“My brother is a goddamned screwup!” Archie slammed his fist on the desktop. “A fool who shouldn’t be allowed to wash his own ass.” He spoke without regard for Dewey, who leaned against the wall with an open jug of beer, swilling it down in gulps.
Honoree stood behind Ezekiel, wishing to be out of sight and hopefully out of mind. Archie’s temper was on fire, and she didn’t want to be singed by flames meant for Dewey.
“I—I was helping,” Dewey said in between swigs.
“Dry up, you stupid fool.” Archie raised his fist, glanced at the desktop, but apparently changed his mind about another strike. Instead, he pulled a cigar from his desk drawer and chopped off the end with a small sharp knife.
Honoree feared Archie’s anger because it spun in so many directions at once. It was difficult to escape his wrath. Dewey wouldn’t be the only target. He was simply the first.
“The man wants you dead, Dewey,” Archie grumbled. “Shit, I want you dead. But, I ain’t ready to kill my brother, even if he’s a goddamned fool. But I sure ain’t ready to have someone else do it for me.”
Dewey’s bloodshot eyes dulled. For the first time since Archie had started in on him, he looked worried. He loosened the collar of his shirt and leaned against the wall. Sweat dripped from his brow down his cheek. “What you gonna do, then, brother?”
Archie shrugged. “You’re leaving town. I’m shipping you off to Alabama. And Ezekiel is going to tell Gallo he shot you dead.”
Honoree glared at Ezekiel. This was something she didn’t know about and couldn’t believe her ears. “What kind of half-baked plan is this? Mostly sounds like Ezekiel signing his own death certificate.” She stomped her foot. “And what if Gallo wants to see Dewey’s dead body? I know I would.”
Archie coiled like a Louisiana cottonmouth preparing to strike. Even his bulging throat resembled the venomous snake. “You listen here, girl. Your boyfriend knows what he’s doing. He wants this deal to work as much as me. Maybe more. Don’t you, Ezekiel?”
A look passed between the two men that Honoree didn’t like. “Well, aren’t you going to tell us what’s going on? Or at least tell us why I need to be here to watch you call your brother names?”
Dewey stepped into the middle of the room. “I don’t need Ezekiel telling Gallo he killed me. Ain’t nobody who knows me will believe that shit no way.”
“I can make him believe,” Honoree said, ignoring Ezekiel’s piercing glare. “Gallo wants me to dance at Capone’s New Year’s Eve party, right? How about if I bring Trudy? She’s an acquaintance of Gallo’s, too. Between the two of us, we can convince him that we saw Dewey’s dead body.”
“Besides not liking that idea, what about your leg?” Ezekiel said. “What if Trudy says no? What if Gallo says yes, but Capone and his boys want more than to see some colored girls dancing on a stage?”
Archie stopped chewing his cigar and lit it. “Gallo wants you to dance in a motion picture, too. I told him you’d do it. He likes you, Honoree.” Then with a sly glance at Ezekiel, he added, “As we all do.”
Ezekiel spoke up, then, his voice rough, his words harsh. “Gallo is making deals with his cock.”
Archie circled his desk, and his large, bruising body moved quickly as a cat. “What the hell, boy?” He stopped in front of Ezekiel. “I want to do right by my baby brother. Keep him alive, even if I never see him again. You have two brothers. And your girl is willing to help out. I don’t see a problem here.” He whirled at Dewey. “Do you?”
Neither Ezekiel nor Dewey responded. They were too caught up in their hatred.
“I don’t see a problem,” Honoree said. “No problem at all.”
“Thank you, missy. I knew you were a sweet gal. Always a sweet, old, dependable gal.”
* * *
A cold wind ripped through Miss Hattie’s. Someone had come in the front door as someone walked out the back. Honoree looked from the archway to the bar, and the door to Archie’s office was shut. He needed to talk to Ezekiel about some policy business, a private conversation that didn’t require anyone’s presence other than the two of them. She left them to their dealings and sought out Crazy Pete.
He was stocking the bar, getting ready for another night at Miss Hattie’s, but he was dragging as if the night had already come and gone. But when she walked up, his bright smile, dentures in place, warmed her heart.
“Why you limping, Honoree?”
“I hurt my leg when my building burned down. How you been?”
“I’m sorry you got caught up in those Christmas fires. Quite a few tenement buildings burned to the ground that day.”
“Mine was one of ’em,” she said quietly. “Could I have a drink? I’m waiting on Ezekiel to finish up with Archie.”
“Your usual, sweetheart?”
She smiled. “Sounds divine.”
He sorted through the bottles on the back shelf, pulling out his best bottle of gin, the one he kept hidden just for her. But when he turned, a pained expression creased his brow. “I don’t have any fixings up here yet. Can you handle the hooch straight?”
