Flirtinis with Flappers (8 page)

I glanced around the room. How the heck was I supposed to figure out what to wear? I had no idea what made up an acceptable day outfit and what was only for night. Stupid FBI, sending me back in time without letting me Google "twenties fashion" first. And I certainly wasn't going to ask The Rat's advice. He'd get way too much joy from the idea of teaching me Fashion 101, little fuzzy know-it-all that he was.

Then my eyes fell upon my salvation, lying innocently on the coffee table. A magazine. I grabbed it and paged through, checking out the various outfits on the movie stars and models. Actually, twenties fashion was kind of cool in a weird way. I mean, it was so loose and flowy. You didn't have to worry about any tummy bulge or your panties hanging out the back of your jeans. And I kind of dug the rebelliousness of it all. These girls didn't care about the conventions of their proper mothers, the modest long skirts and restricting corsets. And yet, they weren't trying to be overly sexy either. If anything, there was sort of a strange androgyny about the look. Potato sack dresses, unlaced brown floppy boots. Rolled up stockings. It was definitely the "I care enough to look like I don't care at all" kind of look. Not all that different from today's hipsters.

So I threw on a shapeless and sleeveless black dress and pulled on some silk stockings (my kingdom for spandex blend!) and slipped into a pair of scuffed brown boots. Then I rummaged through Louise's jewelry box and selected a long string of pearls and a cute little felt hat to complete the outfit and alleviate the need to do something presentable with my hair. I glanced in the mirror and decided Louise-me looked pretty freaking cute if I did say so myself. I wondered if Sam would think so too. Not that I cared, of course. In fact, I hoped I wouldn't run into him again. He was way too distracting. I had to concentrate on finding Nick. Find him and stop him. Somehow.

One last glance in the mirror and I headed out the door.
Watch out, Nick. Dora the Explorer is on the case.

I walked out of the rooming house alone. The Rat told me he had some reconnaissance to take care of, which was fine by me. I decided my best bet was to head to the club where I'd first made my appearance the night before. Not a hard decision, seeing as: one, it was the only place in this foreign time period that The Rat agreed to give me directions to (he'd been worried I'd spend the whole day shopping if he pointed me downtown), and two, I had no wheels, and the club happened to be down the street.

I also figured it was about time to meet my infamous mobster boyfriend Jack "Machine Gun" McGurn. My heart rate sped up just at the thought. Would I be able to play a convincing Louise in front of him? Would he be able to tell something was off? I mean, how close were they, really? Evidently not too close, maybe, if she was having an affair with Sam. But still, you'd think most boyfriends would be able to tell if their girlfriends had been body snatched. (Uh, except if it happened during football season—then it might take a few months for the realization to kick in.)

I squared my shoulders and exited the tenement house. Oh well, I'd just have to do my best. Jack "Machine Gun" McGurn was the one behind the St. Valentine's Day Massacre. Therefore, it only made sense that Nick would be hanging around him in some way. Who knew? Maybe Nick had body snatched McGurn himself. Then I'd be, in a weird
Twilight
Zone
sense, actually dating him again. Ugh. I hoped that wasn't the case. Way too messed up.

I walked down the street till I came to the speakeasy. I studied the building with a critical eye. It sure looked different during the day. A grungy warehouse from the outside with no sign. In fact, I probably would have passed right by it if it wasn't for someone I recognized hanging out by the door.

"Sam!" I cried, actually somewhat happy to see a familiar face. Well, sort of familiar, anyway. Handsome at the very least—somehow managing to be rugged and smooth at the same time. "How are you?"

He smiled widely, flashing straight white teeth. Why did he have to be so sexy? Why did Louise have to be going out with Machine Gun instead of him? Was the girl blind? Could she not see the potential in the man right in front of her? I mean, I understood that all women had different tastes in men. Some liked Ryan Reynolds, some preferred Ryan Gosling. But then there were some men like Brad Pitt who had universal appeal.

"Hiya, Louise," Sam drawled, leaning casually against the wall. "Up before noon. I'm impressed."

I felt my face instantly heat into a blush, not quite knowing why. "Yeah, yeah," I said, forcing myself to sound nonchalant. 

"You here to see Jack?" he asked, his multicolored eyes twinkling. "Or maybe someone…else?" He raised his eyebrows suggestively, and I couldn't help but giggle.

"You think I got out of bed before noon to see
you?"
I teased, unable to resist a little flirtation. "As if."

"Maybe someday you won't have to get out of bed at all." He smirked. "If you're lucky."

I laughed, despite myself. He certainly had that arrogant swagger about him. "Don't you mean if
you're
lucky?"

"I'm not lucky, baby. I'm worthy." He took off his hat and bowed mockingly in my direction. "I'm the only one worthy of a girl like you."

"I heard you stopped by my place last night. Thought you didn't know where I lived."

He grinned. "I asked around. I make it my business to map out all the pretty girls."

"Oh and here I thought I was special."

"Oh, you're special all right. 'Specially for me."

I rolled my eyes.

He laughed, effectively breaking the spell. His eyes lightened, telling me it had all been in jest. "Anyway…go in and see your boyfriend, kiddo," he said. "It was nice seeing you again."

I nodded, noting an odd sense of disappointment rolling through my stomach. What had I wanted—him to beg me not to go see Machine Gun? To head to some sleazy hotel with him instead, maybe? Well, that was never going to happen. And besides, I needed to concentrate on my mission. I wasn't on vacation, as Ratty would say. Still, Sam's presence was doing bad things to my goals and motivation, and I wasn't sure I minded the conflict.

I pulled open the door to enter the club. The lights were low, and several slightly grungy men were hanging by the bar, sipping their drinks. The place was a lot classier at night. But then, so were most twenty-first-century bars.

I scanned the nearly vacant dance floor, wondering how I was going to find Machine Gun's office without looking like I wasn't in Kansas anymore. The Men in Black really should have sent me back with some high-tech GPS device or, at the very least, a low-tech map.

"Hey, Louise," greeted a big, bald guy in a tux. A bouncer type, probably. A human GPS on steroids. And most likely the answer to my lost-in-a-speakeasy prayers. "You here to see Jack?"

"Yes, please," I said in the most demure voice I could muster, crossing my fingers that he'd take me to the man in question. "Will you be so kind as to escort me?" Hopefully Louise wasn't normally an "I don't need a man to show me around" type of girl.

The bouncer nodded and gestured for me to follow.
Yes.
I stepped in behind him, and together we headed to the back of the club. He slipped a silver key from his pocket into the lock of a wooden door. After unlocking and pulling the door open, he started up a narrow flight of stairs, and I followed. At the top, there was an ornate hallway, lined with over-the-top gaudy decorations, alabaster statues, and gold-framed paintings. The place was so overdone Italian that it almost looked like a
Godfather
parody. He rapped on one of the three doors, and a voice instructed that we enter.

I swallowed hard.
Here we
go.

The room was luxurious and slightly less cheesy than the hallway outside. Machine Gun evidently spared no expense when it came to his private domain, which made me all the more furious at Louise's dump of an apartment. The walls were paneled with dark burnished wood, and overly large paintings with jewel tones further complemented their surroundings. The furniture was heavy and well built. Mahogany, perhaps, though I was no expert. At the far end of the room was an oversized desk, piled with papers. Behind the desk sat a stout, Italian-looking man, slightly balding. Machine Gun? He wasn't a bad-looking guy. Just…ordinary. Not sexy. Not handsome.

Not Sam.

Louise must have been one of those go-for-the-power or go-for-the-cash types, I guessed. 'Cause, seriously—there was no freaking way a girl who looked like her could really be head over heels for this tool when she had Hottie McHotterson Sam waiting in the wings. But if you mixed in the probability that McHotterson was probably McPoor Church Mouse, then I could see some reason as to the appeal of having a rich mobster as your boyfriend.

Sure, it wasn't the way I ever selected my men, but hey, considering my track record, maybe Louise was onto something. As my mom always said, you could fall in love with a rich man just as easily as you could fall in love with a poor man. (It was getting the rich man to love you back that I always found to be the tricky part.)

The bouncer patted me on the shoulder and exited the room, pulling the door closed behind him. I stood back, not sure whether it was the right opportunity to make my presence known. Louise's boyfriend was currently red-faced and yelling at a skinny, nervous-looking guy standing by his desk. The poor chap was wringing his hands and shaking like a leaf as Machine Gun berated him.

"I told you to fix that fight. You said it was a done deal!" McGurn shouted, shaking his diamond-bedecked hand. "In fact, I think your exact words were, 'Don't worry, Machine Gun. It's all set. It's a sure thing.' So I'm a fair guy. I says to myself, 'Johnny knows what he's talking about. He's an upstanding guy, that Johnny. I think of him as a brother, in fact. Like we have the same mother.' That's what I tell people, Johnny. That's how much I like yah. Trust yah. And so I says, 'If he says it's a sure thing, then it's a sure thing.' No question in my mind. So I go and place my bet. And then I go to bed. I wasn't feeling good, you know. Indigestion from my mother's cooking most like. She's a good woman but cooking! Mary, Mother of God. Anyways, Johnny, so I goes to bed. And I have sweet dreams about how when I wake up I'm going to be a rich man. I think I'm going to be woken up with a suitcase of money from the bet I placed on the fight. This 'sure thing.' But you know what, Johnny? It doesn't happen like that. In fact, it doesn't happen like that at all. No."

"L-look boss," Johnny stammered. "None of this is my fault. The fight was fixed. I swear ta God and the angels. It was a done deal. Louis was supposed to go down in the third. Beano promised me he would. It's not my fault Louis decided he wanted to be a hero. What am I supposed to do? Jump into the ring? Stop the fight 'cause the idiot decided to do a double-cross?"

"It's your job to know these things. It's your job to make sure these things don't happen. Now I have to whack Louis. What a waste."

"You don't have to whack Louis. Let me talk to him first. Let me see what's going on. He can redeem himself. He's a good fighter. He deserves another chance."

"No. If I give him a chance, then I look weak. I look like I'm saying, 'Machine Gun's going soft. He lets guys like Louis walk all over him. When he gives an order you can choose to follow it, or you can choose to disrespect him.' And then where does that leave me, huh? No. I'm not going down that road, Johnny. Louis is dead to me. And you're the one who's going to kill him."

"Ah, boss, but he's my brother. My own flesh and blood," moaned the man.

"All the more reason the bullet should come from your gun."

I shifted from one foot to the other, feeling more than slightly uncomfortable. Sure, I knew the guy was a gangster, but knowing that and hearing him order a real life whacking were two different things entirely. What if he discovered the truth? That I wasn't really Louise? Would he order me to be whacked as well? And what would happen if he whacked Louise's body while I was still using it? Would I simply bounce back into my own body? Or would I die myself? And if I died in Louise's body, what would happen to my body back in the twenty-first century?

Also, for that matter, where was my body back in the twenty-first century, anyway? Was I still in the FBI headquarters? Strapped to a chair? Or was Louise possessing me? Was the flapper taking a stroll down Michigan Avenue and maxing out my MasterCard as we speak?

I should have asked a ton more questions before letting them put me under.

The two men suddenly noticed me hovering at the entrance of the room. Machine Gun smiled widely, and Johnny looked at me like I was an angel from Heaven, come to save his soul.

"Johnny, as you can see, I have a visitor. Why don't we discuss this later?" Jack said, ushering him to the door. Johnny nodded, almost bowing in his relief. McGurn got up and walked him to the exit, pulling the heavy door shut behind him.

Now I was alone with Al Capone's right-hand man. Can we say,
gulp?

Jack turned to me, his angry scowl replaced by a big goofy grin. He walked back to his desk, sat down in his chair, and patted his thighs.

"What you being shy for, doll face? Come sit on old Jackie's lap."

Ugh. Here we go.
I swallowed hard, praying (without much optimism) that sitting on the guy's lap was all I'd be required to do in this scene. Approaching him, I climbed gingerly onto his wide lap, wrapping my arm around his shoulder. His skin was hot to the touch and his face dewy with sweat.

"How you been, Louise?" he asked, reaching up to stroke my hair with his pudgy fingers. When Sam did the same thing the night before, the gesture had sent tingles to my toes. Jack's touch only served to make me slightly nauseated. Or maybe that was his smell. Garlic and onions. Bleh.

"I was worried about you," he said. "I sent Tommy down to look for you when the coppers came and raided the place last night. He said he didn't see you anywhere." He shook his head in disapproval. "How come you didn't come up to my apartment?" He gestured to a suite of rooms just off the office. "You know that's the plan when we're raided."