Diva (The Flappers) - By Jillian Larkin Page 0,2
see your big show.”
Jerome gestured down the street. “You’re welcome to join my eager fans.”
“I’m a lot more welcome than you.” Gloria’s father squinted. “Looks like a few have figured out what happened to their favorite piano player.”
Startled, Jerome turned and looked. The street was dark, and he didn’t see anyone. Then, before he realized what was happening, Lowell Carmody had opened the back door of the car and shoved Jerome inside.
Jerome brought his hands up too late to stop his shoulder from hitting the car’s plush floor mat. Gloria’s dad picked him up by the feet and heaved him the rest of the way, then got in behind him and slammed the door. “Drive!” he barked out.
The chauffeur shifted the car smoothly into gear and took off with alarming speed.
Jerome climbed up from the floor and settled back on the leather upholstery. He found himself sitting across from a steely-eyed goon whose muscles strained beneath his black suit jacket. Lowell Carmody slid onto the seat beside Jerome. He fished a handkerchief from his jacket pocket, mopped at his face, folded the handkerchief, and put it away.
“I don’t mean any disrespect, sir,” Jerome said, “but what in the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Mr. Carmody said nothing, just turned and stared out the tinted window.
With a resigned sigh, Jerome joined him in watching the world pass by. Minutes passed, then more minutes, and soon Jerome realized they were no longer in Manhattan. Instead of sleek skyscrapers, they were surrounded by sprawling, flat warehouses and rusty cranes and rigs. In the distance Jerome could see a skyline that was a sad imitation of what they’d left behind on the other side of the Hudson River. A clock hovered over one of the many factories, next to a billboard painted to look like an enormous tube of toothpaste, COLGATE emblazoned across it in big white letters.
For so many musicians, playing in Manhattan was a dream—the hopping clubs, the twinkling lights. It was easy to forget that a smog-belching nightmare like New Jersey was so close by.
Mr. Carmody finally turned to Jerome. “I’m tempted to just push you out of the car and have Elroy here shoot you.”
Jerome swallowed hard.
“But I don’t have to do that,” Mr. Carmody went on with a self-satisfied smile. “I’ve got the law on my side. I’ve had Gloria declared my ward, since she is clearly incapable of making her own decisions.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” They veered away from the main highway and their surroundings became increasingly rural, with rows of corn and dilapidated barns on either side of the road.
“It means I control her life and her world. And you are no longer a part of it.” Lowell Carmody’s smile had turned sinister. “If you come near Gloria and I hear of it, I will have you arrested. I’ll have the cops throw you into a cell where no one will ever find you. Or I’ll have you killed.”
Jerome looked desperately out the window, but the only signs of life he could see were a few matted, feral-looking barn cats slinking through the night.
Mr. Carmody exhaled and glanced at Jerome with a smug twinkle in his eye. “That bigoted mob back there? That was my doing. I’m the one who leaked where you were playing to the Klan, and I’ll do it again, and again. Pretty soon there won’t be a club in Manhattan that will risk hiring you.”
The car turned onto a barren stretch of road with nothing but dirt and dying grass on either side. “So from this day forward, you will have nothing to do with Gloria—or New York City—for the rest of your life. Or else I will make sure there’s no life for you to have. Understand me?”
Jerome opened his mouth to respond—how could Gloria’s father be so cruel?—but Mr. Carmody waved him into silence. “I’m serious.” With a nod, he signaled the scowling thug sitting across from them. The goon seized Jerome’s arm with a hand like a steel cuff.
“I can’t say it was nice to see you, Jerome Johnson. Elroy?”
The thug threw the car door wide open, banging it against the chassis so that it swung violently to and fro on its hinges. Jerome could hear the gravel crunching under the car’s tires and the wind roaring by. “This is where you’ll be leaving us,” Mr. Carmody said.
Jerome thrashed as hard as he could against Elroy’s grip and managed to connect one of his feet with Mr. Carmody’s face.