By Starlight (9 page)

Outside the Belvedere, Jack ran a hand through his dark hair and stared up at the thin moon; it was little more than a sliver surrounded by tens of thousands of stars. While he watched, a comet streaked across the sky, a brief trail of light that was there one instant and gone the next, making him smile; he’d spent so many years in cities that he’d forgotten how beautiful the night heavens could be.

A surprising chill in the air, especially for June, caused Jack to rub his arms for warmth. He’d left his jacket back in the hotel, along with his Bureau-issued pistol; even in his wildest of hopes, he couldn’t imagine that he’d have reason to use it his first night back in town. Besides, now that he was outside, he wasn’t going back; he’d manage without either.

Leaving the hotel, Jack walked to Main Street and turned north. He passed the barbershop where he used to get his hair cut, the bakery where he used to purchase sweet cakes by the bagful, and the church where his father made him sing in the choir. Other than a new coat of paint here or a tree grown taller there, Colton remained just as he’d left it.

Because of the late hour, Jack had expected to have the sidewalks to himself and was therefore surprised when he heard bits of conversation and laughter grow steadily stronger from the other side of the street. Quickly he ducked into the dark shadows of the alleyway between the library and Wallace Narveson’s shoe shop and watched. Soon a couple appeared at the intersection farther up the street. Seconds later a pair of men followed, one smoking a cigar as the other smacked him playfully on the back, their laughter carrying up into the night sky. All of them were headed in the same direction; they crossed the street before disappearing somewhere ahead of Jack.

What in the hell’s going on here…?

Jack had worked undercover for the Bureau of Prohibition long enough to know when something looked strange.

Why are four people out walking in the middle of the night? Where could they possibly be going? One couple might have been believable, but two…

What he was seeing just didn’t add up. It was this sort of hunch that had led to his success working undercover, to the arrest of dozens of criminals, and had never steered him wrong. Jack would’ve bet his badge they were headed for a speakeasy.

If his memory served him right, they would have turned at the corner opposite of where the bank stood. If he hurried, he’d be able to catch up and stay in the shadows until they showed him where they—

Suddenly Jack stopped dead in his tracks. Farther ahead of him, moving quickly in his direction on the same side of the sidewalk, was a woman. She was far enough away that he couldn’t make out any of her features, especially considering that she was walking with her head down, but he knew, he just
knew
, that it was Maddy. It might’ve been the way she moved, something about the sway of her hair, he couldn’t have known for certain, but he was convinced he was looking at the woman he’d loved and who had once loved him.

The woman came closer and closer, but Jack remained frozen in place, unsure of what he should do. His instincts told him to hide, to watch her as he’d watched the others, but there was also a part of him that wanted to walk toward her, that wished to see her face and hear her voice again. It was this indecision that made it impossible to move.

But then the woman made the decision for him; just like the others, she turned ahead of him and was lost to sight.

This time, Jack began running, his feet pounding the sidewalk.

MADDY GLANCED UP
at the clock on top of the bank and cursed herself for being late. A trickle of a breeze blew down Main Street, rustling store signs and pushing a discarded newspaper. Though it was early summer and the days were warm enough to make men pull out their handkerchiefs and wipe their brows, the nights remained cool; Maddy was so chilled that she shivered, pulling her wrap tighter around her shoulders.

Even as she quickened her step, Maddy frowned; she knew there would be customers milling about outside the mercantile, waiting for her to open the door. She’d noticed people out and about, something that was no longer a strange occurrence after midnight in Colton; no doubt they were on the way to her illegal tavern. But even though Sheriff Utley had given her and Jeffers his word that he’d look the other way as long as things at the speakeasy didn’t get out of hand, she hadn’t been able to erase her worry that they were about to be found out, that it was all about to come crashing down around their heads. She half-expected her comeuppance to leap out of the dark shadows all around her, like a pack of wild dogs or a monster; even now, she felt as if she was being watched.

The worst part of all the sordid business she’d gotten herself involved with was that Maddy had come to rely on the money the bar provided. With business at the store growing steadily worse, being able to care for her family was becoming harder and harder. Jeffers had been right when he’d shown her the huge stack of bills; it had made some of her problems go away.

Too bad the money can’t make me happy.

Maddy was exhausted, filled with a weariness she felt in her bones. She spent so much time trying to make everyone else happy that there wasn’t any time left over for her. This night had been particularly trying. All she wanted was to sleep, to close the door to her room and somehow forget her burdens, just for one night. But that was a dream, a fantasy that could never become real. So here she was, trudging on, knowing she could never turn back; too much was depending on her.

There was no use complaining. She’d made a deal with the devil; it wasn’t as if she’d never expected to get burned.

Jack raced around the corner at a run, stopping to stare into the darkness of the street before him. He’d expected to see the woman he still believed to be Maddy walking away from him, but there was nothing except the deep, impenetrable shadows that blanketed the town. Glancing quickly toward the opposite side of the street, he only found more gloom.

Where in the heck did she go?

Slowly, Jack’s eyes began to make out details in the dark: the weather-beaten sign that hung above the door to Hagen’s Diner; a Ford Tudor parked along the street, a couple of dented milk canisters strapped to its luggage rack; and an old mutt that stopped to look at him while crossing the street. From somewhere ahead of him came the faint sound of laughter, but because of the way the road intersected up ahead he couldn’t tell if it was coming from his left or his right. There was no sign of the woman.

There was only one thing he could do; he had to make a choice. There wasn’t time to waver. If he was going to reach her, discover whether it really was Maddy, he had to—

“Jack?” a man’s voice asked from the darkness just beside him. “Jack Rucker? That you?”

Jack froze; hearing his name, as well as the closeness of the sound, unsettled him. For an instant, it felt he’d been found out, that his identity as an agent for the Bureau of Prohibition had been discovered and he was in grave danger. He knew the reason for his fear was that he was using his name, his
real
name, for the first time; usually, he was Eli Carter, Lawrence Scott, “Foggy” Murdock, or some other alias he slipped into as easily as a raincoat. Now, he felt vulnerable. Desperately, he tried to put on his mask, to become the land purchaser’s man, but he knew he looked startled.

From the thick shadows beneath the barbershop’s awning a figure emerged into the scant starlight and slowly began to walk toward him. It was a man, so shockingly thin that he resembled a scarecrow, with wild, scruffy hair and an equally unkempt beard. As he came closer, he was slightly hunched over, his head moving from side to side as if he were a bird peering at a crumb.

“By God,” the man said. “That
is
you, ain’t it…?”

The stranger stopped short just a few feet away, his face split by a broad grin. A glimmer of recognition flared in Jack’s memory; though the man’s face was rough around the edges, lined and worn, they had to have been about the same age. Jack struggled to remember the man’s name, came tantalizingly close, but the right one stayed just out of reach.

“Yeah,” Jack answered, giving a wide smile, “it’s me.”

“I’m startin’ to wonder if I ain’t dreamin’.” The stranger chuckled. “You’ve been gone for years.”

“I just got back this morning.”

Though he still couldn’t remember the man’s name, Jack began to recall memories of when they’d been younger; back then, the stranger had been somewhat chubby, an awkward boy who hadn’t made friends easily. Jack had a faint recollection of watching him sit on the shore of the Clark River, eating mud pies and grinning like—

Got it!

“Heck,” the stranger said, smirking. “It’s been so long since you’ve been in these parts I bet you don’t even remember my name—”

“Clayton Newmar,” Jack said quickly, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. “How could I ever forget?”

Clayton smiled brightly; in that instant, Jack saw him as he’d been years before, a child beside the river, mud smeared all over his face. “I was just funnin’ ya.” He chuckled. “I knew you wouldn’ta put me out of your mind! Not after bein’ friends all them years!”

“You got that right,” Jack replied, going along with it.

“But what in the hell’re you doin’ here?” Clayton asked. “I figured you weren’t ever comin’ back this way.”

“Business,” Jack answered simply, instinctively knowing that if he offered any more, it would be lost on Clayton; maybe later, once word got around about the money that could be made, he might throw his line out to see if the man bit.

“I was so excited to be home that I couldn’t sleep,” Jack continued. “I thought I might walk around a bit, see what had changed.”

“Ain’t nothin’ in this town’s changed much.” Clayton shrugged. “A few folks’ve died and a few others are busy havin’ babies, but it’s still the same ole dull place it ever was.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Jack said quickly, somewhat surprised that he’d actually meant it, “but having been gone for so long, I suppose you’d know better than me. So tell me, what passes for fun in Colton these days?”

Clayton looked him over, his brow knitted and his lips pursed, as if he was weighing a decision. “I’m wonderin’ if you’re the same fella you were when you was a kid,” he said, his voice low, a conspiratorial whisper. “You still the trustworthy type…the sort who can keep a secret?”

“Of course,” Jack answered.

Clayton nodded. “Thing is,” he began, taking a look over his shoulder at the dark and deserted street, “somethin’s new in town and it’s more’n a bit fun; it’s just that—”

Instantly, with Clayton’s words hanging in the air between them, Jack knew exactly what the man was going to say.
I know it!
It had happened to him too many times before for him not to understand. But he still had to play along; raising an eyebrow, he tried to look curious, as well as a bit clueless, with a touch of excited thrown in for good measure.

“Do you do any drinkin’?” Clayton finally asked.

“You mean alcohol?”

“That’s the only kind far as I’m concerned,” he answered, his face lighting up a bit in the faint starlight. “So do you?”

“I used to,” Jack replied, growing comfortable in the role he’d played many times before. “But isn’t it illegal now on account of Prohibition?”

“Don’t tell me you agree with all that claptrap,” Clayton hissed, his voice tempered in volume but not disgust.

“No, no, of course not,” Jack said quickly. “It’s just that the new law makes it harder to get, is all.”

For Jack, the most difficult, delicate part of working undercover was gaining the trust of the very people he meant to arrest or, as in this case, someone who could lead him to them. Most were rightfully paranoid, unwilling to give that trust to anyone, yet Jack had to somehow make them believe that he should be brought into their confidence. Therefore, he had to be authentic. On the one hand, he couldn’t seem ignorant of the law; he had to voice his concerns and fears of being caught and his awareness of the consequences. On the other hand, he had to look interested, to be able to commiserate about the unfairness of the law or his own love of drink. Too far one way or the other could spoil everything.

“Truth is, I’ve always fancied a glass of whiskey,” he added.

“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout!” Clayton exclaimed, slapping Jack’s shoulder so hard he was sure it would bruise. “Now what if I told you that glass of whiskey was just a short walk away?”

“But how…?” Jack asked.

“You’ve heard ’bout them taverns been openin’ in all the big cities…speakeasies, they call ’em,” Clayton explained. “Well, now we got one right here in Colton.”

“You don’t say…,” Jack said; he’d hit the jackpot.

“It’s supposed to be kept quiet, kind of a secret I suppose, but seein’ as you’re back in town, no one’s gonna be upset I told ya.”

“Where is it?”

“Come with me and I’ll show ya!”

For a moment, Jack thought about the woman he’d been pursuing. Until Clayton had surprised him, he’d been convinced it was Maddy, but now, the more he thought about it, he was certain it had been wishful thinking. Why would Maddy have been out so late at night? It wasn’t as if she was going to the speakeasy. Whoever it had been, she was long gone; besides,
this
was what he’d been sent to Colton to do.

“How far away is it?” Jack asked.

“Quit askin’ so many questions and follow me.” Clayton laughed. “You’re gonna feel like you never left home! And since you’ll be so happy ’bout it, only seems fair that you’re the one buyin’ the first round!”

“Deal,” Jack said, chuckling.

As they headed off into the gloomy streets, Jack thought about how, once again, his luck hadn’t steered him wrong.

Clayton led the way down Colton’s darkened sidewalks and then suddenly darted into an alley. The gloom was even deeper there, with only a sliver of stars visible in the sky high above. Jack had to stay close to his companion as he took one turn, then another, and then yet another, for fear he’d be left behind. It didn’t take long before he had no idea where they were; it was like being in a twisting maze.

Suddenly Clayton stopped. Before them, a faint light shone above stone steps that led down to a cellar. Jack felt lost; as he looked around, he had a nagging feeling that it was familiar, but try as he might, he still couldn’t place it.

“Here we are,” Clayton announced.

“Down there?” Jack asked, still playing along.

Clayton smiled. “Just a few short steps and you can have that drink that’s bein’ unfairly denied to you. Come on.”

At the bottom of the cellar stairs, a thick door blocked their way. Clayton rapped on it a couple of times, which was followed by the sound of a lock being slid back, and then the door opened a crack. From inside, a young man’s scraggly, frowning face regarded them warily. Voices, laughter, and the faint strains of music drifted from over his shoulder.

“Who in the hell’d you bring with you, Clayton?” the man asked.

“Oh, come on now, Sumner.” Clayton chuckled. “You ain’t so young you really don’t know who this is, are ya?”

Sumner looked closer at Jack, his eyes narrowing further, his frown growing deeper. Jack tried a soft smile, but it only seemed to make matters worse. “I ain’t never seen him before in my life.”

“It’s Jack!” Clayton exclaimed. “Jack Rucker!”

“Nice to meet you,” Jack offered, but there was no reply.

“You ain’t supposed to be flappin’ your gums ’bout what goes on here,” Sumner chided Jack’s newly rediscovered companion. “When Jeffers finds out, there’s gonna be hell to pay.”

Jack knew exactly who Sumner was talking about. Jeffers Grimm had been a nasty piece of work back when Jack lived in Colton; he imagined that the passing years had done nothing to improve the man. He was violent, seedy, and far from above doing something illegal to make some money. If there really was someone running booze over the border, Jeffers would have to be involved. Anyone who got involved with him would be just as guilty, as well as a fool.

“He ain’t gonna like that you was talkin’,” Sumner continued.

Clayton looked into the illegal tavern. “Where is Jeffers anyway? He’s usually right here beside you—”

“He’s got business to take care of, so he left me in charge,” Sumner said with no small measure of pride. “When he gets back and I tell him what’s been happenin’, he ain’t gonna like it one bit.”

But Clayton didn’t appear much concerned about the warning. “What Jeffers ain’t gonna like is that you’ve got two fellas wantin’ to wet their whistles, who got money burnin’ a hole in their pockets, and you’re too paranoid to open the damn door! Come on, now! We’re thirsty!”

There must have been a grain of truth to Clayton’s words; though he was clearly unhappy about it, Sumner pulled the door open wide enough for Jack and Clayton to slip through before slamming it loudly shut behind them. Up close, he looked far younger to Jack’s eyes, little more than a kid. When they left him, Sumner was grumbling to himself.

“Now this is more like it!” Clayton crowed.

The speakeasy was much like a dozen others Jack had been sent to investigate, ramshackle furniture hastily arranged to provide some measure of comfort to those who sought to enjoy what the law said they could no longer consume, all done in the dead of night, under dim lighting, and through a haze of tobacco smoke. Jack could only see the far end of the bar where the record player stood, but it, too, looked to have been cobbled together.

“I still don’t know where we are,” Jack said.