Iron Cast (16 page)

“I'll go to sleep when Johnny gets back,” he said.

“Don't be stupid,” she said, even though she had been planning on doing the exact same thing. “It could be hours.”

“You know, you're not very good at this whole nursing thing,” he said. He had rested his head back against the wall, and there was a definite smile playing on his lips.

Corinne told herself to leave, but her feet didn't move. All that was waiting for her in her room was a cold bed and an angry Ada. She didn't want to face either right now. She sat down gingerly
beside him on the cot, half expecting a snide comment, but he didn't say anything.

“What about your parents?” she asked. “Do they know how you spend your time?”

His smile twisted into something sadder.

“My father died when I was a kid. My mother thinks I drive a grocery truck.”

“Impressive.”

“She wants me to run my own store one day. She likes the idea of not having to buy groceries anymore.”

“You could do the grocery shopping for her, you know.”

“I tried once, but I came home with cornstarch instead of cornmeal and a carton full of broken eggs. She never trusted me with the grocery money again.”

Corinne laughed. “The first time I ever saw a carton of eggs,” she said, “I thought there were live chicks trapped inside, and I broke every one trying to free them.”

Gabriel laughed with her this time, and the cot creaked beneath them. Corinne was surprised at how comfortable she felt beside him, with her bare arm brushing against the crisp cotton of his shirt sleeve. He smelled of smoke and blood and something else that she couldn't identify. Something sharp but earthy, like concrete after rain.

“Can I ask you something?” he said.

He had turned his head and was looking at her. She met his gaze, suddenly conscious that his face was only a few inches from hers. She could feel his breath on her cheek.

“Sure,” she said when she had caught her own breath.

“Don't you feel guilty at all? When you swindle unsuspecting regs—people like the doctor?”

His tone was cautious, and his eyes had a kind of regretful determination about them. He obviously was expecting her to react poorly. Corinne decided to keep her temper, just for the sake of being contrary.

“Before I answer, can I ask you something?” She kept her voice even.

Gabriel nodded, not breaking from her gaze.

“Have you asked Johnny if he feels guilty? Or Jackson?”

A hint of a frown flickered across his face, and he shook his head.

“Then why are you asking me?” Corinne said.

“Because I'm trying to figure you out,” he replied.

“And because I'm a girl, so my tender, feminine feelings ought to make me feel sorry for the marks that Johnny gives us? Is that why?”

His frown deepened, and he actually seemed to be considering the point. “Maybe,” he admitted.

“You know, we don't pull jobs for the hell of it—well, maybe once or twice—and we just take enough to keep the Cast Iron open. It's the only way we're safe.”

“That doesn't really answer the question,” he said softly.

Corinne had leaned closer, without really meaning to, and her shoulder was pressed hard into his. She wondered if he noticed, and if he could feel the uneven thudding of her pulse.

“No, I don't feel guilty,” she said at last. “I'm not a nice person. Ada is, but not me, so the sooner you wrap your head around that, the better. I don't like people expecting me to be something I'm not.”

His eyes searched her face for a few seconds. She desperately wanted to read his expression, but he didn't give anything away.

“Okay,” he said, in a frustratingly neutral tone.

He faced forward again, and after a moment of studying his profile, willing it to give up his thoughts, Corinne did too.

“Why did you come here, anyway?” she asked. “Surely a job as a grocer would have been less complicated.”

He was quiet for a while, and she wondered if she'd somehow offended him, or if he had just fallen asleep. She stole a quick glance. He was staring straight ahead, a slight crease in his forehead.

“There are things I want to accomplish,” he said at last. “And being a grocer wasn't going to help me accomplish them.”

Corinne nodded, knowing there was no use in pressing for details. Secrets were a dime a dozen around the Cast Iron. They fell into a peaceful silence. She let her eyes close, thinking that she needed to stand up and leave.

She woke up what must have been hours later, still sitting beside him with her head rested on his shoulder and the weight of his head on hers. Their hands on the bed were touching, just slightly. Hers was stiff with cold, but his was warm. After a long while, she tried to ease off the bed without waking him, but he was a light sleeper and woke with her first movement. His right hand moved toward his back, toward his gun, before he remembered where he was.

Corinne didn't know what to say, but she didn't want to leave without saying anything.

“See you tomorrow,” she said in the doorway, and shut the door before he could reply.

The common room was dark and cool and quiet. She crossed the floor to her and Ada's bedroom. Ada was asleep, curled on her side. Corinne dropped onto her cot and stared at the ceiling. She wasn't sure why she'd lied to Gabriel. The truth was that she did
feel guilty sometimes, when she forced regs to see something that wasn't there, when she traipsed over the sanctity of their free will for whatever cash was in their wallet. She refused to let the guilt fester like Ada did, though. She didn't see the point, when there wasn't any other choice. Without Johnny and the Cast Iron, she and Ada and Saint had nowhere to go.

Corinne instinctively shied away from the thought. The chill of the room was starting to settle over her. She breathed in deeply and caught the scent of the grape-seed oil that Ada used in her hair, as well as a lingering hint of smoke and copper. She pulled the blanket over her head and recited poems to herself until she drifted off.

CHAPTER SIX

The residents of the Cast Iron slept until almost noon the next day. When Ada woke up, Johnny was still gone. She knew that it would be futile to try to keep Corinne indoors all day. She was still sore at her for the comment last night, but it was hard to stay angry with Corinne, who was rude almost as often as she was witty. Ada had decided long ago that it came with the territory. She did make a point of banging around her compact mirror and cosmetics loudly until Corinne finally woke up and muttered a bleary apology.

“Accepted,” Ada said.

“Good. Can I go back to sleep now?”

“Where were you last night?”

“Waiting for Johnny.” Corinne groaned and sat up halfway before falling back down to her pillow. “With Gabriel.”

The way she said it made Ada turn around. “And?”

“Don't get too excited,” Corinne said, pulling her blanket over her head. “We just talked. And slept.”

“Together?”

Corinne threw off her blanket and sat up.

“I am a lady of
class,
Miss Navarra. I don't appreciate your insinuations.”

Ada smiled and went back to her morning routine. After some coaxing, Corinne climbed out of bed and wiped away last night's powder and kohl. Her frock was a wrinkled mess, but that wasn't out of the ordinary.

“Have you called your parents?” Ada asked her.

“Do I have to?” was the immediate reply.

Ada didn't bother responding. She knew Corinne would do it rather than risk her parents' starting a citywide search for her.

“What are the chances of us sitting quietly today and practicing our embroidery?” she asked, once Corinne had struggled into something halfway presentable.

“Is Johnny back yet?” Corinne asked.

“No.”

“Then the chances are exactly zero,” Corinne said.

“I figured,” Ada said, pulling her hat onto her head. “What's the plan?”

“The Gretskys. We have a sketch of the shooter from last night, and they know every thespian in town.”

“You sure they'll want to talk to us? You know they steer clear of the Cast Iron's problems.”

“I happen to have something that Madeline wants.”

“And that is?”

“A warm body to fill a seat in her precious theater. Apparently, their insurance agent told their accountant who told Madeline's mother who told my mother that attendance is perilously low.”

“Listen to you,” Ada said, jabbing a comb in Corinne's direction. “Picking up society gossip and using it against your friends like a true lady. Your mother must be so proud.”

Corinne made a face and snatched the comb away.

“Curtain's up at seven.”

“I'll be back by six. I have to visit my mother.”

Ada left Corinne wrestling the comb through her tangled hair. She could hear her cursing all the way up the stairs. At the top she nearly ran into Saint, who was holding what looked like an egg in
his hand. He wisely ducked his head and stepped aside so she could pass. She knew Gordon was watching them, even as he feigned interest in his bag of sunflower seeds. Corinne had told her there was a bet going around the Cast Iron as to how long it would take Ada to break one of Saint's bones.

Ada didn't find it as funny as Corinne did. She and Saint had been friends. They had shared drinks and swapped stories and rolled eyes when Corinne was being incorrigible. Not long ago, Ada had comforted him at his father's funeral, holding his hand as the gunshots of the three-volley salute ripped through the summer air.

Ada was so preoccupied that she arrived at her mother's apartment building with very little recollection of the trip there. She climbed the interior steps slowly to the second floor, trying to arrange her features into remorse and brace herself for the oncoming wrath. Her mother was sitting on the couch, her back ramrod straight, her hands folded in her lap.

“Hi, Mama,” Ada said tentatively, shutting and locking the front door behind her.

“What did you do, Ada?” Nyah asked. Her voice was quiet and precise.

“What do you mean?” Ada sat down beside her, noting the worry lines etched into her forehead.

“There were men here this morning. They told me that my daughter is a wanted criminal.”

Hearing the word
criminal
from her mother's mouth made Ada wince. Her mother had an idea of what she did, of course. Nyah was no fool. But the topic had never been broached before.

“Were they police?” Ada asked.

Nyah shook her head. “They wore suits. Their badges said Hemopath Protection.”

Ada's stomach turned over. How had they found her mother? Were they following her? She stood up and crossed to the window, half expecting their black cars to be on the street waiting. The street was empty.

“What did they ask you?” she demanded.

“Do not speak to your mother like that,” Nyah said. She went into the kitchen and pulled a brass pan from the cupboard with a loud clatter.

Ada's mother knew she was a songsmith. She knew what she was capable of, and that iron was anathema to her, but they never talked about it. It was just something that existed wordlessly between them. When Nyah had moved from their old one-bedroom apartment to the newly furnished one that Ada had rented, she did not once ask where the new wealth had come from. Without a word of discussion, she had left behind everything she owned that contained even a speck of iron—including her cast-iron pans and the iron-hinged trunk that had carried all of her and her husband's possessions into this new country.

Ada had seen the loss like a shadow on her mother's features, one that had faded over the years but never dissipated completely.

“Mama, please. What did you tell them?” Ada tried to keep her voice reasonable, but she couldn't fight the rising panic.

“Nothing.” She banged open a drawer and pulled out a spatula, then seemed to change her mind and threw it back. “I told them I know nothing.”

“Did they threaten you?”

Nyah shook her head. Her frown deepened. “They asked about Corinne. They did not know her name, but they described her.”

Ada's heart stuttered. “Did you tell them her name?”

Nyah shook her head again.

“I told them that you had left Boston, but they only laughed at me.” Her mother swiped a damp rag across the counter in fretful strokes, then flung it into the sink. “The short one—he had a serpent smile—said that they knew exactly where to find you. Then the tall one said they were patient. That they wanted the . . . the whole set.”

“They mean Corinne,” Ada said. And who else? Johnny? Saint? The rest of Johnny's crew?

Her mother's hands were hovering at waist level, as if she were torn between pulling out more cookware and pulling Ada into an embrace.

“I should not have let you go to that club,” she said softly. Her eyes were fixed on a distant point over Ada's head. “Now it is too late. Now your life is ruined.”