Iron Cast(94)

In her quietest moments, Corinne could still feel Ada’s melody in her head, sliding through the edges of her consciousness. She wondered if it would ever truly leave her. She wondered if all the people they had ever entertained or conned were carrying around pieces of poems and songs deep inside them, maybe never to be remembered, but certainly never to be forgotten.

Gabriel had asked, How can you realize what it’s like for the rest of us?

Maybe for the first time, she knew.

Wordlessly, she lifted her hand, palm up. Ada smiled again, and this time it was genuine. She tapped her fingertips against Corinne’s, then threw her arms around her in a fierce embrace. Corinne coughed a little at the impact, though she didn’t try to pull away. There was more she wanted to say, like that she didn’t think she would be able to sleep because she could still feel Madeline’s hand in hers, or that a small part of her believed that this was all a mistake and Johnny was innocent, or that when she thought about Gabriel, her stomach cinched into knots, and she couldn’t breathe. She didn’t say any of those things right now. She knew she would, in time.

When Ada finally pulled away, they went to lie down on their makeshift pallets. The boys were already asleep. Charlie was on his back, an arm flung over his face. Saint was curled into a ball, snoring softly. As she’d predicted, Corinne couldn’t sleep. Her mind raced through the day before, skipping over everything she wanted to focus on and instead lingering horribly on the worst parts, on Madeline in the dead grass, on James sobbing like a child, on Gabriel in the Cast Iron, and on Eva Carson asking the question that Corinne couldn’t answer and couldn’t escape.

What else is he planning?

“The liquor truck only comes on Thursdays,” Corinne said out loud. She sat up so quickly that her head spun.

Charlie rolled over. Saint jolted a little but didn’t wake up.

“What?” Ada mumbled.

“Charlie,” Corinne said, and when he didn’t respond, she shouted: “Charlie!”

He jerked upright and looked around in bewilderment. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

Ada had propped herself onto her elbows and was staring at her.

“How many bottles of liquor does the delivery truck bring here every week?” Corinne asked Charlie.

He stared at her for several seconds, his mind clearly trying to catch up to her words.

“I don’t know,” he said. “A truckload.”

“Saint,” Corinne said, turning to him. “Saint . . . Sebastian.”

Saint made an exasperated noise and stretched out flat. “What?” he demanded of the ceiling, his voice hoarse.

“You’re around the Cast Iron the most. How often did Johnny take deliveries?”

“Why would I pay attention to that?”

“Think!”

“Once a week, I guess. Or twice.”

“What about at the warehouse? The one on the wharf?”

“Almost every night,” Saint said. He sat up and ran his hands down his face.

“What is it, Cor?” Ada asked.

“The Red Cat has just as many customers as the Cast Iron, and they only go through one delivery of liquor a week. Why is Johnny taking deliveries at the warehouse every night?”

“How do you know it’s alcohol being delivered?” Charlie asked.

“I’ve been there before,” Saint said. “I helped them unload a couple times a few years ago, before Johnny hired Tom Glenn.”

“I’ve never been there,” Corinne said. “How big is it?”

“Takes up almost a whole block. It was mostly empty back then, though.”

“I bet it’s full now,” Corinne said.

Ada sat up and crossed her legs, tugging the blanket over her lap.

“The Eighteenth Amendment,” she said. “If one more state ratifies it, Prohibition will go into effect next year.”

“And Johnny thinks the law will pass,” Corinne said.

“So he’s been hoarding liquor?” Charlie asked.

“Ever since the law banning public hemopathy passed, the Cast Iron has been struggling,” Ada said. “The warehouse must have been his ace in the hole.”

“He kept it a secret so that none of his competitors would catch on,” Corinne said. “He’s probably been using the money from the HPA to stay afloat, trying to buy himself time to finish stocking the warehouse.”

“But that doesn’t explain why he faked his death,” Saint said.

Corinne swallowed hard. Her head was pounding again. She looked at Ada, who was twisting her blanket between her fists, her expression dark.

“We’re dead weight,” Ada said. “He knows he can’t keep the club open anymore, not with a ban on both hemopathy and alcohol.”

“He probably thought we’d all scatter once he was gone,” Corinne said.

“Most of the crew did,” Ada said. “When Prohibition takes effect, Johnny will have the largest stock of liquor in Boston— probably in the whole Northeast. He’ll be rich.”

“And he won’t have to split the profits with anyone,” Corinne said.

“What a piece of shit,” Charlie said, dropping back onto the floor.

“We’ve been wrong this whole time,” Ada said. She lay down too. Her voice was soft with weariness. “All those cons we pulled, all those people we robbed—we thought we were doing it for the Cast Iron, so that we would be safe. But we were just propping up Johnny on his throne.”