Page 51 of Prohibited

“Sal,” the young woman said, a tense expression on her face. “What’s happening? What is he talking about?”

“Stanley,” Roberts said. That cold gleam in his eye usually preceded madness.

“I don’t know,” the old man said. “One of the other properties.”

“Which one?” Stanley said, gripping the side of the old man’s head with his hand, white to the lips.

“I don’t know,” the old man said, smothering a groan.

Roberts’ stomach nearly dropped through his feet.

“Spread out,” he said in a clear, loud voice. “Search the place.”

The beat cops that he brought with him began to flow around him, herding the speakeasy guests, knocking on walls, floors, and all of the usual places where secret compartments lived.

“Andrews,” Stanley said sharply. “Send cars out to the other hit spots. Now.” Then he looked back at the old man.

“Who is this girl?” Stanley asked, glancing up at the redhead. The look he gave her could have chilled hell.

The old man remained silent.

“I won’t ask you again,” Stanley said in a deadly calm voice.

“I’m–” The young woman started to say, but Stanley turned his unnerving gaze back on her.

“I asked him. I didn’t ask you,” Stanley said. Then he looked back at the old man. “I’m not a patient man, bartender.”

“She doesn’t know anything,” the old man said, voice trembling slightly. “She’s just a kid that hangs around.”

A long, pregnant moment passed that pulsed with tension.

“I don’t believe you,” Stanley said. And he pulled the trigger, blowing blood and brain matter all over his face and the starched white collar of his shirt. The old man’s body slid to the floor with a thud.

The young woman screamed, a sound so blood curdling that Roberts was sure he would hear it in hisdreams for months to come. The entire place erupted into pandemonium.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Stanley!” Roberts said as his officers and Stanley’s men faced down the people trapped with them in the speakeasy, pistols raised, trying to restore peace.

In a smooth, fluid movement, he jumped across the bar and landed on the floor in front of the young woman. He took her face in his hand and dug his fingers into her cheek so hard that she cried out. He put his face so close to hers to speak that Roberts almost didn’t hear him, ears still muffled from the close gunshot.

“I think you’ve probably realized by now that I never bluff,” he said, fitting the muzzle of his revolver under her chin. Though she was trembling with fear and her eyes glittered with unshed tears, the look of determined defiance never left her face.

“Funny,” she said, voice laced with shaky sarcasm. “Neither do I.”

“She’s Lindsay’s sister,” someone said from the crowd. Roberts turned to look. The piano player was standing, holding his hat to his chest. “She’s just his kid sister, don’t hurt her. She doesn’t know anything.”

“Arrest him,” Stanley said. “Arrest all of them. I want every person in this building questioned.” His eyes turned back to the redhead. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” the young woman said through gritted teeth. A tear slipped down her cheek. “They keep the hooch in the back corridor.”

“Show me,” Stanley said. He glanced at the cops on either side of her and said, “Let her go.” Then, shifting his revolver so that it was hovering near her face, he took her by the upper arm. “Show me.”

Swallowing, she said, “I’ve never been back there, I’m not sure–”

Stanley cocked back the hammer of his revolver and the young woman fell silent. She began to move toward the wall to the left of the bar where a painting of a fancy woman in a white wig and a red dress hung. With a shaking hand, she reached up and pulled on the candle to the right of the painting. The formerly seamless wall swung inward, a door. It was truly a marvel of engineering. Roberts had seen a lot of hidden doors, compartments, and trap doors that all varied from bad to good, and this one was by far the best.

Stanley pushed her toward the mouth of the corridor. “Lead the way.”

They entered the dark hallway, dimly flickering with the light of lanterns situated on hooks down the passageway. There were several doors. The first one, on the right just past the door, was full of crates of liquor and large barrels, likely of cider or wine. They searched the room carefully, Stanley holding the young woman in front of him, the revolver still pointed toward her head with a steady hand.

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