Chapter 7

I smoked.I slept. I dreamed the daylight hours away.

I dreamed about Madame Chang and her dragons.

I dreamed about the crypt that Sister Rose-from-the-Dead had dragged me back into, thrashing and squealing, all those years ago.

I dreamed about Holden Hart, holding me tight and proudly spinning me into a two-step on the crowded dance floor of the Rainbow Palace for all the world to see.

And when I woke up, the night was back and the city lights flickered bright through the tattered curtains of my office apartment. I checked the time.

"Shit!"

I ran all the way to the address Stella had scrawled on my arm in lipstick, praying I had read it right, now that it had oozed into my gin-and-pot-soaked pores after a day of sweat and smoke and sleep. I sprinted so fast I felt like I was on the run. When I reached the address—the corner of West 46th and Station Street—I slowed and tried to soak up my wet brow with a swipe of my forearm across my forehead. On the corner was parked a black car with its windows up. I figured it was for me. But who would I find inside? One of Mamma's goons? Maybe a bunch of thugs with pistols urging me to climb inside if I knew what was good for me?

I took a deep breath.

I straightened my tie.

I grabbed the passenger door handle, pulled the door open, and before I even looked at the driver, I said, "My name's Buck, are you my ride?"

My whole being sighed with relief when I heard the loudest, squeaky little voice I knew say, "Of course I'm your ride, toots. Now get in!"

Sitting behind the steering wheel atop a pile of cushions was none other than—"Stella?" Before I could ask my next question, I glanced down and saw she had fixed shoeboxes to the pedals so her tiny legs would reach.

"Don't worry, I'm a better driver than half the cabbies in this city. Come on, move your caboose and get in, would ya?"

"But you were only supposed to set up the meeting with Mamma, not take me to it?"

"Honey, I told you before. There's a war going on between Mamma and Bugsy. The only way I know you'll be safe is if I take you myself. Now get in. I ain't tellin' you again."

I slid into the passenger seat, shut the door, and with a loud screech and a jerk of the wheels, we were on our way. As we zipped in and out of the traffic while Stella abused the other drivers on the road, I questioned her claim about being a better driver than a cabbie, but I had to admit I was glad to have her by my side, even if her presence at this meeting gave me one more thing to worry about.

"I want you to keep your head down while we're there," I told her.

"Toots, have you seen how tall I am? My head's permanently down." She took a moment to scream out her window at another driver. "Watch out, bozo! You ain't in the circus anymore!"

"I mean it, Stella. Otherwise, stop the car right now."

She smiled confidently at me. "Sweetie, quit your frettin'. Stella can look after the both of us. We're safe as houses with me around."

At that moment, she jerked the wheel hard and made a left turn so sharp it set off a barrage of car horns. She screamed out the window once more, and we veered across several sets of headlights. "Ah shut up, you bunch of jugheads! I'm drivin' here!"

A few minutes later—which kinda seemed like a terrifying eternity with Stella behind the wheel—she pulled into a dark alley and followed it till we reached an old warehouse. There was an entrance for cars and trucks, but in the flickering glow of the faulty bulb fixed above, we could see a large roller door sealed it.

A hefty figure in a black suit, white suspenders, and white tie stepped out of the shadows and headed for Stella's open window. In the flickering light, I could see he was carrying a tommy gun.

"Stella, slide over now," I told her. "Let me handle this."

"Oh relax, toots. You wouldn't be here without me. How do you think I got us this far?"

As the man with the gun approached, a smile spread across his butt-ugly, broken-nosed face. "Well, well, well, if it ain't the sweetest little birdie in Wilde City."

Stella winked. "Hey, Dutch. How you been keepin', honey? I ain't seen you around lately."

"Tell me about it! The missus has been tightenin' the old thumbscrews since she found one of your stockings under my pillow. I used to sniff it in secret every night. Anyone ever told you, you smell like honeybees and all things that please? God, I'm horny just thinkin' ‘bout it. Whaddaya say you and me—"

I cleared my throat loudly, and he suddenly looked over to me in the passenger seat, obviously completely unaware of my presence till now.

Stella was giggling with amusement. "Dutch, I'd like you to meet my friend Buck. Buck Baxter. He's here to see Mamma."

"Pleased to meet you," I said, leaning across and offering my hand, but Dutch didn't take it.

Instead, Dutch looked at Stella and asked, "How well you know this guy?"

Stella ran a finger up Dutch's bicep. "Not as well as I know you, sweets. But trust me, Buck ain't no snitch. He ain't here for trouble. He just wants to talk to Mamma. And while he's doing that, maybe you and me can make up for a little lost time."

She winked again.

He blushed and chuckled excitedly, before unfastening the latch on the roller door and opening it.

Stella turned to me and said, "It ain't what you know, toots. Never has been, never will be." As the door opened, she drove the car into the vast interior of the warehouse, weaving between hundreds of barrels and stacked crates, eventually arriving at an opening surrounded by trucks. Several people milled about in the space: men loading crates into the back of trucks; others armed with tommy guns overseeing the activities. In the middle of it all, ordering around her crate-carrying staff with a cigar in one hand, which she used as a pointer, was Mamma Marlow, dressed entirely in black, from the beret on her head to the flat-soled shoes on her feet. As soon as she saw our headlights, she stopped barking orders and reached for the pistol strapped to her ankle.

"What do we got here?" she asked, which was the cue for her boys to stop carting and start packing. Pistols, that is. Weapons appeared from everywhere—belts, socks, shoulder holsters, trouser pockets—all of them suddenly aiming straight for us.

Stella felt the need to reassure me yet again. "Sit tight, toots. They're just happy to see us, that's all."

She turned off the engine, took her feet off the shoeboxes, opened her door and practically fell on the floor of the warehouse. I guess them shoeboxes gave her legs a false sense of reality for a while there.

In the warehouse, the guys with guns started laughing at her.

I jumped out of the car to Stella's defense, ignoring their weaponry and helping Stella to her feet. "Hey! Why don't you shut up, you dumb schmucks!"

In response, they simply cocked their guns at me, still laughing—

—until Mamma recognized Stella and ordered, "You heard the man, you jackasses! Shut the hell up! This here's an old friend of mine, Stella Darling. Now put your guns away and show some respect. Don't you know a lady when you see one?"

"You know Mamma Marlow?" I whispered to Stella as she steadied herself and straightened her blonde wig.

"Of course I do. When I was gettin' my start on the street, Mamma was pretty much my Mamma. Prostitution's a good racket in this city. How else do you think Mamma got her leg up in business… so to speak?"

Mamma strutted across the floor with her arms open, ready for a hug. Just before she reached Stella, she knelt and the two embraced. "How you been, my little ladybug?" Mamma asked, her voice surprisingly loving and concerned.

"Better than you, I hear. What's the deal with Bugsy?"

Mamma rolled her eyes. "Ex-husbands. They can be such assholes! Seems everyone in Wilde City prefers dealing with me over him, and he's jealous as all hell. Now all's fair in love and war with that schlep. He wanted the house. I want Wilde City."

"Just be careful, Mamma," Stella warned. "Like you said, he's an asshole."

"All men are," Mamma said, taking a puff on her cigar, then using it to point to me. "Speakin' of which, who's the fella?"

"Mamma Marlow, meet Buck Baxter. My friend. My good friend. He don't want anything to do with what's goin' on between you and Bugsy. He just wants to talk to you."

"About what?" Mamma asked me, blowing smoke in my direction.

"About Marky, your son," I answered. "In private, if I may. It's a private matter."

Mamma looked from Stella to me and back again.

"You can trust him," Stella nodded. "He's a keeper, this one."

Mamma exhaled deeply once more and eyed me through the smoke. "You carryin'?"

I shook my head.

"You don't mind if I double check."

Before I knew it, two guys were patting down every inch of my body. I couldn't help but smile. "No, I don't mind at all."

When they were done, having turned up nothing, Mamma gestured to one of the trucks. "You got ten minutes to do your business and go."

"If you'll excuse me," interrupted Stella. "So do I."

As Stella ran back to the entrance where we had met Dutch, Mamma began walking toward the truck she had indicated. When she reached it, she walked confidently up a stack of crates into the back of the truck, which was empty but for two crates inside. I followed close behind. Mamma sat on one crate, and I sat on the other.

"This is your office?" I asked. "Kinda reminds me of mine."

"I don't have an office. Raids happen in the blink of an eye. I keep all my merchandise in trucks, or close enough to load and go as fast as we can. Today it's booze for the finest establishments in town, guns for the rat pack, and believe it or not, tea imported illegally from Ceylon for the Happy Widow's Retirement Home." She leaned forward at that stage and whispered, "I think they roll it and smoke it."

I leaned forward and replied, "Good for them."

Mamma smiled. "I hope they do. But I never ask. Frankly, I don't care what my customers do. All that matters to me is that the merchandise is ready to be transferred to a client's shipment, or ready to be hauled outta here at a moment's notice. Which I'm more than willing to do to you if you don't start talkin' soon. But first… cigar? I can smell somethin' more powerful on your clothes. Perhaps we can trade contacts someday."

"I'll say yes… to the cigar."

Mamma shot me a respectful wink, handed me a cigar she pulled from her garter, then tossed me a box of matches.

I lit up—a Cuban as sweet as the last caballero I'd picked up at the Velvet Viper—then offered to return the box of matches.

Mamma shook her head. "Keep 'em for your next hit. Smells like it'll be stronger than this one."

I thanked her and pocketed the matches, at which point she asked, "So… why is my son of such interest to you?"

"He's not." I pulled the photograph of Stu Whitmore from my pocket. It was getting creased by now, and I tried to straighten out the folds with my thumb before handing it to Mamma. "One of the men in that photograph is your son, according to everyone I've shown the picture to. The question is, do you know who the other man is?"

Mamma began to laugh. "What are you? A cop? A priest?"

"Hell no!"

"Of course I know the other guy. It's Stu Whitmore."

I knew that already. I shrugged, indicating I needed to know more.

Mamma shrugged back and said, "He's my son's lover. Stu applied for a job here maybe a year or so ago. Marky's been doing runs for me since before he could drive. I set them up on the same delivery route together because, hell, a Mamma knows! And before I knew it, they hit it off together." She paused and added proudly, "I guess they fell in love." She raised an eyebrow. "Why you askin'? You got an issue with it? Because, quite frankly, if you do you're in the wrong town. This is Wilde City, anything goes. Only last week, my boys did a gun run up to Hell's Bells. Ain't nothin' surprises me in this town anymore." She looked me up and down and added, "Besides, I kinda figured you to be the type to understand about my son and Stu. Like I said, Mamma knows."

I responded quickly. "I don't have an issue at all, ma'am. I'm just—"

Thinking about what to tell Stu's wife was what I wanted to say, but before I had to divulge that much information, Mamma's attention was caught by another set of headlights that just pulled into the warehouse.

She handed me back the picture of Stu and Marky and stood from her crate. "Now if you'll excuse me, Mr. Baxter. My newest client just arrived." She started to step down out of the truck onto the crate staircase, but before she descended, she turned and added, "I've seen those two boys together, Mr. Baxter. If that ain't two people in love, I don't know what is. Despite the fact Bugsy and I don't see eye to eye, please know I love my son, as does my ex-husband. And if anyone does anything to Marky—if anyone tries to tear them apart—they'll instantly end the war between Bugsy and me… and together we'll join forces to declare war on whoever hurts our son. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Baxter?"

I nodded. "You do, ma'am." At that moment. I wished I had a mother like Mamma. As an orphan, I just wished I had a Mamma, period.

As though she knew my thoughts, Mamma smiled again and said, "Oh, and call me Mamma. Not ma'am. Those brothel days are long gone for me."

As she stepped down the crates, I followed her into the headlights of the car that had just pulled into the warehouse, then stopped in my tracks.

I recognized the large Lincoln Limousine just as I stepped into the direct beam of its headlights. At the same time, the Logan twins stepped out from the driver's and front passenger's doors, while Holden Hart stepped out of the back of the limo.

He looked suave and handsome as always.

By comparison, I looked like a piece of burnt toast not even the dog wanted to stomach. I wanted to run. I wanted to disappear behind a stack of crates. But it was already too late.

"Mr. Baxter," he said. "Fancy meeting you here."

"You two know each other?" Mamma asked.

Hart shrugged the question off. "We're old friends."

Mamma puffed on her cigar and said to me, "Well, I hope you two old friends don't mind me doing business with my new friend, Mr. Hart. The most profitable new joint in town needs a good booze supplier, you understand, Mr. Baxter."

"Hell yeah," I nodded. I'd tasted Hart's gin, it was top shelf, and if this was where he was getting it from, then who was I to hold things up… despite that damn desperate desire to stay and be near Holden Hart yet again. But I knew it was time for me to go.

Hart and Mamma had business to take care of.

And I knew—

—that the barrage of bullets we all suddenly heard coming from the entrance of the warehouse was nothing but trouble. Deadly trouble!

"Stella," I whispered under my breath.

I quickly turned toward the entrance to run and save her from whatever was going on outside, but Stella was already sprinting toward us as fast as her tiny legs would carry her, a panicked look on her face. She glanced back over her shoulder once, and that's when we all saw them—a dozen, gun-totin' goons storming the warehouse, spraying bullets everywhere.

I bolted for Stella, ducking and weaving to dodge a bullet in the head. Behind me, I heard Mamma roar, "Boys! Take 'em down!"

I reached Stella with a crash tackle, which took us both down just as a bullet clipped the back of my collar. We rolled, locked in each other's arms, grunting and gasping till we came to a halt beneath one of Mamma's trucks.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

Stella nodded, for once in her life speechless.

I glanced back to the shoot-out in the warehouse, searching desperately for Hart. I could see Mamma and her men taking cover behind barrels, firing at the intruders who could only be Bugsy Brown's boys. Bullets were fired furiously back and forth, ricocheting in random directions off steel beams and columns, not to mention the black car Stella had driven… as well as Hart's Lincoln Limousine.

That's when I caught sight of Hart, crouching behind a stack of crates, trying to protect the Logan sisters. I could see him eyeing off the distance between them and the limo. I could see from the look on his face that he was going to make a break for it. But he'd never make it, not alive anyway.

I turned to Stella. "Stay here. Wait till I come back for you."

"Come back? Where the hell are you going? They're shooting out there!"

I didn't stay and chat. Staying as low to the ground as I could, I scrambled across the floor, taking cover behind a large crate twenty feet from Hart and the twins. Under the deafening crack and rattle of Tommy gun fire, I tried to get Hart's attention before he did something stupid.

"Pssst! Hart!"

He couldn't hear me. I looked around for some way to get him to look over. There was a crowbar beside the crate I hid behind. I picked it up and clanged it loudly against the cement floor.

He heard that time and looked over. "Baxter! We gotta get the hell outta here."

"You make a run for it now, and you'll end up with more holes in you than a bagel with Swiss cheese!"

With a rat-a-tat-tatt, one of Bugsy's boys turned one of the crates Hart hid behind into splinters. He and the twins crouched even lower behind the remaining crates in the stack.

"What do you suggest we do then?"

"Find something to fight back with," I said.

I gripped the crowbar in my hand. It wasn't much, but I figured it was better than nothing. Hart looked around but came up empty. He shrugged at me, then his gaze caught something.

He was staring at the label on the crate I was hiding behind.

"Panama," he called across to me. "That crate's from Panama."

"So?"

"That's where Mamma ships all her guns from."

As the bullets continued to fly, I didn't need any more convincing to hook the crowbar into the side of the crate and wrench away a handful of planks. I reached inside and pulled out—

—a pink pi?ata in the shape of a donkey.

"It's a donkey!" I called across to him. "Not a gun!"

"Inside the pi?ata," Hart instructed. "Look inside."

I punched the donkey in the face, and two pistols and a packet of bullets fell out of its broken snout.

"Good donkey!" I told the pi?ata just before a bullet clipped my crate and a shard of wood cut open the skin on my left cheekbone.

"Baxter, you okay?" called Hart, glaring at my cheek.

I wasn't accustomed to that kind of concern. I wiped away the trickle of blood, packed one of the pistols with bullets, and slid it across the floor to him. "Sure, I am. You?"

Hart plucked the pistol off the ground. "I am now."

I loaded the second pistol and snapped the barrel into place. "Me too." I winked at him.

In unison, we both emerged from behind our crates and started shooting at Bugsy's boys. Mamma's men were still firing as well, as was Mamma, so it was kinda hard to tell where Hart's and my bullets landed.

But I was betting the three Bugsy boys that dropped dead right at that moment… was not our doing.

Nor was the shooting of the giant light shade, which fell and knocked another one of Bugsy's boys unconscious.

Nor was the bullet that capped another guy in the knee, not to mention the shot that took off another goon's ear.

No, I was guessing our shots were the ones that punctured the tire on the car Stella had driven here. Followed by the one that shot out the windshield on Hart's Lincoln. Followed by the one that punctured the barrels in the truck Stella was hiding beneath… which was obviously bootleg given the rivers of booze that cascaded from the shot-up barrels, leaking from the truck.

"Shit," I whispered to myself as more of Bugsy's boys poured into the joint, guns blazing.

I glanced back at Mamma and saw a look of desperation on her face as her men started falling left, right, and center.

I looked over at Hart, who knew as well as I did that at this moment in time, we didn't have a hope in hell of getting out of there alive. Not unless we did something desperate… or totally stupid.

Then I glanced at Stella, no longer huddling under the truck, but instead pulling off one of her stilettos and holding it out beneath the waterfall of booze that splashed from the truck above her. She filled her shoe, guzzled it down, and went back for more.

As she did so, the pool of spilled booze ran in rivers across the warehouse floor, spreading in glistening tentacles just a few feet away from me.

I called to Stella. "Darlin', ditch the shoe and get outta there now!"

She heard me and looked back. "But this is the best booze I tasted in months! And it's free!"

I didn't reply. I simply pulled the box of matches Mamma had given me out of my pocket and ignited one.

Stella saw the flame, then the river of booze leading to the truck, then put two and two together with an "oh shit!"

She dropped her shoe, kicked off the one she was still wearing, and scrambled out from under the truck as fast as she could, just as I tossed the lit match onto the river of booze streaking across the floor.

It ignited instantly with a foomp! of blue flames.

As the hungry fire raced toward the truck packed with leaking booze—as Stella sprinted for the crate I was hiding behind, diving in beside me—I turned to Hart and shouted, "Get down… NOW!"

Hart dropped to the floor, covering the Logan twins.

I gathered Stella in my arms and cradled her tight.

The truck loaded with booze lit up and erupted like a rocket, sending Bugsy's boys flying, the entire vehicle launching itself into the air and smashing into the ceiling of the warehouse, shooting up into the night before smashing back down in a fiery explosion.

Shards of the warehouse rooftop rained down on everyone.

I covered Stella from the debris and glanced over at Hart. "You okay?"

Hart nodded. "Come on, let's go!"

He jumped out from behind the crates with the Logan twins in tow. I did the same, hauling the barefoot Stella behind me. "Do you have any idea how much those shoes cost?" she shrieked at me.

"I'll bill the client," I said as we all raced for the Lincoln limo.

I stole a glance behind me. Mamma and her men were getting to their feet after being knocked to the ground by the blast. They had fared better than Bugsy's boys, who groaned on the floor, charred and bleeding.

"Round everything up, boys, and make it snappy!" Mamma ordered. "The cops'll be here any second."

One or two of Bugsy's goons thought they had it in them to keep fighting. Bullets started firing again. Mamma fired back as her men loaded up the trucks with what they could and started hauling ass outta there.

The Logan twins ducked a bullet as they climbed quickly into the front of the limo. Stella followed close on their heels, throwing herself on Lois's lap.

Hart took hold of the back door handle, hauled open the door and grabbed my hand. "Get in."

He hurled me into the back of the limo and jumped in after me, landing on top of me on the backseat. A stray bullet punctured the leather just above his head.

"Drive!" he shouted.

As Lucy gunned the accelerator, the limo screeched into motion and the back door swung shut. The car pulled right, veered left. She hit something hard, a stack of crates maybe, and I heard one of the headlamps smash. I tried to sit up, but Hart was still on top of me.

"Stay down," he said. "Just to be safe."

That was easy for him to say. With the adrenalin pounding through my veins, my chest heaving against his, and the heat of his body melting into mine, I could feel my cock hardening by the second.

It stiffened even faster when I realized his dick was doing exactly the same.

I looked up into his eyes, his face only inches from mine.

Beads of sweat had gathered in his eyebrows.

His blue eyes were watery from the smoke that had followed the blast.

There was a scratch on his chin.

"You're hurt," I said, not knowing what else to say.

"No I'm not. I'm fine," he replied, and I felt his cock flinch and press hard against mine. "Everything's just fine. In fact, it's perfect."

All I wanted at that moment was for him to kiss me.

And that's exactly what he did.

As the limo sped away from the warehouse, as the night air rushed in through the shattered windshield, Holden Hart kissed me like no man had ever kissed me before. Passionately. Tenderly. Hungrily. As though he belonged to me… and me to him. His lips twisted against mine. His tongue delved into my mouth, and mine did the same to his. I dropped the gun, not realizing I had been holding on to it all that time, and seized his head in my hands, squeezing his hair in my fists. I wanted to have him. I wanted to keep him. I wanted to be with him so badly I could already feel the head of my cock moisten.

But more than anything, at that moment, I wanted to love him.

I'd never wanted to love anyone before, not like this.

Buck Baxter didn't make friends, he didn't make enemies—

—and he sure as hell never fell in love.

As though someone just pulled the ripcord on my heart, I withdrew from the most powerful kiss of my life and pushed Holden Hart off me.

"Stop the car," I shouted to the Logan sisters.

The limo pulled to the curb.

Hart sat up, confused. "Buck? Are you okay?"

"I need some air. I think I'm gonna walk home from here." I pushed open the door and stepped out before the vehicle had a chance to brake completely. I almost lost my footing but steadied myself fast, calling back to Stella, "Darlin', you comin' with me?"

"Toots, are you kiddin' me?" Stella shouted back. "I'm in a limousine with the wind in my hair, sittin' on the lap of a beautiful woman! I'm takin' this ride all the way home!"

"Suit yourself." I started to walk away, my head spinning.

"Wait," Hart called, jumping out of the limo after me. "Buck, what's the matter? Talk to me?"

I whistled for a cab and one pulled up in front of me like the Wilde City miracle I needed right at that moment. "I gotta go."

"But wait, there's something—"

I didn't wait.

I slid into the back of the cab and shut the door.

I didn't wind the window down.

I didn't say goodbye.

I didn't even make eye contact with Hart as he stood on the street.

I just told the driver where to go.

And wondered to myself, what the hell is wrong with me?