Free The Girls at the Kingfisher Club by Genevieve Valentine Page B

her attention, held it.
    It was too loud, she couldn’t place the voice, just knew it was familiar—
    Someone beside Jo cleared his throat.
    It was Jake. He looked a little worse for wear, a dark circle under one eye where he’d been socked.
    â€œYou all right, Princess?” he asked, frowning.
    Relief washed over her, and she gave him a smile that felt like it would split her face. “Not really. I thought your boss had worked things out with the cops.”
    â€œMe too,” he said. “Either they upped their rates, or the boss got on the wrong side of a congressman.”
    â€œAre you all right?”
    He half-shrugged. “Around cops is a bad place to be-Chinese, sometimes.”
    She had wondered before about his parentage, and how it had brought him to the Kingfisher, but never asked; she was sorry this was the way she’d been admitted into confidence. She tried a smile. “Guess nobody at the Kingfisher knows the mayor?”
    â€œThe mayor’s even worse,” Jake said with a rueful smile. “You got a ride home?”
    â€œI don’t even have a ride out the door. There’s no one to pay my fine.”
    Jake didn’t seem surprised. (Jo felt like the only person in the world who was ever taken by surprise any more.) He nodded, glancing across the crowd.
    â€œI’ll get my friend to post you,” he said. “He’s got money to spare, and he likes playing the gentleman.” Jake waved over his head at the clerk’s desk.
    The man in the fedora seemed to cross the room by magic—one moment he was standing at the desk, and the next he was in front of them, laughing and shaking hands with Jake.
    â€œTold you to come work with me instead,” he said. “The police call me in advance when someone’s out to look righteous. This low-blow stuff is a waste of everybody’s night.”
    (Jo couldn’t breathe.)
    â€œThe bosses like a little excitement, I guess,” said Jake, shrugging. “Say, I have a friend who needs bail. Could you spare twenty?”
    â€œSure thing, you sly dog,” the man said, and absently looked over at Jo.
    After a second, he recognized her.
    His shoulders stiffened under the coat, and he shifted his weight evenly onto both feet.
    It was his nervous habit; that much she remembered.
    She said, “Good to see you, Tom.”

nine
    Big Bad Bill
    (Is Sweet William Now)
    It was a relief that Tom had changed.
    He’d gotten broader in the shoulders. The hawkish lines of his face had settled, less out-of-place than they’d been when he was young and gaunt. His eyes were ringed with lines that were turning to wrinkles. He moved more cautiously (though maybe it was just that she’d never seen him when he wasn’t dancing).
    Maybe he was just out of practice; maybe it was only that he hadn’t done so much running from the police in the last eight years.
    His eyes were dark green. She hadn’t really known; in the dance hall they’d looked gold, because of the lights.
    He stared at Jo as if he couldn’t believe it, like it was Christmas, or like he’d expected her to pine to death when he went away and he was shocked to see she’d made it to this ripe old age without him.
    She could slap him.
    She could kiss him.
    She had to get home.
    â€œTom?” Jake prompted. “Would you mind? It’s only twenty. I’m good for it, if you don’t have cash to spare.”
    Tom shook himself a little, glanced between Jo and Jake as if trying to figure them out.
    â€œNot at all,” he said. “Happy to help a friend of yours.” He looked back at Jo. “What’s your name?” he asked, too innocently.
    He’d asked that question a lot, years ago; late at night, breathed against her hair.
    She’d almost told him, once, the first night he asked her to come with him. But as foolish as she’d been, she knew better than to break their