As he left the bedroom unnoticed, Bill was holding back his beloved’s hair as she retched into a basin held by the man who had poisoned her…at the direction of Bernie Croft.
* * *
Bernie said, “Hello, Gert.”
“Ain’t you heard? We’re shut down. Good as anyway.”
“I’d like to talk to you.”
“We’ll talk when you get the law off my back.”
“In due time.”
“Due time,” she said scornfully. “No more graft, you hear me?”
“I’ll get you back to normal soon.”
“You been sayin’ that, but in the meanwhile, Bill Amos is having our road patrolled nightly. All that attention is keepin’ away customers too scared of being caught in another raid.
“Much longer, and we won’t have any hooch to sell, ’cause Lefty’s drinkin’ it all up. Stays drunk, ain’t no use to me. No pussy to sell, neither, ’cause all them twats upstairs has sneaked off one by one. Took their inspiration from that Corrine, I guess. I’m losing money by the hour, and you’re doin’ nothin’ but takin’ up space, Mr. Mayor.”
He smiled. “I’m here to make it up to you, Gert.”
She honked a laugh. “Ain’t likely. Everybody knows you look after your ownself.”
“This benefits us both.”
She squinted at him through an exhalation of cigarette smoke. “Whut does?”
“I’ve brought you a present.”
He turned. Hennessy was standing at the side of the town car. At a signal from Bill, he opened the back door and pulled a bound and gagged woman from the car.
Croft said to Gert, “I believe you’re acquainted with Mrs. Plummer.”
* * *
Laurel had gone into the kitchen, expecting to find her father-in-law rummaging for the makings of breakfast.
Instead, Bernie Croft had been rifling through her recipe box. Fanning one of the cards at her, he’d greeted her pleasantly. “Good morning, Mrs. Plummer. This lemon chess pie sounds delicious.”
And then from behind her, a heavy hand had been clamped over her mouth at the same time an arm as strong as an iron band had encircled her waist.
She’d raked her nails across the hand over her mouth and knew by the profanities grunted near her ear that she’d drawn blood, or at least had caused pain. She’d struggled and kicked, but she’d been held fast while Croft had tied her hands behind her with a thin but sturdy cord that dug into her flesh. The hand over her mouth had been removed and replaced by a handkerchief, which had caused her to gag.
She’d been carried to the long,
black car she’d seen parked in front of her house the day before. She’d been thrust into the backseat, no doubt by the burly chauffeur. Croft had climbed in beside her. They could have been out for a Sunday drive for all the attention she paid him until they’d made the turnoff to Lefty’s.
She’d looked at him then, and his chuckle had been villainous. Or perhaps it had only sounded that way to her because she knew him to be a villain.
When they’d reached the roadhouse, Croft and Hennessy had gotten out. Croft had gone to the door, which had been answered by Gert. After a brief conversation, Croft had signaled Hennessy to get her from the car and bring her forward.
Now, upon seeing her, Gert stepped out onto the porch. She flicked her cigarette into the dirt and clapped her hands together. “Well, I be damned. You really did bring me a present, Bernie. It ain’t even my birthday.”
Laurel dug her heels in, kicked against the chauffeur’s shins, twisted and turned her body, did anything she could think of to make his job more difficult. She didn’t delude herself into thinking she could escape someone of his size, but she refused to meekly cooperate.
When they reached the porch steps, Croft instructed “Hennessy” to pat down her skirt pockets.