May 6, 1939
Nick ran out the door, not stopping to think of anything else. Later he'd justify himself saying he was playing a concerned husband making sure his wife was safe. Later he'd realize how close that excuse was to the truth.
The scene he found was not a surprising one. The two Italians and the Jew got into their car and sped off before Nick could run to the street. And crumpled right in front of the stairs up to the apartment was Charlie Riggs. His brains were painted all over the brick wall of the laundromat that flanked the alley.
But Nick didn't spare more than a glance to the gangsters or to Riggs. He took the stairs two at a time until he got to Jennifer. She was standing on the landing with her back against the window to their apartment. Her eyes were wide with shock.
"Are you hurt?" he demanded, his voice low and terrified and slightly breathless.
She shook her head and then looked up at him. She blinked a couple times to get her bearings, and then she reminded him in a low warning, "Get to the backroom. We have to deal with this. I'll talk to Walker and Smith."
Nick's heart was racing, but he was aware enough to know she was right. He'd have to play Wesley Claybourne and salvage the night and guarantee their criminal clientele. That was their job. They were supposed to provide the setting for the criminals to flap their gums and put themselves into Sing Sing. And they couldn't do that if they didn't keep a good reputation with that crowd.
And even though Nick knew that he had to go down to the backroom, he hesitated. He knew why he hesitated, but he didn't want to admit it, even to himself. Not just yet.
Jennifer seemed to understand. Just like she always seemed to understand. She reached out and took his hand, giving it a small squeeze. He stared at their clasped hands in something like awe.
"I'm alright," she assured him. "Go on."
He squeezed her hand once and let it go, turning to hurry back down. He had work to do.
It took a few hours to take care of everything. Wesley Claybourne eased the concerns of his patrons by letting them know that what had happened was nothing to do with the Claybournes or their operation, and he takes great pains to keep out of the business of the people who use his backroom. And then he told them all he would have to call the cops to handle the body in the alley, but he'd wait to call it in until everyone was able to leave. Nothing would ruin business like cops showing up. The assurances seemed to have the right effect. One of the gamblers whose name Nick did not know came up to him as everyone filed out.
"You're a good guy, Claybourne," the man said, shaking Nick's hand.
"Just keeping my place up and running. Can't do that with cops bothering people," he answered.
"You got any nights free in this room coming up?"
Nick smiled. "Depends on what for."
"I got a few friends of the family in town, and it might be nice to bring them somewhere private."
"Friends of the Family?"
"Yeah, some Luciano cousins."
Nick's heart skipped a beat. Lucky Luciano was one of the winners of the Mafia Wars, and he got hit for pandering a couple years ago and was currently residing in Sing Sing where he belonged. But the Luciano Family still had the stranglehold over this part of Brooklyn, and the Prime Minister, Frank Costello, was now running things while Lucky was in the clink. And if this guy was connected to the Luciano Family, this could mean everything for the FBI investigation. Nick had to get this guy to bring his buddies into the backroom. "How's about Tuesday, Mr…."
"Ferrante. Joey Ferrante. And thanks a million, Claybourne. We'll be by around eight on Tuesday."
The men shook hands again. "See you Tuesday," Nick said.
And then the backdoor finally closed for the last time. Time to deal with the body in the alley.
That was what took the longest. Smith and Walker gave them lines to use when talking to the cops. They wanted Jen to be the one to deal with them at first until Nick could see if the cops were guys he knew, and if they were, he'd have to stay out of it. It would be a lot for her to think on her feet to cover for him, but she had a defiant kind of set of to her jaw, like she was daring anyone to question whether she could handle this or anything.
She was amazing with the cops. Trish Claybourne came across like the perfect worried wife. Calm enough to not be dismissed as overly emotional. Quiet and conciliatory to beef up male egos. And thankfully the two cops wouldn't know Nick, so he came out of the study to take charge like a husband was expected to do. Trish faded back when Wesley was talking to the cops. Nick made sure she was close by, though. He was still concerned by the frozen panic he'd seen after the gunshot sounded, and truth be told, he didn't really feel up to handling all this all on his own. They told the cops that they didn't see anything, just the body of a local customer in the alley and they had no idea who shot him, which was the line the FBI fed to them. It wasn't hard to sell it. They had to keep the cops off their backs for the sake of their investigation.
The cops finally left, and Smith and Walker, who had been waiting in the office of the apartment, finally left after that. Nick and Jen were finally left alone.
Jen tried to walk down the hallway, but Nick grabbed her arm to stop her. As soon as she did, he let go of her. He leaned in close. Maybe too close. Probably too close. And he whispered to avoid the recording equipment. "You okay?"
Jennifer didn't know how to answer that question. No, she was not okay. She'd just seen a man shot dead right in front of her. Executed before her eyes. But yes, of course she was okay. They had a job to do, and they would do it. She could brush this off just like everything else. Only this wasn't like everything else.
She swallowed hard, searching Nick's eyes for the answer. She didn't find one, but he seemed to.
Nick took one step forward and wrapped his arms around her. Jen instantly melted into his embrace, accepting the strength and comfort he offered to her. He felt warm and safe, and he smelled damn good. In that moment, Jennifer felt well and truly okay for the first time she could remember. She didn't want to let him go, but she knew she had to. For now, at least.
When Jen pulled back, he instantly let her go. He stood there, just watching her. Waiting for her to say something, do something. He was a quiet sort of man, and he was patient. His gentleness allowed him to wait for her to make the next move.
"Could you stay with me tonight?" she whispered, hoping she was too quiet for the machines to overhear.
His brow furrowed in confusion for a split second, but he figured it out quickly. He nodded.
Jen felt some of the tension leave her at the knowledge that he would be close by. Not that he wasn't always close by but…tonight she needed more than that. She swallowed back the emotion welling up inside her. "I'm going to have a bath before bed," she announced to Nick and the recording.
She went to the bedroom to retrieve her pajamas so she could change into them in the bathroom. Nick had followed her in there, but she slipped past him to go into the bathroom just as he entered the bedroom.
As she tied up her hair to avoid getting it wet, Jen tried not to think about the fact that her hands were shaking. And when she got into the bathtub with the water so hot it was almost burning, she tried not to think about the fact that she was going to scream or sob the second she opened her mouth. So instead, she curled her knees up against her chest and hugged them tight with her lips pressed together to keep everything inside. This used to work back in the old neighborhood when the shouts and screams and sounds of gunshots gave her nightmares so bad, Jennifer probably had not slept more than twenty minutes at a time from the ages of seven through to fifteen.
When the hot water was too painful to handle, she got herself out of the bath and quickly dried off her flushed red skin. Her pajamas were soft and soothing. And when Jen looked at herself in the mirror, she saw someone she recognized. That was the important part.
Jen left the bathroom and returned to the bedroom. She found Nick putting the finishing touches on the bed. Not beds. Bed. She paused in the doorway, watching him tucking in the sheets with the same efficient neatness with which he did nearly everything.
He turned to see her. "Alright?" he asked, obviously hoping he hadn't missed the mark.
But Jen just smiled and gave him a nod. She had asked him to stay with her and he had done exactly what she had had wanted. He had pushed the two single beds together into a double bed for them to share. It would probably be uncomfortable, but they'd be alright.
Nick went into the bathroom to get ready for bed, and Jen went to try out their new bed. She hadn't really thought about it before now, but this would be the first time she'd shared a bed with a man in longer than she could remember. And she wasn't sure she'd ever actually slept a whole night in a bed she shared with a man. Usually when Jen was in bed with someone, they didn't stay there too long. Have a bit of fun and recover and go home. But all those times were nothing like this. Jen was going to be getting into bed with her partner, not her lover. The latter were a dime a dozen, but the former was something special. She'd known that for a while, though. Nick was special.
When he returned, he shut off the light and got into his side of the bed. They both settled down on the edges of their respective beds which created the middle of this new larger bed. Their faces were so close that they almost touched. Almost, but not quite.
"Are you okay?" Nick asked her again, breathing the words so the recordings wouldn't pick it up.
Jen let out a slow breath. "I've never seen anyone killed before," she confessed. "I've heard gunshots before. I've fired a gun plenty of times, but I've never shot anyone. And I've seen more dead bodies as a private eye than I can count. But watching a man shot and killed is different."
"Yeah, it is," Nick agreed. "I hope you never have to see it again. Or anything worse."
"Have you…?" she asked, not finishing the question.
But he knew what she meant. Have you ever killed anyone? "Yeah," he replied simply.
She let it lie. "Thanks for this," she whispered. She didn't know what else to say.
"You're welcome," he answered. "No matter what, Jen, I've got you."
A warmth spread through her at his words. But one in particular stood out to her. "You called me Jen."
"I don't like the idea of calling you Trish when we're sharing a bed," he quipped.
"No, I mean you called me Jen instead of Jennifer," she clarified. "No one calls me Jen."
"Sorry. Jennifer," he amended.
But that wasn't what she meant. She scooted herself closer to him and reached her right hand out to rest on the back of his neck. "Don't apologize." She called herself Jen all the time. And having Nick use the abbreviated name that she only used in her own head was strangely comforting. Par for the course with Nick.
Jen still had her hand resting against the side of his neck. His skin was soft and warm. She didn't want to let him go. Maybe she didn't have to.
"We should get some sleep," she murmured.
"Yeah," he agreed, shifting himself so he was even closer to her. "Goodnight, Jen."
A small smile crept over her lips. His lips were smiling too. She could tell because they were about an inch away from her face. "Goodnight, Nick."