Where the Cast Iron was all wood paneling and simple framed photographs, the Red Cat was sheer extravagance. The bar was a massive square structure in the center of the floor, roofed with intricately carved mahogany and glistening with rows of hanging bottles and champagne flutes. Crystal chandeliers hung at intervals along the ceiling, with the grandest centered over the white marble dance floor. The waterfall of shimmering crystal teardrops was three tiers deep and cast every gilded and marbled surface in the club into sharp relief.
The waitresses were in a flurry around the crowded tables, their heels clacking on the floor, their faces a sheen of perspiration beneath caked powder. Corinne saw a few people she recognized from the Cast Iron or the newspapers, mostly politicians and lawyers. She kept her head down, praying no one who knew her parents would recognize her. Those who came into the Cast Iron knew to keep their mouths shut about whom they might see around the club, but she didn’t know if Carson’s patrons would have the same consideration for the daughter of an influential family like the Wellses. She usually counted on the fact that important people didn’t want to draw attention to their patronage of places like the Red Cat or the Cast Iron.
The girls picked their way between the rows of tables toward the bar, where Corinne ordered a gin and tonic. She and Ada had played here a few times, so she knew which side of the bar was nearest Luke Carson’s table. He was sitting with his wife, Eva. There were two men in suits and coats in conversation with him. One of them was built like an athlete, and had his suit not been impeccably tailored, it no doubt would have strained at the seams. He was leaning forward with both hands resting on the table. Beneath one of his palms was a thick white envelope. The man’s partner had his back to Carson and was observing the action of the club with a lazy, distant smile. He was shorter, with a receding hairline and bland, pudgy features.
When Corinne got a good look at his face, she spun on her barstool so that her back was to him, jerking Ada along with her. Her pulse was pounding so hard, she could feel it against the glass she clutched in her hands. They were the HPA agents from the asylum. She was sure of it, though she had no idea what they would be doing here.
“Did they see us?” Ada whispered, and Corinne knew she had recognized them too. Her hand was shaking as she peeled Corinne’s hand from her glass to take a sip.
Corinne stole another glance over her shoulder. The massive agent was slapping Carson on the shoulder and pushing the white envelope toward him. It gapped open, and Corinne caught sight of the green inside. Carson’s expression was grim, but he slid the envelope into his jacket.
Corinne turned back to the bar. “I don’t think so,” she whispered.
They both watched in the mirror as the two agents walked past, toward the door. Then Corinne downed the rest of her drink in a single gulp, told the bartender to put it on Charlie’s tab, and went straight for Carson’s table. Ada stayed at the bar long enough to pay for the drinks, then caught up with her. Ada slid in beside Eva in the semicircular booth, and Corinne plopped down beside Luke. She exchanged a glance with Ada—barely the length of a heartbeat—but it was enough to say everything that needed to be said. This was a game that the Carsons had no chance of winning.
“Hello there,” Corinne said. “I imagine you probably remember us.”
“Corinne Wells and Ada Navarra,” Luke said. “Hard to forget a couple of broads like you.”
“Usually I’m all for flattery, but let’s keep it short and sweet tonight.”
“You know why we’re here,” Ada said.
“I can guess,” Carson said, disentangling his hand from his wife’s hair in order to give a dismissive wave at the two brawny gentlemen who were sidling toward them. Corinne had to admit that Gabriel was at least better at pretending to be unarmed than they were.
“What I can’t guess,” Carson continued, “is how you managed to get in here. Care to tell me so I know who to fire?”
“Your mother,” Corinne said with a smile. “Lovely woman. Not all there, but then she did have to deal with you for the better part of her life.”
Carson’s lips twitched, and Corinne could see his grip on his glass tightening. His wife laughed suddenly, a lilting sound like morning birds.
“Quite a mouth on such a little thing,” said Eva, putting her hand on her husband’s arm and rubbing it slowly. Her gaze moved between them in lazy amusement. “What a funny pair you make.”
“We do tricks too,” said Ada.
“Sure do,” Corinne said. “Have you ever wondered what it would look like if your skin were turned inside out? Because I’ve got a poem for that.”
Luke Carson made a small, jerking movement, as if he were ready to throw something.
Eva laughed again. “Cute,” she said, and leaned to speak into her husband’s ear, though she wasn’t exactly whispering. “I like them. Let’s hear what they have to say.”
Carson’s face twisted through a few expressions before finally settling into one of calm composure.
“Let’s hear it then,” he said to Corinne.
But it was Ada who spoke, while Corinne focused on Carson’s face through the smoke and candlelight.
“Do you know where Johnny is?”
“Not the slightest idea,” Carson said. He leaned back and swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “People are so hard to keep up with these days.”