Glancing behind her to make sure no one was watching, Macey filched the only one with a straight handle. Then, in a trice, she broke the umbrella about four inches from the end. Thanks to her vis, doing so was like snapping a toothpick. And now she had a makeshift stake that would actually fit-diagonally, at least-in her pocketbook.
Relieved and filled with purpose, as well as a renewed spike of nerves, she walked out of the powder room.
Grady was waiting outside the door.
"You again. Just like a bad penny. "
He smiled and offered her his arm. "Have I mentioned how bloody sensational you look tonight, lass?"
"No. "
"If you'd care to take a stroll over to one of those tables, where I can be sitting you next to me and drownin' myself in your deep brown eyes, I'll be more than happy to tell you how keen I am on you. " His crinkly-eyed smile had her insides warm and fluttery again, and reminded her about that luscious kiss in her flat.
"I suppose I could agree to that. " Though I'll be the one drowning in someone's eyes.
As they walked to the table he'd somehow procured, Macey noticed the chill on the back of her neck had eased. She looked around. Capone's booth was empty, and she didn't see him anywhere.
She couldn't deny it-a wave of relief washed over her. I'm not in the mood to face a vampire tonight. And I'm certainly not ready to face Al Capone as a vampire.
"Looking for your friends?" Grady asked as he gestured to a small round booth. Just big enough for two, the seat enabled them to face the cabaret stage where a jazz trio was now performing. A candle burned on the center of the small table, and goblets with seltzer water were already poured. Paper-thin wedges of orange, lemon, and lime were arranged on a small gold-edged plate.
"No. I was wondering if Al Capone had left. " Macey slid in and adjusted the silky fabric of her slip-dress so it didn't show too much thigh. "I don't see him anywhere anymore. "
Grady's expression hardened. "I didn't take you for being one of those gangster-celebrity watchers. "
"No, not at all. It's just. . . I've never seen him before tonight, and to be honest, being in the same room as a gangster is a little unsettling. I just wanted to know where he was. "
"So he doesn't sneak up on you, you mean?" Now he was smiling, and his eyes had gone warmer. "Don't worry, lass. I'll protect you. "
"Do you see them often? Gangsters? You must, if you're a newshound. "
"I prefer newshawk. Hound-the word, not the animal-has such unpleasant connotations. And a hawk is strong and graceful, as well as being a fierce fighter. "
"Thank you for that clarification. " Macey's tone was nonchalant, but inside she was turning to mush. Smart, literate, charming, and someone she could actually imagine being a strong, fierce protector. . . . Grady was definitely more hawk than hound.
"And in answering your question: Yes, I see and interact with the gangsters a lot. It's an odd thing. Everyone knows they're violent criminals, yet they walk the streets without fear of repercussion. " His tight mouth and fierce eyes told her exactly how he felt about that.
"Except they fear one another. "
He looked at her and nodded, his eyes sober. "Those men are repulsive-for what do they stand for but violence, greed, and pure hedonism? And yet, damn it, even though it nearly kills me to say it, I can't deny the bootleggers do provide a useful service. "
Macey was fascinated by his honesty-and his integrity. "What useful service? Breaking the law?"
"By organizing and regulating the breaking of the law. That warning I gave you and your friends tonight about drinking the whiskey here? I was serious. If you don't know where it comes from, you could drink something fatal. Saloons serve up poison drinks made from industrial alcohol all the time because it's cheap and relatively easy to come by. At least we know that the beer Capone's saloons serve comes from proper breweries. And his whiskey is the same. From a real distillery. You're not going to get watered down methyl alcohol from one of his places. And that, at least, is one benefit. Despite Prohibition, people are going to drink spirits. At least if they drink Capone's, there's less of a chance they'll die. "
"Grady stiffened, his eyes going flinty again. "Don't think that for a minute, Macey. I have no respect for that murderer. Nor for any of them-the Gennas, the Torrios, the Weisses. Any of them. They've spilled enough blood in this city-both innocent and otherwise. All in the name of greed. I'd be more than happy to see them behind bars, which is one of the reasons I do what I do. Some day, somehow, each of them will be caught out, and justice will be served. If I'm a part of taking them down, I'll die a happy man. "
"What about your uncle?"
"Since my aunt was killed in gangster crossfire, you can be sure he feels the same way, to the bottom of his heart-and that'll never change. And let me tell you, lass, he and I-we're in t
he minority. But that's why those bastards still walk the streets and carry their automatics and run this city-because the cops and the mayor and even the governor are in their pocket. They like the money and power too much to come down on them, so they offer protection instead. "
Macey shivered and realized how uncannily similar the description of the corrupt authorities was to that of the Tutela. And how the vampires were very much like the gangsters, wielding underlying power as they controlled their turf. They were invincible. Untouchable.
It was no wonder Sebastian and Chas were worried Capone would be turned undead. That combination of power and influence along with immortality and strength would be lethal.
"Did you know Big Al goes to confession once a week? As if that'd save his soul. I'll be damned, but I'd like to be a fly sitting on that priest's shoulder. " His intensity eased a little, the laugh-lines at his eyes appearing once again.