Jezebel (13 page)

Celeste
blinked. Was he sending her packing? But she had too many
questions, which needed answering! A seasoned performer since the age
of fifteen, she possessed a skin rivaling an alligator’s and a
stubbornness inherited from her father. And no taciturn, shady copper
would dispel her doubts or prevent her from discovering the truth.

“
You have to under—”

Dwyer cut
her off, “
Good
day
,
Miss Newsome.”

Dismissed not once, but
twice Celeste choked. As she struggled to regroup, he continued, “I
hope you can find your way out.”

Even though Dwyer had
forgotten his manners, she had not, “Thank you for your time,
detective.”

Feeling as if in a fog, and
suddenly parched, Celeste pushed to her feet. With shaking fingers,
she picked up her father’s police report and placed it in her
purse.

Barely cognizant of her
surroundings, Celeste retraced her path down three flights of stairs
through memory alone. But by the time her feet hit the sidewalk, she
wavered. Sweat beaded her upper lip and her hands were shaking
violently.

Celeste glanced up Gold
Street and the twenty-block walk south back to Fort Green suddenly
turned into an insurmountable exodus without reinforcements. Of
course, she could hail a cab, but by the time she got back to Trudy’s
apartment she would probably be a wreck.

She stood on the curb and
deliberated a few seconds more then turned about and headed in the
opposite direction. If she walked to the end of the block, turned
east, she’d run into Young Turks, a seedy cocktail lounge
located on the cusp of Fort Green. The bar had been a favorite dive
of Armand Illy, a French Algerian trumpeter who’d dragged her
there more times than she cared to remember because the place
reminded him of home.

Celeste didn’t
particularly care for the place’s red lighting, wood-paneled
walls and furniture. The latter was hell on the behind after a long
bender. But the bartender was liberal with the sauce. And right now
she needed a stiff one.

What
about her date with Shane? Celeste flipped her wrist and noted the
time. Only half past two, she still had time to spare.

C
eleste
put her feet in motion. One drink couldn’t hurt.

CHAPTER Nine

Shane
refused to pace
.

Even in street clothes, he
always followed the fighter’s cardinal rule: never let your
opponent see you sweat.

Shane rolled his shoulders,
self-directed anger coursing through him. He had no one to blame, but
himself. What he’d done had been ungentlemanly. He’d
forced her hand and manipulated her just so he could see her again.
And now he was warming a city corner alone and suffering from guilt.

The guilt wasn’t
anything new, Shane conceded.

Ever since that night it had
become a constant companion, gnawing at his conscience.

It was also the primary
reason he’d wanted to meet Celeste outside his gym instead of
her father’s store.

Shane felt the familiar kick
in the gut. He’d practically been a regular at Newsome’s
Sugar Sweets.
H
e’d
often pitched in as soda jerk when things got too busy for the
Reverend. Shane figured he’d spent just as many hours behind
the counter as he did at the Navy Yard Athletic Club.

Now he avoided the former
like the plague.

Shane’s balled his
fist. He deserved to burn in hell for what he
’d
done. Correction…for what he didn’t do. And now he was
only adding to his sin by courting the Reverend’s daughter.

So why take the low road
now? What was it about that broad? Why couldn’t he be the
better man and leave her alone? Because ever since he laid eyes on
her all he could think about was sucking on those luscious lips of
hers, caressing her skin and licking from her delicate ear lobes to
her toes.

With a muttered curse, Shane
threw in the towel.
Not
only the round but the entire card
belonged
to her.
Obviously,
he and she weren’t meant to be.

They were from two different
worlds. She was too refined for him, a famous showgirl who probably
had egg and butter men vying for her attentions at every corner.
Shane had money—he’d socked all of his prize money away
over the years—but he didn’t have the class that came
with it. Right now he wouldn’t be surprised if she found dirt
under his nails.

“
Face it kid, she
ain’t going to get off that pedestal for you.” Not
completely, he mused. Oh, she might have fun slumming it, but broads
like that always remembered their place. And it wasn’t with
him.

Shane scratched the back of
his head. In all honesty he’d wished the circumstances were
different. This one had done a number on him.

Giving up his illusions and
cursing a mad blue streak a mile wide, Shane turned north toward home
and the Navy Yards. At the corner, he waited for the light to
change.

As the
north south bound signal turned yellow, a
black on black Lincoln Zephyr convertible coupe whizzed
into
the intersection, turned left, executed a quick U-turn and slipped
into the parking space in front of Newsome’s Sugar Sweets
.

Recognizing the car, Shane
froze.
What
the hell was he doing here? H
e
quickly
backtracked
and met up with
the
car as Gould
help
ed
a woman out of the passenger side.

“
What are you doing
here?”

In a purely defensive move,
Gould placed his companion behind him as he spun around. Recognizing
him, the other man seemed to relax. Still, he didn’t remove
his hand from his jacket pocket.

Smart move, Shane conceded
because right now he wanted nothing more than to ram his fist down
the smaller man’s throat.

“
Even though it’s
nun
n
a
y
a
business, I
brought Myrna down so she could at the place. I heard it was up for
sale.”

Shane blanched. The news
felt like a bucket of ice thrown in his face. “You don’t
want this place
.
”

A crooked smile curved
Gould’s thin lips. “You’re right, Shaney.
I
don’t want this place.”
He
stepped
aside, arm held out for his companion.
Auburn-haired and petite, she wore a full-length white fur coat. “I’m
gettin’ it for my gal as a birthday gift.”

Gould flung his arms open.
“Surprise, baby!”

Hearing the news, the woman
squealed and wrapped her arms around Gould’s neck. As she
planted kisses all over his chin and lips, Shane looked away in
disgust.

“
Only the best for my
doll,” Gould said between what sounded like wet, sloppy kisses.
“I always keep my end of the bargain.”

The woman pushed away from
Gould, “Big daddy, you treat me so good,” she purred
,
saunter
ing
up to the storefront window and peer
ing
inside. While she was preoccupied, Gould turned to Shane.

“
Whatta you doing
here? Keeping guard?” Gould glanced down at his fingernails.
When he finally looked back up, he wore a shit-eating smirk. “Sorta
behind the ball don’t cha think?”

Akin to suicide, Shane took
a step forward, his hands tightly fisted.

“
Hey, what’s
with all the broken glass…is that bl
oo
d?”

Gould whirled around and
slipped his arm around the woman’s waist, turning her away from
the window. “There was a little accident in there that’s
all.”

Gould glared at Shane as if
daring him to say otherwise.

Myrna’s dark brown
eyes widened as she stepped back, peering at the sign overhead.
“Hey…I know this place. I read about it in the
Amsterdam
.
This is Celeste Newsome’s old man’s place.”

The blood
seemed to drain out of Gould’s
cheeks.
Not a good look since he was already white as milk. “You know
these people?”

“
Not her old man, but
I know Celeste. I know
all
the big names on
the
circuit.”

“
And what circuit is
that?” Shane asked incredulously. Most entertainment, even in
New York City, was still segregated.

“
Come on doll, it’s
time for us to go.”

Gould grabbed her arm and
pulled her toward the car. He didn’t get very far because Myrna
had a mind of her own as she dug in her high heels.

“
I used to dance with
Brown Sugar,” she said, proving it with a showy waist-high kick
followed by a fit of giggles
.
“But I left the circuit a few months back. The road is the
pits.”

Shane looked at Myrna hard.
Real hard. She was lighter than him with a spattering of freckles
across her nose and big brown eyes.
“Well
I’ll be a monkey’s fucking uncle,” he whispered.
Her features
were more Latin than Negro, but if she performed on the road with
Celeste she
would
be
the latter.
Shane’s
hands fisted.

The self-righteous
hypocrite!

“
Celeste enjoyed it
.
She
thrived
in it actually.
Most natural–born stars do.
”
Myrna looked thoughtful. “Beautiful broad and a fabulous
dancer
.
A taste for the
sauce
if you know what I mean.” Myrna turned to Gould and patted his
cheek. “Baby I’m hungry. Can we go to Maxie’s? I
want some salmon cakes smot
hered
in
−”

“
In maple syrup,”
Gould
finished
for her.

Myrna laughed, a wide
parting of her ruby lips. “You know me so well, daddy.”

The mobster grabbed her chin
and kissed her. “And I’m going to know you even better
before the week’s out ain’t I?”

Myrna
patted Gould’s cheek.
“His
gifts keep getting bigger and bigger, and he still doesn’t get
any,” she said to Shane as if the other man had disappeared.

Gould’s cheeks bloomed
with heat as he hustled Myrna over to the car, and then helped her
in.
At
the last moment, she
stuck
her
hand
out.

“
Nice
to meet you.” She gave him a flirtatious finger wave. “Maybe
our circles will cross again one d—”

Gould
stole
the
rest of her words with a quick kiss, which caused her to wail
indignantly and punch the mobster in the shoulder.

With his
precious cargo safely ensconced, Gould kept his gaze averted as he
walked to the other side of the car.

Thankfully for Gould, he
flung himself in his car and sped off. If he had been slow on the
jump, Shane would’ve faced manslaughter charges in the morning.
Even worse, Gould had given him no choice but to straighten things
out with Celeste at least superficially.

Shane sucked in a deep,
cleansing breath. He needed to hit something hard…real hard.

But Shane
wasn’t going to let him get off that easy. He didn’t do
it for him. “
You
better watch what company you keep, Gould?”

Gould stopped. Key in hand,
he rested his arm on the car’s soft top. Despite his earlier
charm with Myrna, his mood darkened, becoming all business.

“
Unlike
you, Shaney, I got the upper hand. And I aim to keep it that way.”

Thankfully for Gould, he
flung himself in his car and sped off. If he had been slow on the
jump, Shane would’ve faced manslaughter charges in the morning.
Shane sucked in a deep, cleansing breath. He needed to hit something
hard…real hard.

***

Ding, dong

“
Hold your horses, I’m
coming!” Trudy bellowed. What an inopportune time for company.
It was only a quarter past eight o’clock, the sun was just
setting, and she’d been in the kitchen preparing her evening
meal before she headed to work.

Without
looking through the peephole, Trudy snatched open the front door. “I
said hold your goddam hors

what
in blue blazes,” she whispered, taking in the Negro cab driver
and her cousin standing on her doorstep. Well, Celeste wasn’t
exactly standing. She was propped against the poor cabbie.