Whistling in the Dark (4 page)

But Esther had opened. He saw her red curls go by as she hustled at the busy counter. The kitchen hadn't warmed the place yet and Jack kept his coat on like everyone else as he grabbed an empty table. Leaning elbows on it, he buried a yawn behind his hands. It was going to take more than two nights' sleep to catch him up.

"Good morning."

The voice was vaguely familiar. Jack turned to connect it with a face and sat up in surprise. He remembered that solemn smile and the eyes, a soft gray that took the starch out of an apparent reserve. It was his fellow jailbird, still in a crisp shirt and perfectly knotted tie, but this time with his sleeves rolled up and apron wrapped around his trim build. And he seemed equally startled to see Jack.

"You!"

The simultaneous reaction drew the attention of the diners around them. Jack, tickled by the coincidence, couldn't resist. "Decide to walk the straight and narrow?"

Fair cheeks flushed at that. "Please," he whispered, leaning toward Jack. "Don't tell Mrs. Carlisle. She won't keep me on if she knows."

"Not a word." Jack backed up the promise with a reassuring smile and reconsidered the breakfast possibilities. "I'll have eggs--scrambled--and toast, coffee, bacon--extra bacon--a couple of wheatcakes and some of Esther's doughnuts, if there are any left." Once it was eaten, Ida would just have to put it on his tab.

"Is someone joining you?"

"If they do, they'll have to order their own eats. Got a newspaper?"

"I'll try to find you one." He started for the kitchen just as Jack remembered the pie.

"Oh, hey, Mabel--" Jack snagged a handful of apron strings. "Any of Esther's apple pie left?"

The waiter favored him with a wryly arched brow, but added the pie to his order. When the coffee came, Jack shrugged out of his coat and settled in to kill an agreeable half hour. He made it to the twenty minute mark before Ned Hennessy swung through the door. Though Jack scowled pointedly at him, Ned didn't take the hint. Greeting Jack with a slap on the shoulder, he sat and helped himself to the newspaper and a leftover piece of bacon.

Jack leaned toward him. "You going to take that out of the money I owe Chase?"

Ned looked up from the paper with sour amusement. "Smart guy. You used to be, anyway. Come on, Jackie. You know your dad wouldn't want you to live like this, day to day on borrowed cash. He wouldn't like it and I don't either. Maybe you and me had a misunderstanding. No point in letting that come between us." He grinned suddenly. "Remember the jobs we pulled on the tourists? The money we made, escorting those saps through our sinful little corner of town? Good days. We could have those again, only better."

Jack tossed a half-eaten donut on the plate. "A little misunderstanding?"

"Sure. Harry was just talking through his hat, like always. I never threatened him. And I sure never talked to the landlord. Why would I do that? You got the best goddamned rent in town. Mrs. Madigan hikes up your rent, what good'll that do me?"

"You didn't tell Harry she was raising our rent? Never said you'd make up the difference if we signed the lease over to you? Never swore up and down you and I agreed the shop was yours if I didn't make it back home?"

He found a certain fascination in Ned's lies. Jack wanted to think the best of him--had, until Harry put him wise to what Ned had been up to while Jack was overseas. Ned hadn't known what a good friend Harry had become, what a lifeline, in letters back and forth all the months Jack had been gone and Harry had kept shop--for his parents when they couldn't, then for him. Ned hadn't pulled any wool over Harry's sharp eyes--and he seemed to be catching on that Jack wasn't the same trusting kid who'd followed him everywhere when they were younger.

Ned sighed like he'd caught on to a lot of things. "Believe what you want, but I was just trying to do you a favor. A lot of guys didn't make it home. You really think Harry was going to keep shop forever?"

Jack smiled at the thought. "Maybe."

"Harry's a hell of a lot more practical than you. He'd have sold the place in a heartbeat. He was just hanging on for your sake."

"Friends do that kind of thing, I hear."

"What friends do is tell it to you straight. You want to make a bundle of money, you'll come into this deal. Sure, it's a different kind of business, but Chase knows all about it. He can get us going and whatever else we need to know, we'll pick up along the way."

"The cops would shut us down the minute Chase brings in the booze."

Ned shook his head. "The man knows how to keep the cops happy..." His lip curled, eyes darkening, and Jack realized it was directed at the waiter, who'd been clearing a table next to theirs and, no doubt to Ned's mind, overhearing more than he should. Ned grabbed the fellow and pushed him into a chair. "Doing a little eavesdropping, pal?"

There was a telltale shifting before the confession came. "It wasn't intentional. Wiping down tables doesn't call for a lot of concentration. I suppose my thoughts wandered--"

"That sort of thing can get a guy into trouble." Ned's tone played friendly. "What's your name?"

"Sutton Albright."

"Yeah? Sounds like somebody. You somebody?"

Sutton's mouth twitched. "Not these days, no."

Ned clapped a hand on Sutton's shoulder and leaned in close. "I know what you overheard. I also know you're going to keep it to yourself. You know how I know?"

"There's no need to threaten me," Sutton said. "I'm not someone either the police or the judge will hold to as a credible source."

"You've been in Dutch with the law?" Ned snorted. "Get this one," he said to Jack. "A regular hooligan, ain't he?"

Sutton with his fair-haired spit-and-polish looks didn't strike Jack as a criminal either--even though beyond the surface innocence lurked a certain rueful variance with the world in general. Of course a slew of experiences could put a fellow at odds with the world and with himself to boot, and Jack figured he could safely narrow it down to one in particular that probably haunted Sutton. Hell, no one came away from that experience without the ghosts of the dead trailing after him.

"I think he gets the picture, Ned. Let the kid go back to work."

Ned waved a dismissive hand. "Go on, get out of here," he said and, as Sutton obliged, added, "Make sure you stay out of other people's business."

"Stay out of other people's business." Jack savored the words. "Good advice."

"Unless it's business you've got a stake in. Which I do."

"So you've been saying." Jack got up. "How much of my breakfast did you eat?"

Ned took out his wallet and tossed a dollar bill to the table. "That should take care of it. And there's plenty more where that came from."

"Nice. Chase hire you on to break legs full-time? Or did you squeeze that out of Gertie?"

"I don't take money from my sister."

"No? Where is she these days, anyway?"

Ned shrugged. "Off chasing some Rockefeller, I guess. What's it to you?"

"She miss me?" Jack couldn't resist. Gert had been stuck on him for ages, to Ned's annoyance. Ned deliberately ignored the question and went back to finishing off the bacon, no doubt feeling obligated since he'd paid for it.

Jack left him to it and went across to the shop to find that Harry and Ox had moved the piano right up beside the transmitter. Maybe Harry hadn't been too keen on the plan to try advertising on the radio, but he was being one hell of a sport about it.

Amused, Jack went to find him and found Ox instead, settled on the office sofa with a pile of sheet music in his lap. "Guess I worried you guys a little."

"You scared us." Some people called Ox slow, but Jack knew he figured things out with his heart instead of his head. If that took a little longer, who could say it was a bad thing?

Jack sat beside him. "Didn't mean to scare you."

Ox nodded. "I ain't mad. Did you go to the club?"

"Yeah. The ladies send their regards."

Ox reddened. "They remembered me?"

They'd remembered him as that shambling, bashful boy who'd ordered a root beer. Ox had been overwhelmed by the bawdy jokes and merciless flirting, until Jack had spirited him to the automat and split a handful of nickels between them so they could eat all the pie they pleased.

"They want you back." Jack bumped his shoulder. "Never met such a gentleman before, they said."

Ox's blush deepened. "You don't really kiss them, do you?"

"Only the way I kiss you," Jack said, planting one on his cheek.

"He's saving himself for the right fella," Harry drawled, coming in with a handful of sheet music. He met Jack's gaze. "Quit with the penitent look, will you? I ain't about to feel bad for bawling you out. You get any sleep?"

"Boy, did I." Jack cherished the memory of it.

"Glad to hear one of us did."

Some apologies were more difficult than others, but he could get to the heart of the matter, too. "Harry--I'm sorry."

"Yeah, and I'm sorry I bet on Dizzy Legs in the fifth. We all got regrets." His tone went quieter. "Don't worry about it, will you?"

"I'm glad you've got such a soft spot for longshots," Jack said ruefully.

Harry sent cigar smoke spiraling with an impatient wave of his hand. "Here..." He handed the sheet music to Jack. "The simplest chords you can find. I'm going over to Rosen's and see if they still want a little help with the books."

Regret that had been throwing only the occasional punch at him kicked him squarely in the gut. "If anyone's taking on extra work--"

"Now calm down. I was just thinking they've got a phonograph they might be disposed to lending, in return for the help."

"How're we going to buy records? We'll need more than just a few. We play the same music over and over and we'll bore everyone to tears."

Harry sank into his chair behind the desk. "You dump the booze again?"

"How'd you know?"

"Had a feeling. Damn, some good gin, too. Next time, give it to me."

"I'm figuring this was the last of the next times." Jack kept his attention on the sheet music. It was enough that he could feel the weight of Harry's troubled gaze.

"You know, Jackie, the doc can give you something to get to sleep--"

"God, no thanks. From drunken bum to opium fiend. I'm swimming in enough debt already."

"Chloral, you ass."

"Oh, hell no. I'd chuck it like I did in the hospital. Where'd you two come up with all this music? It's a million years old."

Ox made a face. "Two years of lessons. And it ain't that old." His blue eyes were all sympathy. "How about a cup of milk? I always get to sleep with a cup of milk."

Jack shuddered. "You guys'll do me in. Here--" He waved a sheet. "This one's got hardly any notes."

He sailed it over the desk to Harry, who snatched it out of the air. The music still aloft in his grip, Harry wrinkled his nose, then promptly tugged back his coat lapel to bury a sneeze. Anxiety stirred in Jack's gut, but Harry was quick with a diagnosis.

"Dust."

"You sure?"

"You want to take my temperature?"

"Maybe later. Anyway, you can quit sneezing all over your coat. No one's coming in to arrest you."

"Dust," Harry muttered. "Just dust." He blew a cloud of it off the sheet music. "Come on, Ox. Let's see if you can pick out this one."

The morning crawled by without a single customer, so Jack encouraged Ox to keep practicing. That lasted until Esther came around the aisle and stopped short at the sight of Ox tapping the keys. As he limped to the end of the piece, she set down her basket to applaud. Ox lurched off the piano bench. "Got a delivery to pick up--"

"Hello, Ox," Esther said before he could go.

"'Lo, Esther," Ox gasped as he shot past her. The shop door slammed an instant later.

Harry chuckled. "I'll bring him back. Save me a sandwich."

Jack hopped off the workbench, giving Esther room amongst the clutter to open up the basket and unearth sandwiches and coffee. "Ida let you escape for an early lunch?"

She nodded, looking him over. "You all right?"

"As rain. Harry buy all this?" He wasn't hungry, but Esther's feelings were bruised enough for one morning.

"When he stopped in for breakfast," she said. "He thought you two would be busy this afternoon. With the piano, I mean."

"Not busy selling, that's for sure."

Esther scooted onto the workbench and smoothed her apron over faded brown-checked skirts. She gingerly picked up a headset. "You really going to have Ox play on the radio?"

"Maybe in a week or so. He needs to brush up."

"I'll say--" She broke off, biting her lip. "I'm sure he'll be tops by November." She laid the headset on the basket. "Jack? I've got a couple of dollars--"

"Can't let you do that, Es."

"But--"

"Not in your wildest dreams. If I have to, I'll borrow money for a phonograph."

"You do that and Harry'll be standing in line behind Chase and the rest to pummel you. And God knows what'll be left to pummel. You know what Chase did to Ray Walker last year? And he owed half what you do."

"Have a sandwich, Es."

"I'm serious. He--"

"Okay, okay." Jack swallowed a mouthful of warm coffee. "I won't borrow any more, I swear. If Ox can't do it, I'll learn to play this monster myself." He sat at the keyboard and looked over the notes on the page. How Harry and Ox translated that mess into music, he'd never know. He cracked his knuckles, and plunked a few discordant notes from one end to the other.

Esther laughed. "Why do you need music? Just tell them about the emporium."

"I've got to give them a little something to remember me, to get them to stop by." He tapped a plaintive note. "If they'll come. Sometimes I look around at the odds and ends my folks collected and I think it belongs to a world we left behind somewhere."

"Same old world," a pleasant voice cut in from behind him. "Same restless, disenchanted world yearning for a little distraction."

His stout figure bundled in a long overcoat, snowy beard nestled in the fur collar, Marshall Chase perused the used books at the end of the aisle. Chase wasn't the only one who had stopped by. Jack saw the fierce scowl on Esther's face and he didn't have to ask. At least her warning kept him from reacting when Ned patted his shoulder, less a greeting than an opportunity to show off his ring--real gold from the look of it. "Business a little slow today, Jackie boy?"