Page 9 of Romancing the Rumrunner
“I’m afraid I can’t give you time to think about this. We need an answer now.”
“And when would this job start?”
“Immediately.”
“Details?”
Jameson smiled, probably figuring he had him where he wanted him. Tony kept his grimace to himself. Let the man think whatever he wanted.
“We recently shut down a speakeasy not far from where Miss Harlan’s shop is located. We’ll set you up as the owner—with the same employees, and start spreading word around town that your joint is the hot new one to frequent.”
Tony’s eyes widened. “You’re going to run your own speakeasy in order to catch this guy? Shaving the legal line a little thin there, aren’t you?”
“We’ve gotten permission from the higher ups. For a short time.”
“They must really be desperate to get this guy.”
“Aside from the fact that he’s breaking half a dozen or so laws, he’s Willie’s new favorite hobby. That means we could have a full-scale territory war on our hands. I don’t care if a bunch of rumrunners kill themselves. Saves me the trouble of hauling them in. But they could potentially take out a lot of innocent people and terrorize the entire city in the process. The last thing we want is a massacre on our hands or widespread panic if these gangsters start shooting it out in the streets. If we have to sell some very watered-down booze to prevent that from happening, well, it’s a necessary evil. However, we do have a ticking clock on this.”
Tony’s stomach sank. “And exactly how fast is it ticking?”
“You’ve got a month.”
Tony laughed out loud. “A month. To bring this dame in, get her to trust me enough to spill her guts about her boyfriend, find him and his rumrunning operation, and gather enough evidence to shut the place down and lock him up for good.”
Jameson crossed his arms over his chest and smiled. “That’s right. The speakeasy we seized was only down for a few nights. The patrons think it was just a normal raid and business is back to usual. We’ve quietly spread the word that it’s under new management, and the new owner, you, will be making an appearance shortly. So all you need to do is get the dame in line.”
Tony leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms, locking his fingers behind his head. “You’re out of your mind.”
“What’s the matter, Tony? Don’t think you can do it? What happened to that first class reputation of yours? Wasn’t too long ago all you had to do was look at a lady to have her offering up every secret she ever had on a silver platter. Losing your touch?”
Tony dropped his arms, his body going tense again. “This isn’t some regular dame. According to you, she’s the girl of one of the best rumrunners in the city. I’m sure she’s wise to any games cops wanna play.”
“Well, then,” Jameson said, standing up and straightening his jacket. “I guess you’ll just have to come up with some new games. Of course, if The Corkscrew is successful enough, starts hurting his bottom line, that alone might draw the Phoenix out. If not…”
“If I can’t draw him out for poaching his business, you want me to draw him out by poaching his dame.”
Tony scowled and Jameson lost the smile. “I can try and buy you some more time. But it won’t be much.”
Tony nodded. “Anything you can get would be helpful.”
Jameson opened the door. “I’ll expect bi-weekly reports from you. And if you get anything of importance, come to me immediately.”
Tony frowned, hating to be back under Jameson’s command. But he saw the check sitting on the desk and nodded.
He felt like he was selling his soul to the devil, but if it would get his career back on track, and set his mother up for whatever time she had left, then the devil had himself a new partner.
Chapter Four
Jessie looked out over the crowded club with a sense of satisfaction and pride. There was no electricity in the tunnels, and she liked it that way. The flickering candles and gas lamps she used created an air of sensuous mystery while helping to keep everyone safe from the Feds at the same time.
The Red Phoenix had never actually been raided, but it had come close a time or two. Close enough that Jessie had cleared the place out, just to be safe. Instead of clanging alarms or flashing lights, the lamps at The Red Phoenix were quickly extinguished until only the large mining lantern set on a pole near the entrance and the candles on the tables were left. Patrons were encouraged to take the candles with them to help light the way while one of the band members would grab the lantern and lead them out through the tunnels.
Those who quit flapping their lips and followed quickly and quietly were led to safety, through the tunnels and out one of the many exits. Those who panicked and tried to flee back through the entrance were the ones who got pinched. After the first time this happened, word had spread that if you wanted to get out, you shut up and followed the big light.
The rest of the band members and crew would stash the “bar”—old doors set on casks of gin—back against the wall, and the remaining casks that served as tables were left where they sat strewn haphazardly about the room. If the Feds arrived, they’d find nothing but an empty storage room. One that, thanks to the winding tunnels, they had no idea sat just below Jessie’s shop.
The stage where the band played had proved the only problem until Joe had come up with the ingenious solution of putting it on rolling castors that could be locked into place when they played. The stage was positioned near the entrance to one of the bricked-up tunnels that was closed off with a metal gate. The lock on the gate had been easy enough to pick and during business hours it was left open. Afterward, or during a raid, the entire stage could be shoved into the tunnel, covered with old tarps, and locked back up behind the metal gate, appearing, for all the world, like another heap of forgotten junk.
