Page 50 of Prohibited

The lookout let them in with his hands up, no questions asked. He and Stanley led the way down the steps. At the secret door, Roberts put his revolver up to the tiny window and said, “The password is Tulsa City Fucking Police, open up.”

The pale faced kid did as he was told and stood back with his hands in the air.

“HANDS UP, EVERYBODY!” Roberts bellowed. “THIS IS A POLICE RAID. DO NOT MOVE, DO NOT ATTEMPT TO FLEE!”

The merry sound of the piano came to a tinkling halt and so did the chatter and the laughter that only moments before had been muffled but pronounced on the stairwell down into the speakeasy.

“Where are they?” Stanley said, looking around as the cops and his men filtered in around him. “I want Laurent and Lockwood both, alive.”

“They aren’t here,” said the old bartender, who had paused making a cocktail in a fine crystal tumbler. His composure was shockingly intact.

Stanley walked right up to the bartender, an elegant old man in at least his seventies who wore a crimson jacket. He grabbed him by his black silk tie and dragged his face down onto the bar and pressed the barrel of his revolver against the old man’s head.

Roberts had a very unpleasant flashback to the scene with Linus and he held his breath, ready to move forward if necessary.

To his credit, tension was apparent in the old man’s body language, but he did not otherwise show his fear.

“I’ll give you one chance and one chance only to tell me where she is,” Stanley said in a low, cold voice that sent a chill through the room.

“Sal!” A woman, about twenty-five years old, with a head of long wild coppery red curls pushed forward until she was standing across the bar from Stanley, staring into hiseyes with a courage that Roberts frankly found impressive. It was not uncommon for people to recoil from the sheer chill of Stanley’s gaze. “Stop it. He’s an old man. Leave him alone!”

A look of cold amusement passed over Stanley’s face and he nodded down to the old man. “You want to take his place?”

“Gladly, if that means you’ll stop bullying people who can’t defend themselves,” she said, fists clenched by her sides. It didn’t surprise him at all that the woman was wearing knickerbockers instead of a skirt. Fucking self-righteous suffragette.

Stanley surveyed her with cold scrutiny.

“You know this man?” Stanley said after a moment of thick silence, tilted his head toward the old man again.

The young woman swallowed. “Yes. I do. He’s a f-friend.”

“You know the other owner of this place?” he asked.

Another pause. She said nothing, just glanced at the old man, conflict tightening her face.

“Arrest her,” Stanley said, glancing at Roberts. Then he bore down on the old man again.

“No!” The young woman shouted and attempted to lunge across the bar at Stanley. But two officers were already taking her by the elbows and dragging her toward the stairs. “No!” she shouted again. “Leave him alone, he doesn’t know anything! He just works here!”

“Stop,” Stanley said, watching her with slightly narrowed cold eyes. “Bring her back over here.”

The officers turned and dragged her back. Her creamy skin became even paler under the freckles that positively covered her face.

“And what do you know?” Stanley asked in his soft, cold voice.

The young woman hesitated, and he drew back the hammer of his pistol, still held against the old man’s head.

“Wait!” she said, taking short, shallow breaths. “Okay, I know they keep the hooch in the back corridor.”

“The hooch?” Walter laughed, a sound that sent a chill down Roberts’ spine. “I’m not here for the hooch, little girl. Where is Evelyn?”

“Evelyn?” she said, faintly.

“She’s not here,” the old man said, quietly.

“Where is she?” Stanley said through gritted teeth, pressing the barrel of his gun into the old man’s head until he winced.

“They moved her.” The old man spoke in a soft, shaking voice.

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