Dread Nation (Dread Nation #1)(12)
“Can’t help but notice you ain’t been around lately,” he says. Jackson runs the roadways between Miss Preston’s and the city, and there ain’t much in Baltimore County that goes on without Red Jack being involved, legal or otherwise. His blue-green eyes gleam. “We missed you last Saturday, Janey-Jane.”
I shrug and glance around. Miss Duncan is still occupied with the pony drivers, most likely arguing about the fee. Drivers always like to up the price of a ride after the fact. Everyone knows they’re as crooked as they come. Most likely Jackson is here to collect his piece of the action.
“Well, I ain’t miss you or your hoodlum friends. And I told you to stop calling me that. My name is Jane, not Janey.”
He grins at me, revealing a flash of gold tooth. “Aw, now, that ain’t no way to talk to a beau. You keep it up with that sassy little mouth, I’m going to start to questioning your manners.”
I cross my arms. “You. Ain’t. My. Beau.” And he ain’t. What we have together is business, not personal. Not anymore, at least. I dart a quick glance toward Miss Duncan, who is still dickering with the carriage driver. “Scram before you get me in trouble.”
Jackson puts his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels. His gold watch chain catches the light at the waist of the brand-new green paisley waistcoat he’s wearing. It’s fancy and eye-catching. Silk maybe, and nicer than anything I’ve ever owned.
He notices me noticing and gives a wide smile. “You like it? I remember you saying green was your favorite color.”
It is my favorite color, and it does look very dashing on him. No doubt about it, he is a fine-looking man. But he’s also a mountain of trouble, and there are lots of other good-looking boys that ain’t running around on the wrong side of the law.
“You did not wear that for me, so don’t try to talk sweet. I know you, Jackson. You were probably on your way to see some poor farm girl that you tricked into believing you were the deputy mayor of Baltimore. Don’t try to rope me into your shenanigans.”
Jackson flashes me that wicked grin of his again before his eyes shift to something over my shoulder. I turn my head to follow his gaze. Katherine watches the two of us with narrowed eyes. One of the girls says something to her and pulls her attention back to the group’s conversation, and I swear under my breath. “Lookit that. Now Miss Bigmouth is going to tell on me for sure. I’ve got to get back.”
He grabs my arm, that devilish smile playing around his lips. “Come down to the barrelhouse after you get back to your school. I got a surprise for you.”
“I don’t want any surprises you might have, Jackson.”
That is a lie. He’s the one who smuggles me my news stories, even a book every now and again, in exchange for helping him with this dark deed or that one. So I do want whatever he has. But I ain’t about to tell him that.
He tilts his head, his smile fading and a serious look taking its place. “Oh, this you do. Trust me.”
I blink, because I ain’t used to such solemnity from Jackson. I once saw him beat a man near to death, all while wearing a smile.
I spy Miss Duncan heading back our way and I nod. “Not tonight. Tomorrow.”
The smile reappears, and he gives me a low bow. “I’ll count the minutes.”
I snort. “I doubt you can count that high.”
He gives me a wink, and just as quickly as he appeared, he fades back into the crowd of respectable folk moving down the sidewalks, anxious to finish their business and get inside before dark.
I move back to the knot of girls just as Miss Duncan rejoins our group. Her cheeks are flushed, and she wears an expression that says she’d like nothing more than to smack someone. That’s what trying to deal with one of them carriage drivers will do to you. They’re as frustrating as Jackson, but without the charm.
“All right, ladies, let’s make our way down to the university. We don’t want to be late for the lecture.” Miss Duncan sets off at a trot, and we all follow her. Running might be undignified for well-bred ladies, but for a passel of Negro girls destined to work cleanup, it’s just fine.
Katherine falls back next to me, her face reddening after only a few steps. I glance at her out of the corner of my eyes and can’t help but shake my head. She sees me and her already sour expression turns stormy.
“What, Jane?”
“You shouldn’t have worn that corset. That thing is going to get you killed.”
“This thing happens to be the height of fashion. But I’m not surprised you don’t know that.”
“Kate, I like pretty clothes as much as the next girl, but I ain’t about to let them kill me.”
She sniffs and adjusts her gloves. “It’s Katherine, Jane McKeene, and you know that. Never you mind about me, who was that ruffian you were speaking with?”
“Ruffian? What ruffian? I’m afraid I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
She stumbles on a cobblestone and I reach out to catch her, steadying her with a light touch to her elbow. She shakes off my hand and picks up the pace.
“That guy. With the . . . natty . . . waistcoat.” Already Katherine is out of breath, and we’ve only gone a short ways. If we keep on like this, she’s going to faint and end up splayed out on the road like a well-dressed corpse.