Page 49 of Romancing the Rumrunner
Jessie’s stomach sank. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what he had to say.
“Your new boss, the one you’ve been getting so cozy with. He’s an ex-cop. Got fired when a case went bad. He’s since gone into private investigating. Until just recently, when he threw his hat in the speakeasy game. Know any reason why he might have a sudden interest in the illegal side of life?”
Jessie’s head spun, as if all the blood had drained from her body, leaving her hot and cold at the same time. Her face was stone. She couldn’t have forced an expression on it if she’d tried.
Mario gave her a small smile and pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket. “You might want to tell any parties who may be interested that keeping the wrong sort of company can be dangerous to one’s health.”
Jessie took the envelope and nodded.
Russo’s smile widened, though the expression never made it past the dead calm of his eyes. “We’ll be watching the company you keep, baby. You might want to be a little more discerning in whom you choose to spend your time with. The wrong friends could bring a world of trouble down on you.” He leaned forward, his hand cupping the back of her head, and pressed a kiss to her unresponsive lips. Her reaction, or lack thereof, didn’t bother him in the slightest. He gave her a final grin, tipped his hat to her, and left.
Jessie opened the envelope and what was left of the blood in her head evacuated. She sank onto a stool and stared at the newspaper clipping in her hand. A picture of Tony, his face turned from the camera, his hand held up to block the lens. But she could still make out his face.
The article described the case Mario had mentioned. A sting operation gone bad. Tony’s partner had been shot and killed and after the investigation, Tony had retired from the force. The only other thing in the envelope was a business card. For Anthony Solomon, Private Investigator.
Jessie wasn’t sure what to think, what to do. She’d been aware that Tony might have been in cahoots with Jameson, but his actions over the last few weeks had seemed to disprove that assumption. After she’d allowed him to find part of her cache, she’d waited for Jameson to come storming into the shop and lead her away in cuffs. But the more days that passed without that happening, the more Jessie had begun to believe that Tony was exactly what he said. A speakeasy owner who was possibly starting to fall for her.
She had been such a fool.
…
Tony snapped another picture and then watched Russo walk out of Jessie’s shop with a growing spark of anger gnawing at his gut. He didn’t know what that palooka had been doing in there, but it couldn’t be anything good. Jessie had looked disturbingly comfortable with the man, considering their past. When he’d stroked her face and kissed her, Tony had wanted to bust through the door and rip Russo’s hand off. But that would have betrayed the fact that he’d been watching them. Besides, she hadn’t seemed to mind. A fact that made Tony want to put his fist through a wall. He knew he was overreacting. He had no claim on her. In fact, if she knew who he really was and what he was doing, she’d hate him.
He took a deep breath and rubbed his hands over his face. He hadn’t meant to spy on her. Hadn’t meant to take pictures of her meeting with anyone. But, he’d pulled up just as Russo was going into the shop. Why would Russo be meeting with her again? Everything Tony had heard had led him to believe their relationship was over. If she was the Phoenix’s girl now, Russo was throwing down an awfully big gauntlet walking into his dame’s shop.
Then again, Russo was also Willie’s guy and Willie was interested in Jessie for all the same reasons Tony was. Maybe he was just using Russo as a means to an end. Either way, Tony wasn’t about to just drive away, so he’d parked down the block and watched from a distance, in case she needed him. Which she hadn’t.
Tony looked back toward the shop and saw Jessie shoving the envelope the mook had given her into her apron pocket. What could that be? Bribe money? A payoff of some sort? Willie wouldn’t be buying her booze. But she must have something of interest to him because he’d seemed pleased with the envelope she’d pushed across the counter to him. Was it information? Maybe the same information Tony himself was trying to get ahold of?
The moment that thought crossed his mind, he realized that Jameson had never mentioned trying to buy information about the Phoenix from Jessie. He’d interrogated her, threatened her, sent Tony in to romance her. But he’d never, that Tony was aware of, tried to buy her off. The thought had never occurred to Tony either, which now seemed unusual. Everyone had their price. Jessie must have hers, too. And apparently Willie had found out what it was.
Tony stowed his camera in his car and marched over to the shop. Jessie had flipped theclosedsign but she hadn’t locked the door yet, so Tony let himself in, locking the door behind him so they wouldn’t be disturbed.
Jessie turned when the door opened, but her eyes didn’t light up to see him as they had before. Her gaze darted around but she at least made a pretense of smiling at him.
“You’re closing up late,” he said.
“I had a straggler come in.”
“Ah. A regular? Come in for a little chat just when you were ready to close.” Tony tried to force a smile, keep his tone lighthearted.
“No, he wasn’t someone I know. He was just…asking directions to the nearest deli. He was looking for some dinner and didn’t realize I didn’t sell anything pre-made.”
His stomach sank even while his anger sparked anew. If the meeting had been innocent, if Russo was still her enemy, surely she would have told him, confided in him. Asked him for help, maybe. Instead, she’d denied even knowing the man, when it had been obvious, even from the outside, that that wasn’t the case.
“Well, that’s too bad that you didn’t get anything from him,” Tony said.
Jessie twitched, her hand straying toward her pocket. “What do you mean?”
“A sale. He came in and talked your ear off without even buying anything. Not very polite.”
“Oh,” Jessie said, the relief in her slight laugh the only genuine expression she’d made since he’d walked in. “No, not very polite. Tony,” she said, her brow crinkling. “What did you do before you started running The Corkscrew?”
Tony froze. Why was she asking this now? Is that what Willie had paid her for? Information on him?
“I was a bartender before Prohibition, believe it or not. And I’ve done a few odd jobs here and there since then.”
“So running a speakeasy must have come naturally to you.”
