Second Somme.'
The goombas exchanged glances, and finally the weapons were lowered. 'You's good. That's what he said you'd say. Mr. Torrio will see you now.' He put one arm over Jake's shoulder and steered him into a long brick hallway. The door slammed behind.
'Welcome to the Grid Iron.'
The club was about the ritziest thing Sullivan had seen. The exterior was a crumbling warehouse, but the inside was a palace. The brick walls had been covered in blue and white curtains, and an actual chandelier had been hung from the rafters. There had to be fifty folks on the dance floor, and double that sitting along the bar, drinking themselves stupid on quality Canadian booze. The front of the space was filled with round tables and diners. The smell of fine cooking made Sullivan's stomach rumble. The waiters were even wearing tuxes.
The back of the warehouse had a stage, and the music was both loud and good. A sparkling bridge spanned the stage over the band, darn near big enough to be an orchestra, and a long-legged dame was crooning a tune. She had great pipes.
One goon had remained at the door, and the other led Sullivan along the wall and up a flight of metal stairs. A balcony circled the room, and once at the top, they entered the private lounge, consisting of some leather couches overlooking Lenny Torrio's kingdom. There were tables in darkness along the back, and Sullivan could make out a few shapes behind the glow of cigarettes. He had entered the inner sanctum.
There were two more muscle types camped at the top of the stairs. Jake saved them the trouble of the pat- down and handed over his spare gun. It was a beater Smith amp; Wesson Military amp; Police.38, but he couldn't afford to replace his precious.45. 'I'm gonna want that back,' Jake stated as the guard carried the revolver away.
Lenny Torrio was sprawled between two chippies in slinky gowns. He was wearing a red silk robe over his clothes. 'Sarge! How you been?' he shouted in greeting. He snapped his fingers and the girls jumped up to leave. 'Get outta here. Can't you see I've got business to conduct?' He smacked one on the rump as they hurried away. 'Have a seat. Have a seat!'
Sullivan settled his mass onto the couch across from Lenny. Physically, Lenny Torrio hadn't changed much. He was still a skinny, bug-eyed, hyperactive type. The con was going bald now, but he'd slicked what was left over to one side in a failing attempt to hide it. 'Hey, Lenny. Been a long time.'
'Sure has. You want a drink?' He didn't wait for an answer, but clapped his hands. 'Yo. Amish, get my boy a drink! What're you waiting for?' Lenny turned back to Sullivan and frantically rubbed his nose. 'Help these days… What can you do?'
Sullivan just nodded. 'Nice robe… you supposed to be Rudolph Valentino?'
Lenny cackled, way too hard, slapping his knee. 'You were always a crack-up, Sarge. Mr. Truth, Justice, and the American Way. Funny, huh? That I'm on top of the world, and last I heard you were a slave to the feds.' A pair of glasses and a bottle were placed on the table between them by a cross-eyed man, who quickly hurried away. 'How's that treating you?'
'Pays the bills.'
'Good thing I'm a legitimate businessman.' Lenny poured them both a drink. 'And Rockville? Is it as tough as everybody says?'
'Worse.' Sullivan took the whiskey, pounded it down in one gulp, and set the glass back on the table. It burned going down. He'd never liked Torrio. The man was slime, always had been, always would be, and the only reason he'd been in the First was because a Brooklyn judge had given him the choice between serving his country or serving hard time, and for somebody like Torrio, that meant Rockville Special Prisoners' Wing.
'So… you talk to Matthew lately?'
So that was why his door goons had asked him which Sullivan he had been. Torrio had always been scared of Jake's big brother, and for good reason. He had been the meanest bastard in the First, after all. Sullivan shook his head. 'You don't want to go there. I ain't my brother's keeper.' He changed the subject. 'Thanks for talking to me.'
'What? Just because you'd sell your own kind out to the government, I'm not supposed to entertain an old friend?'
Sullivan let the dig flow off him like water off a duck's back. He didn't rile easy. 'My own kind? You mean crooks or Actives?'
Torrio shrugged. 'Both. I heard why you went upriver, so in your case it's the same thing. Guys like us are better than everybody else, so you got made an example. You should know that better than anybody, Sarge. We should be running this show, not them. Normals just keep us down. Times are gonna change though, I tell you that.'
Sullivan nodded like Lenny was just full of wisdom. He was full of something, but it sure as hell wasn't wisdom. He scanned the room. The men at the tables weren't clearly visible, but they were far enough not to eavesdrop over the music. The one named Amish was standing with arms folded about ten feet away. 'I need some information…' Sullivan paused, frowning, as he sensed the intrusion. 'And tell your boy to get out of my head before I open his.'
Lenny was surprised that his man had been caught, but he played it like he was offended. He turned toward the cross-eyed man. 'Amish! Are you trying to Read my guest?'
'Sorry, boss,' the man replied sheepishly.
'Beat it, retard!' Torrio threw his glass at the goon, missed, and it shattered on the far wall. The goon scurried away. 'Sorry about that. You know how it is.'
'Yeah. I know how it is.' He decided to get right to the point. 'I heard Delilah was coming to do a job for you.'
'Who's asking? You? Or J. Edgar Hoover?'
'Just me.'
Torrio shook his head. 'I got no idea what you're talking about.'
Sullivan leaned back on the couch. Let the games begin. 'I can't afford to pay for information, Lenny. I don't give a damn about the government, and they don't know I'm here. I got lied to about Delilah, and I want to know why.'
'I make my living by knowing what's going on, Sarge. That'd be like me asking you to… I don't know… lift something heavy for free.'
'I saved your life.'
Torrio snorted. 'Are you kidding? You didn't go out of your way for just little old me. You saved everybody you could. I just happened to be one of them.'
'You did happen to be one of them,' Sullivan said. 'Remember that, and every time you look around your fancy club, and your fancy whores, and your fancy booze, you should remember that you should be too busy being dead to enjoy any of it.'
'I worked hard for what I got.'
'And you'd be fertilizing a field in France if I hadn't carried you, on my back, through a quarter mile of hell.'
The mobster seemed to think about that. 'You know, Sarge, the Chicago family could use a tough man like you…'
'I just want to know about Delilah.'
'You were sweet on her back before Rockville, weren't you? She sure was a babe.' Lenny's teeth seemed too big when he smiled. 'Gotta be nice for a guy like you to have a girl he can't break by accident.'
Sullivan was tiring of this. Maybe it was just the cold giving him a headache, but he was about done with the mobster's nonsense. 'My business is none of your business.'
Torrio sighed. 'All right… for old times' sake. But then we're even, and I don't ever want to see you again. Capishe? Talking to somebody like you hurts my reputation. I show weakness and that asshole Capone will run me out in a box.' He paused to pour himself another shot, got confused as to where his glass had gone, so took Sullivan's instead. 'The Grimnoir was looking for her, but she was on the run. They paid me to find her. I got her to come out of hiding so they could pick her up. Looks like they did, though from what I heard, you gave them one hell of a fight.'
The name meant nothing to him. 'What's a Grim Nor?'
