Iron Cast(52)

“You two,” he said to Ada and Corinne, then nodded toward Gabriel. “Not him. He looks armed.”

Gabriel made a noise of protest, and Corinne elbowed him.

“There’s a door around the side,” Charlie said, gesturing. “It’s the stage door. I’ll meet you there in five minutes.”

He went back inside and shut the door behind him. They could hear his muffled conversation with the other man before there was quiet.

“You two are not going in there by yourselves,” Gabriel said.

“We’ll probably only have a couple of minutes with Carson,” Ada said to Corinne.

“So how do you want to play it?” Corinne asked.

“The same way we always do, I guess.”

Ada was loosening her neck scarf, her smooth forehead creased with a slight frown. She seemed distracted, and Corinne had the sudden thought that she was upset about lying to Charlie. She wasn’t sure how to address that, and before she could, Ada had started toward the stage door.

“Excuse me,” Gabriel said. “Am I just going to be ignored all night?”

“Probably,” Corinne said. “Unless you add something worthwhile to the conversation.”

She turned to follow Ada, but Gabriel grabbed her hand and pulled her back. Corinne was disconcerted by the sudden nearness of him. His grip was firm but gentle, and she found herself wondering how his hands were always warm. The minimal space between them felt charged, like the air before a storm. Then Gabriel spoke and ruined the moment.

“There’s no way I’m letting you two go in there alone.”

“Fortunately, we don’t need your permission,” Corinne said, extricating her hand from his. “Ada and I have been a team since before you knew how to pull a trigger, and we are capable of more than you can fathom. Kindly shut up and let us handle this.”

She moved back a step but refused to break away from his dark stare.

“Even though your idea of handling it is to storm in blindly and accuse one of the most dangerous men in Boston of murder?” Gabriel asked. There was a stitch in his brow, and his fingers had curled into tight fists at his sides.

“We know what we’re doing,” Corinne said, turning her back. “No one asked you to come.”

She rounded the corner to wait with Ada at the stage door. Gabriel trailed behind her but didn’t say more. Ada caught Corinne’s eye with a questioning look, and Corinne answered with a shake of her head. After a few minutes passed, Gabriel cleared his throat.

“Is there a point when I should be concerned?” he asked quietly. His tone had lost its bite. “Or shall I just sit out here all night, twiddling my thumbs?”

“Give us twenty minutes,” Ada said.

“Then you can do something stupid,” Corinne added.

Gabriel didn’t reply. The door opened, and Ada and Corinne slipped in, tapping fingertips as they went. The inside of the Red Cat was heady with smoke and liquor. Ada whispered something to Charlie that Corinne couldn’t hear and touched his shoulder lightly, but she stayed at Corinne’s side.

Together they ducked through the bustle of the backstage crowd, a cacophony of laughter and tuning instruments in their ears. Corinne led the way blindly through a door that seemed to be in the direction of the main floor. It let out at floor level, stage left. Ada shut the door behind them, and they waited a moment for their eyes to adjust.

Where the Cast Iron was all wood paneling and simple framed photographs, the Red Cat was sheer extravagance. The bar was a massive square structure in the center of the floor, roofed with intricately carved mahogany and glistening with rows of hanging bottles and champagne flutes. Crystal chandeliers hung at intervals along the ceiling, with the grandest centered over the white marble dance floor. The waterfall of shimmering crystal teardrops was three tiers deep and cast every gilded and marbled surface in the club into sharp relief.

The waitresses were in a flurry around the crowded tables, their heels clacking on the floor, their faces a sheen of perspiration beneath caked powder. Corinne saw a few people she recognized from the Cast Iron or the newspapers, mostly politicians and lawyers. She kept her head down, praying no one who knew her parents would recognize her. Those who came into the Cast Iron knew to keep their mouths shut about whom they might see around the club, but she didn’t know if Carson’s patrons would have the same consideration for the daughter of an influential family like the Wellses. She usually counted on the fact that important people didn’t want to draw attention to their patronage of places like the Red Cat or the Cast Iron.

The girls picked their way between the rows of tables toward the bar, where Corinne ordered a gin and tonic. She and Ada had played here a few times, so she knew which side of the bar was nearest Luke Carson’s table. He was sitting with his wife, Eva. There were two men in suits and coats in conversation with him. One of them was built like an athlete, and had his suit not been impeccably tailored, it no doubt would have strained at the seams. He was leaning forward with both hands resting on the table. Beneath one of his palms was a thick white envelope. The man’s partner had his back to Carson and was observing the action of the club with a lazy, distant smile. He was shorter, with a receding hairline and bland, pudgy features.

When Corinne got a good look at his face, she spun on her barstool so that her back was to him, jerking Ada along with her. Her pulse was pounding so hard, she could feel it against the glass she clutched in her hands. They were the HPA agents from the asylum. She was sure of it, though she had no idea what they would be doing here.