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Tabby Warren came even with me, her hands tucked into the pockets of a jacket. Her hair was completely hidden under a tightly tied black scarf that would do a pirate credit. She kept mostly in shadows. Only a wedge of her face was visible in pale light from stars and a distant street lamp.
“You’re left handed.” She tilted her head at the .38.
“Only with a gun, and when I need the other one for something more important.”
“I thought you’d come early. I would have twenty years ago.” She’d blackened her cheeks and forehead with something, but I could make out her smile. “From here on out, however, you’re in charge. By the little you’ve told me, I gather we may encounter people inside who take exception to our presence. I know the layout of the building better than you. It’s dearer to me than most of the lovers I’ve had. So I may make a suggestion or two, but I’ll do as you say.”
The fact she understood the risks of the situation didn’t diffuse my anger.
“There’s a very unpleasant man who has two of his enforcers watching the front of this place. He may also have some watching back here, in which case you’ve just guaranteed we were seen.”
“Highly unlikely. The man in that house keeps hunting dogs.” She indicated a yard across the way with a sturdy iron fence. “They raise holy Ned if anything stirs back here after dark. His father bought the place from me a few years after the speakeasy closed. He was kind enough to take the dogs in fifteen minutes ago. I’ve been watching here since.”
“Swell.” It was all the graciousness I could muster.
“You believe the man you’re looking for is being held here against his will?”
“Yes.”
“With someone guarding him?”
“Probably.”
“Then depending how much he’s worth, or how important he is, they also may have someone keeping an eye on the back door from the inside, don’t you think?”
“Maybe. When I first came to you, you mentioned an exit that had been bricked over. I assume that’s it?” I pointed toward the corner of the building near the walkway.
“Yes. The wall’s rock solid now.”
“Besides front and back, is there any other way in? Through the coal bin, maybe?”
“Not the coal bin, but...”
She darted down the back of the building and into the weed-infested utility space I’d noticed between it and the insurance place. Hands on hips, she stood staring up at an old iron fire ladder that ended two stories up.
“There used to be a taller building where that new one is now. It came all the way over. We’d come down the ladder, drop onto its roof and make our way to the street.” Still staring, she shook her head. “Even if we managed to toss a rope around one of the rungs and climb, the window coming out probably hasn’t been used in twenty years.”
Layers of paint would have glued it closed. Breaking the glass risked being heard by anyone inside. Even attempting the venture would waste time.
“We’ll have to go in the back way then.”
We returned to the door.
“Once we’re in, Jasper will sound the alarm if anyone else comes in,” Tabby said optimistically.
As I tried to make sense of her words, a shape moved in the darkness next to us. I heard what I realized was the rustle of wings. We’d held our voices to whispers. Now I struggled to keep mine from rising.
“You brought your damn parrot?”
“He’s quite a good lookout. He played the role frequently when this was a speak.”
“He stays outside.”
“He’s useless there. He has a place he likes to perch just inside.”
***
Arguing would only waste time. We planned, then moved swiftly. Tabby tossed pebbles at a window to one side of the door and watched to see if it drew anyone. After several pebbles and no response, I eased the back door open and entered, ducking down in case I got a welcome. Half a minute later, just long enough to be prudent, she came in after me.
“Do you have any sort of weapon?” I asked, my mouth to her ear.
She flashed a small revolver.
“Have you ever used it?”
“Yes. On a man who deserved it.”
The calm in her voice gave me pause. I began to wonder if I’d underestimated her.
With me in the lead, and my flashlight beam trained on the floor to keep us from stumbling while encouraging the emergence of our night vision, we made our way slowly up the back stairs, checking the back half of each floor before we moved on to the next. When we reached the third floor, we moved to the front and repeated the same process going down.
So far, we’d been checking to make sure no one was guarding the spaces we’d been through. They weren’t.
“Now what? Where’s this secret spot they may have stashed him?”
“Second floor. Let me take the lead. Stay close.”
The awareness of minutes ticking past made me tense. If Gil Tremain was here, and whoever was guarding him left to meet the man relieving him, as the rendezvous at Revels suggested, it could give us an opening to get Tremain out quickly. But chances were even better the departing guard could surprise us. It wasn’t looking out for myself that concerned me. It was being responsible for Tabby Warren as well.
Reaching the second floor increased my edginess. Except for the bar, the walls surrounding what had been the speakeasy dance floor were mirrored. Although tarnished by age, they would immediately reveal our images to anyone climbing the stairs. The middle-aged woman ahead of me moved swiftly along one mirrored side. In spots her stride lengthened as if to miss a floorboard which she knew might squeak.
Her destination was the beautiful, finely carved wooden wall behind the bar. When she reached it, she motioned for me to stop and stood staring at it as if waiting for her eyes to soak up every particle of light in what appeared to be pure darkness. Finally she stepped closer and stooped to squint at something. Her nose was almost touching the wall itself.
Straightening, she slipped behind the bar with its line of lampshades awaiting repairs. She stood looking down. Placing her finger against her lips in a gesture of silence, she beckoned me. When I joined her, she pointed her toe to a spot where the wall behind the bar met the floor. A thin line of light met my eyes. Its length was no more than an inch.
I looked at her in question, but she had stooped for a closer look. Balanced on her haunches, limber as a cat, she watched the line, then rose. A gesture of her hand urged me back. As soon as we were free of the narrow space behind the bar, she took the lead again. An archway that led to the bathrooms provided a vantage point from which we could watch both stairs and bar without being seen. Her voice was a mere breath of sound.
“There’s a small space behind the bar. Not an exit. It was for hiding. If our lives were in danger. One or two of the local bootleggers took exception to speakeasy owners who chose not to buy from them.”
She turned to me and her light-hearted air had been replaced by cold, hard anger.
“There’s a place in the carving that slides one of the panels back, and I bloody well want to know how someone knew about it. The day we closed The Pompeii, I personally jammed a nail in the mechanism to keep it from working. Only three other people knew about it, all of them dead by then!”
“Show it to me, and then, please, won’t you leave?”
“You don’t understand. The space is terribly narrow. Not much wider than a lane at a bowling alley. Any shot that misses its target will ricochet. And the guard, if he has any sense at all, will be watching the way he’s always come in and out.”
Her phrasing hinted at something.
“Are you saying there’s another way in?”
“Up there.” She pointed to the floor above us.