The Venetian and the Rum Runner - L.A. Witt Page 0,153
but he was right—there had been others before. There would surely be others to come.
James reached back to undo his dress, but he winced. Meeting Danny’s eyes in the mirror, he said, “Could you…?”
“Of course.” Danny jumped to his feet. Careful of the tender spots, he undid the hooks and eyes holding together the back of the now-ruined dress. “I’ll buy you another to replace this. I’m sorry it—”
“Danny.” James shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault. I’ve got other dresses.”
But I can replace dresses.
A lump suddenly rose in Danny’s throat, and his hands trembled as he struggled with the next hook.
I can’t replace you.
“I’m sorry, James,” he whispered, still fighting with the hook. “I led that son of a bitch right to—”
“You did no such thing.” James turned around, and he cupped Danny’s face in both hands. “I’m just glad I was here to fend him off.”
“I should’ve shot him.” Danny swallowed. “But he moved so fast, and I—”
“Daniel.” James shook his head. “It isn’t your fault. None of it is.” His expression darkened. “Though I suppose we should tell Carmine. Maybe he’ll know what to do to keep you safe.”
“He already gave me a gun. And when I needed it, I didn’t even get it out of my coat.”
“Because you didn’t have time. Come on.” James patted Danny’s cheek, then let him go and started to take off the mostly unfastened dress. “Let me change, and then let’s get some sleep and talk to Carmine in the morning.”
Danny nodded slowly, leaning against one of the other performers’ makeup tables. Neither of them spoke as his friend finished his transformation from Gladys to James. Mostly finished it, anyhow. James never wore his cassock into or out of Daisy’s. Tonight, he put on a shirt and trousers, and he kept the cassock draped over his arm as they slipped out the front, walking through the thinning crowd of drunks instead of going through the alley. A few blocks away from Daisy’s, he ducked into an alley, put on the cassock and collar, and emerged looking every inch the priest. Aside from the bruises and the cut lip, anyhow.
Danny could hardly bear to look at him. He’d led Salvatore il Sacchi right to Daisy’s. Right to James. At any moment in that alley, James could’ve been killed. Though he’d survived, thank the Lord, he was battered and bruised, not unlike the lads who’d been Danny’s responsibility that night the “police” had stopped them on Long Island. One of those lads was dead now. One still had his hand in plaster and his mind in a place from which it might never return.
And now James?
How long before someone else bled—or died—because of Danny? How long did this go on?
And can I stop it?
He shuddered as he walked beside James, cold reality burrowing in beneath his clothes. The crew could walk away from working for Carmine. Danny could, no matter how much it hurt, walk away from Carmine. He could send James back to the rectory and stay away from Daisy’s and Old St. Patrick’s.
But he couldn’t walk away from Salvatore il Sacchi. That was a grieving brother out for blood, just like Danny’s own brother had been out for blood after Robert had been killed.
Deep in his soul, Danny knew this wouldn’t end without more bloodshed.
Because Salvatore il Sacchi wasn’t going to stop until he’d killed Danny or died trying.
At the apartment, Danny let them inside and locked the door behind them. After he’d put on some coffee and lit the fire, and they sat in the parlor and smoked shakily in silence.
Danny was the first to speak. Gazing across the space between them at his bruised friend, he said, “This ain’t gonna stop. He’s not done with me, and I don’t reckon he’s above killing anyone who gets in his way.”
Sounding a great deal like he had when he’d first come to New York as a war-beaten soldier with haunted eyes, James said, “He can try.”
“He will. You saw tonight, he will.”
James nodded, inhaling deeply from his cigarette, but he didn’t speak.
Danny rubbed the back of his neck. When had all the muscles gone so stiff? “I’m scared he’ll kill me,” he whispered, “but I’m even more scared he’ll hurt someone I love. You. Rowan. More of the lads.” He swallowed hard, then added a soft, “Carmine.”
A faint smile appeared on James’s battered lips. “Had a feeling you’d fallen for with him. If not, it was only a matter of time.”