The Venetian and the Rum Runner - L.A. Witt Page 0,79
did, though. He’d cooled his vitriol because he stood to make a great deal of money by working for Carmine and the Pulvirentis. Any softening was due to money and survival, plain and simple, and Carmine was fooling himself if he thought there was a chance that he and Danny would ever touch the way men in that bathhouse touched. That there existed any lines he should read between in the easing hostility or the lingering looks they sometimes exchanged before Danny left the office.
The two of them had come to a détente of sorts, but lowering their weapons was hardly the same thing as mutual affection or desire.
Carmine knew that. He knew it all the way to his core.
But it wouldn’t stop him from dreaming.
“How does this keep happening?” Carmine gestured at the mess of straw and splintered crates in the warehouse and glared at Vincente. “I pay for security, but what are they doing? Sleeping?”
“I don’t know, sir.” Vincente shook his head. “We can’t figure out how these thieves is getting in. And making this much of a mess—they can’t be doing it quietly. I even switched up security in case one of them was on the take, but… The same guards weren’t on shift.”
Carmine glared at the mess, mentally tallying the cost of lost merchandise as well as the cost of word possibly getting out that his warehouses were vulnerable. He needed to put a stop to this, and it couldn’t wait.
And…maybe he knew how to put a stop to it.
Carmine left the warehouse, and he continued through his day as if nothing were out of place. That is until a particular rum runner came to his office to collect his crew’s pay.
Handing Danny the wrapped cash, he said, “One more thing before you go.”
Danny thumbed the butcher paper wrapped around his crew’s money. “If it’s more of that brandy…”
Carmine laughed. Well, it was the polite thing to do, and he did enjoy the occasional drink they shared down here, so he brought the bottle and pair of glasses out from the desk. After he’d poured some for each of them and they’d toasted, he leaned against his desk and cradled his elbow in his other hand. “I’ve got a job for you and your crew. Little different from what you’ve been doing.”
Danny regarded him over the top of his glass, clearly curious. “What kind of job?”
Carmine pulled a card from inside his jacket and handed it over. “I need you to break into this warehouse.”
Taking the card, Danny eyed him. “For what?”
“Whatever you can find.”
“You just…” Danny’s eyebrow rose. “You just want us to break in, look around, and see if there’s anything worth stealing?”
With a grin Carmine said, “Wasn’t that what you were doing at the Plaza Hotel?”
“That isn’t quite the same.”
“Isn’t it?”
Shifting his weight, Danny glanced down at the card in his hand. “Those warehouses—a lot of them are guarded by men with guns. I’m not here to get myself or the lads killed.”
“Of course not. And there’s a risk, of course. But I’ll make it worth your while.”
“How’s that?”
“Fifty dollars.” Carmine paused. “Each.”
Danny’s eyes widened, and Carmine knew he’d found his mark. “Fifty—each?”
“Fifty each.”
Danny seemed dazed as he murmured something that sounded like blasphemy. Carmine could practically hear Danny’s mind running through just what he and his boys could do with that much money after a single night’s work.
Swallowing, Danny met Carmine’s gaze again. “And what about what we take? What do we do with that?”
“Sell it. Keep it.” Carmine shrugged. “Drink it.”
Further understanding seemed to dawn on Danny. “The warehouse belongs to a bootlegger, then.”
“You could say that.”
Danny dropped his gaze to the money in his hands, and he chewed the inside of his cheek. “I need to talk to my crew about it. I can’t say yes on their behalf.”
“Understood.”
Danny was silent a moment longer, then met Carmine’s gaze, his expression somehow a mix of boyish nerves and fierce determination. “They’re gonna be cautious. We all are. After that hairy night when we were nearly caught, and after we had that run-in with Bugs and Meyer…” He shook his head. “We ain’t in this to get killed.”
“No, of course not,” Carmine said quietly. “If your crew isn’t interested, I have no doubt I can find someone who’ll do the job for that much money.”
That hit the mark—Danny shifted his weight, gnawing his lip as he avoided Carmine’s eyes again. After a good minute or so, he looked at Carmine, the determination