The Venetian and the Rum Runner - L.A. Witt Page 0,76

you’ll think of something.”

“We will.” He bit back a comment that the crew had a new member who was smart and resourceful enough to help them adapt to this new complication. That wasn’t for Carmine to know. “I, um…” He gestured at the door.

Carmine nodded.

Danny left the office with the money, and as he was led blindfolded through the labyrinth of tunnels, his mind stayed on the conversation with Carmine. Not just on Carmine himself, though. Not this time.

Twelve miles. Bloody hell. That would make it even tougher to steal boats, since they’d have to be seaworthy enough to go out that far and have enough fuel to make it back with heavy cargo. Faster would be good too, though Danny didn’t like the idea of speeding across the water in those high-powered speedboats like some of the other crews did. He’d seen the wreckage of at least one of those boats out there, and there was barely a thing left of it after it slammed into some rocks.

“Twelve miles,” he muttered to himself. Well, fine. If the government wanted to play those games, then he and the lads—and Giulia—would play them right back. And he supposed it was just as well they had Giulia with them now.

They needed all the smarts they could get to slip past the Coast Guard.

Chapter 16

There were few places in this city where a man could be as anonymous as he could in one of the bathhouses. Such establishments had a code of silence not unlike omertà—if someone ratted out the place or its patrons to the vice squads or to the police, dozens of lives could be ruined by the resulting raid.

Here, whenever Carmine ventured out into the steamy room where other men gathered, he wasn’t worried about any man identifying him and ratting him out. They’d have to admit how they knew, which would mean admitting they’d been to this bathhouse as well. No man who would care enough to concern himself with Carmine’s “predilections” would ever set foot in this place.

True, there were plenty of stories of vice agents infiltrating bathhouses and other underground establishments where men met with other men, but that was a risk he was willing to take. It added to the thrill.

And besides, this bathhouse—a Turkish one Carmine visited more often than any other—had an alarm system and escape routes that rivaled the most secure speakeasies in the city. He’d never tell a soul, but some of the measures taken in these clandestine places had inspired those he’d installed in his own businesses.

Like the other men who came here, Carmine gave the password and paid the fee at the door. In exchange, he was given a key and a towel. After he’d locked his clothes and shoes away, he wrapped the towel around his waist and ventured in to see if any men caught his eye.

Everyone seemed relaxed tonight, which in turn relaxed him. Vice agents sometimes lurked in places like these to get confirmation of what went on, and if someone suspected an agent was present, the tension was unmistakable. Once, Carmine had heard whispers that there was one among them. It hadn’t taken long to figure out who the culprit was, and Carmine had joined him on a bench in the sauna. The man’s discomfort at their proximity had been as plain as the smell of the burning wood keeping the room hot, especially when Carmine slid even closer to him.

Then, voice low so no one but the agent could hear him, Carmine had gently suggested that perhaps he find someplace else to do his work. In a purr with an edge of menace, he’d added, “You don’t know who here has friends in high places. Friends who owe them favors that might not bode well for your future in law enforcement.” Inclining his head, he’d growled, “Do you really want the commissioner, the mayor, or the governor calling and asking why you had his friends humiliated and arrested simply for socializing?”

There’d been a couple nearby who were “socializing” noisily, unaware that the vice agent could have ruined both their lives with the stroke of a pen and a phone call. The fear in the man’s eyes, though, told Carmine that the warning would not go unheeded.

Moments later, the agent had excused himself, hurried out of the sauna, and to Carmine’s knowledge, he’d never shown his face here again. The rest of that night had been a good one, too—a longtime couple he’d seen before