“I hate being pregnant. Other than that, I’m the cat’s meow.”
“Too late to do anything about being pregnant.”
“Never too late.”
There was such vinegar in her tone, Honoree shivered. She strolled over to the sink. “Are you serious about getting rid of the baby? You know that’s dangerous.”
Bessie didn’t look away from her stitching. “I’m just talking. There ain’t much I can do. I’m in, I guess.”
Honoree turned on the faucet, cupped her hands beneath the water, and splashed her face. “We should go out on the town. Both of us.”
“Eleven o’clock on Christmas Eve, and you just said it was snowing cats and dogs.”
“Sounds like a great night to hear some music and do some dancing.”
Bessie stomped across the kitchenette, a complaint in every step. “You want to go out, go ahead. I don’t want to.”
“Yes, you do. You have the blues. The only way to rid the body of the blues is to go out dancing.”
Bessie stared at the floorboards. “Where are we going?”
“The Plantation Cafe.”
Bessie put down her sewing. “That place is a watering hole for mobsters, whores, pimps, and bootleggers—the most dangerous nightclub on the Stroll.”
“Every speakeasy in Chicago is dangerous,” Honoree shot back, ignoring the bite of guilt she felt in her stomach. “I know—but I need you with me.”
Bessie groaned. “You do? At least we’ll be a few blocks from the Dreamland Cafe.” She walked over to the sink. “Lessens the chance of someone running into you.”
“Everybody we know will be at the Dreamland enjoying the music of Louis Armstrong, Lil, and the Syncopators.” Honoree grabbed the silver lamé with the fringe skirt from the hanger bar. “Put this one on—and don’t look at me like that. Your belly is big, but you’ll be a looker in this number.”
“Silver is not my color,” she said, washing her armpits.
“You were fine with it when we went to Lil’s.”
“I want to wear the pink one.”
“No.” Honoree removed the green shift from the wall hook, thinking Bessie might be right, but her belly would show in anything else. “The green has a white chiffon overlay. It’ll be gorgeous on you.”
Bessie pouted but took the green dress. “What will you wear?”
“The red sheath with the sequins and floral bead panels. Red is a showstopper.”
“Humph. The neckline touches your belly button.”
Honoree folded her arms over her stomach and smiled. “My intention is to be noticed.”
“I was right. This does have to do with Ezekiel,” Bessie said sharply.
“It has nothing to do with him.”
It had to do with Tony Gallo, but that was none of Bessie’s concern. Gallo was a co-owner of the Plantation Cafe, along with Capone himself. With any luck, one of them or both men might be at the Plantation Cafe tonight, celebrating the holiday.
Honoree was frightened out of her mind at the thought of seeing Gallo again. Still, maybe she could help Ezekiel and herself, by giving Gallo something he might find useful—the envelope with eighty-seven betting slips. It might not be the brightest idea she’d ever had, but like Ezekiel, Honoree hated being indebted to a man, especially a killer like Gallo. And whether it was debt or something else, she intended to break free of him, and Archie.
* * *
It was her first trip to the Plantation Cafe and Honoree hated the place the instant she entered. A three-story building, like the Dreamland Cafe, a black-and-tan nightclub with the same crystal chandeliers, bow-tied waiters, and elaborate floor show, but the Dreamland had a friendlier atmosphere.
