Page 37 of Romancing the Rumrunner
Then again, Tony wouldn’t be the first bootlegger the agent had invited to a civilized lunch so they could discuss “business.” It gave him the chance to let the enemy know he was keeping an eye on things, do a little light interrogating in a non-threatening environment, while allowing him to charge a free lunch to the Feds’ bill. Jessie had been invited to just such a lunch in the not-too-distant past. It didn’t necessarily mean Tony was on Jameson’s side.
But it didn’t look good.
Jessie took a deep breath past the lump in her throat. She was taking this too personally. She’d suspected Tony was in cahoots with Jameson, had known Tony was only interested in her for her connection to the Phoenix. Still, thinking you knew something and being confronted with proof were two entirely different things. Especially in light of her growing feelings for him. Feelings that she needed to bump off before she got in way over her head.
“Where are you going now, you little rat fink?” she muttered to herself, her eyes narrowing as Tony hurried across the road to her side of the street.
She hadn’t meant to follow him. She’d been out running a few errands when she’d seen him huddled over a cuppa joe with that sniveling excuse for a man, Jameson. And the sight had hurt far more than she’d expected. He certainly seemed like he was in a rush now. Jessie set off after him before she made the conscious decision to do so.
She followed him several blocks, the shops and apartment buildings getting more dilapidated as they went, until finally he turned down an alley between two of the tenements. She slowed up as she reached the corner, peeking around cautiously to see where he’d gone.
Tony was leaning over to kiss the head of an old woman who was sitting on a chair outside her stoop. About ten feet away. Jessie ducked back around the corner, but the old woman had spotted her, for sure. Maybe she wouldn’t say anything. Jessie turned to hurry off, just in case.
No such luck.
“Jessie?” Tony’s curious and highly displeased voice stopped her in her tracks.
She turned back around, head held high. He was the one who had some explaining to do. She was not going to apologize.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, I just…” She sighed. So much for not apologizing. Well, no point in trying to lie her way out of this one, even if she could. Evading, she could do. Lying, she wasn’t so good at.
“I was just running some errands and saw you…”
Tony’s eyebrow popped up, his face hardening, though the expression looked more defensive than accusatory.
“I saw you walking this way and thought I’d say hi.”
His face relaxed a bit. “Why didn’t you call out?”
The better question was why didn’t she admit she’d seen him with Jameson? She wasn’t sure herself. “Well, I wasn’t sure it was you, so…”
“Anthony? Who is your friend?”
Jessie peeked around Tony’s barrel of a chest. The old woman stood at the corner of the building, leaning on a cane, her white hair pulled back in a bun that was doing a lousy job of keeping her hair in order.
“Ma,” Tony said, immediately turning to take her arm, “you’ll tire yourself out. Go back and sit down.” He began to lead her back to her stoop but she pulled back to look at Jessie.
“Why don’t you bring your lady friend?”
Tony looked at Jessie almost helplessly and Jessie couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Solomon.”
Tony shot her an exasperated look but didn’t protest when she followed him back down the clothesline strewn alleyway to his mother’s stoop.
“Let’s go inside, Anthony. It’ll be much more comfortable for a little visit.”
Tony had a pained look on his face, but again he didn’t argue, just obeyed without comment. It was all Jessie could do to keep her amazement to herself. Her arrogant, bootlegging boss had turned into an obedient, albeit reluctant, mama’s boy.
Tony helped his mother up the steps that led into the building and into the first apartment just inside the door. Jessie followed them into a sparse but well-kept apartment.
“Please, sit down, deary,” Mrs. Solomon said, pointing at a threadbare armchair set up opposite an equally ragged sofa.
“How about a nice cup of tea?”
“Oh, I don’t want to be any trouble.”
“Nonsense! Anthony will get us all set up. He’s quite handy in the kitchen.”
