But neither of them had a chance to move before the sound of whistles filled the air. The dancers froze in confusion that quickly turned to panic as men in uniforms streamed through the front door and people rushed for the exits.
The Nightingale was being raided.
EIGHT
The air crackled with the sound of shattering glass as people dropped their drinks and bolted. Everyone was trying to get out, yelling and swearing and shouting. Officers swarmed the dance floor, their whistles slicing through the confusion. The press of bodies carried Vivian along until someone knocked her off balance, and she stumbled to the floor, catching herself with her hands. Pain shot through her left palm. She gasped in shock, then, as the pain hit more fully, whimpered, cradling one hand against her chest as she curled into a ball to avoid the rushing crowd.
As suddenly as it had begun, the panic was over. The people who had gotten out were long gone. The rest were settling down as they discovered officers at every door, calmly herding them back into the main room. There was a disorienting mix of reactions: some people looked genuinely scared at the prospect of being rounded up, others seemed amused or annoyed.
Danny and Bea were nowhere to be seen, and as Vivian looked around, she saw only white faces remaining. Someone had hustled theother patrons and employees out, and Vivian wondered if Honor Huxley had a plan in place for exactly that. The club owner herself wasn’t around, but Vivian watched in disbelief as Mags, looking collected and cheerful as ever, asked a blushing young policeman if he had an extra cigarette for her.
“Miss, can you stand?”
Vivian realized with a start that she was still on the ground, her hand clutched in a tight, pained ball. A middle-aged policeman was reaching down to grab her elbow, and she stumbled a little as he hauled her to her feet. “Let me see it,” he ordered briskly, uncurling her hand to examine the cut.
“There was glass on the floor,” she replied, feeling like her mind wasn’t working at its normal speed. The slice across her palm wasn’t deep, but it looked nasty. “Someone knocked me down.”
“Well, that’s a risk you take when you hang out in a place like this,” he said. There was nothing about his voice that was kind or sympathetic, but he pulled out his own handkerchief and wrapped it around her hand to serve as a bandage. “They’ll fix that up better for you at the station. No one wants a girl bleeding all over the place.”
“The station?” Vivian repeated, feeling a cold lump settle in her stomach.
The policeman raised his eyebrows. “You’re under arrest for imbibing. Just like everyone here.”
“I don’t think you can prove that you saw me drink anything,” she said, wondering if it was the pain in her hand that made her so reckless and hoping she wasn’t going to get slapped around because of it.
But he just laughed at her. “And you’re free to go in front of a judge and say exactly that. If you’re anything like the rest of your friends here, though, I’m guessing you’ll pay your bail and disappear again.”
“How much is bail?”
“For folks in the drunk tank?” He shrugged. “Twenty-five dollars a head. You’ll have a chance to call home and ask them to come pay your fine.”
The cold lump grew heavier. Even if Florence, by some miracle, had twenty-five dollars tucked away in the cash box, there was no way to reach her. No one in their building, or anyone she knew in the neighborhood, had a telephone. “What if I don’t have anyone to call?” she asked. The question came out as a whisper.
This time, there was an edge of sympathy in the look he gave her. “I guess you better make a friend real quick, then.” He gave her a push toward the side of the room where the women had been rounded up. “You behave and don’t make any trouble when we take you in, and they won’t set it no higher.”
Vivian nodded, trying to swallow down fear as she clutched her hand against her chest and did as she was told.
The men and women were herded into two lines when they arrived at the nearest police station. The officers there were less grim than the ones who had conducted the raid, and some of the panic must have worn off because people in line were chatting almost as casually as they would in line at a shop counter. Only a few, like Vivian, stayed quiet; one of them she recognized as the girl Honor Huxley had ordered Danny to watch the night before. Vivian wondered if the girl was also trying to figure out how to come up with twenty-five dollars, but she was too far away in line to ask.
“I believe there’s been a mistake.”
The confident voice carried across the station lobby, leaving a hush in its wake. Vivian spotted Mr. Lawrence, her sometime dancing partner, at the front of the men’s line. “I suggest you summon your captain.”
The sergeant looked like he was going to argue, then changed his mind and shrugged instead. “Your funeral, mister.”
The rest of the station watched with a mix of curiosity and trepidation as Mr. Lawrence was escorted back to the captain’s office.And there was a collective murmur of shock as he emerged less than five minutes later, with the captain in the middle of a profuse apology.
“Sly old bastard,” Mags muttered. When the women around her turned in surprise, she shrugged. “His brother’s an alderman.”
“How do you know that?” someone demanded.
Mags shrugged again. “Dad’s had them to dinner before.”
“I’m sure you understand that my friends and I were just having a little get-together,” Mr. Lawrence was saying, clapping the captain on the back. “So of course there’s no need to take anyone—”
But the captain shook his head. “No, sir. I have orders about that place,” he said firmly. “But I believe you were out with a… friend? Perhaps a brother? Or a niece?”
Mr. Lawrence shrugged. “Well, if it’s the best you can do. My niece Margaret,” he agreed, raising his voice slightly and glancing over at the line of women.
