The gangster began wrapping the tie around his fists.
Dash slowly stood up. “Mr. Fife, there’s something you need to understand. We were forced by a man named Walter Müller—”
“You know what strikes me odd about it all? The disguise. A tailor shop owner with a degenerate speak in the back. I have to say, that is quite elaborate. Over-the-top.”
Fife was walking towards Dash now, blocking his path to the front door.
A trickle of sweat slowly slid down Dash’s back. “This Walter Müller blackmailed us, Mr. Fife. His brother was murdered, and he wanted us to find out who did it.”
“And did you?”
“I, I . . . I suppose I did.”
The gangster gasped in mock surprise. “Lookee there. My men were right. You are a detective. Are you private? With the cops? Or with the Feds?”
“Neither! I told you, we were forced into it.”
By now, Fife was face-to-face with Dash, so close their noses almost touched.
“No man is ever forced to do anything. We all have free will, do we not? And we all make choices. And choices, Mr. Parker, have consequences.”
He then slid the silk tie around the back of Dash’s neck.
Dash swallowed. My God, was Fife going to . . . strangle him? Despite the awful realization, fear and disbelief—heavy, like lead—kept him rooted to the spot.
Fife took the two sides of the tie and began to make a knot at the center of Dash’s chest, like a father does for his son wearing a suit for the first time.
“You haven’t answered me. Who. Do. You. Work. For?” The gangster began slowly sliding the knot up to Dash’s neck. “Private? The coppers? Or the Feds?”
The knot was now snug against Dash’s Adam’s apple.
“Mr. Fife, I work for none of them.”
The knot began pressing harder against Dash’s throat as Fife continued to slide it upwards.
“Now, now, don’t be modest,” Fife said, his pleasant baritone maddeningly calm. “A man of your accomplishments must be recognized.”
The tie was beginning to cut off Dash’s oxygen supply. He felt his cheeks begin to flush. He tried to answer but couldn’t. His chest was on fire from the lack of oxygen, and he could feel himself start to fade. His pulse was pounding against his temples, so hard he struggled to understand Fife’s words.
“Can you hear me, Mr. Parker?”
Dash couldn’t speak but he could shake his head, albeit barely. The gangster watched him struggle some more before releasing him. Dash grabbed at the tie’s knot and pulled it away from his neck. He took several grateful gasps of air, bending at the waist. He coughed, his throat scratchy and raw. He heard the creak of the floorboards and looked up.
Fife had returned to the changing area and walked out with his suit on the hanger. He went to the shop’s front door and opened it. “Thank you for my suit, Mr. Parker. I truly believe you are a man I could have much use for.”
He looked over his shoulder.
“And remember, I’m always watching.”
Dash stared as the air-tight man straightened his jacket and walked slowly down West Fourth. Once Fife was out of sight, Dash rubbed a hand along his neck.
This is what I signed up for, he thought. No one runs a speak and remains completely free.
And all he wanted, like all men and women in the world, was to be free. More than ever, he needed to be around his kind, to be around friends, to be around life. And Providence smiled upon him, for walking up to the tailor shop were Atty, Joe, and Finn.
“He lives!” Finn shouted as they entered.
Joe grinned, saying, “Do my eyes deceive me?”
Atty clapped Dash on the shoulder. “Welcome back, boss! Good to see youse!”
Dash forced a smile as he stood, pleased his legs weren’t shaking too much. “You slay me, Atty. You act as if I’ve been gone for months.”
“Feels like it, boss. Say, did that fella who I got the suit for, did he like it?”
Dash looked over Atty’s shoulder to the outside street. All he saw was shadows and people strolling along the sidewalk. Yet he knew Fife was out there, watching, waiting, like a wolf on the hunt.
“Yes,” he replied, “yes he did.”
Atty began walking towards the changing room. “Good. That means we’re gonna get much better booze.”
“And speaking of booze,” Finn said, following him, “I am in desperate need of some.”
Joe shook his head as he trailed after them. “Easy, lass. Don’t start so hard first thing in the evening. Ya gotta save your strength for later.”
He gave a casual wink to Dash.
Dash felt himself blush.
Atty pushed the right spot of the changing room mirror and led the way into Pinstripes.
Finn said, following after him, “Is that so?” He looked over his shoulder at Joe. “Tell me more, Mr. Night Life.”
“Ya know what your problem is, Finney? Ya think you’re too clever by half.”
“You know what your problem is?” Finn called from behind the wall.
“No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me,” Joe bellowed into the secret doorway. He glanced back at Dash. “You coming?”
Dash smiled and stepped towards him. He brushed past Joe who whispered to him, “Welcome back, me lad. Or is it me lass?”
Dash whispered back, “Whichever you want.” He crossed the threshold of the club’s secret entrance.
Joe leaned back and laughed as he followed Dash into the club. “Whichever I want, he says! Praise be to the Mother Mary! The power I shall have!”
Finn was seated at the bar next to Atty, rolling his eyes. “Dear goddess, why are you making him more insufferable?”
“Insufferable?” Joe scoffed. “Use yer head, lassie, I’m the barman filling your orders.” He ducked underneath the bar, coming up with glasses and bottles. “What will everyone have?”
Dash stopped at the head of the bar and looked at his friends. His heart was filled with gratitude that they were all still together after the most horrid week and a half of their lives. They were safe and sound.
For now, at
