Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 8

wriggled, and went positively nowhere. It was like watching a kitten dangling from its scruff, except that in no way was it adorable. In fact, Shifty was so far removed from adorable that Nathan was struck with the sudden urge to take a bath.
    Harlan's eyes narrowed. "So you were calling my partner dumb?"
    "Come on, Pal. You tryin' to put the curse on me? I talk and my next residence will be at the bottom of the Hudson."
    "I hear there's been a real boom in the market down there lately," Nathan pitched in cheerfully.
    Harlan put his thumb on Shifty's nose and gave it a light push, just enough to make the guy wince. "Maybe I'll save you the hassle of relocating."
    "You wouldn't do that." Even as Shifty said the words, his gaze jumped to Nathan. "He wouldn't do that, right? You wouldn't let' im."
    "I'll get back to you on that." Nathan gave Shifty a hearty pat on the back and disappeared behind the bar to find the telephone. As far as their seedy little friend was concerned, Nathan and Harlan were as bad as the rest of them. It was a hell of a thing to be a part of an organization whose name was synonymous with corruption, but at times like these, Nathan knew exactly how to put that reputation to good use. All they had to do was let Shifty stew on the many ways he might be meeting his demise at their hands, and by the end of the week— if not sooner, Shifty Regal would be ready to squeal on his own mother. If that didn't work, Nathan was certain Harlan could come up with a few ways to persuade Shifty to converse. In the meantime, they had to get him somewhere to do all that stewing, and there was only one place where he knew that was possible: the sixth precinct.
    Their friend over on the Detective Squad would make certain Shifty lived to tell the tale. There were still some good eggs left in this town, even if it seemed like the numbers were dropping by the day. In his opinion, the city had been better off letting the flatfoots ignore Prohibition rather than getting them involved. Now there was double the trouble, and double the dirty cops.
    Once Nathan had spoken to Detective John Flynn, it didn't take long before the man himself, accompanied by half a dozen of his own boys showed up to take Shifty off their hands. Apparently, Nathan and Harlan weren't the only ones who knew how important Shifty was.
    Over the years, Christopher Masin was known for having bought and sold millions of dollars' worth of bootlegged liquor in New York City alone, not to mention the business he conducted with crime syndicates in Chicago, Philadelphia, and Jersey. It didn't end with liquor, though. The guy owned brothels, trafficked prostitutes, and word on the street was that he was dealing in heroin.
    Wherever Christopher Masin went, death followed, and it didn't matter who got caught up in the middle. Prostitutes, innocent bystanders, even kids. Nathan was determined to get the bastard, one way or another. He didn't care if Masin ended up behind bars or six feet under, as long as he was good and gone. Pushing his bleak thoughts aside, he thanked John and watched as they led Shifty away.
    "Hungry?"
    Nathan turned to Harlan and shrugged. "You know me. I can always eat. But not the automat. I'm in the mood for a nice steak." They stepped outside into the breezy early October night— Nathan's favorite time of year, when all that yellow, orange, and red set the city ablaze with color.
    "Childs?"
    "Yeah, why the hell not." It would set him back some, but he needed a little cheering up after dealing with a hood like Shifty, and nothing did that better than a belly full of good food. Harlan bumped into him a little as they walked, and Nathan held back a smile. Well, maybe there was something else, but that would have to wait.
    They left the cleanup to the flatfoots and headed off toward Broadway. It was one of those nights where the moon was tucked away somewhere, and the soft glow of the lamp posts was barely enough to keep the streets from sinking into complete darkness. From here, Nathan could just about make out the Paramount sign, which meant they'd soon be mingling with the late weekend crowd on their way to any number of saloons, speakeasies, and nightclubs, where the booze would undoubtedly flow aplenty. Supply and demand they called it. Nathan called it something else.
    "How do you think Julius knew?" Harlan asked thoughtfully.
    "Knew what? That you wouldn't knock him into next Tuesday?" He knew exactly what Harlan meant, but where