The Venetian and the Rum Runner - L.A. Witt Page 0,41

and onto the ledger in front of him.

Around mid-afternoon, the telephone on his desk rang.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Battaglia.” It was Vincente again, and Carmine anticipated more news about the recent theft or the newly-implemented security measures, but the man said, “Got a call from Jimmy at one of your stash houses. Your new boys just dropped off a shipment of molasses.”

Carmine barely kept himself from releasing an audible sigh of relief. They hadn’t stolen from him—not all of it, anyhow—and they hadn’t been caught by the Coast Guard. “Did they? How much did they bring in?”

“More than your other crews ever have, that’s for sure.”

Carmine straightened. “Is that right?”

“Yes, sir. Jimmy’s boys counted it twice,” Vincente said. “They thought the crew was lying when they said they had that much, but sure enough. He even checked a few bottles to make sure they wasn’t filled with water or something.” He huffed a laugh. “It’s exactly what you ordered, boss, and a lot of it. They said it ain’t even all of it.”

“What?”

“They stashed it somewhere out on Long Island. Wouldn’t say where, so I don’t know if it’s one of the usual spots, but they said they’ll bring the merchandise by tomorrow night.”

“That’s…”

“We’ll have to rearrange the storehouses.” Vincente chuckled dryly. “Especially if they plan on making a habit of this.”

Carmine chuckled. “I suppose we’ll see. I assume you gave them the chits.”

“They’re on their way to you, and the merchandise is on the way to the warehouses.”

“Thank you.” Carmine had hung up, and he stared at the concrete wall. His previous crews and some of the others currently working for him had had impressive hauls. Danny and his boys had brought in more?

Perhaps the crew had just gotten lucky, or maybe they’d done everything they could to impress their new boss. Maybe their caches would be smaller going forward.

Or maybe they were just that good. Carmine had had a feeling about them from the start, and he hoped the numbers amounted to proof that he’d been right.

He grinned to himself.

We’re going to make each other a lot of money, Danny.

The telephone rang again.

“Yeah, Bernice?”

“Mr. Moore is here to see you.”

Carmine’s heart sped up in ways it had no right to, and he cleared his throat. “Send him down.”

He had all of five minutes to pull himself together before a sharp knock on the metal door told him Sal was outside in the hall. With Danny.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. Then he got up, tugging at his sleeves for no real reason, and went to the door.

Outside in the dimly lit hallway, Sal loomed over Danny.

Carmine stood aside. “Let him in.”

Sal gave Danny a nudge, guiding him toward the door, and he pulled off the bag as Danny stepped into the office. Danny stumbled a step, blinking and squinting before he seemed to adjust to the light. A heartbeat later, his gaze landed on Carmine, and he stiffened. His usual bristly exterior returned, but only for a heartbeat, as if his hackles had gone up out of sheer habit. Expression vaguely uneasy—though far less hostile than at their first couple of meetings—he acknowledged Carmine with a quiet nod, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say.

Carmine lifted his chin and looked him in the eye. “I understand you and your boys had a successful run.”

“We did.” Danny dug in his overcoat pocket and handed over some rumpled chits. “Some of my crew are on their way to Long Island now to pick up the rest, and we’ll be going out again tomorrow night.”

Carmine raised his eyebrows. “So soon?”

“Aye.” Danny studied him. “Unless you want us to—”

“No, no, by all means.” Carmine turned and headed for his desk, motioning for Danny to follow. Over his shoulder, he said, “The more you bring in, the more I can sell. And there’s more stashed on the island? Where?”

“Lot of open country out there.” Danny shrugged. “Plenty of places to hide things where no one will think to look.”

“Smart. Very smart.”

Danny made a quiet sound of acknowledgment but said nothing. In fact, neither of them spoke as Carmine counted out what he owed Danny and checked it against the chits and Danny’s ledger. Every cent had been accounted for, from the filling station to the cost of each crate and barrel purchased from the ship. No, the ships.

Carmine gestured at the chits. “Two ships?”

Danny nodded, shifting his weight and looking at Carmine through long lashes. “We went out in two boats. Three