Iron Cast(68)

Corinne motioned with both hands in an attempt to herd Ada up the stairs. Ada, who was just starting to realize that Corinne was a little drunk, paid her no heed.

“Are you okay here?” she asked Saint.

“Better than I would be out there,” he replied, returning to his sketchbook. “Call if you need me.”

Ada allowed herself to be tugged up the steps. They went through the bar and out the front door, where the Ford sat, puffing exhaust. Ada took the front seat and sneaked a few long looks at Gabriel. If there had been any truth in Corinne’s jab about passionate necking, Ada didn’t see any evidence in Gabriel’s demeanor. He was as poised and inscrutable as ever.

The saloon on Down Street didn’t have a true name, and Down Street wasn’t a true street, just a slanting alleyway in the heart of the West End. It wasn’t easy to find, but Gabriel seemed to know the way. He parked a block away, and they all climbed out of the car in silence. There weren’t many cars in the West End, or parties. The streets around them were dark and shivering with wind.

Ada kept an eye on Corinne as they walked. She seemed to be managing a straight line, which was a relief. No one had ever accused her of not being able to hold her liquor. Ada wished they’d had a chance to talk earlier. She knew there was no way to talk Corinne out of it, but she wasn’t keen on the idea of meeting the Witchers on their own turf, even in peace. Down Street was a different sort of place from the Red Cat, and Ada was glad that Gabriel had come. Even though the iron in his gun was like an itch she couldn’t scratch, it made her feel safer. Corinne didn’t like guns as much as she liked wit, but Ada had learned to appreciate how the presence of a weapon could make even the most hardened criminal think twice.

“What’s the plan here?” Ada asked Corinne.

They were across the street from the saloon now. There were lights in the windows, and a couple of men were stumbling out, popping their ratty coat collars against the cold.

“The usual, I suppose,” Corinne said. “You and I will be daring and clever. Gabriel will complain and be generally useless.”

Gabriel didn’t give any indication that he’d noticed the casual insult. His eyes were steady on the front door of the saloon. When they passed under a flickering streetlight, Ada could see the lines of a frown on his face.

“I meant how we’ll get in to talk to the Witchers,” Ada said. “They don’t have any reason to see us, or trust us.”

“I suppose we’ll start by asking,” Corinne said.

Ada grabbed a handful of Corinne’s coat and yanked her to a stop. Corinne stumbled backward but kept her feet. Her expression was peeved, but even in the dark Ada could see something harder that she didn’t like. It was less determined and more fatalistic. She leaned closer to Corinne.

“How much have you had to drink?” she whispered.

“There’s nothing wrong with a little liquid courage.”

“Maybe a little. But you’re drunk.”

“I suppose that makes me extra courageous then.”

“No, it makes you reckless and stupid.”

Corinne jerked away from her, but not before Ada saw the hurt cross her face.

“If you want to wait in the car, then go,” Corinne said. “I’m not leaving until I talk to the Witchers.”

It was Ada’s turn to be hurt. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “But if we just march in there, they’ll throw us out. The back rooms are private for a reason. You know what goes on in there.”

“The Witchers know who we are,” Corinne said. “Surely that can get us through the door.”

It was true that they had been here a couple of times before, but always with Johnny, and Ada didn’t remember those visits ever ending with anything but tense words and veiled threats. The Red Cat and the Cast Iron had their old rivalry, but at the end of the day Johnny and Luke Carson were both businessmen. If they let the bad blood spill into the public eye, then the patrons might think twice about coming. The Witchers were outliers, though, and more invested in their cause than in anything else.

“Silas is probably the only one here,” Gabriel said. “George usually travels after Christmas.”

He was so matter-of-fact that it didn’t occur to Ada to doubt him, even though she had no idea why he would know the Witcher brothers’ itineraries. Maybe Johnny had mentioned it. Gabriel was still looking at the front door of the saloon, his brow furrowed. Ada expected Corinne to say something, but she was studying Gabriel with a dissecting gaze.

“He’ll meet with us,” Gabriel said at last, sounding strangely resigned. “Let’s go.” He crossed the street, hands in pockets, not waiting to see if they would follow.

The Down Street saloon was possibly Corinne’s least favorite place in Boston. It stank of sweat and fish. There was no music here, no poetry. The men who came here worked long hours for little pay, and they were worn thin and jagged from laboring around iron and steel. The liquor was dark and flowed fast. The saloon was iron-free, but that was mostly because both the Witchers were wordsmiths. Even though it sported no entertainment, Down Street was a haven for all the blue-collar workers of the West End, not just hemopaths.

Corinne could feel the stares as they passed through. Even with their coats on, she and Gabriel weren’t exactly subtle in their party attire. Most of the patrons were indifferent toward them, but one man spat toward her feet, and there were a couple of catcalls behind them that raised the hairs on her neck. She found Ada’s hand and squeezed it once, more to comfort herself than for Ada.