The Venetian and the Rum Runner - L.A. Witt Page 0,150

risk of cops finding them and busting in, destroying or confiscating their liquor, and ruining them. Those connected to the gangs were sometimes raided, but the cops always left red-faced and frustrated—and with a few crisp bills tucked into their pockets—after finding nothing.

Being in business with gangsters was dangerous, and it was insurance, and such was the way of things in New York now that the Temperance people had had their way. Danny supposed this wasn’t what they’d intended when they’d demanded every city in America go dry, but here it was.

Gladys put down her teacup and brought her cigarette to her painted lips. “I’m surprised you’re not out tonight.” She didn’t have to spell it out, and in fact they both carefully avoided acknowledging what she actually meant. The walls often had ears, after all.

Danny shrugged and took another sip of brandy. “Can’t be out every night, or Mathew and Tommy’s wives will have their heads.”

She laughed. “I suppose they will.”

“And anyhow, we need to plan. Every night’s different, so…” Another shrug. He absently swirled his drink. They had a plan now. A new one that had had all of them howling with laughter just imagining how it would go. Now that they’d completed a few runs without incident without ordeal, they were confident and energetic again. Danny, though—his enthusiasm had left with the lads tonight, and he was tired and melancholy now. His heart wasn’t in it and neither was his mind.

Gladys nudged him with the toe of her high-heeled shoe. “What’s on your mind?”

He dropped his gaze into his mostly empty cup. “It’s Rowan.”

“Aye?” She took a drag off the cigarette. “What about him?”

“He knows what I’ve been up to.” Danny sighed. “He told me at Francis’s funeral to stay away from him and the family, and they still won’t even look at me when I come to Mass. I don’t think he’s ever gonna forgive me.”

Gladys smiled and turned her head to blow out some smoke. “Give him time. He knows how hard it is for a man to make a life in this place.” She paused, then added, “With that third baby here to feed, he might come asking you for a job before too much longer.”

Danny laughed, though it was half-hearted. “I think he’d let the whole brood starve before he took a penny from Sicilians.”

Gladys considered it for a moment. “Maybe he would. But he believes it’s wiser to stay away from the gangs, even if his family suffers. And you—even if you think it ain’t the right thing to do, working for them, you believe it’s better than watching those you love starve.” She shrugged tightly. “You’re both doing the best you can in a world that doesn’t leave you many choices.”

“Aye,” Danny said with a nod. “I just wish he could see that.”

“Give him time.”

Danny just sighed.

Gladys snuffed out her cigarette, lay the holder beside the ashtray, and paused to gingerly flex her hand. “I should see if Dawn needs help at the bar.” She pushed herself to her feet, perfectly balanced despite those dangerous-looking heels. Gesturing at the door, she added, “Come on. I’ll get you another drink.”

He’d had plenty tonight, he reckoned, but with his brother on his mind, he wouldn’t say no to more of that fine brandy. So, he followed her back out to the lounge, where another performer was finishing up onstage. Star was her name, he thought, and she was. She was a gorgeous Black singer he’d watched here many times, and tonight she was dressed in gold sequins with a beaded gold headband. She was a little less bawdy than some of the others, and her voice was smooth and sultry. Gladys had mentioned a few nights ago that Star probably wouldn’t be singing at Daisy’s much longer. Not when she was in demand at some of the bigger venues in Harlem and Broadway.

After Star, there was a ribald performance by The Tarty Twins. Danny was pretty sure they were dockworkers by day, but at night they put on lipstick, rouge, and scandalously short skirts to sing songs that had the audience laughing so hard they had to wipe away tears. They too were getting booked at the bigger venues, but they still came to Daisy’s once or twice a week.

Once they’d finished, the stage lights went down and men began clearing out. Lord, how late was it?

Danny looked up at the clock. It was half past three. With a sigh, he started to