Prohibition is the law of the land, but Nellie needs cash - after socking a gangster in the face, she's got ten days to make it right. Frightened and caught empty-handed, Nellie turns bootlegger.
She accepts a job from her sly friend Lola to pick up...
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When Nellie vanishes with Lola along with her tall friend I wander over to the corner. Its occupied, as it would turn out, by a spectacularly lopsided bookshelf. I turn towards it and pretend to be fascinated. Normally I'd be fairly content to browse someone else's bookshelf, but as luck would have it, both Tim Wells and Joey Collins have secured invitations to this little gig. If I had to guess I'd say that one of Lola's friends invited Joey, who then had the gall to invite Wells.
It didn't make a heck of a lot of sense, inviting somebody that old to what was clearly meant as a place for the young and the flippant. I can thank my lucky stars when he sees himself out just after Lola vanishes.
Someone whose name I didn't catch offers me some punch; he looks at me, confused, when I politely decline. It was bad enough that I had to sneak out to come to this place. I had a bad feeling mother would be waiting up to make sure I got home all right, and I didn't need her to notice anything else that was off.
It's not a bad party. The music's nice. It isn't too loud to stop people from talking to one another. The punch fellow has wandered over to a sofa. He seats himself, a little sloppy, between two gals. One of them looks pleased; she curls an errant clump of hair around her index finger.
"See something you like?"
I start. It's a bad reflex to have, when you're trying not to stand out. Joey's just to my right, looking over at the phonograph.
"More like lost in thought," I manage. The room feels like asphalt in the middle of August.
"Huh."
I face Joey. There's a little resemblance between himself and his sister, I have to admit. They're the same height, for one. It suddenly occurs to me I'm even more grateful than ever I haven't had anything to drink. He lifts a glass to his lips, and I get a whiff of his cologne.
I have an awful lot to say to Joey Collins. But none of it could be said out loud, especially after Travers received the news from my little undercover work the night before. I wasn't about to cause any trouble without a plan.
"It's Howard, isn't it? Lester Howard?"
I keep my eyes fastened to the little drips of condensation on the glass. It's no use lying.
"That's right," I say.
"Shame about your brother."
I work my jaw. He swirls his tumbler. The melting ice clacking against itself reminds me of dice.
"I mean it," Joey says, and the sincerity is a quick slap when it hits me. "Too generous and trusting, maybe, but a real swell guy."
The record scratches out. Lola's chatting with someone not that far away. What does she know about what happened between her brother and mine?
Joey frowns a little. Someone changes the record over to a dance tune. The door's not that far. Maybe I can storm out. Can Joey Collins really experience something like regret?
