There's Always Tomorrow (Immortal Series) (11 page)

Anthony
looked around for someone to remove the caring woman from his presence.
 
He wasn’t proud of himself, at the
moment, and the last thing he needed or wanted was a blasted female feeling
sorry for him.

Anthony
spied the big bartender standing guard, a few paces back.
 
“Hey, you!” he shouted, weakly.
 
“Are you with her?”

“Yeah,” the
beefy man growled.

“Then do
your job and take her home.
 
You
shouldn’t let her do this.
 
I might
really be sick, you know.”

The man
laughed.
 
“You’re sick all right,
but it ain’t catchin’.
 
You’re just
a common drunk and I can’t stop her.
 
This’un has a mind of her own.
 
It’s the Italian in her, I guess.
 
I’ll do my best, though.”

He gently
lifted Giada to her knees and said, in his most unpleasant growl, “I’m taking
you home, girl... like it or not.
 
I got no doubt you’ll see this no-account again.”

She nodded
and smiled her sweetest smile at the young stranger, still sitting on the
pavement.
 
I can’t let him destroy
himself, she thought.
 
Life is too
precious.

* * *

Anthony
managed to stay away from the Paradise for almost two weeks.
 
He didn’t stop his drinking, but he
chose other dives in which to do it.
 
Some were known to belong to the biggest mobsters in Chicago.
 
He particularly liked the Colosimo
Café, run by Big Jim Colosimo—until Johnny Torrio had him knocked
off.
 
A new hit man, out of New
York, by the name of Capone, was his number two man.
 
All of this made no difference to Anthony.
 
The booze was good and he minded his
own business.
 
However, one night,
he, once again, found himself standing outside the Paradise.
 
“What the hell?” he questioned, as he
strolled through the doors.

The music
was loud and the laughter was louder.
 
This was his kind of place.
 
He glanced at the stage and watched the girls shimmy and shake their
risqué-fringed costumes.
 
They were
pretty, but it was the buxom brunette near the center that caught his eye.
 
With lustrous black hair, big brown
eyes, and the most inviting lips he’d ever seen, she was impossible to
ignore.
 
She also looked vaguely
familiar.
 
He raised his hand to
the waiter.

“Get me a
bottle and leave it on the table.
 
One glass and no ice!” he demanded.
 
He liked his whiskey neat.
 
Why dilute it with frozen water?

The music
ended and he settled down to get good and drunk, as fast as possible.

“Can I join
you?” a feminine voice purred, softly.

He looked up
at the exotic brunette who’d just been dancing on stage.
 
He didn’t like to share his liquor, but
maybe he’d make an exception this once.
 
“Sure,” he grunted, and motioned for another glass.

“I didn’t
think I’d see you here, again.
 
Have you been staying away from the nightclubs or just this particular
one?”

She was more
astute than he’d figured—and nosey, too.
 
“I remember you, now.
 
You’re the do-gooder that helped me clean myself up after I tossed my
dinner.”

She
smiled.
 
“You didn’t have any
dinner.
 
You were drunk, and I’d
wager you’re drunk most of the time.
 
Mind telling me what’s eating at you?”
 
She reached across the table and placed her delicate hand on
top of his own.

“You’ve got
moxie, girl.
 
I’ll give you
that.
 
You know it isn’t your job
to annoy the customers, and it isn’t any of your business why I drink.
 
You wouldn’t believe me anyway.
 
Drink up and leave me alone.”

“My mama and
papa own a small restaurant.
 
The
spaghetti is very good, but the lasagna is my favorite.
 
I need to eat after my shift.
 
Would you see me home?
 
I’ll give you a free meal.”
 
She smiled that sweet smile again,
melting his resolve to get the hell away from her.

Anthony
needed to stay mad.
 
He didn’t want
to feel better.
 
He reached way
down inside himself to find his hateful inner core.
 
“You got whiskey there, kid?”

“No, but I
can find you some wine,” she said, hopefully.

“Get away
from me.
 
What the hell would I
want with you and your stupid family restaurant?
 
You damn Italians should get on the next boat and go back to
where you came from.
 
Leave me
alone.
 
Go find another rich man to
entice.
 
I don’t need your damn
free meal.”
 
Anthony threw her hand
off his arm, and downed the whiskey in her full glass.
 
“Stay away from me or I’ll see to it
that you’re fired!”

Giada’s eyes
widened in fear.
 
“You don’t mean
that.
 
You couldn’t.”

“The hell I
don’t.
 
Hey, waiter!
 
Get your boss over here.
 
I want this girl gone.”

Immediately,
she jumped back.
 
“Please, don’t,
sir.
 
You don’t know what you’re
saying.
 
I’ll not bother you again.
 
I swear it.
 
Please don’t get me fired,” she begged.

By this time,
everyone in the nightclub was staring at the handsome customer shouting at the
beautiful dancer.
 
He was making
quite a scene.
 
She was crying and
trembling like a leaf.
 
Soon, the
big bartender arrived and took the little woman by the shoulders, guiding her
to the dressing rooms in the back.

“Oh,
Max.
 
Why didn’t I listen to you
and stay away from him?
 
He’s the
devil.
 
Can he get me fired?”
 
The tears were streaming down her
cheeks and dripping off the end of her chin.

“He’s a rich
man, girlie.
 
That carries weight
in this town.
 
Now, you clean your
face, and get ready for your next number.
 
You don’t want to get Mr. Torrio angry at you.”
 
Max tossed her a washcloth and made a
hasty exit.
 
He’d been away from
the bar too long, and even he could get fired.

Anthony felt
like a real prick.
 
The girl was
sweet, too sweet to be working in a dump like this, and she only wanted to
help.
 
Her heart was in the right
place, but he figured that was dangerous.
 
It would be so easy to fall for a face like that.
 
She was an old-fashioned Italian beauty
from a good family, and she deserved a lot better than him.
 
He was muttering to himself when he
felt two strong hands grasp his shoulders.

“Let’s go
for a walk,” a deep voice commanded.

Anthony
didn’t bother to look up.
 
He felt
no need to put his drink down and stand up.
 
He wasn’t ready to leave.
 
He felt the grip tighten painfully around his neck.

“Come with
me willingly, or I’ll have to persuade you.”

Anthony felt
cold metal push against his ribs.
 
This man was serious.
 
“Very
well,” Anthony sighed, as he emptied his drink.
 
“I’d hate to keep you waiting.”

Max saw
Jimmy Conti forcibly escort the young man from the lounge.
 
He knew the stranger was in
trouble.
 
The gangsters that ran
the liquor and prostitution, on this side of town, wanted to avoid unnecessary
attention, if possible.
 
Better
they take care of it themselves.
 
The young man’s body would never be found.

The music
started to swell, as the lovely ladies came out and danced across the
stage.
 
Giada stepped up just in
time to see Jimmy force the man out onto the street.
 
She wasn’t as naïve as some people thought.
 
She’d lived in Chicago for a long time.
 
As the girls formed their kick line,
Giada continued on across the stage and off the other side.
 
No one really noticed her
disappearance.
 
As she passed the
stage door, she grabbed the axe that hung on the wall, in case of fire.
 
It weighed almost as much as she did.
 
She crossed herself, and exited out
into the alley.

The sound of
meaty fists striking smooth flesh and muscle reverberated throughout the night
air.
 
The grunts from both men, the
assailant and his victim, were loud and threatening.
 
At least they were still fighting and not shooting.

Giada ran
toward the struggling men.
 
It
appeared that the stranger was defending himself quite admirably, until Jimmy
tired and pulled his gun.

“Stop!” she
shouted, holding the axe high in the air, resembling a fierce Carrie
Nation.
 
If she hadn’t been deadly
serious, the image would have been amusing.
 
“I know how to throw this, Jimmy.
 
He’s just a drunk.
 
Let him go, or I swear I’ll aim this axe at your chest.”

Jimmy
stopped and glared at the effrontery of the dancing girl.
 
It was bad enough that she had refused
his attentions, but here she was, confronting him in front of a no-good
drunk.
 
He’d have to teach her a
lesson.

“Giada,
you’re sticking that pretty nose of yours into places where it don’t
belong.
 
Someone might just cut it
off.
 
Get the hell outta here.”
 
He wasn’t bluffing and she knew it.

“I’m not
afraid of you, Jimmy.
 
I’ll call
the police if you bother me.”

Jimmy
relaxed his hold on Anthony and broke out in hideous laughter.
 
The girl was such an innocent.
 
“Go ahead.
 
We own the Chicago police department, Giada.
 
Nobody’s gonna stop us from doing whatever
we want.
 
Even the North Side Gang
fear us.
 
We own Chicago,
baby.
 
That means we even own you.
 
Now go back inside, like a good little
girl, and I might forget I saw you holding that fucking axe.”

Giada chewed
on her bottom lip.
 
She was so
scared she felt her knees knock together, but she tightened her grip on the axe
handle and stood her ground.
 
“Let...him...go!” she demanded, menacingly.

Anthony
stood tall and flexed his shoulders.
 
He looked deep into the hoodlum’s beady eyes and smiled.
 
“I think the lady has called your
bluff...Jimmy.”
 
He chuckled at the
sound of the man’s name.
 
“It’s not
much of a name for a tough guy, now is it...Jimmy?”

“You’re a
dead man,” the mobster growled.
 
“You’re both dead!” he snarled, as he looked directly at Giada.
 
He holstered his gun and fled from the
alley.

Giada would
have fainted on the spot, had it not been for the fact she was scared stiff and
couldn’t move a muscle.
 
Her
knuckles were white from gripping the axe and she had lost all the color in her
cheeks.

“Are you
going to be all right?” Anthony asked the girl, tenderly.
 
He was as sober as a judge, at the
moment, and he could think clearly for the first time in a long while.
 
This beautiful little thing had the
heart of a lion, and she had just gambled her life for his.
 
He couldn’t let her down, now.
 
Damn it all.

Anthony put
his arms around her quaking shoulders, and carefully, he removed the heavy axe
from her grasp.
 
“Thank you,
darling.
 
I think he would have
killed me, if it hadn’t been for you.
 
You were quite brave, you know.”
 
He realized that those were the most words he’d spoken, at any one time,
in weeks.
 
“How about I walk you
home?
 
I don’t think you dance
here, anymore.”

Giada
nodded.
 
It felt good to have his
strong arms around her, keeping her from collapsing upon the ground.
 
She didn’t feel the chill from the
night air through her thin costume—only the heat from where his body
touched hers.
 
She sighed.
 
As she’d always suspected, he was a
special man.