Iron Cast(107)

“Give Angela my regards,” Corinne said, which she thought might be the nicest thing she’d ever said to her brother.

Phillip seemed to agree. He pulled her into a hug that caught her off guard, but after a second she relaxed into it.

“Angela and I are thinking about renting a house on Martha’s Vineyard this summer,” he told her. “If you won’t come home, maybe you can find your way there, for a little while.”

Corinne smiled against his shoulder. “Maybe I will,” she said. And she meant it.

Phillip released her and crossed the street to his car.

“I liked your wedding, by the way,” she called after him.

“A little bird told me you ran out like a madwoman before we’d even said our vows,” he called back.

“Vile slander, I assure you.”

Phillip was laughing as he cranked the car, and he waved out the window as he drove away. Corinne waved back, unable to bite back a smile. She stood in the shadow of the Cast Iron for several minutes after he had left. She didn’t know how they would keep the club open, but she knew they had to try. Funds might run low without a steady stream of cash conned from unsuspecting regs to replenish the coffers, but Corinne wasn’t worried. She and Ada would find a way. A helpful start was the rather large warehouse full of liquor they had recently inherited, due to Johnny’s disappearance. Corinne didn’t think he would dare come back for it, now that Eva Carson and the Witchers knew of his treachery. Boston had no safe haven for Johnny Dervish anymore.

She locked the door to the Cast Iron and started down the street. The last threads of a plan were coming together in her mind—a daring and stupid plan, to be sure. But she didn’t know how to live any other way.

The cigar club where Councilman Ned Turner went to unwind was one of the most exclusive clubs in Boston. Members only, no guests. There were six separate lounges, each complete with its own bar and wait staff. Most days, like today, the councilman’s status earned him a private room.

He was in a leather wingback chair in front of the fireplace, rolling a fat cigar between his fingertips. His eyes were closed as he blew out a redolent cloud of smoke.

Corinne coughed politely, to let him know they were there. The councilman’s eyes sprang open, and he jerked forward in his chair. Neither Corinne nor Ada blinked.

“Who are you? How did you get in here?” he demanded, craning his neck to survey the otherwise empty room. The wait staff was conspicuously absent. Heavy drapes covered the windows, and the flames in the fireplace behind the girls crackled and leapt, casting their distorted shadows across the wall and ceiling.

“I think you’ll find that we never have any trouble getting into places we want to be,” Ada said. She stared pointedly at the cigar that he had dropped onto the rug.

“What do you want?” Turner scooped up the cigar and rammed the lit end into the ashtray.

“I’m a little hurt that you don’t recognize us, Councilman,” said Corinne.

“Don’t take it personally,” Ada told her. “I’m very good at what I do.”

“True, true.”

Councilman Turner was staring at them with a growing expression of horror. He might not remember the incident on the Harvard Bridge well enough to recognize the culprits, but he had no doubt heard about their capture and subsequent escape. He put the pieces together while they watched; then he swore at them.

“Rude,” Ada said.

Corinne clicked her tongue. “And to think my father voted for you.”

Turner jabbed the cigar toward Ada. “You’re a wanted fugitive, and you—” He shot a glare at Corinne. “Your family name might give you a reprieve this time, but you’d do best to go back to boarding school and hope your parents find someone desperate enough to marry you.”

“Now, see, that doesn’t work for me,” Corinne said evenly. “Does it work for you, Ada?”

“No, Corinne, it doesn’t.”

“Here’s our counteroffer,” Corinne said, crossing her arms. “You release Silas Witcher and drop all charges against him and Ada.”

Councilman Turner’s eyes narrowed, and he relaxed marginally into his chair. “You two think you’re really clever, don’t you?”

“We think quite a lot of things about ourselves, as a matter of fact,” Corinne said. “Chief among them being that we’re both a lot smarter than you.”

“And we have better things to do than stand around here proving it,” Ada said.

The councilman snorted and reignited his cigar with the table lighter.

“I’m not going to negotiate with a couple of slaggers,” he said, puffing a thick cloud of smoke in their direction.

“Oh, you must be confused,” said Corinne.

“This isn’t a negotiation,” said Ada.

“It’s blackmail.”

The councilman snorted again, blowing smoke through his flared nostrils. “You don’t have anything on me.”

“We took two thousand dollars from you on the bridge,” Corinne said.

“Allegedly,” Ada corrected.

“Right, allegedly. And I happen to know for a fact that you requisitioned twenty-five hundred from the city to buy those elephants.”

Turner’s cigar looked perilously close to being dropped a second time. He was trying in vain to rearrange his features and hide his surprise. Corinne smiled.