Crook Manifesto (Ray Carney, #2)(100)

“I asked Pepper to look into a fire on 118th for my own reasons,” Carney said. “That put him on Leon, who thought he was asking after some shit you pulled across the street years ago.”

“That’s fucked up,” Reece said.

“I lost my job,” Leon said. “I loved that place. My boss heard I was fighting outside, he tells me to get the fuck out. My goddamn job.”

Oakes shushed him. The firebug’s eyes turned to slits.

“Own reasons what?”

“There was a kid in the building when it got torched.”

“What do you care about some kid?” Reece said.

“I don’t,” Carney said. “That’s the thing.”

Oakes chuckled. “I told you he was wild,” he said. He turned to Carney. “That was a nice night last week. Elizabeth really pulled it off.” He took a drink. Carney thought Oakes was about to make a smart remark, but refrained. “The club showed up—it felt good. You’d think they’d have put more of us into higher office. Judges, we’ve got judges coming out of our ass, we’ve got behind-the-scenes players. But city hall? Downtown? We’re overdue.”

He poured a whiskey and held it up to Reece. The gangster’s features soured—he was busy holding down their guests. Reece Brown had never heard of the Dumas before Oakes invited him. When Oakes opened the door and he got a look at how fancy it was, Reece thought it was some kind of pervert club. Notch thought he had style, fixing up his office above the Right Note with that leopard-skin shit and marble and velvet—that wasn’t classy, it was tacky. This place was classy, and each time Oakes brought him here for business Reece endured a violent recognition—he was going to have a place like this one day. Dignified, tasteful, and expensive, as befitting the biggest, baddest brother to ever battle his way out of the Frederick Douglass Houses. Fuck Lawrence Hilton-Jacobs, he was in Hollywood now so he didn’t count. Reece was the genuine article.

Oakes set Reece’s drink on the bar and raised his glass to his father’s portrait. “I like to think he’s rolling over in his grave, watching this. He was always bragging about the little shit he pulled, getting this guy to pay him off, that guy. The Gentleman Bandit. Piker. That whole generation. What I’ve pulled? What I’m going to do? He had no fucking clue about how the game was going to change.”

Carney played with his Dumas Club ring, twisting it nervously. He said, “This your new campaign message?”

Oakes smirked. “I know he’s rolling over when we’re letting niggers like you in here. I was serious when I said you’d come a long way—you made a face, but I was serious. You remember the first time Elizabeth brought you to a party—Stacey Miller’s birthday party. With your arms sticking out of your coat sleeves and your socks showing. We had a laugh. But she liked you, we all saw that. You got that store started up. I didn’t think it’d last, but you made a go of it.” He toasted Carney. “Didn’t look too good today, though. Those smoke and flames shooting out? It didn’t look good at all, man.”

Leon said, “I don’t miss.” He grinned.

“When the old guys like Leland blocked your membership, I felt bad,” Oakes said. “I voted against you, like everyone else, but I felt bad. The whole time you were a fucking crook!” He gestured at Reece. “Working with his boss! It’s amusing. Turns out the old men knew who you really were the whole time.”

Carney pictured the banker Duke, living it up on an island with all the cash he embezzled from his fellow members. “We were on to each other,” he said.

Pepper wore his disgusted face, with the angry squint. Carney found it comforting. Pepper said, “You tell Notch about this party tonight?”

“You worry about your own self,” Reece said.

Carney scanned the room, as he knew Pepper was doing, taking stock. Oakes behind the bar, Reece with a gun, Leon fidgeting. It smelled like a candle had burned down. He didn’t see any candles. He met Pepper’s gaze for a clue to what the old crook had in mind. Pepper betrayed nothing. Which meant some shit was about to go down or he had no idea at all.

Reece coughed. He said, “Check the bag.”

Oakes opened the black garbage bag and went through the contents, letting it rest on the mahogany bar. He nodded as he sifted through, checking off his inventory. Not removing anything but examining it under the plastic, as if it would wilt and shrivel in the light, like a vampire. Oakes looked surprised, and plucked out a small card. He slipped it in his wallet and continued his search. He said, “Elizabeth know you’re a fucking crook?”

Carney said, “She know you’re a crook?”

“It’s all there?” Reece said.

“So far,” Oakes said.

“You got my name on anything, I want it in my hand.”

“You don’t have to worry about it, Mr. Brown.”

“Okay,” Reece said. “Let’s get on with it.” He aimed at Pepper’s head.

Carney said, “Hey.”

“We agreed not in here,” Oakes said.

Reece shot Oakes in the eye. The candidate tumbled back against the liquor bottles and brought down a cascade of whiskey and gin with him when he dropped to the floor.

The enforcer backed up, watching Pepper and Carney. He moved behind the bar, feeling around Oakes’s body with his feet. He gathered the mouth of the black garbage bag and cinched it. “Ran his mouth too much. It was either now or later. Notch comes down on me, or the cops.” He sniffed. “Who needs him, I got this?” He stopped. “Something burning?”