The Lost Girl of Astor Street(39)

“You already know the stuff about Willa Mae. And apparently Mr. Walker has a bit of a reputation for, well, spending time with ladies who . . . Well, with women of a certain . . . I mean—”

“Prostitutes.”

Mariano rubs his chin. “Yeah. Mr. Gorecki also thinks he might be involved in gambling or laundering in some way. That perhaps the money funnels through the lunchroom on its way to the Finnegans.”

My heart quickens at the thought that we might be just a few breaths away from Lydia. That this Johnny Walker, however vile his personal choices might be, could be what saves her. “Mariano”—my words are breathy from our pace—“I think it’d be best for me to go into the lunchroom alone.”

Mariano snorts a laugh. “Think again, Piper Sail.”

“I’m serious. I have a better chance of getting him to talk if I’m in there by myself.”

Mariano stops walking and gives me an incredulous look. “Did you not hear what I just said?” He ticks it off on his fingers. “Prostitution. Gambling. Money laundering. Finnegan. So, no, you’re not going in there by yourself.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Just because a man partakes in a number of vices doesn’t mean it’s unsafe for me to order a cup of coffee in his restaurant.”

“No, Piper.”

“How about you give me five minutes in there? You wait right outside, where you can hear me if I scream, and then you can come in if you’d like. But don’t act like you’re with me if I’m making progress.”

“We’re not doing any undercover operations that involve me needing to be close enough for rescue in case you need to scream. I’m coming in with you, and that’s that.”

Beyond Mariano, up the sidewalk, is a dog. He’s skinny but tall, and he’s trotting toward us. I tug at Mariano’s coat. “Let’s keep moving. Let’s cross the street.”

Mariano glances over his shoulder, and then turns back to me with a wry smile. “Well, look at that. You are afraid of something.”

“I’ve never claimed otherwise.” I tug at his elbow. “Let’s get going.”

“Going to the heart of gang territory by yourself? Not scary. Being alone with a man who I’ve just told you has a bad reputation? Not scary. But a stray dog you’re three times the size of? Terrifying, apparently.”

“Dogs don’t like me, okay? They never have.” The dog is now galloping toward us, his long tongue flopping out of his mouth. “My archenemies in this world are children, dogs, and my Home Economics teacher, so if we could please move faster . . .”

As the dog closes in, my body reacts without my permission—I screech and take off running.

“Piper, don’t!” Mariano calls. “That’ll make him chase you. Just stand still.”

The dog barks. He’s closer than I imagined, and another scream bubbles out of my throat. I cower against the cool brick of a building and brace for the impact. For the feel of teeth breaking through skin. “Mariano! Help!”

The dog’s wet nose touches my leg, and his paw presses against my thigh.

“Your bag, Piper.” Mariano’s words are laced with laughter.

I crack open an eye. Mariano stands on the sidewalk, hands on his narrow hips, smirking. The dog has braced himself against me with one paw. He’s a skinny thing, with dirt-brown fur matted against his body. His nose is buried in my shopping bag. The bag that holds two chicken sandwiches.

With a trembling hand, I reach past the dog’s muzzle and into the bag to retrieve the packed lunch. I chuck the sandwiches as far as I can. The dog barks gleefully and sprints after them.

An exhale shudders out of me. “That was terrifying.”

“I know. I was terrified that you’d run back to the train station without me.”

I brush dirt from my dress. “I don’t like dogs.”

“I noticed.”

I eye the mutt, whose mangy tail wags as he feasts. “Let’s get away from here.”

Mariano offers me his arm, and my knees are so weak that I don’t even mind leaning on him as we walk to the lunchroom.

It isn’t until we’re inside and seated at the counter that I realize my master plan to flirt the details out of the proprietor has been foiled.

Stupid dog.





CHAPTER


NINE


You’re Johnny Walker?”

The man’s straight teeth gleam white, and he winks a dark eye. “Unless you want me to go by a different name, little lady.”

“I just thought . . .” I start the sentence before I realize there’s no good way to finish. I just thought you’d look more like a man who couldn’t get a date unless he paid them. “I didn’t expect you to be Italian.” I try fluttering my eyelashes like I’ve seen Mae do with Jeremiah. “Why, you look like you could be Valentino’s brother.”

I swallow. It’s not that much of a stretch. Johnny Walker certainly has a face worthy of the silver screen, and he can’t be much older than early thirties. Still, it’s an uncomfortably forward thing to say to a man. Especially an older man.

But Johnny only smooths his narrow mustache and winks at me again. “Always fancied myself more like Douglas Fairbanks, but you ladies go crazy for Valentino.”