Page 5 of Romancing the Rumrunner
Jessie waited until he’d exited the shop, then followed behind him and locked the door, flipping her sign toClosed. She sighed with relief and finished tidying up for the night. She hadn’t lied to Jameson. She wasn’t selling any liquor out of the store.Underthe store was a different matter, altogether.
She’d taken as many precautions as she could to keep her secrets. And they’d paid off. The Feds had never been able to connect The Red Phoenix directly to her. A situation helped by the fact that while the speakeasy was technically located beneath her shop, the public entrance was not.
Jessie had lucked out when she’d stumbled upon the network of old tunnels under her father’s shop. While moving some stock in their cellar one night, she’d found a trapdoor. She’d taken the first opportunity to explore it. The narrow steps led to a tunnel that opened into a network of tunnels and a series of chambers. They must have been part of an old building that had been where her father’s shop now stood.
Jessie had been immediately enchanted. The old stone was beautiful, with arched doorways and odd nooks and crannies cropping up now and then. Several other tunnels led off the rooms. Two had been bricked off. But one led to the street above, opening into a wide alleyway a block away from the butcher shop and a few others led to various alleyways in the neighborhood.
It was the perfect setup. The main room was large enough for a decent sized club, and the stone walls and the fact that it was underground, created enough of a sound barrier that nothing could be heard on the streets above. A few smaller chambers were used for storage and an office. The tunnel that led to the cellar in her shop was located in her office and she was the only one who knew of its existence.
The Feds could sit and watch her butcher shop all night long if they chose. And they had, a few times. They’d never see anything untoward occurring on the premises. Her speakeasy clientele would never step foot inside, except perhaps to buy meat…and for a penny, discover when The Red Phoenix would be open for business. Her private entrance to the club also meant that she could come and go as she pleased without anyone seeing her. The fact that her apartment was located above the shop meant no one questioned if they didn’t see her leave. All of which allowed her to keep the identity of the Phoenix a secret.
When her father died, she’d tried to keep the butcher shop running, but she had lost a lot of clientele and she needed money to keep things going. Selling off a few cases of her father’s gin had brought in some funds, but it had been too dangerous to sell in such quantities. And it had limited her source of income.
With the presence of the tunnels, opening a speakeasy had been the natural decision to make. After all, what else could a girl do with a secret underground paradise and a storeroom full of liquor? The speakeasy brought in more than enough to keep the shop running. She didn’t have to even keep the shop open any longer. But closing it would spark too many questions and cost her the system of alerting speakeasy customers. Besides, it had been her father’s shop. She’d never get rid of it.
But it was nice not having to rely on its income to keep bread on the table. Jameson was right, though. Her clientele had dropped lately, and not just in the shop. She’d noticed fewer patrons in the club the last few weeks. She’d heard of another speakeasy nearby that was under new management and doing quite well for itself.
Which made her wary, and curious, about who was poaching on her territory.
Chapter Three
Tony sat at his desk, shuffling through a stack of the most tedious paperwork he’d ever had the displeasure of filling out. And that was saying something. He’d filled out his share of tiresome reports when he was a cop. But they, at least, had been real cases. This one…Tony sighed. Another cheating husband and another wife who already knew, but wanted Tony to prove it. It sickened him.
He’d been on the fast track to becoming a federal agent and he’d been one of the youngest and most respected detectives on the police force. He was everything the Bureau of Investigation looked for in a new recruit. Until it had all blown up in his face.
A gust of wind blew the stack of papers off Tony’s desk and he swore while he gathered them up. He swore even louder when he saw the reason for the breeze.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked the man who stood in his doorway.
“Now, that’s no way to greet an old friend, is it?”
“You’re no friend of mine, Jameson.”
Jameson scowled and pulled out the seat on the opposite side of Tony’s desk.
“Go ahead, have a seat,” Tony said, scowling and slumping back into his own chair.
He glared at Jameson. Other than the run-in in front of the butcher dame’s shop, they hadn’t seen each other in almost two years, and Tony had no desire to see the man now.
“So, what do you want?”
“Always direct, aren’t you?”
Tony shrugged. “No point in lollygagging. Spill it.”
“I’ve got a job for you.”
“I’ve got enough jobs,” Tony said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.
“Not one like this.”
Tony cocked an eyebrow. “And why is that?”
“This one’ll pay three times what any of those mediocre jobs are paying.”
“Sure, I’ll just have to sell my soul to do it. If it’s somethingyoudon’t want to dirty your hands with, what makes you think I’d want to do it?”
Jameson arched his own brow and Tony tried to rein in the anger that threatened to choke him. Once upon a time, Jameson had been a mentor, of sorts, but he’d been a weaselly little snot then…and he still was. The difference was, Tony didn’t have to put up with him anymore. “Get the hell out of my office, Jameson.”
