Iron Cast(100)

“Cor, wait,” she whispered.

Corinne turned around, her expression one of determined irritation. Ada held out her hand for their handshake, and Corinne softened. She pulled Ada into a sudden, desperate embrace.

“Don’t die,” she said into her ear. “And for cripes’ sake, tell Charlie you love him already.”

They parted smiling, and Ada ran to catch up with Charlie. They crept through the narrow alley, stepping around broken glass and murky puddles that were covered in fine swaths of lacy ice. The back of the warehouse was lined with grimy windows. Ada tried to peer through one, but the window was too dirty to make out anything. They ducked below them just in case and found the back door. There was a rusted latch on it that was padlocked.

For a few seconds, they just stared at it.

“We probably should have seen this coming,” Ada whispered.

“This whole breaking and entering thing is pretty new to me,” Charlie replied.

“What do we do? If we break a window, they’ll hear us.”

“Maybe there’s a crowbar in the car. Or we could use the hand crank.”

“You won’t be able to break the padlock with a hand crank.”

“No, but it looks like we only need a little leverage to break off the latch from the other end.”

Ada stared at the latch doubtfully. “I guess we have to try,” she said.

“That’s the spirit,” he said cheerfully. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

“Charlie, wait.”

She grabbed his shirt as he turned and pulled him back. His lips met hers so fast that he must have been reading her mind. His mouth still had the brassy taste from tuning his French horn. His hands were around her waist, and she savored the way she fit right into his arms. It felt better than easy. It felt right.

She pulled back until there was a hairbreadth between their lips, their foreheads touching. “I love you,” she whispered.

He grinned and met her mouth for one more kiss.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

Ada nodded, breathless, and he jogged off. She could hear him humming as he ran. She pressed her hand to her lips and tried not to smile.

The warehouse was cavernous, and when Corinne and Gabriel entered, it was eerily quiet. There was a row of electric bulbs hanging from the ceiling, buzzing with a golden glow. The knot in Corinne’s chest tightened. Someone was definitely here.

They edged along the inside wall, using the stacks upon stacks of wooden crates as cover. There was a low voice that she was positive was Johnny’s. For a while, as they crept through the maze of crates, she couldn’t make out the other sound. Then she caught a glimpse through a gap in two crates and realized it was Saint, sobbing.

She sank to her knees, pressing both hands over her mouth to smother a cry. Saint was dangling by his wrists with his toes barely brushing the ground. The chain around his wrists was also lashed around his bare torso three or four times. Corinne knew without looking a second time that it was pure iron. Gabriel’s hand was on her back, and she realized he had crouched down beside her. She looked at his face illuminated by the sliver of light between the crates. The disgust and anger she saw there bolstered her somehow. If he could face it, so could she. She peered back through the gap.

Jackson was slouched in a chair off to the left, checking the bullets in his gun. Johnny was standing in front of Saint, speaking in earnest tones that were completely at odds with the scene.

“I just need to know who else you told,” he said. “I wish we could have handled this in a more civilized manner, but I have to be sure. My sources assure me that the Eighteenth Amendment is going to be ratified. A year from now, when Prohibition goes into effect, this warehouse is going to be worth more than all of Boston.”

Saint was shaking too hard to speak, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“I’ll just shoot him,” said Jackson. “Sniveling little shit didn’t tell anyone.”

“Is that true?” Johnny said to Saint, catching his chin in his hand. “If you think you’re protecting your friends, don’t worry—I’ll be taking care of them in short order.”

Saint jerked his head, succeeding only in swaying his entire body in the chains.

“You said if I came with you—” But he couldn’t finish.

Corinne could see his teeth were stained scarlet with blood. Someone must have hit him. She balled her hands into fists, trying to gain control over the fury that was building in her veins.

“I lied,” Johnny said. “To be honest, I just wanted to see if you were made of stronger stuff than your old man. After you left Ada high and dry, it didn’t seem likely. At least now you can die knowing you’ve redeemed yourself. It’s more than your father managed.”

“This is taking too long,” Jackson said.

“I thought a thespian of all people would appreciate the theatrics of it,” Johnny said, more to Saint than to his cohort. “This is how the ironmongers do it, you know. String the slagger up with iron, then slit the calves open, here and here.” He drew lines with his finger across Saint’s calves. “Chain ’em and drain ’em.”

Saint whimpered. Blood was dripping from his mouth, bright and angry against his pale skin.

“It’s not my fault,” Johnny said. “This would have been so much easier if you’d just kept your mouth shut at the station last month. I had a nice, quick death arranged for you in lockup. Shiv to the neck. You would have bled out before you realized what was happening.”