Why Does the Caged Bird Sing? (Corsair and Xana)

Reader mode
God damn, he was tired. Long nights did that, and it didn't help that what sleep he did get was interrupted by interesting dreams of Mercedes Morello. Which was a problem, and not just because he still ached for the loss of Mary. No, Mercedes Morello was the wife of Vincent Morello. She was a married woman. Not happily married, not after what she'd said, but still married. And he wouldn't move on another man's wife. He wasn't that sort of man, and even if he was would it be fair to her? To pursue her, possibly because she was married to a man he hated? Not just because she had the voice of an angel, and the body of a devil, and... William lit a cigarette and took a drag. This line of thought wasn't helping. But the fact was, he wasn't sure if his only attraction was because she was drop-dead gorgeous. And he wasn't the sort of person who'd use a woman just to piss off someone he hated.

The intercom buzzed. Glad of the distraction, he hit the button. "Yes?"

"Mr. Stone?" his secretary replied. "You've got a call, from a Miss M. Did you...?"

"Yes, yes, of course." He tried not to sound eager. "Put her through." Heart pounding, he picked up the handset. The conversation that followed was far from the kind he'd had in his dreams, but far more interesting in a way. Mayor Thompson was going to be at the Gilded Cage tonight, a guest of Enforcer Morello. Mayor Thompson, and some of the Aldermen, and the police commissioner. William nodded absently, making a few notes as Mercedes gave him the bullet points in a rapid whisper. "Yes," he answered when she finished. "Of course. I'll be there tonight. I wouldn't miss it for the world." She hung up with a click. Carefully he set the handpiece down, then leaned back in his chair and drew on his cigarette. "Is there—is there balm in Gilead?" he murmured, blue smoke streaming from his nostrils, "tell me—tell me, I implore."

There was no answer.

With a sigh, he stubbed out his cigarette. "Miss Donaldson?" he said, stabbing the intercom button as he rose. "I'll be going home now. It looks like I'll be having another late night."
 
I'll be there tonight. I wouldn't miss it for the world.

Again and again, the words played in Mercedes' head, as she put the finishing touches on her makeup, Backstage at the Gilded Cage. When William had spoken them, her stomach fluttered in giddy delight. The rational part of her mind knew he was only coming for the chance at a big scoop, but the whimsical part of her imagined he was coming to see her. And that crazy fantasy inspired her to choose a rather revealing dress.

Black sheer lace on beige with a deep v cut neckline and short v cut hem. Awfully risqué, but Vinnie had instructed her to dress up, to look good for his special guests. That memory soured her mood, had her reaching for a bottle of gin in her dressing room vanity. Surely Vinnie just intended for a nice atmosphere while he bribed city officials, but lingering fears could only be soothed with a second shot.

“Are you ready to go on, Missus Morello?” the stage manager called.

She applied a fresh coat of red lipstick and made a kissy face in the mirror, “I am now.”

By the time she sauntered on stage, the liquor in her veins had colored her cheeks with a rosy glow. The stage lights were bright on her, and she couldn’t quite make out Vinnie or the mayor. Probably up on the mezzanine. She did, however, see William Stone, and couldn’t help flashing him a vibrant smile.

The band started up, playing a song Vinnie instructed them to play, no doubt. She recognized it, You Gotta Gimme Some and her blush grew deeper. Still, tipsy from her drinks and buoyant from seeing a familiar face, she slipped right into the teasing, playful tone of the song

“Said Mister Jones to old butcher Pete,
I want a piece of your good old meat
You gotta give me some, oh give me some
I crave your round steak, you gotta give me some.”

The crowd cheered and whistled at each dirty innuendo, and Mercedes played into that energy, winking and licking her lips between verses. She met William’s eyes more than once, as one song bled into the next, a common theme of not so subtle sensuality becoming apparent with each new song. Whatever Vinnie had intended was far from Mercedes’ mind now, as she embodied the serenading seductress, casting her enchantment on her entire audience.

“Honey baby, won't you cuddle near,
Just sweet mama whisper in your ear
I'm wild about that thing, it makes me laugh and sing,
Give it to me papa, I'm wild about that thing.”

Once her set wrapped up, Mercy was ready for another drink. Just to quell her parched throat, at first, until she found Vinnie waiting for her backstage. “Helluva set, doll. Come on, there is someone I want you to meet.” He pulled her body close to his with an arm around her shoulder.

“I need a drink, Vinnie,” She protested, trying to pull away. But careful not to try too hard, and set off his temper. He didn’t let go.

“I’ll get you something, in a minute. But I need to show off how good you look in that dress.”
 
"You didn't have to come," William remarked, once the waiter had shown them to their table. "I know how uncomfortable this could be for you."

Marilyn gave him a skeptical look from beneath her lashes. "For me?" she almost laughed. "For me? What about you? I know what..."

"Yes, I know you do," William said, cutting her off. "But you're much more directly a victim of Enforcer Morello than I am. You didn't..."

Marilyn lit up a cigarette, took a drag, and let the smoke stream from her nostrils. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Both of them were dressed to the nines, as befit a gala event at the Gilded Cage. William wore a brown suit and vest with a crimson bow tie, while his sister wore a black and grey dress with matching gloves, and a hairband. The dress had brought a great deal of attention as she'd threaded her way through the club, and she'd eaten it all up.

Sighing, William lit up a cigarette of his own. "I thought you'd say that."

"Besides," Marilyn added as the house lights dimmed, "I like her."

Both of them fell silent as Mercedes took the stage. Soon enough, food and drinks sat untouched as they watched her perform. Once, Marilyn moved to stub out her cigarette and light another. Another time, William shifted in his chair. But both remained still, enthralled, until her performace ended. Only when the house lights came up, and the crowd took to its feet to howl and applaud, was the spell broken. "Damn," William remarked, fishing out another cigarette. "She's good."

"Like a nightengale," Marilyn agreed, then she did a double-take. "Oh, shit."

"Language," William remonstrated dryly.

"No, look," she hissed, pointing with her chin. "The Enforcer's coming this way. With Mercedes." She looked around wildly, a sudden panic flaring in her eyes. "I... I can't. Bill, I... I thought..."

"Go," he told her, voice gentle. "I understand. Go."

Struggling to control her breathing, Marilyn hurridly rose and stumbled away. As she did, Vincent approached the table. "Ah, Mister Stone," he said, sounding smug. "I didn't expect to see you, of all people, here in my club. And who was that?" He watched Marilyn's shapely figure weave through the crowd.

"My sister," William replied, forcing himself to keep his voice light. "And I was assured that the entertainment here was worth a little discomfort." He rose, and bowed slightly. "And my tip was correct. A magnificent performance, Miss Morello."
 
Pulled along by Vinnie, Mercedes’ heart pounded as they drew closer to William’s table. Did Vinnie know something, about who she visited when she snuck out the morning before? Did he know about their alliance against him? Had he seen her making eyes at William during the set? Did he know everything, and was going to blow their scheme apart before taking her "for a ride", from which she’d never return? Her throat, already parched from singing, was dry. And she just swallowed hard as her husband spoke with William.

Even the knowledge that Marilyn Stone was William’s sister could hardly penetrate the panic in her mind, hyper focusing on every interaction between Vinnie and William.

"And my tip was correct. A magnificent performance, Miss Morello."

“Ah,” She breathed, nervous, so very nervous, reminding herself that, as far as Vinnie knew, she was meeting William for the first time, “You’re too kind, Mr. Stone. After the rave review your sister wrote up, I felt obliged to put on a good show, lest I make a liar out of her.” She giggled at that, tucking a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear.

“Yeah, I had to do a double take on that review, asking myself, ‘since when did the Chicago Daily News write honest pieces?’” Vinnie laughed, and tightened his grip around her hip, “But if this is a new angle for you, I am sure it will be more profitable. People are just sick of the yellow journalism and mudslinging.”

She met William’s eyes as Vinnie verged on a tirade, still unsure if he was trying to suss out their secret collaboration or just be vaguely intimidating. Managing a smile as Vinnie turned back to her, Mercedes shrugged, “I don’t read much news myself, so I don’t know what sells.”

“Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head over anyway,” Vinnie teased, lifting her chin to plan a kiss right on her lips. She didn’t squirm, but clenched her fist, praying it wouldn’t last long. Vinnie smirked as he pulled away, and turned his smirk towards William. “Now, if you want my honest opinion, one successful businessman to another, you oughtta be reporting on this Raven fellow. A masked coward, torching and murdering in the dead of night. It’s enough to make me worry about my sweet Mercy when she performs so late. But you know how that is, don’tcha?”

By now Mercedes was able to relax, convinced Vinnie was just throwing his weight around. He didn’t know nothing, ‘cause if he did he’d know William didn’t believe in the Raven. And that the Raven would never hurt her. “Oh Vinnie, Mr. Stone here is tryin' to relax. He didn’t come to talk 'bout work.” She placed a hand on Vinnie’s chest, giving him a playful look. Even if he didn’t know their shared secret, the tension between the three of them was thick and heavy, and Mercedes needed a drink now, more than ever. “Ya know, I’d quite like to relax too. Maybe over an orange juice with a little seltzer in it?” Batting her eyelashes, Vinnie got her meaning and nodded.

“Sure doll. Gotta keep those pipes juiced up, so Mr. Stone here can keep writing nice things about us in the paper.” His hand slid over her hip and down her back, grabbing a handful of her ass before giving her a light smack. Laughing, he turned towards the bar.
 
"The Raven?" William made a show of snorting in contempt, using the action to cover his rage at Enforcer Morello's jabs. "I don't see any reason to report on ghosts and shadows, Vincent. I just report the truth." He leaned forward slightly. "And the truth, Vincent, is that the gangs are a pack of cowards and mental deficient. Too stupid to make an honest living, too brutal to find any solutions other than violence, and too afraid to go after an enemy directly." He stared into Vincent's eyes. "Instead, they pull people down to their level. Try to make them afraid, by going after people who can't defend themselves. And then, when they even fail at that, they make up stories about a mythical 'Raven'. Why? For the same reason that a little child claims that ghosts broke a window, Vincent Morello. Because they think they're being clever, even when everyone around them can see the truth."

He smiled grimly as Enforcer Morello's eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. Let the man throw a punch, here in public. Let him do that. But then, Mercedes intervened. “Oh Vinnie, Mr. Stone here is tryin' to relax. He didn’t come to talk 'bout work.” She placed a hand on Vinnie’s chest, giving him a playful look.

"Yeah?" Vincent growled. "I just bet he..."

“Ya know," Mercedes purred, batting her eyelashes, "I’d quite like to relax too. Maybe over an orange juice with a little seltzer in it?”

Vincent nodded, never looking away as he did. “Sure doll. Gotta keep those pipes juiced up, so Mr. Stone here can keep writing nice things about us in the paper.” His hand slid over her hip and down her back, grabbing a handful of her ass before giving her a light smack. Laughing, he turned towards the bar. William watched him go, grey eyes burning into the man's back as he walked away. Then he forced himself to shake his head, and light a cigarette.

"What a piece of work," he grumbled, exhaling smoke. Then, almost as if realizing that Mercedes was there, he gave her an abashed look. "I'm sorry," he murmured, gesturing with the cigarette. "Do you mind if I smoke?" Almost against his will, he glanced at her husband. "And... how did you..?" It didn't seem real, the idea that someone like Mercedes would end up with a piece of work like Enforcer Morello. "I'm sorry. I'm out of line."
 
"I'm sorry," he murmured, gesturing with the cigarette. "Do you mind if I smoke?"

“Not if you spot me a cig,” Mercedes cooed, placing the stick between dark red lips. Leaning in closer to him, she waited for William to light it for her and blew out a stream of silver smoke. Still, she couldn’t relax, not completely, eying Vinnie across the club. William

"And... how did you? I'm sorry. I'm out of line."

She let out a short laugh, “Nah, it’s fine. Not much to tell, really. Both my brothers died in the great war and Papa died of Spanish flu. It was just Mama and me, and we had to work or starve. And Mama still don’t speak no English. Vinnie gave me a chance to sing, and I got lucky. Just a poor Italian girl from the south side, even singing was only gonna get me so far. And Vinnie flashed more money in one night than I had seen in my life. I thought he was savin’ me, turns out it was just ‘nother cage.” She took a longer puff on her cigarette now, as if she could exhale the bitter memories and lost innocence.

Casting her glance towards William once more, she flashed a smile. “I’m glad you came tonight. Even if it is just for your big scoop.” The last statement was barely a whisper, pitched for him alone. “I hope Vinnie don’t scare you off comin’ again.” With one last long pull on her cigarette, she stubbed it out, just in time for Vinnie to show up with her drink. She stood to join him.

“Thanks baby,” she gushed, going for the glass.

Vinnie held it just out of arms reach, “Gotta pay for it first, doll-face.” His free hand pointed to his lips and it took an iron will not to grimace at the request. She managed a quick peck on the lips, which she imagined was more to offend William than anything else. Vinnie rewarded her with her drink, thankfully heavy in gin. With an arm around her shoulders, Vinnie turned back towards William. “Give your sister my regards,” he mocked and pulled Mercedes away.

Once they were out of earshot for William, Vinnie murmured, not even looking at her, “I expect you to be just as charming for Mayor Thompson.”
 
“I’m glad you came tonight. Even if it is just for your big scoop,” Mercedes murmured, the soft sound making her voice sultry.

"Not just for my big scoop," William heard himself say. "Maybe... maybe I just wanted to get to know a poor Italian girl from the south side a little bit better." Shit! Did he just say that? Out loud? "I mean... that is...." Damnit, now he was starting to babble!

She glanced sideways and his eyes followed. Vincent Morello was coming back. “I hope Vinnie don’t scare you off comin’ again,” she said, stubbing her cigarette out.

"That mook doesn't have the stones to scare me off," he replied.

She rose and reached for her drink, and he rose as well. Partly out of courtesy, partly as a cover so he didn't have to watch his performance as he demanded a kiss. She was a good actress, but he could see the distaste in her stance. "Give your sister my regards," Vincent sneered.

William's blood felt like ice and fire, and ithe world seemed to drop away. He could hear his blood roaring in his ears as he stared at Enforcer Morello, and his fists clenched without meaning to. "I will," he said coldly, wishing he could get away with slugging the man. "And when you visit your boys in the hospital, give them mine." One corner of his mouth crooked up in a lopsided grin. "The ones in the morgue, too."

Vincent stared at him, eyes hard in return. Then he pulled Mercedes away. William watched them go, then dug out his wallet and tossed two twenties on the table. "Keep the change," he told the waitress as he walked towards the door.
 
Mercedes let herself be distracted by thoughts of William, as she endured Vinnie’s touch.
There was still the thrill of William’s words, his flirtation. That was a shock she still hadn’t completely recovered from. No one dared hit on her in her husband’s club, with that husband just ten feet away. But William said Vinnie couldn’t scare him. She admired that. Envied that. Found it incredibly enticing.

Suddenly she was wondering if she could fit some adultery in this revenge plan. It was a stupid idea –though not necessarily stupider than the plan she had already undertaken– but there was something exciting about imagining William and herself together. Imagine Vinnie catching them in the act, meeting her husband’s eyes with another man inside her. But it wouldn’t be fair to William, to use him as instrument of revenge against Vinnie, even if she thought he might not mind so much.

Vinnie led her to the upstairs mezzanine, where the mayor and a few aldermen were. Joining them were a half dozen half naked girls. Waitresses in title, but whores in reality. Not that she judged them all that much. As she told William, she might not have been able to support herself on singing alone. That might have been her, if not for Vinnie’s possessive jealousy.

“Vinnie!” Mayor Thompson called over woman on his lap, “Are you actually going to arrange a private performance with Mercedes here?”

“Hey, that’s my wife yer’ talkin’ bout,” Vinnie sneered, casting a tension over the festivities in the room. Everyone stopped and stared, watching to see if Vinnie might pull a piece. Instead he spoke, “Imma need exclusive liquor rights in Chicago for that one, Mayor.” Then he laughed, loud and ugly, and everyone else joined in. She forced herself to join in the laughter, but hearing him offer a price for her body turned her stomach. She finished her drink, and moved to poor another.

Why had Vinnie brought her? He never included her in the deals before. He kept her in the dark and she played willfully ignorant all this time. Was there more truth to his offer than she realized? Was this another threat, if she stepped out of line. She didn’t care to know, not right now, and after another generous swig, her brain was fuzzy enough to tune out the voice of worry. Vinnie pulled her onto his own lap when she walked by, and she was almost drunk enough now to not mind.

“So, mayor, how does 10 percent work for you?” Vinnie asked, while his erection prodded her.
 
The mayor leaned back, considering Vincent Moran thoughtfully. "That is an interesting offer, quite interesting. I'm not certain if it's interesting enough, though." He smiled slightly, watching Vincent's eyes narrow. "I find myself rather indebted to Mister Capone, after all. His contributions to my campaigns over the years have been most generous, and I so dislike breaking a promise."

Everyone else was deathly silent now, watching to see what would happen. Some of them jumped when Vincent laughed. "Capone? Generous? Now that's funny. What's he donating?"

Mayor Thompson sipped his drink. "In terms of a percentage of his gross? I couldn't say. But it is quite generous."

"Yeah, yeah, I imagine he is. But, think of what I'm asking, Mister Mayor." Vincent held out his glass, and a waiter scurried to refill it. "A partnership stake in the success of the North Side, not just... donations. And, well, you ran on a law and order platform didn't you? Clean up the streets, stop the gang violence, things like that?" He tossed back his drink, then gestured for a refill. "You give me exclusive rights - tell the flatfoots to lay off my operations completely and make it stick - and I'll deliver those clean streets. Because Capone's cash'll dry up, and his organization'll fall apart, and I'll be able to crush him like a bug."

The Mayor pursed his lips in thought. "Really?"

"Really." Vincent let his hand roam up Mercedes' body, cupping a breast. "Might be some extra perks, too. What do you say?"

"I..." Whatever the mayor was going to say was interrupted by the brittle sound of breaking glass and a metallic clatter as something bounced across the floor. Even as Vincent's bodyguards went for their weapons, the sphere began hissing and spewing and orange smoke into the room. Screams of panic transformed into choking coughs and gasps, covering the sound of more breaking glass. Gunfire shattered air, sending two men to the floor in a welter of blood. One, from the damage to his skull, would never rise again.

"What..." Vincent coughed, shoving Mercedes off his lap and hitting the floor. He gasped, trying to keep below the choking fumes as he fumbled for his gun. "What the hell..?" Then he was rolling as more gunfire erupted, blasting chunks out of the carpet and floor beside him. He looked up, staring in shock at a black silhouette in the window that stared back at him with exaggerated white eyeslits. It held a smoking .45 automatic in one fist. "The Raven," he snarled, pulling his revolver out of his coat.

"Nevermore," croaked the figure, firing.
 
Mercedes didn’t pay much attention as Vinnie and the mayor hammered out details. She probably should have, so she’d have something to give William, but all she would worried about now was drinking enough to enduring Vinnie’s attention. Enduring this touch, as he touched with the same hands that had held her down. The same hands that had pinned her to the dining room table to violate her. The weapon of his assault rigid against her again. Offering her up just as he had threatened to that night.

The thrill of William’s flirtation was gone, and she was left with the reality of living with Vinnie. Suddenly there wasn’t enough alcohol in Chicago to go through with her charade. She found herself wishing for some out, some interruption any reason at all to throw herself away from Vinnie.

Perhaps the Raven had heard her unspoken prayer, because she recognized the canister as it landed on the floor. Everything seemed to move in slow motion then, but perhaps it was just her. The emission of orange smoke. The flashes of white light. The spray of blood and the thud of bodies hitting the floor. Then she was on the floor, Vinnie once more demonstrating his deep concern for her by pushing her aside to protect himself. She stumbled against the wall, hugging it as visibility became poor. But there was no fleeing as everyone rushed the door, bottlenecking the crowd in the stairwell.

Mercedes opted instead for hiding behind the bar, hoping her earlier assessment that the Raven wouldn’t hurt her was true. A few of the other girls were back there, covering their ears and whimpering.

“Nevermore.”

Gunfire roared, and Vinnie echoed it with a roar of his own. There were more shots, as well as Vinnie’s pained cries, until finally gunfire died down. When she dared to peak over the bar counter, Mercedes saw her husband laid out on the floor. Bleeding from his leg, but alive. Oh dear. He’d be recovering from this injury for some time. In too much pain to paw at her in the meantime. Somehow, she managed to hold down her giddy glee as she raced over to tend to his wound.


Looked like she owed the Raven a real kiss for this one.



It had been a long night, when Mercedes finally made it home. Police and ambulance arrived quickly enough to get Vinnie to the hospital as well as to investigate the attack. Two men had died but aside from Vinnie, no one else had been seriously injured. But the police interviewed her about the incident, and she had to act like a concerned wife and see her husband in the hospital. She made the barest pretense of protesting when the surgeon suggested she head home for the night. But he made such a good point about Vinnie being out for hours, and who was she to argue with a doctor?

So, just before dawn, she made it home and stumbled into bed. It was nice that she got another night off of sharing it with her rapist, but as she dozed off, she did wish a certain someone would join her in it. Whether that certain someone was William or the Raven, she couldn’t yet decide.
 
The Raven twisted as Vincent fired, feeling a bullet tug at the long black coat as the blued .45 automatic bucked and spat flame. The vigilante cursed as the bullet, intended for the mobster's brain, went wide. A gloved finger pulled again and again, blasting fragments out of the floor as the mobster scurried away. No! He wouldn't get away! He had to die! For everything he'd done, he had to die! The automatic roared again and Morello screamed in pain as the heavy slug blasted into his thigh. But before the Raven could follow up, more gunsels arrived. Pistols roared, sending the vigilante diving for cover behind a wall.

"Kill him!" Vincent shrieked, clawing at his wounded leg. "Kill that son of a bitch!"

The Raven ducked out, snapping out a wild shot before being forced back by a hail of bullets. Fuck! Vincent was still alive! The vigilante pawed for another gas grenade, drawing it as a goon came around the corner. "Yer a dead man, Raven," the man snarled, grabbing the vigilante's coat. There was no room to use the gun, so the Raven smashed the grenade into the goon's face and triggered it. Tear gas and smoke sprayed over the man's face, and he screamed and pawed at his eyes as he staggered back. The screaming ended in a wet gurgle as the Raven shot him three times in the gut, spattering dark clothes with crimson, and then the smoking barrel of the automatic scanned the chaos of the room for Vincent Morello.

Cops were entering the room now, carrying shotguns. The Raven swore again, firing repeatedly to cover a retreat. The automatic thundered again and again, then clicked loudly on an empty chamber. Spinning, the Raven raced down the short servant's hall and dropped the final gas grenade in time to catch an officer who rounded the corner. That man stumbled back, choking and retching, giving the Raven time to leap onto the fire escape. The vigilante took the rungs four and five at a time, sliding as much as climbing, scrambling for the alley. Above, the police were staring down. "Halt!" one of them yelled, brandishing a shotgun. "Halt! You're under arrest!"

"Nevermore!" the Raven croaked back, defiantly. Boots thudded on asphalt as the vigilante hit the alley and sprinted along it towards a jet-black convertable. By the time the police reached the alley, the Raven was gone.


"Myth, huh?" Emmett threw a paper onto William's desk as he dropped into a chair opposite him. "There were witnesses, Bill! The mayor saw him!"

William Stone lifted the paper. The headline was thirty point font: MASKED MAN ATTACKS! Below, a smaller headline read: THREE DEAD, MORE WOUNDED. MAYOR BARELY ESCAPES! "What the hell?" he asked, staring at it as his sister took the paper. "Is this... is this that Raven character you're always on about?"

"Him, or someone imitating him," Emmett said, lighting a cigarette. "Crashed a private party Enforcer Morello was throwing at the Gilded Cage."

"Hm," Marilyn announced, looking the article over. "Three gunmen for North Side are dead, and Vincent got shot." Her eyes hardened. "Too bad there aren't four dead. Who wrote this? Jim?"

"Yeah," Emmett said, nodding. "He was there. At the club, I mean. Not at the private party. He said he saw you two leave, just before it all went down." He took a drag and let the smoke stream out. "You missed a scoop on the Raven, Mary. You must be slipping."

"Yeah," she replied, throwing the paper back on the desk. "Missed a golden opportunity, last night."

William picked up the paper and looked it over. "Have we heard from Mercedes?" he asked. "This might be a good time to follow up, there. Get an inside view on what happened."

Emmett perked up. "It might be, at that. Long as you're careful. I can't imagine Enforcer Malone's in a good mood, right now."


"I don't fucking care!" Vinnie roared, throwing a mug at one of his lieutenants. "I want that son of a bitch! I want him right here! Right here, because I'm gonna get fucking medieval on his ass! You hear me? He's gonna be a long goddamn time dying!"

"Good news there, Vincent," replied Frank Lombardi, his right-hand man.

Vincent stared at him. "You know where he is?"

"Not yet," Frank laughed. "But turn on the radio. Our law and order mayor's gonna make an announcement in a few minutes. And I think you'll like it."
 
Mercedes had slept until almost noon, and dragged herself out of bed, despite the pleasant dreams that warmed her sleep. Dreams of the Raven plugging Vinnie between the eyes and pouncing on her, taking her while that bastard bled out on the floor. But in the waking world, her husband was still alive and she still had a role to play, so she made his favorite dish, veal scallopine, and brought it to the hospital. He was all hellfire and bile, but it wasn’t directed at her, so she let it slide off her. Then his men came by to talk business and she was inwardly grateful to have an excuse to leave.

So she dropped by the Gilded Cage, to assess the damage. The police had completed most of their onsite investigation, so she could finally check out what it looked like in the daytime. And it was a mess. Broken glass and splintered floorboards. Blood and booze and gunpower permeating the air and exposed surfaces. It was going to take significant effort to get this place up and running again, but she had time. And purifying the club felt like purifying Vinnie’s abuse from her soul. Humming along to the radio, she got to work.

An hour in, she was surprised by a knock on the door. Who’d visit the day after a shoot-out? But Mercedes wore a smile when she saw Marilyn (and was grateful it wasn’t William, given her sweat and grime-streaked appearance), and invited her in.

“Can I get you a drink?”

“Always.” Marilyn smirked and slid right up to the bar while Mercedes went around the other side to fix them both a glass. “But what I’d really like is a firsthand account of the attack last night. They say the Raven was behind it. Can you confirm that?”

“I didn’t see him, personally. It was just chaos,” she said, stopping herself before she could say much more. She didn’t want to give away his secrets, not if he was an ally against Vinnie, but she also wanted to help out William and Marilyn, in their crusade against Vinnie and the Northside gang. “As soon as the shots were fired I hid, and I stayed hid until it stopped.” That was true enough. No need to get into details that could compromise him.

“So no conclusive proof the Raven exists, one way or the other,” Marilyn sighed, jotting down notes in her pad.”

“Well,” Mercedes interrupted, “there was one more thing. Just before Vinnie was shot, I remember hearing a word, spoken by the shooter. ‘Nevermore.’ Like the poem.”

Marilyn raised an eye at that, before writing it down, “Our masked vigilante is a fan of poetry? Fascinating.” She opened her mouth to ask another question but closed it again as the song on the radio stopped suddenly. Both women glance over that way, as it announced a sudden press conference with the Mayor.

“Citizen of Chicago, for too long, thugs have ruled our street and strong-armed the good honest people of our fair city. Some of you may have already heard how I myself was threatened during a private meeting with a local businessman. No longer will we live in fear of these lawbreakers, who would paint our streets in blood in the name of their vendettas. We stronger than that, and the rule of law is so much stronger.

When I asked for your votes, I promised to clean up the streets, and consider this one of many steps in that direction. Today, I intend to send a powerful message to those who dare to commit murder and arson in our city, and I will empower Chicago’s finest to go after these criminals with utmost prejudice. And public enemy number one is none other than the masked vigilante ‘The Raven.’ I am authorizing a ten thousand dollar reward for any information that leads to the arrest of this dangerous lawbreaker, and to protect our good policemen, have sanctioned a policy that would allow them to use deadly force to bring this madman to justice. ”
 
Marilyn stared at the radio for a moment, then deliberately closed her mouth. She listened intently, tugging absently at the long black gloves she wore as the mayor spoke. When the announcement was over, she silently rested a barstool back on it's feet, and sat down. "Holy hell," she breathed, staring at her notebook. "I guess that puts the Raven squarely in the real category, doesn't it?". She whistled, long and low. "Ten thousand dollars. That's a whole lot, enough that the crazies will come pouring out of the woodwork. I don't envy Will, now.". Her smile was a fey thing. "He'll be getting their calls."

Without asking, she took the bottle Mercedes had found and refilled her glass. Draining it, she refilled it again. "Ten thousand dollars," she repeated. "Fuck. Why"d Morello twitch like that? Might be celebrating right now, instead of listening to this bullshit.". She stared down I to her glass for a moment, scowling and lost in thought before she suddenly blinked and looked up. "Oh hell, I'm sorry! You were right there, watching, and I'm talking like this.". Shaking her head, she topped off Mercedes' glass as well.

Sipping at her drink, Mercedes turned and looked around. "Hey, I've got an idea: let's blow this place. Vincent Malone's got money, something him spend some of it to fix the place up. And some more on getting you a nice new dress or something.". She tipped back the last of the gin and rose, mischief dancing in her dark eyes as she extended a gloved hand. "Come on. Seems like you could use a friend. And a few laughs."
 
“Spend his money, right. It’s about the only way I can really hurt him,” Mercedes murmured, forcing a laugh. But Marilyn’s enthusiasm was contagious, and Mercedes took her hand to join in her a shopping spree. It whiled away the afternoon, occupying her thoughts instead of worrying herself over the mayor’s decree.

Why should she worry over the Raven? He pulled a gun on her. Twice. Sure, he hadn’t hurt her, and his war on her husband and even him her affection, but he was dangerous. She very easily could have been hurt or killed last night. There were better ways to crusade against Vinnie, ways that didn’t require a mask or a gun. Neither William or Marilyn hid behind anything, putting their names proudly on the pieces they wrote and published. But not everyone could fight a mob boss head on. And it was awfully satisfying to cause real damage to the man, somewhere it might actually hurt him.

“You should wear that to dinner tonight.” Marilyn’s words cut through her introspection. Mercedes met her dark eyes in the mirror, as the taller woman stood behind her, before examining the dress she was wearing, and how she looked in it. A black gown, with a sheer panel over a deep v neckline. Cinched at the waist, it flared over her hips and tapered just below her knees.

“Maybe I should,” she agreed, smiling at Marilyn in the mirror. “Where are we having dinner at, in that case?”

“The Stone residence,” Marilyn whispered, dark lips brushing against Mercedes’ ear. She didn’t respond, but the blush that crawled along her cheek spoke loudly enough, and Marilyn’s smile turned impish. “Why yes, my brother will be there.”

Mercedes’ blush deepened. “Am I that easy to read?”

“Like an open book.”



After picking out a pair of shoes and a new pearl necklace to go along with her dress, Mercedes let Marilyn drive them to dinner. At William’s house. Shopping might have worked up an appetite, but it competed with the fluttering in her stomach, growing stronger as they got closer. She’d been looking forward to this since Marilyn offered. No, that wasn’t true, was it? She’d been looking forward to this since he gave her his home address and smiled at her in his office, joking about his big scoop.

The car rolled to a stop and Marilyn turned toward her. “We’re here.”
 
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The Stone residence was a three-story thing of grey stone, nestled into trees near the eastern edge of a large estate. The front windows stared out over Lake Michigan, shielded from the wind and passing ships by more trees. "Home," Marilyn added as she bounded from the car. "It's a bit... much, honestly. Drafty at times, too." She grinned back as she headed towards the double doors. "I'd much rather keep an apartment in the city, but it's hard to beat the rent."

A one-armed black man in a tuxedo opened the door. "Miss Stone," he said in a resonant voice, "how are you this evening?" He nodded at Mercedes. "Will your guest be staying to dinner? And shall I make up a room for her?"

"No need to stand on ceremony with me, Stewart," Marilyn said with a laugh. "And she'll be staying to dinner." Turning, she glanced over Mercedes. "Perhaps she'll be staying the night, but no need to worry about that now."

"Very good," Stewart said, nodding. "I'll inform the Captain that you've brought a guest, and then let Miss Porter know to set an extra place to dinner. If I may be excused?"

"Of course," Marilyn assured him, sounding slightly embarrassed. "I've never been quite comfortable with servants," she confided as the butler left. "But he's been devoted to Will since they both came back from France. Anyway, let's go surprise him with the news."

The hall was tiled, hung with wallpaper and lit by Tiffany lamps. The far end was dominated by a split staircase leading upwards, flanking a framed etching of a glowering warrior seated on a throne. Several doors led off to either side, and Marilyn headed for one of them. Beyond was a sitting room, and William Stone glanced up from his newspaper then did a doubletake as the two women entered. "Hi, Will!" Marilyn called, heading for the sideboard. "Look who followed me home. Can I keep her?"
 
"I've never been quite comfortable with servants."


“I know what you mean,” Mercedes admitted, in response to Marilyn’s embarrassment. “We have a maid who comes in mornings. Usually when I am still half asleep from the performing late into the night before. I cringe every time she calls me Missus Morello…”

“Anyway, let's go surprise him with the news.”

A delighted laugh escaped her lips, and Mercedes nodded, “Lead the way.”

It came as no surprise that the Stone residence impressed. Of course, Vinnie’s house was nothing to sneeze at, either, but there was a timeless elegance to the manor. And a somber emptiness, as the heels of her new shoes clicked on the wood floor.

Mercedes blushed as she met William’s gaze, feeling like a damn school girl. Somehow this would have been easier if she were on stage, blinded by show lights. Meeting him here, like this, felt too intimate. Even with Marilyn here. She tried to calm herself by brushing curls back behind her ear, but she wore a giddy grin. “Hello, William. I hope I’m not imposing.”

“Yes, because clearly, we couldn’t possibly feed another mouth,” Marilyn teased, offering Mercedes a drink. “And certainly not the mouth feeding us such delightful scoops.” Mercedes laughed into her glass, taking a generous swig in hopes of soothing her nerves. It helped a little, but she could still feel William’s eyes on her. Mostly because she kept meeting them each time she looked over.

“Now, would you stop gaping and join us for dinner? Mercedes and I worked up quite an appetite today,” Marilyn teased, hooking her arm in which Mercedes, “Didn’t we?”

“I could eat,” Mercedes confessed with a laugh. She let Marilyn lead the way towards the dining room.
 
"I could as well," William said, finally managing to stop staring. "It's been a busy couple of days, what with my chief editor rubbing my face in the existence of this Raven." He pronounced the name with just a hint of a sneer. "Vigilantes running around in fancy dress. It's like we're living in the pulps."

"Oh, but we are living in the pulps!" Marilyn laughed as she led Mercedes towards the dining room. "I mean, we live in one of the most corrupt cities in the United States, with gangland killings and men with names like 'Scarface' walking the streets. Hell, I think Chi-town inspired the pulps!"

William lagged slightly behind, trying to tell himself it was out of respect. Out of a desire not to push past the two women and take the lead. Trying to ignore the way Mercedes back and hips moved as she walked, and the way her stockinged calves emerged from the fringe of her skirt. Trying to ignore the way his imagination presented the image of peeling her out of that dress and exploring the smooth skin hinted at by the graceful lines of her neck. Damnit! She was a married woman, even if her husband was a bastard! "Yes," he murmured, distracted, "I suppose there's something to that argument."

Marilyn flashed him a triumphant grin over her shoulder as she opened the dining room door. "Of course there is. I made it, didn't I? And I'm always right, aren't I?"

"I don't know about always," he replied, laughing.

"I was right about the Raven, though. Give a girl some credit for investigative skills." Eyes twinkling with mischievous good humor, she led Mercedes into the formal dining room and past the long table with room enough for a dozen guests. A crystal chandelier hung overhead, unlit. She didn't give it a second glance, walking towards a door on the far wall and opening it. Beyond was the kitchen, where a plump woman with greying red hair wearing a black dress fussed with the stove. A butcher-block table, set with three plates, sat against one wall.

"We hadn't planned anything fancy for dinner," William said, coming up behind them. He wasn't close, but he was acutely aware of Mercedes' nearness. "I didn't know we were having guests, after all."

"Miss Patterson is an amazing cook, though," Marilyn said, leaning into Mercedes just a little. "So it might not be fancy, but I'll bet you it's still the best thing you've ever eaten."
 
Watching the playful banter between Marilyn and William warmed Mercedes heart. She remembered her own youth, growing up with a pair of older brothers, and the bond she shared with them. Sure, they teased her relentlessly. But they never let anyone in the neighborhood do the same. If they were around, they never would have let her get involved with a lowlife like Vinnie.

"So it might not be fancy, but I'll bet you it's still the best thing you've ever eaten."

“Oh, the best?” Mercedes laughed, with challenge in her voice. “I should warn you, my mama comes from the old country, where they make everything from scratch and it takes all day.” She laughed, but thinking of her mother hit a sore spot. She hadn’t ever recovered from the rapid loss of her sons and husband, and now her care was another thing holding Mercedes to Vinnie. Still, this wasn’t the time for such thoughts. With a smirk, she continued, “So I’m used to good, home cooked meals. But it’s been awhile, in any case.” This time she nudged Marilyn, giggling. It hadn’t taken much time with the Stones to lift her spirits. God, she had missed this, being surrounded by family.

Dinner was served, a simple but hardy beef stew, paired with freshly baked biscuits and garden salad. Marilyn hadn’t lied, it was a very good, and Mercedes’ bowl was gone too fast. “Alright, Miss Patterson, I’ll give you this. That was the best meal I ever had that wasn’t Italian. But I will have to come by when you have a night off, and fix these two some good, authentic Italian food. I ain’t talking ‘bout no spaghetti and meatballs. I’ll make you two my specialty, Bucatini all’Amatriciana.” Then she laughed, pushing away the thought she was intruding, inviting herself over again.

Thoughts that were washed away as Marilyn grabbed her arm, pulling her along, “Oh, I hope you aren’t thinking of leaving yet. I have to give you tour. Or, at least, we need to have a cigarette in the parlor.”

“How can I say no to such a gracious hostess?” Mercedes said, realizing she really didn’t want to leave. Partially because Marilyn was so easy to be around, so fun and vivacious. Partially because when would she get another chance to be around William like this, without anyone around who might report to her husband. Because she wanted to get even closer to him, imagining how his lips might taste or how his arms would feel around her.

The parlor was comfortably furnished, with a pair of velvet upholstered couches and a chaise along the wall. In the center of the room was a large fireplace, unlit in the late summer evening, but probably plenty inviting in the winter. And in the corner, was a fine grand piano, shiny black reflecting the low lights from the lamps in the room. It immediately drew Mercedes’ attention.

“What a lovely piano. Do either of you play?” She asked, walking around the housing, trailing fingertips along the smooth surface. “Does anyone mind if I play something?” She was seated before either answered. “I wanted to play as part of my act, but Vinnie said it be a waste of my figure to hide it behind a piano.” She laughed grimly, before keying in a melody.
 
Dinner was delightful. Honestly, William would have been surprised if it wasn't - Miss Patterson really was an excellent cook, after all. But the company made it even better. Far too often it was just him and Marilyn, or even just him. He was a busy man, after all, and most of his conversations revolved around work. It was nice to just talk about nothing in particular. Except the meal itself, of course. All three of them heaped lavish praise on the meal, and Miss Patterson ate it up. When the stew was eaten, Marilyn practically dragged Mercedes back intoo the living room to visit longer, giving him a meaningful look as she did.

Damnit. He knew that look. She was playing matchmaker again, and with a married woman. But he followed them anyway, taking his seat near the fireplace as Mercedes looked around the room. What a lovely piano. Do either of you play?” She asked when she saw the piano, walking around the housing, trailing fingertips along the smooth surface. “Does anyone mind if I play something?” Without waiting for an answer, she perched on the seat.

"No," William replied. "The best I can manage is Chopsticks. I play a passable harmonica, but that's about it."

"I..." Marilyn said slowly, eyes distant as she tugged absently at one elbow-length glove. She ignored her brother's expression of wide-eyed surprise. "I... used to. But not for, for several years."

"I wanted to play as part of my act," Mercedes stated, almost thinking aloud,to "but Ninnie said it be a waste of my figure to hide it behind a piano.” She laughed grimly, before keying in a melody.

The siblings listened as she played, each enjoying the performance in their own way. William watched intently, enjoying the melancholy tune and the woman playing it. Marilyn closed her eyes and simply listened, gloved fingers moving as if trying to play an instrument visible keyboard. Both applauded when she was done. "Oh, very nice," William declared.

"Yeah, you should play more," Marilyn declared. "Work out something with your pianist, and play a duet". She smiled impishly. "Lots guys like a woman who's good with her hands. Right, Will?"

"Yes," he said, agreeing without paying attention. "And you'd still look good, sitting at a piano.". Then his brain caught up with his mouth. "I mean, uhm, that is...". He lapsed into flustered embarrassment as Marilyn laughed.
 
“Yeah, you should play more," Marilyn declared. "Work out something with your pianist, and play a duet".

“Well, Vinnie’s out of commission for a while, which leaves me to run the club,” Mercedes mused, considering Marilyn’s suggestion. “Maybe I will. At least, try it for a song or two. Change it up, just a bit.”

"And you'd still look good, sitting at a piano."

Mercedes joined Marilyn in laughing, though hers was more a nervous, giddy giggle than anything else. “Well, I certainly appreciate the endorsement.” She held his gaze for a time smiling like an idiot, before turning away. Then the moment turned awkward, Mercedes not entirely sure how to proceed. She knew what she wanted, and she suspected William wanted the same thing but, well, how to even broach the subject? How does one go about arranging an affair on her bastard of a husband with a man he hated? Mercedes hadn’t a clue, and perhaps it was for the best. Vinnie might be injured, but he was still dangerous.

Marilyn yawned then, obviously embellished. “Well, I hate to be a bad hostess, but I don’t think I could keep eyes open any longer.” She exaggerated that comment by stretching wide, with her hands over her head. “But I am sure Will could drive you home. Once you’re ready to leave, that is.”

Now it was her turn to feel flustered, “Well, if you don’t mind, Will? I am ready to leave when you are.”
 
Marilyn put on a huge show of exhaustion, which could only mean she was playing at something. She was very much a night owl, after all, and 8 pm was hardly enough to put a dent in her energy. Will was certain he knew what she was playing at, which annoyed him further. Mostly because he wanted to pursue this. But... how did you broach the idea of an affair? And, if he did and she took him up on it, how much of it would be honest? And how much of it would just be a way to hit back at Enforcer Morello?

"Well, if you don't mind, Will?" Mercedes said hesitantly. "I am ready to leave when you are."

"I..." Will began. Damn it. A lot of it would be honest, wouldn't it?

"Oh, don't feel like you have to head home on my account," Marilyn said as she rose. "I'm just going to call it an early night. I was out late the last few evenings, after all." She smiled and waved, and shot her brother a wink as she moved behind their guest. "Don't stay up too late, you two!"

The urge to chase her down and throttle her was strong, but William settled for sighing and shrugging. "Yes, well, clearly you've met Mary. Uhm." Damnit, this shouldn't feel so hard. He talked to people all the time. "I... I suppose I should take you home. I mean, your husband and all. Unless, well, maybe we could stop somewhere on the way. Let you take in a show for a change, rather than perform?"
 
“A show?” Mercedes repeated, chewing her lip. It was an awfully inviting, if only for the excuse of spending more time with William. But risky too. If anyone saw them together in public… “I’m not sure. If Vinnie’s boys saw us together it would…” She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t need to finish the sentence.

Still, the thought of ending the night here, with so much more she wanted, was unthinkable. And it didn’t much to convince her otherwise. After, Vinnie would be in the hospital for a day yet, and his boys would be too busy searching for the Raven. A thought that worried her, for a moment. Surely he’d lay low, right? He was smart enough for that much, wasn’t he?

“Perhaps we could. There is a show I’ve been wanting to see. It’s a bit queer, but I am sure no one who knows me or Vinnie would be there, so we’d be safe. Ever heard of Zorita?”



The club was crowded by the time they arrived, but they managed to snag a booth in the back. Mostly because everyone else wanted a seat close to the stage. As the stage lights dimmed, Mercedes sat closer to William, and even rested her head against his shoulder, in the hopes he’d put his arm around her, and pulled her even closer.
 
"I can't say I've ever heard of this performer," William said, settling down next to Mercedes. "Well, no, that's not quite true. I've heard her name, and something about scandal, but I don't follow entertainment much." He chuckled wryly. "Politics and current events catch my imagination more."

The club wasn't in the best part of town, and he'd heard of it before. It was reputed to be patronized mostly by perverts of some stripe - hopheads and homosexuals and the like. But it proved to be far tamer than the lurid stories he'd heard, and the people who'd filed in looked mostly normal. Just the reputation of vaudeville in general and burlesque in particular, he decided. People tended to judge things harshly, after all. "She's a... a dancer, right?"

Just then, the house lights went down. Mercedes shifted a little, and he stiffened a little as he felt her arm brush his. Then, as the first act came on, he felt her lean into him and rest her head on his shoulder. That, in and of itself, was enough distraction that he barely registered the first act at all. Some sort of juggler, perhaps, but he didn't really watch. He was too busy debating with himself about whether he should move. She was, as he kept reminding himself, a married woman. But that didn't stop him from shifting his arm until it was free, then resting it on the back of her chair. Her shoulder was smooth and warm unde rthe sheer black lace of her dress, and more than once he caught himself stroking her gently.

The second act of the night was another juggler of sorts, a dark-skinned man billed as "Aku of the Islands" and who was probably from nowhere more exotic than California. He spent some time eating fire and spinning sticks that he set on fire, and finished out his act by setting his own arms on fire. "Handy trick," he laughed as the man shook the flames off. "I wonder how he does that?"

And then, the finale of the show. Zorita herself, a dark-haired woman dressed a peculiar costume. On the left half of her body she wore a dress, while on the right half she wore a men's tuxedo. "That's... interesting," he said, before settling back as the music started - an odd, up-tempo version of the Wedding March performed on brass instruments and accompanied by drums. At first, the dance itself was a variant of a waltz, Zorita spinning from one side to the other as she led and then followed herself up and down the stage. Amusing asides were thrown in, as the "male" hand would occasionally get frisky when the "female" side was to the audience, groping and exploring and getting slapped away with various expressions of outrage.

Then the music began to slow, and the dance moved to a couch in the center of the stage. Zorita moved on the couch, shifting from "male" to "female" side. The "female" hand tugged away the "man's" bow-tie and coat, then the "male" male hand slipped up the "female's" dress and tugged down her stocking. Slowly, sensuously, each side undressed the other, moving in an erotic dance of simulated passion. Had it started there, he knew he'd have been outraged by the indecency of it. But the build-up had sucked him in, and he felt his breathing quicken a little. Mercedes' warmth was acute against his body as he watched, and he felt his breath catch more than once.

Finally, applause rang out as the dance ended. "That..." he managed, unsure if he could trust himself to look at Mercedes right away. "That was... was something. Wasn't it?"
 
Mercedes was a bundle of nerves from the moment she felt William stiffened against her. Not quite the stiffening she was hoping for, but perhaps she was being too forward. What respectable man would move on a married woman? But he relaxed, putting his arm around her chair, and she sighed as his hand stroked her shoulder. His touch pulled her from the show more than once, until Zorita had come on.

Mercedes wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. Members of her band checked out different shows on their dark days, getting a feel for the competition. When they had mentioned the burlesque show, Mercedes had become intrigued, curious about the risqué act. She’d asked Vinnie on one of this better days, (before the assault) if he’d take her, but he just laughed at the request.

Zorita was a vision when she appeared in her half and half costume. Particularly lovely as a woman, but what surprised Mercedes how attractive the male half was. Which was so absurd, since it was so clear she was still a woman. But the sharp lines of the tux on a feminine figured appealed more than Mercedes wanted to admit.

As the dance progressed, growing more and more erotic, Mercedes could hardly pull her eyes away. Entranced by the movements, wanting to see more as each layer slipped off. A thought that excited her, growing hot at her core. Exciting her further, as she wondered how a woman’s hands would feel, on bare skin; would it differ from a man’s?

Now the rumors she’d heard of this place came to the front of her mind. That queers congregated here, and spending time around them would make you one too. This was exactly the sort of place good catholic girls dare not visit, lest they be tempted by Satan.

But was she really such a “good Catholic girl?” After all, here she was a married woman, on a date with another man while her husband lies in the hospital. Even now she was trying to figure out how she could proposition this other man into going further. Was that not a sin, too? How many women had Vinnie cheated on her with, in their marriage, while she stayed loyal? And how had he repaid her loyalty?

"That was... was something. Wasn't it?" William’s remark cut through the introspection. He wasn’t looking at her, and it wasn’t hard to figure out why. God, he must think her such a brazen pervert, so suggest such this show. And if he knew how aroused she was, in this moment, how badly she wanted to peel him out of his suit?

“Geeze, I’m sorry,” she said, blushing and looking down. “I had heard it was saucy, but that was…” Hot? She bit her lip before the word could escape. Brushing curls back behind her head, she giggled nervously. “I hope I didn’t ruin the night.”

People spilled out of the club and Mercedes followed, walking alongside Will, "Thanks for havin' an open mind about it, anyway. Suppose I will have to find a way to make it up to ya, one of these days. Maybe a private performance?" More nervous laughter escaped her lips, as she imagined how he might take that offer. As she fantasized about performing for him in the same manner as Zorita.
 
Finally, applause rang out as the dance ended. "That..." he managed, unsure if he could trust himself to look at Mercedes right away. "That was... was something. Wasn't it?"

“Geeze, I’m sorry,” she answered, sounding uncomfortable. “I had heard it was saucy, but that was…”

"Saucy seems a good word," he chuckled, feeling equally uncomfortable. And aroused. Jesus, he was aroused, and the way she was biting her lip and blushing wasn't helping. Suddenly, he found himself wondering how that lip would taste. Would she blush if he kissed her?

Brushing curls back behind her head, she giggled nervously. “I hope I didn’t ruin the night.”

He shook his head in the negative, perhaps a bit more emphatically than he intended. "No! Not at all. It was, uhm, uh... It was something." With that, he offered her his arm as they began to make their way out of the box. Purely for gentlemanly reasons, of course. Not because he wanted the excuse to touch her, or feel her next to him. Not because, this way, she was close enough for him to smell her perfume.

Soon enough they were outside, waiting for the valet to bring his car around. "Thanks for havin' an open mind about it, anyway," she said, once they could hear each other over the crowd.

"It wasn't what I expected," he confessed. "But, well, I suppose it pays to have an open mind."

"Suppose I will have to find a way to make it up to ya, one of these days. Maybe a private performance?" More nervous laughter escaped her lips.

William drew an involuntary breath at the suggestion, his mind filled with ideas spawned by the performance. It wasn't hard to imagine silk whispering over her skin as she allowed her dress to slip to the floor. Not hard to imagine her dancing like Zorita, only with his own hands filling the masculine part. Damnit, but he suddenly wanted her! But, she was a married woman. But, she had no love for her husband. "I'd... I'ld like that," he managed, hardly able to believe what he was saying. "I..."

Further embarrassment was prevented by the arrival of the car. The valet hopped out, scurrying around to opened he door for Mercedes and surreptitiously holding out his hand for a tip. Still slightly dazed, William pressed a five dollar bill into the man's hand. "Thank you, sir!" the valet said, tipping his hat as he closed the door. "Thank you kindly!"

Preoccupied by his thoughts, he barely had the presence of mind to mumble "you're welcome" as he walked around the car and slid into the driver's seat. A vague... well, not plan, call it more of an idea, formed in his mind. An idea that made his stomach clench with nerves and his throat feel dry. "Have," he managed, swallowing, "have you ever seen Lake Michigan? By, by moonlight, I mean?"
 
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