The Venetian and the Rum Runner - L.A. Witt Page 0,74
of the crew for both the stolen liquor and their run the previous night, he made his usual trek to the butcher shop. When he walked in, though, there were a couple of cops loitering in front of the meat cases, and they eyed him.
His first instinct—one honed after years of thieving on the streets of New York—was to run. Police were only safe when they were dealing with someone else or when he was at a dead run and they were far behind him. In a shop that was a front for a speakeasy and a bootlegger’s base of operations? These men with badges weren’t safe at all.
But front or not, this was a butcher shop, and he had as much right to be here as they did, so he just wandered in and headed for the back.
Tried to, anyhow.
“We in your way?” an officer asked in an odd tone, as if he knew Danny hadn’t come here for meat. He nudged his partner and pushed himself away from the counter. “Hey. We better get outta this kid’s way so he can get what he came for.”
“Uh.” Danny thought fast. “No, I can wait. I—”
“Daniel, for God’s sake.” The butcher appeared in the doorway and gestured sharply for Danny to come back. “You gonna get to work? Or you gonna go work for someone who don’t mind his people coming in late?”
Danny blinked, then cleared his throat. “Right. Sorry, boss.” He slipped past the cops, who had moved out of his way. “I tried to get here sooner, but I—”
“I don’t care,” the butcher snapped. “Just get to work or get gone.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” As soon as Danny was out of earshot, he exhaled, then murmured to the butcher, “Thank you.”
The butcher grunted in acknowledgment.
The big Italian man who usually took Danny downstairs emerged from the back, but he didn’t look at Danny. Instead, he continued to the front of the shop, a bundle in his hand not unlike the wrapped cash Carmine usually gave Danny, though it was a smaller bundle.
Danny cautiously stepped closer to the doorway, and through the crack in the door, he watched the Italian hand the bundle over to the officers.
“Half a pound,” he was saying. “On the house, for the men who protect our neighborhood.”
The officer gave the bundle a squeeze, looked up, and nodded. “Thank you. Tell your boss it’s our pleasure.”
They shook hands. Then the officer tucked the bundle into his coat, and the cops left.
Danny almost laughed. The cops were on the take? Of course they were. Who wasn’t on the take in this town?
The Italian came into the back, pushing the door all the way open and nearly hitting Danny with it. He eyed him. “Come on. Boss is waiting.”
“Right. Right.” Danny followed him into the back.
In Carmine’s office, Danny handed over the chits. Carmine read them, and his eyebrows rose. “Is this all stolen from one crew?”
“No.” Danny shook his head. “No. Most of it is from last night’s run. The rest, we took from another crew’s stash, but we was caught before we got all we came for.”
“Caught?” Carmine studied him. “But you still got away with some?”
“What we already had in the trucks, yes.” Danny told Carmine the whole story, blessedly catching himself both times he nearly mentioned Giulia’s name, and he ended with, “Once we knew we was busted, we took off with what we had.”
Lowering the chits, Carmine watched Danny with those mesmerizing dark eyes. “Was anyone hurt?”
“No, no.” Danny laughed, suddenly a little flustered under Carmine’s gentle scrutiny. “Mathew complained a bit that he rolled his ankle running for it, and Paddy’s got a bruised knee from jumping into the back of the truck, but that’s the worst of it.”
“Good,” Carmine said with a nod.
“There was a huge cache of booze left, but…” Danny shook his head. “I reckon they’ll be guarding it now. Assuming they haven’t moved it. We’ll leave well enough alone for now and stick with stealing from the more careless crews.”
“That’s smart.” Carmine smiled approvingly, which did nothing to help Danny get his wits about him. “Stealing and hijacking are always dangerous, but keeping the risk down…” He nodded with more approval.
Danny moistened his lips. “Well, none of us want to run afoul of some of the bastards out there. I’ve already come a bit too close to Bugs and Meyer for comfort, thank you.”
Carmine nodded. Without another word, he looked over the chits again, went to the