“I’m not whining.”
“Humans are complex creatures. We want to belong, but we can’t stand to be the same. How in the world do you force equity on humankind, when we try at every turn to differentiate ourselves from each other? You can do things others cannot, Dani. Where is the equity in that?”
“Maybe the equity is that every gift has a price. I’ve certainly paid it.”
“Ah. Now you’re talking. Now you’re on the trolley,” he said, nodding. “Everything has a price.”
They walked in companionable silence for another minute.
“Do you think we might get something to eat? I’m so hungry,” she asked, her voice plaintive, and he was mortified that he hadn’t thought to ask. The poor thing was running on empty, and he’d been mindlessly yapping.
“Yeah. Sure.” He looked around at the dark facades and the shuttered businesses. “But where?”
“Short Vincent isn’t far,” she said, hopeful. “In fact, it’s just ahead, isn’t it?”
“You want me to take you to Short Vincent?” he scoffed. Short Vincent, the street between East Sixth and East Ninth, was a single city block where Clevelanders of influence but not innocence went to play. The stretch of bawdy businesses—burlesque shows, gambling halls, and beer joints—was infused with money from more respectable operations, giving the crass an uptown veneer. It catered to a certain kind of guy and doll, but sprinkled in with the gin joints and the dancing girls was good food and lots of it. At the Coney Island Café, you could eat fried eggs and jelly toast at any hour, and they would just keep bringing it. His stomach rumbled at the thought. Dani heard it.
“The Theatrical Grill opened last year with all kinds of big acts and real-life stars. Frank Sinatra himself sang there.”
“It’s a Friday night. We’ll never get a seat at a joint like that,” he said, shaking his head. “But I’ll buy you a plate of eggs and a coffee at Coney Island.”
He’d been right about the crowds. He picked up his pace, pulling Dani alongside him, and claimed a booth at Coney Island, right beside the Roxy Theater, seconds before the place was overrun.
“We’ll have the house special,” he said to the harried waitress, who nodded, not even bothering to write it down. It was the standard fare, and it was thirty-nine cents flat, no matter how many times you asked for more.
“Of course you will,” the woman said. “Coming right up.”
“You’ve been here before,” Dani said, her eyes scanning the teeming café. Her back was straight—Zuzana would have approved—and she kept her hands in her lap. She stood out like a sore thumb, and he felt his first twinge of unease.
“Yeah. I’ve been here before.” He’d downed three plates of eggs waiting for Maxie Diamond—a Cleveland gangster and racketeer Irey had been sniffing at—to come out of the Roxy. Malone had just finished up the Lindbergh case and was brought in last minute; Irey though he might need a “gangster” for the job. Two days later, the sting was dropped, and Irey sent him to the Bahamas. Malone hadn’t complained, but the outgoing Ohio governor had commuted the sentence of one of Diamond’s boys on his last day in office, and Malone had wondered if some kind of deal had been struck. It wouldn’t surprise him. It was the kind of stuff he tried not to think about. If he thought too hard or looked too long, he wouldn’t be able to do his job.
“I’ve never been here,” Dani said. “Can you believe it?”
“Yeah. I can. It’s not the kind of street where a good girl goes by herself.”
The waitress placed two plates in front of them and filled two cups with coffee before dashing away. It didn’t take long to get your food when you kept it simple. He buttered his bread between bites of fried egg and soaked up the yolk with his second piece.
“I thought you were hungry,” he said, looking up from his shoveling to see that Dani hadn’t touched her plate. She was too busy gawking. He signaled the waitress for another round.
“Dani. Sweetheart. I brought you here to eat. And I’m going to march you right outta here as soon as I’m done. It isn’t a nice place, and these folks aren’t nice people, if you know what I’m saying.”
She took several bites to please him and chased a dollop of jelly that wouldn’t stay on her knife. He took it from her, slathering her bread with quivering, purple sweetness, just to move her along.
“There,” he said, handing it to her. “Try that.”
“It’s good,” she said, licking her lips, and the bottom dropped out of his stomach. He didn’t know where to look, and his own plate was empty. She took another happy bite.
“It’s delicious, in fact.”
“Yeah. It is. So get eating.” He took a pull of his coffee, too much, too deep, and burned his mouth.
“Don’t rush me, Michael. This is the most excitement I’ve had in ages. And I’m going to stuff myself. You’ll have to go get the car and come and fetch me. I won’t be able to move.”
He stared at her balefully, and she winked at him.
“You’re a funny bird, Dani Flanagan. You’ve just spent the evening combing over bloodstained clothing with none other than Eliot Ness, and Short Vincent ranks higher?”
“It’s more fun. That’s for sure. Do you see anyone famous?” she whispered after the waitress whisked their plates away and set new ones down, topping off their coffee.
“No,” he said, though he hadn’t been looking. He had a better view of the room than Dani did. It was a habit to put his back to the wall, and she kept craning her neck to check out the constant flow.
He cleared his second plate and dressed another piece of bread for Dani, though there was no way she was going to eat it at the rate she was going. Her brow was creased, a line of demarcation between blue and brown, and he tapped her plate with his sticky knife, bringing her attention back to her food.