Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 8

attention to Nathan, where he gave him the up and down, approval evident in his gaze. "I don't usually go for petting parties, but I'd be happy to make an exception for you fellas."
    Harlan arched an eyebrow at that. "I beg your pardon?"
    Julius leaned in and smiled knowingly, his voice low. Not that it was necessary with the brassy Jazz number the small orchestra was spewing out. There was also plenty of petting going on around them. No one was going to pay them any mind. They would soon enough, but not for the young man sitting on Harlan's lap.
    "Don't worry, handsome. Your secret's safe with me."
    Harlan's eyes narrowed and he caught the hand that was making its way down to his stomach. "Alright, that's enough of that." Julius looked both surprised and tickled. He turned his smile on Nathan who damn it all, had yet to say a single word.
    "So it's like that?" Julius asked Nathan.
    Finally, his so-called partner spoke up, a goofy grin on his face. "Yeah, it's like that."
    Julius nodded and Harlan couldn't help but notice how the brightness in the young man's eyes dimmed a little. "Guess I should stick to the Parisian. Fewer husbands there."
    Grabbing his shoulder, Harlan pulled the kid close and whispered in his ear. "Get out."
    With an endearingly puzzled look, Julius looked from Harlan to Nathan and back. "I wasn't razzing you, if that's what you think."
    "No. I mean you gotta go. Now." Harlan took the kid's hand and slipped it inside his suit jacket.
    "What are you—" The smile fell off Julius' face as soon as his fingers slid over the cold steel. He swallowed hard. "Prohis?"
    Harlan nodded.
    "Can I take my friends? There's only the two, I swear. They're good fellas," he pleaded, genuine fear in his big blue eyes. It was no secret how these things usually went. Finesse was hardly a requirement in joining the good fight. Neither was honesty, a clean record, a reasonable temperament or a dozen other virtues.
    "You've got ten minutes," Harlan warned.
    Julius nodded and quickly slid off his lap. He started to turn then hesitated. Turning back, he gave Harlan's cheek a quick kiss before hurrying off.
    "That was real sweet, Harley."
    "Dry up," Harlan grumbled. When he saw the tender expression on Nathan's face, the heat shot all the way up his neck and into his face. Embarrassed, he suddenly didn't know what to do with his hands, so he just fiddled with his tie. "Ain't nothin'. You know what Mel and the rest of his bad eggs would do if they got their hands on Julius and his friends."
    Nathan's expression sobered up considerably. "Yeah, I know."
    There was movement by the cloakroom and Harlan was relieved to see Julius with two other good looking young men hurriedly putting on their overcoats as they headed for the door. Julius paused, looked through the crowd, and caught Harlan's gaze. With a small smile, he gave Harlan a curt nod and ushered his friends out. There was no guarantee that Julius wouldn't find himself in trouble again, especially working a place like the Parisian, but at least Harlan had managed to keep him safe this one time. It was all he could hope for these days.
    "Ready to go to work?" Nathan asked, interrupting his thoughts.
    That drew a wicked grin from him. "Aren't I always?"
    They stood and made their way through the unsuspecting crowd to the cloakroom. Once they had their overcoats and hats on, they stood in front of the saloon's only exit. Harlan removed his handgun from inside his suit jacket, followed by a black leather wallet. With Nathan ready at his side, Harlan aimed his semi-automatic at the ceiling and fired a round. The blast echoed through the room like an explosion, bringing the music to a halt along with everything else.
    He held up his badge and shouted across the room, "Prohibition Unit! This is a raid!"
    And then all hell broke loose.
    CHAPTER 2
    Nathan ducked as another fist flew right for his head.
    When he came back up, he could no longer hold back his laughter. Poor Harlan was struggling with two hot-blooded flappers, both of whom were taking a poke at him from under each of his arms where he had them pinned, and every time one of them moved, a feathered headpiece would whack him in the face. Being the bigger— and meaner looking, of the two, meant Harlan always suffered the brunt of people's aggravated state, and boy oh boy, no one got more aggravated than the dames. At least when a mug tried to sock you, you could happily return the favor, but with the dames, well, all