He had to get rid of them.
Tommy’s mind flew as fast as his heartbeat. What were Hank and Bayard doing there? Tommy had met the boys when he returned to Des Moines about two years back. They’d offered Tommy some opportunity for work, money, and friendship, but their path snaked through a particular Reverend Shaw’s garden of good and evil, leading Tommy to toe the line of legal and moral trouble. Trouble he tried to avoid as much as possible. Since they did the reverend’s odd jobs, they had access to homes, to people hurting in broken times, and with that privilege came the opportunity to earn money and steal it. But none of that had anything to do with Tommy’s job at the Savery Hotel, and he didn’t appreciate Hank and Bayard showing up.
Hank put his forearm across Tommy’s chest, pushing him against the door to Mrs. and Mr. Simmons’s room. Tommy struggled to breathe and glanced down the hallway, looking for Penelope, the maid assigned to the Simmonses when they stayed at the Savery. No sign of her. Nothing but Bayard’s raspy breath and Hank’s incessant throat clearing, his breath sour as it hit Tommy’s cheek.
Hank dug his arm into Tommy’s chest, sliding it up to his throat, cutting off more of his air. If Tommy hadn’t been hemmed in by his manners in the hotel and worried about losing his job, he would’ve wrenched Hank’s arm behind his back, booted him in the ass, and done the same to fat Bayard. But the two “friends” knew that, and that’s why they approached Tommy when he would be unwilling to fight back.
Bayard leaned against the wall. “Rev’s catching on to your game.”
“What game?”
Bayard spit, his filth disappearing into the red Oriental rug. Tommy struggled against Hank, wanting to protect the hotel that had provided him with the chance to contribute to family finances and meet important men who might take him on as a business apprentice once he finished high school.
“Don’t play with us, Arthur. We saw you selling wares at McCrady’s the other day. None of that loot came from the day we sold prayers and Bayard lifted those coins. Rev said he hasn’t seen you in ten days, and he’s suspicious and tired of giving you leeway.”
“I found an old bag by the river with some things in it. Sold them at McCrady’s. I wouldn’t steal from the people we sell prayers to.” Tommy’s shoulders relaxed. For a moment, he was afraid they might know he gave away an extra prayer or two when someone needed it. Once he even scribbled an extra scripture down for a particularly desperate soul. Tommy’s years of Bible reading—before he stopped believing in religion—paid off, and the woman had given him a few extra pennies. Nothing compared to what else they’d turned into the reverend later that day.
Tommy strained to speak past the pressure on his throat. “I pay Shaw what he requires. And when I’m not with you two, I’m busy working here or helping my mother and sisters.”
Tommy was careful not to give too much information. Since his family lucked into boarding in a house let to them by Miss Violet Pendergrass, he was attempting to lead an exemplary life. He didn’t want Hank or Bayard skulking around, offering information to his mother that would worry or anger her.
Tommy enjoyed the fellas’ company from time to time, like when they would go swimming in the river. But their easy acceptance of their wayward lives and lack of goals unsettled Tommy. He knew many of the games the boys and the reverend were running, but he was still unsure about the extent and depth of what they did. He understood the need to support boys who were lost, orphaned, or abused, but he worried the law wouldn’t see it the same way if they were caught skirting it.
The elevator doors opened, startling them.
Hank pulled away, and Tommy rubbed his collarbone, glancing down the hall. “Not doing anything wrong, boys. Just pulling as many shifts here as I can.”
Tommy glanced down the hall again. Penelope was coming toward them, gliding gracefully, her skirts whisking as she moved.
Hank coughed into his fist. “Sure ’bout that, Arthur?”
“Tommy?” Penelope’s gait slowed, and a worried expression spread over her face.
Hank signaled Bayard with a jerk of the head, and the two walked away, tipping their dust-covered caps at her. She slid aside to give them enough room to pass shoulder to shoulder, pressing her back against the wall.
Her raised eyebrows demanded an answer for what she saw happening.
“They were lost,” Tommy said. “Wrong room is all.”
She watched Hank and Bayard disappear into the stairwell, but didn’t ask more. Tommy exhaled and quickly covered his relief by unlocking the door and letting Penelope inside. He hauled Mrs. Simmons’s luggage into the dressing area so Penelope could hang everything and press as needed.
Tommy got busy with Mr. Simmons’s things, opening the first case and removing a stack of trousers. Penelope startled him, inching closer, her arm and hip brushing against him, watching him work. Tommy stiffened. He puffed out a breath.
Concentrate.
He removed a shirt and shook it, hanging it in the small closet. Penelope ran her fingers up and down his back, sending chills through his body. “Better check the irons to make sure they’re getting hot,” he said. When she didn’t respond, he turned. She caught his hand in hers. Her fingers were rough, but her palm was soft and pillowy.
They stared at one another, both knowing she had barely unpacked a single thing. He loved Penelope’s attention and he wanted to return it, wanted to kiss her and envelop her in his arms. But no. He wouldn’t risk his job just to snuggle up with a pretty girl.
He took her shoulders and eased her back toward the dressing room.
She touched her lips with dainty fingertips.
He turned back to the open suitcase.
She returned with a sigh and collapsed onto one of the cases. She rubbed her temples then gave him a half smile with sultry, half-shut eyes. “You’re no fun, Tommy Arthur. All this I heard about you being loads of fun, a real carnival.”
Tommy chuckled. “More like a steel mill. That’s about how much fun I am these days.”
“You think Mr. Simmons is gonna reward you with a fancy job because you don’t take me to dinner or dancing at the riverside soiree?”
That’s exactly what Tommy thought. He brushed the back of his hand against her leg. “Up, you beautiful girl. I’ve got work to do.”
She stood and took his hand, brushing the back of it, sending chills through him again.
“You have work to do, too,” Tommy said. “Won’t do any good if the two of us are out on our hind ends, jobless, will it? Consider my declining your offer a favor.”
She gave him that sensual, lips parted glance again and made him think this was how she might look waking up in the morning. His body hardened at the thought of it.
“You have to eat sometime.” She yanked him closer, his forehead against hers.
She tilted her head, went up on her toes, and pressed her lips against his, her tongue tracing along the seam.
He wrapped his arms around her.
No.
He gently pushed her away just as voices came from the other side of the door and knew he’d soon hear the slip of a key in the lock.
“Get moving.”
She giggled. Stretching her arms over her head, she sashayed away. “Oh, Tommy Arthur. What you do to me.”
He wiped his brow and worked the latches on the next suitcase, his clumsy fingers still wanting to be against her skin. “Didn’t do a thing to you.”
“How I wish you would,” she said with a final glance over her shoulder before disappearing into Mrs. Simmons’s dressing area.