Chapter Three
Tony sat at his desk, shuffling through a stack of the most tedious paperwork he’d ever had the displeasure of filling out. And that was saying something. He’d filled out his share of tiresome reports when he was a cop. But they, at least, had been real cases. This one…Tony sighed. Another cheating husband and another wife who already knew, but wanted Tony to prove it. It sickened him.
He’d been on the fast track to becoming a federal agent and he’d been one of the youngest and most respected detectives on the police force. He was everything the Bureau of Investigation looked for in a new recruit. Until it had all blown up in his face.
A gust of wind blew the stack of papers off Tony’s desk and he swore while he gathered them up. He swore even louder when he saw the reason for the breeze.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked the man who stood in his doorway.
“Now, that’s no way to greet an old friend, is it?”
“You’re no friend of mine, Jameson.”
Jameson scowled and pulled out the seat on the opposite side of Tony’s desk.
“Go ahead, have a seat,” Tony said, scowling and slumping back into his own chair.
He glared at Jameson. Other than the run-in in front of the butcher dame’s shop, they hadn’t seen each other in almost two years, and Tony had no desire to see the man now.
“So, what do you want?”
“Always direct, aren’t you?”
Tony shrugged. “No point in lollygagging. Spill it.”
“I’ve got a job for you.”
“I’ve got enough jobs,” Tony said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.
“Not one like this.”
Tony cocked an eyebrow. “And why is that?”
“This one’ll pay three times what any of those mediocre jobs are paying.”
“Sure, I’ll just have to sell my soul to do it. If it’s something you don’t want to dirty your hands with, what makes you think I’d want to do it?”
Jameson arched his own brow and Tony tried to rein in the anger that threatened to choke him. Once upon a time, Jameson had been a mentor, of sorts, but he’d been a weaselly little snot then…and he still was. The difference was, Tony didn’t have to put up with him anymore. “Get the hell out of my office, Jameson.”
“This isn’t really a choice, Solomon.”
Tony’s eyes narrowed. He had a feeling it’d be like that. Jameson wouldn’t have come on his own accord. And if his bosses wanted Tony to do a job, it had to be because their own agents were too incompetent to do it.
That had been one of the reasons Tony had been interested in becoming an agent himself—he knew he’d be better at the job than any of the agents he’d come across. Jameson, himself a former detective who’d made the transition to the Bureau, had been assigned to make sure Tony was “Bureau” material. He had been, too. Until he’d gotten a little too cocky and a stupid mistake on a routine job had cost a good cop his life. Tony had been “allowed” to retire early. Any dreams of joining the Bureau had died along with his career.
“When did you decide to transfer to the Bureau of Prohibition?” Tony asked, stalling for a little time while his mind furiously spun.
Jameson’s eyes narrowed. “A year ago. So, what’s it going to be, Solomon? It’s a good offer and you know it. You won’t get another one like this if you pass this up. I know you tried to get back into law enforcement when you came back to town. And I know that none of the agencies would touch you. Not even the local police department of that podunk town you crawled out of when you sobered up. You didn’t start this P.I. firm because you wanted to. You didn’t have a choice. Well, now I’m offering you one. Don’t throw this away.”
Tony focused his attention out the window until he could control the urge to sock Jameson in his ugly mug. It was one thing to hate his job. It was another to have someone like Jameson point out how worthless it was. He’d like nothing more than to throw the man out of his office on his butt-kissing ass, but with Tony already on shaky ground with law enforcement agencies, he couldn’t really afford to get on their wrong side. Worse than he was, anyway, not if he ever wanted to get out of this stinking office and salvage his career.
“What is it exactly that you are requesting I do?”
“There’s a certain someone we need a little more information on.”
Tony’s eyes narrowed further, and he hated that he was a little intrigued. “And who is this certain someone?”
Jameson smiled. “Our little friend at the butcher shop. We need you to get a bit more…cozy with her. She’s not really your type, but then,” he looked around the office, “maybe you’re ready for a change of pace, eh?”
The mention of the intriguing Miss Harlan made Tony’s hand clench in an urge to slug Jameson.
“Just spill it and get the hell out of my office, Jameson. I already did your little favor and asked about the fish. What exactly is going on? She looked at me like I was crazy. And then stuck me with a fillet of trout, which I hate, and I had to pay for it.”
“The fish is code, we believe, for when The Red Phoenix will be open. We thought we had the right phrasing nailed down. Apparently not.”
“You honestly think that dame is involved with some speakeasy?”
Jameson dropped a file on Tony’s desk and leaned back in his chair while Tony flipped it open with a knot in his stomach. He didn’t know why he cared. She had seemed nice, though. Different. A female butcher? Making her way in the world alone? He admired her. And the way her cheeks had flushed every time he’d looked at her made him want to explore every inch of her deliciously rosy skin.
Jessie’s picture stared up at him from the file. Her face was in profile, her thick hair blowing in the wind, though the black and white photo didn’t do justice to its actual rich chestnut color. She was speaking to a gentleman whose face was obscured by the corner of a building. She obviously wasn’t aware she’d been photographed. They’d had her under surveillance.
More pictures showed her with the same gentleman, though there was never a clear shot of his face. Tony’s gut knotted at how obviously familiar the man was to Jessie. One picture showed him with his arm draped around her shoulder; another, opening a car door for her outside a restaurant. Another was shadowy, blurry, obviously taken through the shop window, but it looked like the man and Jessie were wrapped in an embrace, passionately kissing.
Tony tossed the pictures back on the desk, gritting his teeth against the rush of disappointment and anger the pictures dredged up. The file contained only a few other papers with almost no information. Her name—Jessica Harlan. Her age—twenty-five. Her address—an apartment above the butcher shop.
Tony arched an eyebrow. “Doesn’t seem like much here. What makes you think this dame is involved in anything illegal?”
Jameson tapped his finger on the pictures. “That man.”
Tony bit his tongue against responding to Jameson’s condescending tone and looked more carefully at the pictures. He brought the clearest photo up to his face.
“You can’t see him clearly enough to make him out. Who is he?”
“We think he’s Mario Russo.”
“Willie the Weasel’s Mario Russo?”
“Live and in person,” Jameson said, leaning back and folding his hands across his chest. “Or so we believe. Hard to tell from the pictures, but the scuttlebutt at the time was that it was none other than Russo. Which means our little Miss Harlan spent several months running around town with one of the highest ranking members of Willie’s organization. Not looking so innocent now, is she?”
Tony’s swallowed, his stomach dropping a notch or two. “And now?”
“They had some sort of falling out—”
“Maybe she figured out who he was and cut ties.”
Jameson’s eyebrow rose at the interruption. “Maybe. But word on the street is that she found herself a bigger fish.”
Tony didn’t want to know who that might be. The thought of her being some gangster’s moll ruined the shiny picture he’d had of her in his head. He glanced back at the thin file. “You don’t seem to have any information on any other man. What makes you think she’s involved with anyone? Especially someone who runs in Russo’s circles?”
Jameson shrugged. “Miss Harlan’s shop floundered after her father died. And then suddenly it started flourishing again. Though there hasn’t been a noticeable influx of new customers. And her father was famous around these parts for his gin. Before Prohibition, of course. Made the stuff his whole life. She doesn’t keep it in her shop that we can tell, so where did it all go? She apparently dug up enough clams from somewhere to save her shop, so where did the money come from?”
“You must have some idea.”
“We do.”
Jameson tossed another file onto the desk, one even thinner than Miss Harlan’s, if that were possible. “The Phoenix? Really?”
Jameson shrugged again. “That’s what he’s known by. Owns a speakeasy called The Red Phoenix.”
Tony flipped the single sheet in the file over. “That’s all you know about him? His name and the name of his club? How do you even know he exists? Or that he’s involved with Miss Harlan?”
“We have our sources.”
Tony snorted and tossed the file down on his desk. “Then why can’t these sources get the information you need? Why come to me?”
“She’s cagey.” He shrugged. “But a skirt’s a skirt. And you’ve always been able to attract the dames with that good-looking mug of yours. I’m sure it’d be no problem for a man like you to charm some information out of her. Might be easier to get what we need if she’s carrying a torch for you. Catch more flies with honey and all that.”
Jameson looked out the window and Tony smiled. Jameson could squawk all day about charm and good looks, but Tony knew why they’d come to him. Because when it came to undercover work, he was the best. It must gall Jameson to have to admit it, though. Tony sat there and watched him squirm, enjoying the jackass being on the other end of their little game for a change.
Finally, he relented. “So what exactly do you want me to do?”
“We want you to find the Phoenix and bring him in. His speakeasy has become the hottest spot in town. Only we’ve never been able to pinch anyone on a raid. Every time we think we’ve got some credible information about where the damn place is, all we find are empty storerooms.”
“You don’t know where the joint is? You’ve never caught anyone?”
Jameson grimaced. “A few tanked stragglers wandering around on the street, but a thorough search of the buildings they are found near has never turned anything up. Nothing to indicate a speakeasy has ever been in the area. The man is more clever than most. We never know when the place is up and running and wouldn’t know where to look even if we did. And like I said, the few times we’ve gotten reliable information, we didn’t find anything.”
“And how does this dame factor in to all this?”
“She’s his girl. And if you want to know when the club is open, you need to go to her shop to find out.”
The knot in Tony’s gut hardened and he swallowed. “Then just pick her up. Question her.”
Jameson pinned him with an exasperated look. “We already have. She won’t talk.”
“And you can’t make her?” Tony couldn’t keep the smugness out of his voice and Jameson’s face darkened.
“We’ve had men tailing her for months. She’s careful. And until now we didn’t know the pass phrase to get the information on the club.”
“No offense, but since it didn’t work, I’d say you still don’t know it.”
Jameson glowered at him.
“Why not just send another agent in? I’m sure you’ve got enough men hanging around doing nothing.”
Jameson smiled, though there was nothing friendly about it. “We want a little more than just finding out the nights the club is open.”
Tony frowned. He didn’t like where this was going.
“We also need to know particulars about the club. Where is it? How are people getting out? Who’s the supplier? Where are the stores of liquor? Especially where the liquor is. For Miss Harlan’s own protection, of course.”
“What do you mean?”
“As far as we can tell, the Phoenix isn’t bootlegging across any of the supply chains we’ve come across. He could be a rumrunner, transporting the stuff by ship, across the lakes, but the more likely option is that the Phoenix is either using Miss Harlan’s father’s stock, or she’s making the stuff herself to supply him. But if she’s buying it from someone else to keep his club stocked, it’s not from Willie the Weasel. Because he’s taken an unhealthy interest in her.”
Both Tony’s eyebrows shot up at that. If Willie was interested, the club must be doing quite well, indeed.
“Wouldn’t her involvement with Russo already have brought her to Willie’s attention?”
“Not to this extent. We had no interest in her ourselves until right around the time she split with Russo. That’s when word started spreading about the Phoenix and his new speakeasy. And this dame’s involvement. Not long after that, Russo is out of the picture and The Red Phoenix is the hottest ticket in town.”
“Even so, why does Willie care if one little speakeasy does well? Surely it’s not making that big of a dent in his profits.”
Jameson shrugged again. “Enough that he’s taken notice. Apparently, The Red Phoenix is a jumping joint and if the Phoenix is selling Miss Harlan’s gin, then he’s not buying Willie’s. That’s rubbing Willie the wrong way.”
“He’s got men watching her, too?”
Jameson nodded and Tony whistled. “So what are the specifics? You want the club, the booze, and the Phoenix?”
Jameson nodded.
“She’s not going to give any of that up easily.”
“Of course not,” Jameson said, leaning over the table. “Which is why we wanted you for the job.”
Anger burned its way through Tony’s gut. It wasn’t his skills as a P.I. that the agency wanted. It was his pretty face.
“You want me to romance it out of her.”
Jameson smiled. “If necessary. Should be easy enough for you. And much more fun than any of the jobs you’ve been running lately. She’s not so bad to look at.”
The thought of what they wanted him to do made Tony sick. “She’s a lady, not some floozy.”
“And you know that from talking to her for all of two minutes?”
Tony didn’t trust himself to answer. His anger on her behalf was irrational and he couldn’t explain where it was coming from. The evidence, circumstantial though it was, was damning enough that he could understand why the Feds were interested. But he’d be willing to bet his hat that Jessica Harlan wasn’t what they thought.
“She’s not a lady. She’s the whore of a criminal, and not for the first time. Even if she’s not directly involved with his activities, she’s far enough in. She’s guilty by association and I’m sure by a lot more. It’s your job to find out how far in she is.”
Tony shook his head. “No. I’m not using some poor girl just because you can’t do your job.”
“Oh, grow up, Solomon. She’s neck deep in this and you know it. You want to know where the speakeasy is, you go to her. The place is probably selling her father’s booze. She’s using profits from the club to keep her shop running. She’s just as much a criminal as the Phoenix is. Her pretty face doesn’t change that fact.”
Tony sat back, still fuming. Jameson actually made a compelling argument, though he hated to admit it. Still…
“Besides, here’s your incentive.”
Jameson tossed an envelope on his desk and Tony glanced down at it.
“Open it.”
Tony didn’t want to comply, but his curiosity, and his empty bank account, got the better of him. The amount on the check made his blood run cold. And he hated himself for it. He wanted that money. Needed it. It would keep his rent paid for the next year, at least. More importantly, he could finally do right by his mother, find her a nice place uptown, and get her out of the dump she was in.
“You must want this man bad.”
“We need to make an example of him.”
“Why him?”
“So far, he’s not as dangerous as Capone or Willie. He’s not claiming any dead bodies, yet, so taking him down should be easier. His entire organization, as far as we can tell, is her,” he said, pointing to the file that still lay open on Tony’s desk. “It won’t be as flashy as one of the bigger fish, but it’ll make a bigger impact. This man is one of their own. He’s not some mysterious mobster running things from his private fortress.”
“That you know of.”
Jameson nodded. “That we know of. For all we know, he is Capone. We know he isn’t in Willie’s organization, because Willie’s got his own men watching her. But even Capone and Willie haven’t been immune. Their speakeasies have been raided. Their operations interrupted. Not the Phoenix. We want him. And with you, we might be able to get him.”
Tony took a deep breath. He didn’t like this job. He had a bad feeling about it, and he’d learned to trust those feelings. And he really didn’t want to get involved with Jameson again.
Though…this could be his chance. If he pulled this off, if he could bring in the Phoenix, he could vindicate himself and prove that he was better than the mistake he’d made. Maybe he’d even be allowed back on the force. Start working his way back up the ladder into the Bureau of Investigation. At the very least, it would do wonders for his P.I. business. A picture of him in the paper, an article showcasing how he’d brought down the notorious Phoenix. He’d have more jobs than he knew what to do with.
“I’m afraid I can’t give you time to think about this. We need an answer now.”
“And when would this job start?”
“Immediately.”
“Details?”
Jameson smiled, probably figuring he had him where he wanted him. Tony kept his grimace to himself. Let the man think whatever he wanted.
“We recently shut down a speakeasy not far from where Miss Harlan’s shop is located. We’ll set you up as the owner—with the same employees, and start spreading word around town that your joint is the hot new one to frequent.”
Tony’s eyes widened. “You’re going to run your own speakeasy in order to catch this guy? Shaving the legal line a little thin there, aren’t you?”
“We’ve gotten permission from the higher ups. For a short time.”
“They must really be desperate to get this guy.”
“Aside from the fact that he’s breaking half a dozen or so laws, he’s Willie’s new favorite hobby. That means we could have a full-scale territory war on our hands. I don’t care if a bunch of rumrunners kill themselves. Saves me the trouble of hauling them in. But they could potentially take out a lot of innocent people and terrorize the entire city in the process. The last thing we want is a massacre on our hands or widespread panic if these gangsters start shooting it out in the streets. If we have to sell some very watered-down booze to prevent that from happening, well, it’s a necessary evil. However, we do have a ticking clock on this.”
Tony’s stomach sank. “And exactly how fast is it ticking?”
“You’ve got a month.”
Tony laughed out loud. “A month. To bring this dame in, get her to trust me enough to spill her guts about her boyfriend, find him and his rumrunning operation, and gather enough evidence to shut the place down and lock him up for good.”
Jameson crossed his arms over his chest and smiled. “That’s right. The speakeasy we seized was only down for a few nights. The patrons think it was just a normal raid and business is back to usual. We’ve quietly spread the word that it’s under new management, and the new owner, you, will be making an appearance shortly. So all you need to do is get the dame in line.”
Tony leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms, locking his fingers behind his head. “You’re out of your mind.”
“What’s the matter, Tony? Don’t think you can do it? What happened to that first class reputation of yours? Wasn’t too long ago all you had to do was look at a lady to have her offering up every secret she ever had on a silver platter. Losing your touch?”
Tony dropped his arms, his body going tense again. “This isn’t some regular dame. According to you, she’s the girl of one of the best rumrunners in the city. I’m sure she’s wise to any games cops wanna play.”
“Well, then,” Jameson said, standing up and straightening his jacket. “I guess you’ll just have to come up with some new games. Of course, if The Corkscrew is successful enough, starts hurting his bottom line, that alone might draw the Phoenix out. If not…”
“If I can’t draw him out for poaching his business, you want me to draw him out by poaching his dame.”
Tony scowled and Jameson lost the smile. “I can try and buy you some more time. But it won’t be much.”
Tony nodded. “Anything you can get would be helpful.”
Jameson opened the door. “I’ll expect bi-weekly reports from you. And if you get anything of importance, come to me immediately.”
Tony frowned, hating to be back under Jameson’s command. But he saw the check sitting on the desk and nodded.
He felt like he was selling his soul to the devil, but if it would get his career back on track, and set his mother up for whatever time she had left, then the devil had himself a new partner.