Trouble Boys (White Lightning Book 5)
Trouble Boys
White Lightning Series, Book 5
Debra Dunbar
J.P Sloan
Copyright © 2019 by Debra Dunbar
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Acknowledgments
About the Authors
Also by Debra Dunbar
Also by J.P. Sloan
Chapter 1
May, 1927
Hattie stared over the water of the Chesapeake Bay, not really seeing the sunrise as she leaned over the rail of Raymond’s boat. Waves lapped against the hull, washing her thoughts into a pool of distraction. Reaching one hand into her pocket, she felt the sharp edge of an envelope.
“Alright, now,” Raymond grumbled from behind the helm. “You been brewin’ up a storm cloud since we left the slip. What’s got you in a twist?”
“Nothing.” She pulled her hand from her pocket and gripped the rail.
“Is it the job?”
Hattie shook her head. Two-bit gangsters she could handle, but this…?
“You ain’t said more’n two words since we let out,” Raymond prodded, rounding the controls to join her along the railing. “If you’re feelin’ blue, that’s alright. I just wanna make sure I hadn’t put you in a mood.”
She turned to smile at the man who over the years had become more of a best friend than a coworker. “What would you have done to put me in a mood?”
Raymond shrugged. “Don’t think I did nothin’, but four years of marriage taught me that don’t mean much.”
Hattie smiled and waved him off. “You’re fine, Raymond.”
“You ain’t.”
“Just in my head today, is all. Truly, I’m fine.”
“You say ‘fine’ like that means somethin’ I don’t think it means.”
Hattie shook her head. “You’re set to pester me until I cheer up, aren’t you?”
“It’s why you brung me, right?”
Hattie turned to face Raymond, the envelope oddly heavy in her pocket. “You think we’re making a difference here? Doing this?”
Raymond squinted. “What, knocking over the Crew boats?”
“Aye. It feels… I don’t know. Small. Ineffectual.”
“If things go good today, this’ll be four, maybe five barrels off their hands. And a couple of their boatleggers.”
Hattie nodded. “Is this sort of thing enough to hurt Vito Corbi, is what I’m wondering?”
Raymond shrugged. “That’s a you decision. I just drive the boat.”
She sighed. “True. I’m just talking my way through it.”
A vulture circled the boat overhead, tilting its wings against the rising sunlight. Hattie peered at the bird and straightened her spine a little.
“Give him room,” she said, easing Raymond back as the vulture took a dive toward the boat.
It snapped its wings wide as it swooped low, and with a flurry of feathers and the popping of joints, the bird transformed into the grizzled, red-bearded image of Charley. He landed on the deck with a thump of his boots, rubbing his shoulder with a groan.
“Gotta stop with them hot dives,” Charley drawled. “Not getting any younger.”
Hattie nodded in sympathy. “Any sign of them?”
“A-yep. Fishing boat with a green hull. Looks to be about six barrels. Heading south out of the Patapsco.”
Hattie nodded again and reached a hand to Raymond.
He passed her a revolver, which she held into the air. She squeezed a shot into the sky, its report bouncing off nearby trees.
The air thumped with a soft, deep rush as Blake popped onto the deck.
Raymond jerked, shaking his head.
“Man, I never get used to that.”
Hattie chuckled. “Aye, we’re a right freak show.” She turned to Blake. “Boat’s inbound. Six barrels.”
Charley added, “Only two goons manning the tiller.”
Blake clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Sounds like our best-case scenario, right?”
Hattie asked, “Everyone set on the haul-away?”
Blake nodded to the shore. “Ready when you are.”
“Okay. Keep your eyes peeled, then.”
Blake gave her a two-finger salute to his brow then blinked back to his position on the shoreline.
Charley asked, “You want me in the water?”
“No. Stay with us. We’ll need to move fast if they get a case of the nerves.”
He nodded and took position behind Raymond.
“You sure you don’t wanna get the rifles out?” Raymond asked, leaning in toward Hattie. “We got lucky last week, I think.”
“No guns,” she said, pocketing the revolver. “I promised Vincent.”
Raymond sighed. “What’ve these thugs ever done for him, anyway?”
“It’s not about paying them back,” she said. “Vincent knows these men. We’re about to deprive them of a job. The least we can do is leave them intact.”
She strode to the bow, eying the horizon. Before long a green-hulled fishing boat appeared around the bend of the Chesapeake, its rigging cutting a ragged silhouette against the brightening sky.
“We’re on,” Hattie announced. “Try not to move too much.”
She closed her eyes and extended her powers in a wide cone behind her, bending the light around the boat. Then she opened her eyes, satisfied that the boat was invisible to the Crew boatleggers approaching. She didn’t bother with anything more than visuals. The gangsters were moving too fast to hear the waves lapping the side of the boat. By the time they were close enough to notice, it’d be too late.
The fishing boat angled to the center of the bay. Hattie lifted a hand to the right, and Raymond fired up the diesel. Once more, Hattie chose not to conceal the sound of the engine. This would be quick.
They sliced through the light chop of the bay water on an intercept course for the Crew vessel. Hattie kept the wedge of bent light taut around them as they closed the distance. Raymond eased up on the throttle, angling to come alongside their target before pulling the engine into reverse. The water behind them churned as the motor house groaned. The turbulence behind them slipped out of Hattie’s illusion. It was time.
She released the light pinch.
The two Crew boatmen stood in frozen disbelief as Charley and Hattie leapt onto their craft. Hattie snatched a Tommy gun from the top of a crate nearest her chosen target, tossing it into the water. Charley wasn’t as quick. His goon managed to lay a
hand on his weapon before Charley clamped his hand over the stock. The two wrestled with the gun for a few seconds before Charley’s face pulled into a horrific snarl. Enormous canines emerged from his mouth as his eyes shimmered into catlike slits. The gangster shrieked and released his gun, stumbling backward and tripping over his own feet.
Hattie gave Charley a nod as he ditched the second weapon into the drink. The partial transformation made him look like a true monster, a tiger wearing a human skin. Hattie wasn’t the only one working on economical magics. As she watched, his face slid back into the familiar countenance.
Hattie cleared her throat and addressed the gangsters.
“If you have a brain between you, you’ll remain still, and do as we say.”
Charley’s goon paused halfway into righting himself before freezing wide-eyed.
Raymond tossed several lengths of sisal twine onto the Crew boat and Charley began binding their wrists behind their backs.
Hattie added, “Here’s the bit where I tell you the good news and the bad. The good, we have no intention of harming either of you. We’re here for the hooch. Bad news is that these intentions only apply to your physical wellbeing. I’m afraid we’re about to cost you your jobs.”
Charley proceeded to gag both men, who were now in a state of simmering panic.
Hattie inspected the cargo, guided the men to the bow, then gave Raymond a whistle. He eased his craft away as Hattie took command of the Crew vessel, chugging it toward the shore where Blake and his company were waiting with gangplanks. They dropped the reinforced lumber over the side of the Crew boat and made quick work of the six barrels of white lightning quarry. A makeshift boardwalk led across the mud of the shore toward a truck with a canvas tarp pulled open. They loaded the men onto the truck ahead of the barrels, hiding them beneath the tarp, which they tied over the bed.
Blake gave Hattie a quick handshake as Charley gathered himself.
“You remember what to do?” Hattie asked Charley.
“A-yep. Controls are easy enough, as long as you don’t mind scuttling the thing.”
“That’s the idea,” she said with a nod. “I assume you know how to swim.”
“I’ll beat you to Baltimore,” he said.
“I’m not going to Baltimore.”
“Huh?”
“This shipment already has a buyer,” she said, marching for the cab of the truck.
“Oh.” Charley chuckled before turning back to the boardwalk to scuttle the Crew vessel.
Blake stuffed his hands into his pockets. “You’re not going alone, are you?”
“I’m picking up Raymond at Winnow’s Slip, then we’re driving straight on to Pittsburgh.”
“You sound like a gangster.” Blake laughed.
She laughed in response, but somehow it felt hollow. Somehow in fighting the gangsters she’d become one, and Hattie wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that.
Three hours of hard road travel hadn’t done the men in the back of the truck any favors. Hattie did her best to avoid rough spots, but with every hard bump she’d hear groans behind her. For their part, they hadn’t tried any monkey business. That was good, because she wasn’t sure what she’d have done if they’d managed to find a way out from underneath that canvas.
Raymond polished a harmonica as they drove, angling it to the sunshine at his window.
“That’s new,” Hattie commented.
“Picked it up at Woolworth’s. Figured I’d learn how to play.”
“Any good yet?”
He lifted the harmonica to his lips and exhaled, producing a muddy, wheezing fistful of notes that made Hattie’s skin crawl.
“Well. Don’t expect to be making a livin’ on the stage anytime soon.”
“I don’t get it,” he grumbled. “Seen a fella at Maudite’s play one like he was a one-man band.”
“I’m sure there’s a knack. With a few month’s practice, you might be able to manage a goose call,” she teased.
“Well, Nadine’s put her foot down on playin’ inside. So, it’s here or…”
“Not here,” Hattie stated with more force than she intended.
Raymond released a belly laugh and slipped the harmonica back into his pocket.
After a few more hours of driving, they pulled into a muddy patch of ground tucked between a filthy warehouse and the Monongahela River. A cadre of suited men in fedoras stepped out of the warehouse, hands tucked inside their jackets. Hattie eased the truck forward and put the gear into park before killing the engine.
“Stay in the truck,” she whispered.
Raymond nodded, as she opened the door. One of the Pittsburgh goons pulled a revolver from his jacket, keeping it aimed at the ground as she stepped forward.
“You Malloy?” one of them shouted.
“Aye. Got six barrels for you in the truck.”
They stood silent for a moment, eyes searching one another for a sign that this was a bonafide transaction. Once a consensus was reached, two of the goons made their way to the truck to begin untying the canvas.
The tallest of the bunch approached Hattie, hands out and free of weapons.
“These are Masseria’s?” he asked.
“I didn’t say that.”
He frowned. “On the phone, you said—”
“I said you’d best repackage and keep this clear of the New York traffic.”
“Who’d you nick these barrels from, then?”
She smirked. “The less you know, the better. Unless you play a better poker face than what you’re giving me now.”
He shrugged.
“There’s one more thing,” she added. “Brought two men with us. They’re competition, if you know what I mean. I intend to cut them loose and send them on their merry way. I’d appreciate it as a professional courtesy if you give them a running start?”
The goon smiled. “You are a little hellcat, aren’t you? Fine. They have twenty-four hours.”
He reached into his pocket to produce a roll of bills. He counted out the arranged payment, adjusting for the extra barrels, then walked away.
Once the last of the barrels had been unloaded, Hattie hopped up onto the truck bed and crouched in front of her hostages.
“Now, gents. You’re in the territory of the Pittsburgh family. They don’t want you. Nor will Vito Corbi, when he hears you stole the shipment of moonshine and sold it up north. If you return to Baltimore, there will be no judge or jury for you. Consider yourselves retired. If you leave the city, the local muscle has agreed to offer you twenty-four hours to make yourselves scarce. Nod if you understand your situation.”
Both nodded.
“Right.”
She pounded on the back of the cab. Raymond handed back an oyster knife, which she used to cut their bonds. Each of the Baltimore gangsters removed their gags, working their jaws as they climbed out of the truck.
“Best of luck, gents,” she stated.
They trotted up to the river, then hooked north and out of sight.
Hattie shook her head. These were low level minions. And that moonshine she’d just stolen and resold was a drop in the ocean. How likely was it that Corbi would even notice? How many more strikes like this would it take to really make him feel the pinch?
She slipped her hands into the pockets of her overalls. Her fingers brushed against the envelope tucked in her pocket. And then there was that piece of business.
She returned to the truck with a worried frown.
Chapter 2
Vincent passed two women in short dresses walking arm-in-arm as he made his way toward the Old Moravia hotel. They curtailed their conversation as he walked by, both peering at him with interest. Vincent didn’t make a show of noticing, though he couldn’t help but grin as the women giggled several steps behind him.
A wash of jazz and tobacco smoke poured from the front of the hotel, the electric lights snapping on to light up the darkening dusk. The brilliant glass-and-brass door glimmered as he stepped throu
gh. A jazz quartet pounded a bouncy tune and several besuited gentlemen nodded along near the front of the lobby.
The Baltimore Crew had taken over the hotel since the battle at the Havre de Grace vineyard which had left Vito’s property in ruins. It was a poorly-kept secret that the hotel had become the headquarters for the Crew, rather than simply their preferred haunt. Even the city police had given the entire block a wide berth after Vito had moved into the penthouse.
But Vincent’s purpose at the club that night had nothing to do with the jazz, or jaw-wagging with his coworkers. He wasn’t there for marching orders, he was there to wage war. Though the weapon he wielded as he stepped through the crowd in the lobby lounge was one he hadn’t much experience with—a weapon far more delicate than the mindless chaos of a Tommy gun, far more subtle than a knife in an alley.
He was here to wage a war with whispers.
It wasn’t long before Curley found him and gave him his first target to fire at.
“Vincent,” Curley muttered as he corralled him into a corner by a potted palm. “You heard the latest?”
Vincent shook his head with well-practiced blasé.
Curley leaned yet closer. “Another boat crew turned coat.”
“Turned coat?” Vincent repeated with the pretense of surprise.
“Yeah. Took the boat to land and rolled west with the whole damn shipment.”
“You mean what happened last week?”
“No,” Curley countered. “This was today. That’s two in two weeks have run off with a shipment.”
“Sure they weren’t waylaid?”