The Venetian and the Rum Runner - L.A. Witt Page 0,81

warm. He still had a place to lay his head. A place he could keep warm and stocked with food.

Trouble was, what good did it do a man to have a place to lay his head if his conscience wouldn’t let him sleep?

On the other hand, was it so bad, this job? It was theft, same as he and his crew had been doing since long before they’d ever crossed paths with Carmine Battaglia. They were paid handsomely. Far more than even their most optimistic hopes on New Year’s Eve. There was risk, yes, but there was risk whenever they broke in somewhere, usually with far less reward and no guarantee of any reward at all.

They weren’t being asked to destroy anything. Kill anyone. Blow anything up. Just get in, steal what they could, and get out. Same as they always had.

He rubbed the back of his stiffening neck. Was it so bad? And would the lads ever forgive him if they knew he’d turned away work that could keep them and theirs fed for months?

Damn it. Damn it all! But what choice was there? He had to tell them about the job, and if they wanted to take it, then they’d take it. All of them.

Leaning an elbow on the bar at Daisy’s and resting her chin on her gloved hand, Gladys frowned. “It does sound like an odd job.”

“Don’t it?” Danny shook his head, idly thumbing the rim of the mostly untouched teacup of brandy in front of him. “But that much money…”

“Hmm, yes.” Gladys nodded, straightening up and flexing her wrist gingerly before flattening her palms on the bar. “For that much money, even I’d have to consider it.”

Danny laughed. “You? Thieving?”

She shrugged as she picked up her cigarette holder. “I’m trying to survive in this place, same as you.”

“Still. Never thought you’d have a price.”

Gladys rolled her eyes and lit her cigarette. Danny just chuckled. He wasn’t sure how he felt about her thinking it was a good idea. Or, well, an irresistible one. But for that much money…

Well, he’d see what the lads said when they arrived. Gesturing toward the back, he asked, “The room open?”

She nodded as she blew out some smoke. Reaching under the bar, she said, “All yours.”

“Thanks, love.”

He moved into the back, and within the hour, the rest of the crew had joined him. They all sat around the usual table, liquor flowing into cups and smoke rising from cigarettes.

Liam thumbed through his share of the money, and he whistled as he stuffed it into his pocket. “I know Mr. Battaglia said not to flaunt our cash, but we’ve got to do something with it. Can’t a man get a suit or something?”

“Oh, a suit would be nice,” Mathew said with a nod. “Especially from one of those tailors uptown.”

“What d’you need a suit for?” Bernard asked around a cigarette. “You want people to know who we’re working for?”

Liam scowled. “Gangsters ain’t the only ones in suits.”

“You fancy yourself a banker, then? Maybe a salesman?” Bernard cuffed the back of Liam’s head. “Don’t be stupid.”

Liam swore and picked up his drink.

“I don’t know, Bernard,” Mathew said. “A good suit at one of those uptown parties—even you could probably charm a lady.”

Tommy and Paddy both howled.

“Bernard? Charm a lady?” Paddy slapped Bernard’s back hard enough to nearly knock the cigarette out of his mouth, earning him a glare. “It’ll take more than a suit for a bluenose like you to—”

“Close your face,” Bernard growled.

“There’s always finishing school,” Peter mused.

That prompted even more laughter from the lads and another glare from Bernard. Danny chuckled, but enthusiasm was hard for him to come by tonight.

“Hey.” Francis elbowed Danny. “What’s with you?”

All eyes were suddenly on Danny.

“He’s right,” Paddy said. “You’ve been quiet all evening. What’s wrong with you?” He cocked his head. “You still shook up from the other night? Us almost getting caught?”

“No, it ain’t that.” Danny avoided all their gazes as he lit his cigarette. “Just, um…” He could feel their stares, and…well, what was he waiting for? He took a drag. “So, Mr. Battaglia has another job for us. One closer to Manhattan.”

The lads exchanged looks, then turned inquisitive eyes back on him.

“What kind of job?” Francis asked.

Danny told them everything Carmine had told him, finishing with, “We keep whatever we take and do with it what we will, and he’ll pay us fifty dollars. Each.”

Eyes widened. Lips parted. For a good long moment, Danny wasn’t sure a single man in