case the coppers got wise. Maybe they were working the competition angle. Brauerschift hasn’t made things easy for the Farnsworth operation, and the hit was in one of their repair shops.”
Emma put her head to one side and cocked an eyebrow. “Dad would never do something like that, not just because of competition.” She righted her head and stuck her chin out at Brand, defying his suggestion. “Besides, he’d bought some new turbine fittings and handed out bonuses for Christmas, and he ordered a new set of regulators last week. He’s been talking about getting some of the new Brackston auto-tools even, so he could save on labor. He’d be laying off a few guys, but he was going to pay the others better and still—” She cut herself off and sent her eyes off to the side.
“Don’t worry, Miss Farnsworth. I won’t be printing any of this in the paper.”
“Oh really? I should have known better,” she said, her brow crinkling up with regret.
“Hey, I mean it. You might not have the highest opinion of me, and I don’t know why that’s the case. But I’m good for my word to people. Unless I can prove any of this, we’re just blowing smoke in each other’s eyes.”
“Okay, Brand. But. . .” She let her words fall to the table and followed them with her eyes.
“You’re not happy about what I’ve suggested, I can see that. Maybe you know it’s true though. Those tools and plant fittings sound expensive. Your old man has that kind of money?”
“I don’t know. It was all supposed to happen after next season was in. Dad doesn’t tell me about the money side of things, just how the plant works, the machines, that kind of thing. We were supposed to go over the books this morning.”
“And?”
“And he called it off.”
Emma’s face went dark, and even though he didn’t have any experience with them, Brand could tell he was looking at a woman scorned.
“You and your old man don’t see eye to eye. Half of Chicago City knows it. What’s the story there?”
“He isn’t happy that his only surviving child is a girl. He’s giving the plant to the foreman after he dies. He says he wants me to know how things work, but this girl’s not dumb enough to believe she’ll be the one to run the show.”
“Well if Nitti was looking to make your old man the fall guy, there has to be something connecting him to The Outfit. Is he at home now?”
“I doubt it. He’s probably passed out on his desk. He had half that bottle in him when I left this afternoon.”
Brand let it go at that. They were getting close to what he’d learned from the old man earlier, and he had to keep that conversation on the QT. Unless he wanted to end up back in Miss Farnsworth’s not-so-good graces again. They said their goodbyes and Brand put a few notes down in his pad while Emma walked over to the bandstand. A pretty-looking rich boy, a young fair investor, snatched Emma’s hand as she walked by. Brand wasn’t sure, but he thought Emma and the horn player exchanged a look as she followed Mr. Moneybags around the dance floor. Brand spun it around in his mind as he moved to the entrance. The girl at the door helped him back into his coat. He turned to leave and drew up short, face to face with the gypsy couple.
“Madame Tibor, at your service. Mitchell Brand,” the woman said, holding her hand out as though she expected him to kiss her fingers. He gave them a gentle tug, like he would a lamp cord.
“A pleasure, Madam,” Brand said, lifting his hat as he stepped to leave.
“You wait!” Madame Tibor said, her eyes rounding to wide-open white orbs with pinpoints of black in the middle. “You wait and you see now.” She pulled her stack of cards from the folds of her dark shawl. She slid cards over and under the stack in a practiced shuffle, and Brand had to force his eyes away. He ended up staring at the husband.
“You’d be Monsieur Tibor, then? Is that right? Look, I’m a little busy right now. So maybe
Emma put her head to one side and cocked an eyebrow. “Dad would never do something like that, not just because of competition.” She righted her head and stuck her chin out at Brand, defying his suggestion. “Besides, he’d bought some new turbine fittings and handed out bonuses for Christmas, and he ordered a new set of regulators last week. He’s been talking about getting some of the new Brackston auto-tools even, so he could save on labor. He’d be laying off a few guys, but he was going to pay the others better and still—” She cut herself off and sent her eyes off to the side.
“Don’t worry, Miss Farnsworth. I won’t be printing any of this in the paper.”
“Oh really? I should have known better,” she said, her brow crinkling up with regret.
“Hey, I mean it. You might not have the highest opinion of me, and I don’t know why that’s the case. But I’m good for my word to people. Unless I can prove any of this, we’re just blowing smoke in each other’s eyes.”
“Okay, Brand. But. . .” She let her words fall to the table and followed them with her eyes.
“You’re not happy about what I’ve suggested, I can see that. Maybe you know it’s true though. Those tools and plant fittings sound expensive. Your old man has that kind of money?”
“I don’t know. It was all supposed to happen after next season was in. Dad doesn’t tell me about the money side of things, just how the plant works, the machines, that kind of thing. We were supposed to go over the books this morning.”
“And?”
“And he called it off.”
Emma’s face went dark, and even though he didn’t have any experience with them, Brand could tell he was looking at a woman scorned.
“You and your old man don’t see eye to eye. Half of Chicago City knows it. What’s the story there?”
“He isn’t happy that his only surviving child is a girl. He’s giving the plant to the foreman after he dies. He says he wants me to know how things work, but this girl’s not dumb enough to believe she’ll be the one to run the show.”
“Well if Nitti was looking to make your old man the fall guy, there has to be something connecting him to The Outfit. Is he at home now?”
“I doubt it. He’s probably passed out on his desk. He had half that bottle in him when I left this afternoon.”
Brand let it go at that. They were getting close to what he’d learned from the old man earlier, and he had to keep that conversation on the QT. Unless he wanted to end up back in Miss Farnsworth’s not-so-good graces again. They said their goodbyes and Brand put a few notes down in his pad while Emma walked over to the bandstand. A pretty-looking rich boy, a young fair investor, snatched Emma’s hand as she walked by. Brand wasn’t sure, but he thought Emma and the horn player exchanged a look as she followed Mr. Moneybags around the dance floor. Brand spun it around in his mind as he moved to the entrance. The girl at the door helped him back into his coat. He turned to leave and drew up short, face to face with the gypsy couple.
“Madame Tibor, at your service. Mitchell Brand,” the woman said, holding her hand out as though she expected him to kiss her fingers. He gave them a gentle tug, like he would a lamp cord.
“A pleasure, Madam,” Brand said, lifting his hat as he stepped to leave.
“You wait!” Madame Tibor said, her eyes rounding to wide-open white orbs with pinpoints of black in the middle. “You wait and you see now.” She pulled her stack of cards from the folds of her dark shawl. She slid cards over and under the stack in a practiced shuffle, and Brand had to force his eyes away. He ended up staring at the husband.
“You’d be Monsieur Tibor, then? Is that right? Look, I’m a little busy right now. So maybe
Similar Books
