High Spirits [Spirits 03] (30 page)

      
“Are there only going to be four of us?” I asked, feeling nervous. I didn’t like to perform for so small a group. Mind you, I didn’t like too large a group, either, but a particularly small group meant that I had to be more mindful than ever of my act because there were fewer distractions present for the attendees.

      
“There a problem wit dat?” Maggiori asked, grumbling slightly in his oily base.

      
Maintaining my serene demeanor through sheer force of will, I said, “Séances work better with six to eight people.” I had a dazzling idea then. “Perhaps Mr. Kincaid and Mr. Farrington can join us. They’re both excellent conduits.”

      
Maggiori squinted at me. “Huh?”

      
“They’re both receptive to the spirits,” I explained. I know, because I’ve practiced so long and so hard at my craft, that I betrayed none of my inner turmoil. Inside, my heart was hammering like a woodpecker after a grub, and I felt lightheaded.

      
“Yeah?” Maggiori cocked his head to one side and appeared thoughtful.

      
“It would be better to have six,” I said again, quivering like Jell-O gelatin internally, but sounding self-confident and tranquil. I was actually rather proud of myself for not crumpling into a sobbing heap on the floor of that despicable room.

      
Maggiori jerked a nod at Jinx. “Go get them faggots, Jinx.”

      
Faggots. Hmm. Maggiori and Jinx could learn a lot about decency and morality from Harold and Del, darn it. I didn’t say so. “Thank you.”

      
The room was silent as Jinx went to dig up Harold and Del. He came back alone. “They’re already gone, boss.”

      
Curse it
.

      
“Well, grab another couple of people then,” Maggiori growled, sounding as if he needed a lube job on his vocal chords.

      
And it was entirely my own fault. If there was one thing I
didn’t
want, it was to irritate Vicenzo Maggiori. I thought about apologizing but decided against it. After all, I was merely performing according to my profession, and if Maggiori thought I was a prima donna, he’d be less apt to call on me in the future.

      
Not, of course, that there would
be
any future calls from Maggiori since tonight was the end of it all.

      
That thought braced me minimally as we waited for Jinx to return with two kidnapped customers. I hoped they wouldn’t be under the influence of alcohol because it’s difficult to conduct a séance, which is supposed to be serious business, with people giggling in the background. Not for the first, or even the thousandth, time, I wished I’d kept my fat mouth shut.

      
But I needn’t have worried—about inebriation, anyhow. When Jinx returned, he bore with him two of Maggiori’s ruffians. Both of them looked as if they’d never allow a giggle to pass their lips. They also looked as if they’d rather be shooting somebody than attending a séance, but at least there were now six of us. Goody gumdrops.

      
“Sit down there and keep your mugs buttoned,” Maggiori said to the two men, gesturing at the table. “You, Marco, sit there. Giovanni, sit there.”

      
This meant that I would, again, be seated between Maggiori and Jinx, and Flossie would be one thug down from me on my right. I was glad to know she was there, even if I couldn’t hold on to her for support.

      
“That all right now?” Maggiori asked me. I detected no sarcasm in his voice, although I couldn’t be sure.

      
“Very good,” I said, aiming for a mystical tone.

      
Then I sat, too, and went through my usual rigmarole, telling everyone to hold hands and be silent because the spirits couldn’t come unless the mood was properly set. The two newcomers looked at each other and one of them sneered, but they held hands. When I took Maggiori’s hand, I felt as though I were gripping a serpent. When I took Jinx’s hand, I
knew
I was clasping the paw of a truly evil person. I said, “You may now turn out the lights.”

      
The room went dark.

      
It didn’t take as long to get into the swing of the séance as it had the first time I’d done this for these people, probably because I anticipated the end of it all—one way or another. I still didn’t believe Sam was correct in that nothing bad would happen during the raid. All I knew, or hoped for at any rate, was that Peter Frye wouldn’t be able to tip off the bad guys that the good guys were going to bust in.

      
I must say that Rolly had remarkably little trouble communicating with Mr. Maggiori’s Sicilian great-grandmother that evening, in spite of the fact that Rolly was made-up, and she was dead, and they both spoke different languages.

      
See, this is yet another thing I don’t understand about spiritualism. Say that it’s marginally possible to communicate with someone who lived a thousand years ago, like Rolly was supposed to have done. The English language is different now than it was then, even if Rolly, being from Scotland, would have spoken English, and I don’t think he would have because didn’t they speak Gaelic then? And these people who claim to raise long-dead Egyptian princesses as their controls, wouldn’t said controls be speaking in ancient Egyptian or something?

      
The whole thing is so clearly ridiculous, it floors me that I still have a job.

      
However, that’s not the point. Rolly and Mr. Maggiori’s great-grandmother, whose last name was also Maggiori, although her first name was Bella, were blabbing away like nobody’s business when the police
finally
broke down the front door of the joint and screams erupted from the front part of the speakeasy. It was probably a good thing since Grandma Bella had just told her great-grandson that she thought it was a shame he couldn’t go into a legitimate line of work, and Maggiori had just uttered a low growl. I don’t know why I do things like that. Death wish, maybe.

      
But that’s neither here nor there.

      
A tremendous crash resounded through the place. We even heard it in the séance room, although it was supposed to be soundproofed. On either side of me, Maggiori and Jinx leaped to their feet.

      
I think it was Jinx who said, “Shit!”

      
Maggiori bellowed, “Frye, you’re a dead man!”

      
The door burst open, and instead of one of Maggiori’s mugs, a herd of uniformed policemen rushed into the room.

      
I guess it was Jinx who hauled out a machine gun from God knows where. I only caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye, shrieked, “
Flossie!”
and reached over and grabbed her by the arm. We both hit the floor just as all hell broke loose.

Chapter Seventeen
 

I’ve never heard such a racket, and hope never to hear one like it again. Jinx must have been standing right over us when he jammed his finger on that infernal machine-gun trigger because not only did plaster and people start falling like hail, but so did very hot shells which, I presume, were ejected from Jinx’s gun.

      
“Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God!” That was Flossie, and I didn’t hear her until she was about a hundred “Oh, my Gods” into her litany.

      
We’d both covered our heads, and I don’t know about Flossie, but I started praying like mad. I guess she was praying, too, come to think of it.

      
I’m not sure how long the chaos lasted. My ears were still ringing when I realized the gunfire had stopped. Plaster dust and smoke and I don’t know what all else still filled the air. Through the ringing in my ears, I finally made out the sounds of human voices.

      
Since I wasn’t sure if the voices were coming from the good guys or the bad guys, I stayed down, although I turned my head to see if Flossie was still with me.

      
She was, which I would have known already, if my brains weren’t so rattled. Heck, I still held her hand. She squinted at me through the haze. “You okay?”

      
I’m sure that’s what she said, although I didn’t really hear her, due to the aforementioned ear problem. I nodded. “You?” Inside my head, my voice sounded like I was speaking into a barrel.

      
She nodded, then winced. There was a lot of rubble on top of us.

      
And then I felt a large body looming above me. Said large body bent over and grabbed my arm. “Get up, you,” it growled.

      
At first I thought it was one of Maggiori’s goons. I staggered to my feet, plaster dust and bullet casings flying far and wide as I rose. It was then I realized it wasn’t one of Maggiori’s felons who’d grasped my wrist, but none other than Sam Rotondo. In the flesh. From the corner of my eye, I realized another police officer was helping Flossie to her feet. Hmm. Sam hadn’t bothered being that gentle with me, curse him.

      
“S-sam,” I stuttered.

      
“Shut up, you,” said Sam.

      
I was so stunned by his gruff, uncivil tone of voice that I shut up.

      
What the heck was going on here? I was supposed to be a heroine, wasn’t I? You wouldn’t know it by Sam’s rough handling. He turned me around, grabbed my arms, and darned if he didn’t slap handcuffs on me! “Hey!” I bellowed.

      
He leaned over and hissed into my ear. “Shut up, dammit. I’ve got to make this look legit. You don’t want those goons to think you’re in on this, do you?”

      
Oh. He had a point there.

      
Thus it was that I endured the humiliation of being handcuffed by Billy’s best friend. When my head finally stopped spinning, although my ears still rang, I glanced around the room. Flossie was in handcuffs, too, and she was crying. Poor kid. I shot a fulminating glance at Sam, who still held my arm. He gave me a curt nod, which I interpreted as meaning Flossie wasn’t going to be locked up. If I’d interpreted that nod wrong, Sam Rotondo was going to pay dearly.

      
My eyes watered from the gun smoke and the plaster dust, and I couldn’t rub them since my hands were cuffed, so I blinked hard several times and looked around some more.

      
All things considered, the scenario was promising. Jinx Jenkins was on the ground, blood leaking from a hole in him somewhere—I hoped it was somewhere fatal. He was swearing a blue streak, but the copper who’d cuffed him didn’t seem to care a whole lot.

      
Vicenzo Maggiori stood at the far wall, also cuffed. I hadn’t realized a complexion as dark as his could appear so pasty. Several of his underlings sat against the wall, their hands behind their backs, I presume handcuffed, and a couple of them bleeding from various cuts and gashes. The police contingent looked amazingly unscathed, albeit dusty as all get-out.

      
“Let me go to Flossie, Sam,” I muttered under my breath. I could scarcely hear myself and hoped my ears would stop ringing soon.

      
“Be quiet,” he growled.

      
Boy, that made me mad! “I will
not
be quiet, curse you! You take me ...” He slapped a hand over my mouth, and darned if he didn’t lift me right off my feet and carry me over to where Flossie stood, still weeping pitifully. He dumped me none too gently on my feet, and I’d have hollered at him except that what little common sense I possess came to the fore then, and his comment about not wanting Maggiori to know I was in on the raid registered on my feeble brain.

      
Therefore, after giving him as furious a scowl as I could muster, I shut up about his brutal treatment of me and started in on comforting Flossie.

      
“It’ll be all right, Flossie,” I said, hoping I was right.

      
“I-I know. I’m just s-so scared, D-Daisy.”

      
“Yeah. I know. So am I.”

      
I glanced once more at Maggiori and his crew. I felt a little better when I saw the calm and collected contingent of uniformed police officers taking care of business in an orderly manner. Sam, I noticed, stood at the far wall, talking to another man in plain clothes. His captain, maybe? Some Pasadena politician? I didn’t know, but they seemed very serious as they gabbed. At one point they both glanced at me with frowns on their faces, and my fear spiked.

      
Sam wasn’t going to renege on his promise to me, was he? If he did, what would I do? Oh, Lord, I wished I were home.

      
But I didn’t get home until a long, long time later. In fact, it was the wee hours of the morning before Sam finally drove Flossie and me to my lovely family bungalow on Marengo Avenue. I could hardly walk, I was so exhausted. And not only that ...

      
“Darn you, Sam Rotondo, my wrists hurt. I think they’re bruised from those stupid handcuffs.”

      
“They probably are,” he said with a grunt. “That’s what usually happens.”

      
Well, really! “For heaven’s sake, we were on your side. I don’t know why you had to handcuff us, darn it,” I muttered, even though Sam had carefully explained that he’d wanted Flossie and me to look as if we were being picked up in the raid along with Maggiori’s folks because he didn’t want us to become targets.

      
Targets. Oh, boy.

      
“Yes, you do,” Sam snarled.

      
Yes, I did. That didn’t make me any less truculent. “And poor Flossie! She doesn’t even have a place to stay any longer.”