”

“And quite a production you made of it,” Madeline said.

Corinne resented Gabriel's attempt to end the conversation before she was finished being cross, but she had run out of cross things to say, so she stalked to the door. Saint didn't move from his seat.

“I think I'll stay a while longer,” he said, managing to remain within three shades of his natural color. “We still have to talk about the backdrop you need me to paint for the next production.”

“Yes, the backdrop,” Madeline said. “Very important business. I'll just shut myself in my room, shall I? Leave the backdrop discussion to the men.”

James leaned his head back on the sofa. He smiled languidly and did not say a word.

It was a mild winter for Boston. There hadn't been any snow since before Christmas, and without any real discussion, Corinne and
Gabriel found themselves looping through the Common. They passed the white granite Soldiers and Sailors Monument, its victory column luminous in the moonlight. The fountain in the Frog Pond was off, and a murky layer of ice had formed across the top.

Corinne sank down on a park bench beside the pond. The heels she had worn were not the best walking shoes, and her feet were starting to protest. Without the warmth of exertion, goose bumps rose on her legs. She shivered under her coat.

Gabriel sat down beside her and lit a cigarette.

“Are Madeline and James really married?” he asked.

“Only technically,” Corinne said. “It's a long story. Madeline's father was pretty well off, but he stipulated in his will that she could only inherit his money—and the theater building, which was her lifelong dream—if she was married. James was her business partner, and people already assumed they were romantically involved because apparently people are blind as well as stupid, so they figured it would be a tidy arrangement.”

“Seems the opposite of tidy to me,” he said.

Corinne plucked the cigarette from his fingers and stole a pull, savoring the warmth of the smoke as she drew it into her lungs. She gave him back the cigarette and exhaled toward the pond, watching the smoke dissipate in the golden glow of the streetlight. She hated the taste of cigarettes, but she was too cold right now to care.

“She got the theater, didn't she?” she said.

“And the money.”

“Well, she gave all the money to the National American Woman Suffrage Association, in loving memory of her father.”

Gabriel smiled. “I'm surprised you're not better friends.”

“Who says we aren't friends?”

“Just a guess,” he said, leaning back and draping his left arm
across the back of the bench. “Based on the less-than-warm welcome she gave you.”

“For your information, we grew up together. She's a couple of years older than me, but our parents were members of the same country club.”

“Country club?” Gabriel echoed.

Something in his tone made Corinne turn to look at him. “What?” she asked.

He was quiet, examining her with an expression she hadn't seen before. There was a rigidity in his demeanor that she didn't like.

“What?” she demanded again.

“I didn't say anything,” he said.

“No, but your eyebrows are doing the talking thing.”

“My eyebrows are not— Never mind. I was just surprised. That's all.”

Corinne tried to study his face for truth, but he turned away and blew a stream of smoke. A breeze carried it into the night. She hadn't meant to reveal anything about her background, even though the crew at the Cast Iron had all either been told or guessed for themselves. The precarious nature of the secret had never concerned Corinne overly much. No one dared to cross Johnny, and he'd made it clear that Corinne was one of them. Even Madeline and James knew better than to let on what they knew.

Corinne just didn't like to talk about it. She didn't like the looks it garnered. The whispers behind her back.

“You might as well say it and get it over with,” she told Gabriel.

“Say what?”

“Accuse me of slumming. Of being a rich little girl, playing in the mud before she runs home to wash up and put on a pretty dress. Trust me, I've heard it all before.”

He ground out his cigarette and didn't reply. Corinne surged forward.

“Not that anyone cares, but I can't stay at home for more than a few days before I start to go mad.”

Gabriel was staring out over the pond. A hard wind rushed through the trees and across the ice, brushing his hair back from his forehead and bringing stinging tears to Corinne's eyes.

“You can think whatever you want,” Corinne said to his silence. She was shivering nonstop now, and it was growing difficult to maintain the steady, righteous tone. “I don't care. You don't know the first thing about me. My life is the Cast Iron. None of it has anything to do with my parents or their damned country club.”

She lowered her head, trying to shield her eyes from the wind. Gabriel was fidgeting beside her, and she guessed he was about to leave, but after a few seconds something warm dropped around her shoulders. His coat.

“If you're done arguing with yourself, we can head back,” he said.

That made Corinne want to argue more, on principle, but she was suddenly very tired. She slipped her arms into his coat and stood up. She knew he must be freezing in just his jacket, but she doubted he would take his coat back, even if she insisted. She was too tired for that argument as well.

“You can pretend to be strong and silent and unaffected, but I know it bothers you that my parents are wealthy,” Corinne said after they had been walking for a few minutes. “I could see it in your face.”

“You're very smart, but you're also very tedious,” he told her. “And you know a lot less about me than you think you do.”

His tone, though not malicious, was final. Corinne took the
hint and let the subject drop. They walked in silence the rest of the way back to the Cast Iron.

Ada refused to let Charlie walk her back to the club. She didn't want the Cast Iron looming over them as they said good night. True to his word, Charlie didn't bring up their conversation from the day before. He just kissed her softly and asked her to be careful. Ada hadn't wanted to break away from his arms, but it was almost ten, and her troubles were waiting for her in the club.

The bar was still closed, and Ada went through the back door. Gordon was gone from his post in the storage room, which was unlike him. Maybe he'd figured that without any drunk patrons to keep from snooping around, he could take the night off. Or maybe he needed to feed his cat.

She was about to push open the wall panel when the alley door opened and Gordon came in. He was wheezing with exertion, and his coat was misbuttoned, as if he had left in a hurry.

“Ada,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “I tried to rush back.”

“That's okay,” she said. “Is something wrong?”

He didn't move from the doorway, and for a few seconds the only sound was his labored breathing. The silver winter air drifted past him, bringing the sharp scent of frost and nighttime into the storage room. Ada saw that he was shaking. She took a step forward. “What is it?”

“Ada, it's . . . it's Johnny.” Gordon pulled off his cap and squeezed it between his hands. He took a few hesitant steps forward. “The police called earlier and asked me to come down. I thought it was some kind of ruse at first, but it was Rick Dalton on the phone. He's been a paying customer for years.”

“I don't understand,” Ada said. “Has Johnny been arrested?”

“Ada, they wanted me to come to the morgue. Johnny's dead.”

There was something strange about hearing the words from Gordon, who had spent so many years sitting in this room, resolutely saying nothing of importance. At first Ada couldn't grasp the full meaning of what he was saying—just that it was odd to see him standing there, hat in hand, trembling like a schoolboy.

Johnny's dead.

Ada sat down hard in Gordon's chair.

“They found him somewhere on the wharves,” Gordon said. “Someone shot him four times in the chest.”

There were tears in Ada's eyes, but she didn't know what to do with them. She opened her mouth, but words wouldn't come.

“I have to go,” Gordon said. There was a hitch in his voice, and he was backing toward the door. “I've been here for seven years, Ada. I never thought—I never—I have to go.”

He tossed her the keys, and Ada caught them in numb reflex. Gordon shut the door behind him. Ada had never noticed how dark the storage room was at night. She stumbled into the basement and curled up on one of the couches, listening to the electric lights buzzing overhead. Corinne would be home soon. When she was here, Ada would be able to think straight.

She squeezed her eyes shut, but in that moment she was back in Haversham, the walls cold around her, the screams echoing down the corridor as they dragged her fellow prisoner away. Down to the basement. Down to whatever hell had been created for hemopaths by a society convinced of its own rectitude. Ada had been the first hemopath to ever escape Haversham, but sooner or later she would end up back there. Maybe they all would. Without Johnny the Cast Iron would go dark. The other hemopath clubs in the city had no
reason to shelter their rival's crew. The HPA would catch up with her and Corinne easily, and this time they wouldn't have Johnny or his resources to bail them out.

Despite the creeping, crushing fear, Ada kept her eyes closed and began to hum. The song tasted of salt and sorrow, but it was easier than crying. It was easier than remembering how Johnny Dervish had been the one to offer her hope when her world had collapsed, how Johnny had been something untouchable and unbreakable in a city of broken, soiled dreams. It was easier than knowing that if Johnny was gone, then the rest of them didn't stand a chance.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Snow fell the next morning from a white sky, just enough to dust the treetops and windowpanes. Ice hardened on the sidewalks, and Boston was quiet.

The bar of the Cast Iron was packed with people, with everyone who needed to know the news. Corinne was the one who told them that Johnny was dead. She was still in her dress from the night before. The pale-blue satin trembled as she spoke, but her voice never broke. She bit off each word with deliberate asperity. She sat on the stage with her legs dangling, answering questions until she had run out of answers. Then she dropped into a chair beside Ada. She laid her head on Ada's shoulder and closed her eyes. No one had slept the night before.

“That's it, then,” Corinne said.

For a while no one moved. No one spoke. Corinne didn't open her eyes. Finally people started to trickle toward the door. They were members of Johnny's crew, his inner circle. Some had known him for years, some only for months.

“Wait, stop,” Ada said, jarring Corinne as she jumped to her feet.

The group looked at her.

“It's not safe out there,” Ada said. “First the docks and now Johnny—we don't know who's gunning for us.”

A couple of people shook their heads and left. The others looked uncertain, shuffling their feet.

“What else can we do?” someone asked.

“Stay,” Ada said. “We're better off together.”

“Johnny's gone,” someone else said. “The Cast Iron isn't safe anymore either.”

“We can make it safe,” Ada said.

“You're just kids.”

“Johnny trusted us well enough,” Corinne snapped, standing up beside Ada.

But they were already leaving. Danny lingered by the door for a long time, clutching his hat. “I'm sorry,” he said at last. “I've got to get back to my family.”

When the hinges creaked with his departure, Corinne sank back into her chair.

She was surprised to find that James and Madeline were still there, sitting at the next table over. They had come with Saint when she'd phoned at midnight. Madeline was sitting very straight, her lips pursed, staring into the middle distance. James was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, eyes following Saint as he paced behind Corinne and Ada. Corinne knew that Gabriel was behind her too, against the bar, outside the circle.

It had been the six of them since midnight. Mostly they had sat in silence in the common room downstairs, trying to grapple with the idea of Johnny being gone, trying to explain it away.

“It's some kind of trick,” Corinne had insisted. “It was a thespian Gordon saw.”

“Thespians can't stay in character if they're dead,” James said.

“Then Gordon was mistaken.”

“He's known Johnny for years,” Ada told her. Her voice was calmer than Corinne's, but the restraint cost her. She had to use the back of the couch for support.