Johnny V and the Razor

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 2 Johnny V and the Razor

A TRAIN whistle shrieked through the night, making Johnny think of rolling iron and rough times in hard places. White lightning stabbed through gray clouds. Wind teased the Packard’s windows. Johnny pushed his hands deep into the pockets of the cheap winter coat Donnelly had bought him, watching the dark street and keeping an ear out for thunder. The Packard’s back door swung open, letting in a swirl of cold. Johnny sat up so hard he bumped his knee on the steering wheel. He was getting out to help Mr. Donnelly in, but the back door slammed shut and a cool voice Johnny didn’t recognize said, “Start the car. Drive.” “This is Mr. Donnelly’s private car,” Johnny said. “He doesn’t need it anymore.” Johnny had been in the city long enough to know why a stranger would be getting into a bootlegger’s private car in the middle of the night. “I know how to walk away and not look back,” he said. “I’ll get out. Disappear.” “Get us moving,” the man said. If his boss was dead, Johnny was on the street. Worse than that, he was a witness. “I won’t say anything,” he said. “I don’t even know what you look like.” “You deaf?” the stranger said. “Start the car.”

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 3 Johnny started the engine, and in the dark where the stranger couldn’t see, slid his left hand to the door handle. He could push the door open, roll to the street and be halfway down the block in seconds. If he stuck to the shadows, he might live through the night. He eased his hand around the cool metal, ready to lean all his weight into the door. Cool fingers brushed the back of his neck. “Don’t do anything dumb.” The stranger reached around and locked the driver’s side door. Leaning back, he brushed against Johnny, feeling like he was made of muscle and nothing else. “Drive. Both hands on the wheel.” Johnny shifted into gear and pulled away from the curb, his mind desperately ticking over. The freight whistle had been maybe ten minutes ago. The train wouldn’t pull out for another hour. If he lived that long, he planned to be on it, riding the Box Car Express to No Place. “Which way, mister?” From the darkness, the stranger said, “Find traffic. Follow it.” The stranger sounded like he could slit a man’s throat in traffic, jump out, thread his way through snarled cars, and fade into the night. Johnny drove toward Broadway, gripping the steering wheel like it was a lifeboat and he was drowning. A few miles later, with the rush of traffic up ahead, the stranger said, “Pull over.” This was it. If Johnny survived the next five seconds, he had a chance of walking away. Cold sweat rolled down the back of his neck. His eyeballs jittered. His pulse pounded.

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 4 He swerved to the curb, ready to floor it the second Donnelly’s killer cleared the back seat. The stranger slid over to the back door behind Johnny, leaned over and said, “Give me the keys.” Johnny’s mind had been blasting down one track: staying alive. The stranger had derailed him, but too late. Johnny’s thoughts screamed ahead. His body hurtled into action. He floored the Packard and flinched when the tires screeched against the road. A loud pop blasted through the night. Johnny cringed, waiting to feel the pain of a bullet plowing into him. Instead the Packard’s tail swerved hard right. Shit. Shit. Shit. He’d peeled out too fast, blown a tire. The steering wheel slipped through his sweaty hands. He tried to fight the drag, but he wasn’t strong enough. The man lunged over the seat back, his body half on top of Johnny, and grabbed the wheel. “Ease off the gas.” His voice was quiet, like death was Sunday School and he was the teacher. “Pump the brakes. Don’t slam on them. You’ll kill us both.” Sucking in breaths that hurt his tight chest, Johnny willed his foot to rise, fighting his instinct to mash the brakes through the floor. He pumped them once, twice. “That’s it.” The stranger muscled the wheel, forcing the Packard to the side of the road. “Nice and easy.” Johnny held his breath. Another couple feet and they’d be scrap metal on Broadway.

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 5 “Lean back,” the stranger said. “Let go.” He grunted in Johnny’s ear, heaving the wheel around, forcing the Packard toward the curb. For long horrifying seconds they drifted, the flat tire limping along, its rim scraping the road. Then the front end seemed to remember the way to the curb and moved that way, stopping with a gentle bump. “Holy “Jesus.”

God,”

Johnny

whispered

between

breaths.

The stranger grabbed the back of Johnny’s neck and squeezed, but not enough to hurt. “You’re lucky we didn’t get stuck in traffic,” he said. “That would have pissed me off. Give me the keys.” Too shaken to fight, Johnny yanked them from the ignition and held them up in a trembling grip that made them jangle. The man grabbed the keys, got out, tapped the window, and pointed at the lock. He didn’t look mad, but maybe he was, and he wanted to take his time with whatever he planned to do. Johnny popped the lock, sure that if he lived past the next two minutes, he’d be wishing he’d died fast. The door whooshed open. Johnny stumbled into the street and barely missed falling flat on his face at the feet of a killer. “Starting a few minutes ago,” the stranger said, “you’re unemployed. I’m offering you a new job.” A job? That was so far ahead of living through the next couple minutes, Johnny couldn’t follow. “What?”

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 6 The stranger kicked the Packard’s door shut and glanced at traffic on Broadway. “Donnelly’s dead.” In the harsh yellow glow coming from the streetlamp behind him, Johnny looked up at the stranger. Something about the hard line of his jaw, the stony glint in his dark brown eyes, said things only happened one way in life: his way. “You go deaf again?” the stranger said. “Yeah.” Christ. “I mean no. Yeah. The job. I want it.” Because it was better than winding up like Donnelly. “What do I have to do?” “Let’s start with you staying alive,” the man said. “The way you’re going, looks like that’s enough for now.” Johnny felt the same way, but he was too embarrassed to say it. He’d nearly gotten them both killed, and he didn’t even know the stranger’s name. “What do I call you?” “Sloane,” the man said. “Come on. I don’t need to be standing by his car with my bare face hanging out.” They walked into the dark toward Broadway’s crowded sidewalk. Johnny was pretty sure Sloane wasn’t packing a rod. He would have pulled it in the car. Then again, he couldn’t have taken the wheel like that with a gun in his hand. Sloane looked down at him. “What do you call yourself?” he said. “Johnny V.”

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 7 “What’s the ‘V’ stand for?” Johnny was glad it was dark, because his cheeks were burning. It didn’t stand for anything. He’d added the middle initial when he got to New York. Sloane moved his eyes past Johnny, like he was studying the slow traffic. “You just liked the way it sounded?” “Yeah.” For the first time in the last few minutes, Johnny wasn’t thinking about dying. He was waiting to hear Sloane laugh, the way Donnelly and his men had laughed at him, made him feel like a country boy too stupid to know better. “I like how it sounds too,” Sloane said. The way he said it, low and quiet, made Johnny breathe a little easier. “I’m hungry,” Sloane said. “You want something to eat?” In the past year and a half, Johnny couldn’t remember ever saying no to free food. “Yeah,” he said. The first thing Johnny had learned about living in a big city was that sidewalk crowds had their own rhythm, almost like a parade where everyone was hearing the same drum. If you didn’t move in step with the crowd, you got knocked around a lot. But Sloane was different, like he had a private drummer. People either slid out of his way or moved around him, as if they’d sensed danger. Johnny thought they dangerous. He was deadly.

were

wrong.

Sloane

wasn’t

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 8

DO

WHAT you want, Nick had said. Just make sure when

they find him, they know it was slow and hard. Sloane and his brother Nick ran bootleg liquor into the city and sold it in 39, a speakeasy where there was high stakes gambling and boys who got paid to do what girls wouldn’t. What Nick couldn’t sell in 39, he moved through distributors who paid a premium for practically risk-free liquor. But there was always a guy who thought he could beat the odds, cheat Nick out of his percentage. By the time Sloane took the call, Donnelly had played Nick for a sucker three times. Sloane had paid off a working girl, rented the house where Johnny had dropped Donnelly off, and told her what to do. After two weeks, she convinced Donnelly that his bodyguards made her nervous. A week after that, he started going to see her with just a driver. Tonight when Donnelly went to see her, the girl left through the back door. Sloane tied up Donnelly, gagged him, and carved into him so bad, he was begging to die by the time Sloane slit his throat. Sloane had been going out the back way when he thought about Donnelly’s driver. The cops wouldn’t think anything of beating information out of a kid like that. And Donnelly’s boys would be wanting every scrap of information they could get. Either way, the driver would die for what he didn’t know. He was too young, too likely to talk. And now he was walking beside Sloane, trying to keep his cool, acting like he didn’t know how tight a spot he was in.

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 9 Dora didn’t cook anything like the drunken woman who’d been Sloane’s mother, but she ran a tight diner. Sloane opened the door to Dora’s and got them a booth. Inside, under bright lights, he got a good look at Johnny V. He was nineteen, maybe twenty. His light brown eyes, the same color as his hair, had seen too much. His mouth was wide, with smooth lips that could make a man think about things he shouldn’t. His high cheekbones were too close to his skin. Donnelly hadn’t been paying him enough for Johnny to eat right. Sloane wished he’d known that before. He would have taken longer. Pushing a menu across the table, Sloane said, “It’s on me. Order what you want.” Then I’ll get you out of town, he thought. Johnny picked up the menu, glanced over it and said, “Roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy.” Sloane didn’t look up from his menu. “Which plate, number one or number two?” “Which one’s better?” “They’re both good,” Sloane said. “Depends on what side you want.” Johnny closed the menu, slid it to the corner of the table. “I’ll eat whatever you get.” Sloane saw the fear on Johnny’s face, his hesitation, how he looked away. “Read me number two.” “If you tell me a list, I can remember it.” Johnny swallowed, dropped his eyes to the wooden table. “I work real hard.”

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 10 The way Johnny hung his head made Sloane wince inside. What was he doing? The job was over, and Johnny had nothing to do with it except being in a bad place at a bad time. “You know what? This whole dinner in the middle of the night thing is stupid. I’m thinking about chocolate cake and ice cream.” Not looking up, Johnny said, “Better if I get the roast beef.” Sloane reached over and pushed Johnny’s thick hair back from his face. “You don’t like ice cream?” “I like it fine.” Johnny met his eyes. “But I only have two dollars in my pocket, and I don’t know where my next meal’s coming from.” Sloane was about to say something stupid, like how Johnny didn’t have to worry about that anymore, when Dora came bustling over, pad in one hand, pen in the other. With her quick, light steps, her pink uniform, her blonde hair pulled into a tight bun, Dora looked like a waitress who got through every night without spilling a drop of gravy. Except for her nametag, it was hard to tell she owned the place. That was how she liked it. “Up to anything good tonight, dark-eyed one?” “Never,” Sloane said. “Two dessert specials. And don’t skimp on the chocolate sauce.” “I don’t skimp on nothing for you, doll.” Dora flicked her eyes to Johnny, and closed her mouth when Sloane shook his head. “Two triple-decker chocolates under white, coming up.” She slid her unmarked pad into her pocket and made her way to the counter.

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 11 “Doll?” Johnny cocked his head. “She your sister?” “She might as well be my mom.” Sloane folded his long fingers on the table and leaned toward Johnny. “You left school?” “No.” Johnny found everywhere to look except Sloane’s face. “Kind of. Had to make it look like I was going when I lived at home or dad would have beat my ass.” “Where’d you go when he thought you were in school?” “Train yards.” He leaned back, watching people eat, seeing something else in his mind. “You know that story about the genie and the lamp?” “Aladdin,” Sloane said. “Freight trains looked like that to me.” Johnny wiped a hand across his mouth, slowly, like he was wiping away something from a long time ago. “I thought they were my magic carpet, a way out. Johnny V riding the rails, out of town, gone forever.” Johnny went quiet. Giving him time to live with another man knowing his secrets, Sloane pointed his eyes across the diner, out the window. Lightning was playing through dark clouds; thunder muttered like muffled gunfire. A storm was bearing down on the city, and Sloane felt like he was walking right into it, face to the sky. Nick was the brain in their operation. Sloane was the muscle. Never leaving witnesses was more than doing a job right. It was the only thing that kept Sloane off death row. If Nick got a whiff of who was sitting across the table, Johnny was dead.

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 12 That should have been enough to make Sloane catch a cab with Johnny and put him on a bus out of town. But Sloane, the man the papers called “the Razor”, was scared because knowing what his brother would do wasn’t enough. Dora came back with two plates loaded with triple-layer chocolate cake under a swirled mountain of whipped cream, topping two scoops of ice cream that were probably a half gallon each, all of it floating in dark syrup. Just seeing all that chocolate made Sloane feel like gagging. But he knew Johnny would loosen up if he didn’t feel like he was eating his last meal. “The chocolate lake for you.” Dora slid a plate in front of Johnny, then turned to Sloane. “The puddle’s yours. Because you’re up past bed time.” She slid Sloane’s plate on the table and stood back with a flourish, like a magician. “And that’s my special talent, serving dessert for dinner.” “I heard that’s not your only talent,” Sloane said. “Is that right, handsome?” Dora said. “And how you would you know? You’re barely old enough to be out without a chaperone.” Like she always did, Dora knew what Sloane needed. He pretended not to see when Johnny covered his smile with a hand to his mouth. Sloane ducked his head, hunching his shoulders. “You’re running my reputation into the dirt,” he said. “Go make eggs or something.” She rounded as silently as she’d come, tossing a “Whatever you need, Sloane” over her shoulder.

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 13 Johnny carefully scooped cake and ice cream onto his spoon. Knowing he was crossing a line and starting a fight that could cost him his life, Sloane said, “Babe’s playing at the stadium tomorrow. How about taking in a game?” “Babe Ruth?” Johnny’s eyes went wide. “At Yankee Stadium?” It had been a long time since Sloane felt like he could give someone something they really wanted, maybe even something they’d dreamed about. A smile spread across his face. “Seats behind home base.” “On the level?” Johnny said. “No kidding?” Sloane smiled. It felt good because he could see that for a few seconds Johnny had forgotten about the flat tire, about Donnelly. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

IN OKLAHOMA, Tick, a man on the rails, had told Johnny that whenever he could, he ate more than he wanted. That way, he’d said, when days went by before he could eat again, it gave him something nice to think on. Johnny’s plate was as clean as it could be without him licking it. He saw that Sloane had mostly pushed around his cake and let most of the ice cream melt. It was hard to resist switching plates and eating what Sloane had left, even though Johnny was so full he could hardly move. “Done?” Sloane said.

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 14 Not exactly looking at him, Johnny said, “You’re not going to eat that?” “I was pretty full when we got here.” Johnny remembered Sloane saying he was hungry, but Sloane wasn’t a man to contradict with facts. And he wasn’t a man to keep waiting either. “Yeah. I’m done.” “Come on.” Sloane pushed away from the table. “Let’s go get cleaned up and take a walk.” Leaving a diner without paying didn’t bother Johnny. He’d done it when he had to, when he’d been so hungry he’d chewed on grass. But Sloane was a hood. Donnelly had been a big player in the booze game. Anyone who bumped off Donnelly had to be even bigger than him. Sloane might want Johnny for a night, but he was a witness. After Sloane had his fun, Johnny would be the next thing to dead. He had to find some way to stall leaving the crowded diner ’til he could think what to do. “You didn’t pay,” he said. Sloane got to his feet. “Dora runs a tab for me.” Glancing at the door, trying to figure if the train had pulled out yet, Johnny said, “I should go get a bus or something.” He felt Sloane’s dark eyes on him. “Blow out of town, get lost.” Leaning down, his fists on the table, Sloane said, “You scared of me?” Sloane’s bald question surprised the truth out of Johnny. “Like you were lightning and I was a tall tree.” Stupid. Stupid. First the tire, now talking to a hood like that.

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 15 “Good,” Sloane said. “Means you’re as smart as you look. Get up and come with me, Johnny. If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have made it out of the car.” Truth wasn’t a big part of Johnny’s life, but he knew it when he heard it. Following Sloane, Johnny took a good look at him. He was a couple inches over six feet. Black hair swept back from his face. Just by the way he moved, you could tell that if he had to hurt someone, he wouldn’t blink twice before he took them down. They wound through tables, then went past the men’s room. When Sloane went behind the counter and pushed open the door to the kitchen, Johnny hung back. A man bore down on him, a beefy man big enough to break Johnny in half without losing any breath over it. “Hey,” he said, “get out from behind my counter.” Johnny froze. Sloane glanced back at the walking slab of a man. “He’s with me.” The guy looked like he’d stepped into his own grave. “I didn’t know,” he said. “Sloane, I—” “Forget it.” Sloane turned to Johnny. “Stay close to me.” If Johnny had been any closer to Sloane when he went into the kitchen, they would have been like those twins in China, all joined up together.

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 16 Just on the other side of the door, a sizzling grill stretched to the wall. Johnny pushed through a wall of heat, heavy with the smell of grease and frying meat. A man in cook’s whites shouted through a small window that looked out on the diner. “Order up! Number two.” As if he had every right to be there, Sloane said to him, “Door open?” Not looking up from the burgers on his grill, the cook said, “Opened it when you got here.” He flipped two burgers, then stuck his face out the window. “Hey. Who’s got number two? Gravy’s going hard.” Five or six men in whites whipped around the kitchen, bouncing around Sloane and Johnny like they were wrapped in rubber. Steaming plates passed over Johnny’s head. Orders for more potatoes, heavy gravy, extra biscuits whirled past in a storm of shouts. Johnny noticed how no one yelled at Sloane for being in the way. No one so much as looked at him. The door said “Storage.” Sloane pulled it open and said, “Watch it. Steps going down.” From behind Sloane on the top step, Johnny saw nothing but darkness. Somebody closed the door behind them. When they started down, it was so dark Johnny closed his eyes because that was better than having them open and feeling like he was blind. The steps went down so far the sounds of the diner died away. “It’s an elevator.” Sloane’s voice was low, tight, like he was straining against something. “Get in as soon as I open the gate.”

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 17 The darkness smelled damp and felt big somehow. Johnny was sure that if someone got lost down there, it would be forever. He followed Sloane’s voice through the dark. “How far up does it go?” he said. There was the sound of heavy metal grinding on metal, a door sliding up. “Far enough for you to be down here by yourself if you don’t get a move on,” Sloane said. “Get in here.” Johnny shuffled forward and reached out. Sloane pulled him into the cage. “Keep your hands down. You don’t want a finger pulled off.” Like getting a leg ripped off if it was hanging down the wrong way off a moving train, Johnny thought. No. He didn’t. “We’d have to be going awfully fast for that to happen,” he said. “I had it built fast,” Sloane said. The car jerked once, then again, then it blasted straight up, like someone had fired them from a cannon. Johnny grabbed for the metal cage, trying not to fall on his ass. Sloane yanked him off balance and caught him in his arms. “You’ll like life better with all your fingers,” he said in Johnny’s ear. What Johnny liked was the feel of Sloane’s body against his, the feel of his hard arms around him. Johnny told himself his heart was pounding because they were rushing up so fast air was blowing hair back from his face. But part of him knew the truth. The real reason was because Sloane’s hardness was pressed up against Johnny’s ass.

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 18 “Did you hear me?” Sloane’s voice jolted Johnny back to the darkness, shooting up into someplace he couldn’t imagine. “Sorry,” he said, sure he’d done something wrong. The elevator car didn’t slow down. It just suddenly stopped moving. Johnny didn’t fall over because Sloane’s arms were hard and strong as iron. “I said,” Sloane was talking slow, taking his time with every word, “there’s a narrow strip. We have thirty seconds.” “Or what?” Johnny said. “It pulls into the wall.” Sloane let him go, and there was the sound of metal clashing, gears grinding. Johnny had no idea how far up they’d gone, but he knew it was high enough for a man to smash like a melon if he took a dive. Sloane let him go and said, “Hold onto my hand. Slide your feet.” “What’s at the bottom?” “Boards with long, rusty nails sticking up.” Johnny bet no one at home had ever got on an elevator that shot straight up like that, or walked across a ledge they couldn’t see. Excitement rushed through him. But letting Sloane see it would make Johnny feel like a kid, so he put on his best tough guy voice and said, “Sounds bad.” “This isn’t a game, Johnny.” Sloane’s voice was hardedged, cold. “If you fall, you’re dead.”

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 19 Feeling for Sloane’s hand in the dark, Johnny thought about Bennie. Even though he was thinking about summer, a cool shiver slid down Johnny’s spine. Last August, he and Bennie had been riding topside of a boxcar to beat the heat. Bennie had been walking toward Johnny. Past Bennie, Johnny had seen the tracks curving ahead, and he’d yelled at Bennie to get down. But he’d been too slow. The train had flipped Bennie off like a fly. Bennie’s screams echoing through his mind, Johnny carefully slid his feet along the ledge and gripped Sloane’s hand tighter. “Not far,” Sloane said. “Keep moving.” “You don’t have a front door?” “Forgot my key,” Sloane said. The ledge was pressing into the middle of Johnny’s feet, and it hurt. His ankles were shaking from taking his weight. But when he heard the low snick of a door opening, he froze. “It’s me,” Sloane said. “Keep coming.” Johnny opened his mouth to ask if they’d eaten up thirty seconds yet. But somewhere in the darkness, metal gears rumbled, chains clanked; the ledge shuddered and started sliding out from under Johnny’s feet. He panicked. Sloane yanked Johnny’s wrist hard enough to snap it off. And oh God, he was falling. He’d stayed off topside, survived thousands of miles after Bennie, and now Johnny was going to die on a bed of nails.

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 20 Johnny didn’t realize he was falling forward, not down, until his face crashed into Sloane’s legs. Ending up with his mouth inches from Sloane’s crotch was so much better than hurtling down toward rusty nails that Johnny laughed. “Hey.” Sloane pushed Johnny off him. “I’m not that cheap a date.” Heat rushing to his face, Johnny rolled onto his belly. A light came on. Johnny scrambled to his feet, glad it was just a night lamp, hoping it was dark enough to hide his flushed face. Sloane slid out of the shadows and wrapped his arms around Johnny from behind. This, Johnny guessed, was part of his new job. It was better than being dead. Trailing his trembling fingers over Sloane’s hands, Johnny said, “I’ll do what you want.” “I know.” Johnny felt how hard Sloane was, heard him breathing too heavily, smelled the low, sharp scent that meant a man needed something tight and warm to sink into. At night on the rails, he’d learned that smell over and over. He’d learned what happened when you were too small, too weak to stop a man who had that scent on him.

AFTER a job, Sloane always needed the same thing—rough, no-questions-asked sex. He needed it tonight, same as every other time. The difference, the thing that was driving him crazy was that he couldn’t do it to the boy in his arms. Better to get more lights on.

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 21 Sloane unwrapped himself from Johnny and went around turning on lights. Three doors were set in the brick walls like hands on a clock: noon, three o’clock and nine o’clock. The first two were bedrooms. The third one led to 39, his brother’s speakeasy. He could get what he needed down there. Sloane knew that for a boy with Johnny’s looks, riding the rails alone was about the same as doing hard time. After a while in prison, a man learned that if he did what he was told, fewer bad things came his way. Standing with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his eyes on the carpet, waiting for Sloane to say what he wanted, Johnny was like a convict waiting for the next blow to fall. “I have to go downstairs.” Sloane kept his voice low, moved slow, and stayed on the other side of the room from Johnny. “If my brother’s not looking for me, he will be. I need to go find him.” He pointed at the door behind Johnny. ”There’s a bathtub in my room. Clean up. The other bedroom’s yours.” “I get my own room?” Johnny said. Leaning against the wall between two doors, Sloane pressed his hands to the rough brick behind him. If he crossed the room, he’d pull Johnny close and tell him that yeah, he got his own room, because it didn’t matter where he went, Sloane would find him. And what the fuck was he doing, thinking about that right before he went to see Nick? “Game starts at noon,” Sloane said. “Get some sleep.” Outside the door, Sloane waited ’til he heard water running before he went down the twisting steps that led to 39.

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 22 In the club, men stood against the bar drinking, acting like what they were doing was legal. Sloane grabbed Stephen, the first wait-boy he saw. Blond, hard body, hard gray eyes. ”Where’s Nick?” Stephen, who was working off his boss’s debt, tried to pull away. “I’m not his secretary.” “Find him.” Sloane pulled harder, squeezed. “And don’t take anyone in a back room,” he said. “You’re with me tonight.” Sloane went to the bar. Tommy, the bartender, had Canadian whiskey neat waiting. Men made room for Sloane. In the packed club, men talked to wait-boys, who offered time in back rooms at five dollars a half hour. A jazz quartet on a low stage roughed up a tune Sloane had heard Ellington’s band play. Up against the back wall, poker tables were full. Muscle was walking between tables, keeping the games friendly. Nick came out from the alcove that led to his office and signaled Sloane. With an office barely big enough to hold a desk, two men, and two chairs, no one would have guessed Sloane’s brother ran more than half the bootlegging operations in the city. The small room was sideways, like a short hallway. Sloane had told him to set it up like that. If a man came in with a gun, he would have a tough shot unless Nick was facing the door, and he never did. Nick was sitting behind his toy-size desk. The greenshaded lamp perched on the corner threw shadows across

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 23 his narrow face. He looked like the stingiest accountant in the country. “You’re late,” he said. “Stopped.” Sloane slid into the chair on his side of the desk. ”Done?” “All but the cops and the pictures.” “Witnesses?” Sloane slouched down in his chair, something he’d learned to do in grade school when he didn’t want the teacher to see a lie in his eyes. “Think I suddenly got dumb?” “Where’s the car?” “Dumped.” “Someone saw you at Dora’s.” Nick leaned over his desk, palms against the wood. “Said you had a pretty new face with you.” Sloane leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, deadly hands hanging down between his legs. “So?” Nick pushed his chair back. It scraped the concrete floor. “Nothing,” he said. “Been worried about you. Nobody’s seen you with anyone in months.” “Been busy.” “Deal was, we get more than half the territory locked down, we get sixty percent of the profit.”

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 24 “And?” A slow smile stretched Nick’s face into something that should have been pleasant, but wasn’t. “With Donnelly gone, we have 65% of the territory locked up,” he said. Before tonight in Dora’s, before Johnny, Sloane would have cared. As it was, he said, “Donnelly told me where his stash was. Said I could have it if I let him go.” Nick twisted his face into something no one would have wanted to see, not in their darkest nightmare. “Where?” Sloane told Nick what he’d gotten out of Donnelly before he sent him into the dark for good. “Half is yours,” Nick said. “You know where to put it.” A twinge of guilt twisted through Sloane’s gut. Nick had never been anything but fair to him. Nick went on talking—interest rates, percentages, stock margins—things Sloane had never cared about. Restless, Sloane stretched out his long legs, let his head fall back against the chair. Years ago, he’d given up fighting the urge that always came after a kill, like thunder after lightning. Up in his rooms, he could have had Johnny on the floor, just held him down and taken what he wanted. But he’d fought it, and it was eating him up because he still wanted it. “…candles?” Silence made Sloane pop his head up and focus on Nick. “What?”

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 25 Sighing, Nick pulled a pack of Lucky Strikes from his pocket, drew a smoke, and lit up. “I said a bad storm’s blowing in. You have candles?” “Yeah.” Sloane got to his feet. “Anything else?” “No.” “Long night,” Sloane said. “See you in the morning.” His fingers were brushing the doorknob when Nick said, “Little brother?” When Nick said it like that, he was smelling around for trouble. Sloane turned, his heart pounding, his moves slow, easy. “Yeah?” “Everything go all right with Donnelly?” If Nick scented anything, he’d be on Sloane’s back trail like a hound. He pushed thoughts of Johnny out of his mind. “Went slick as oil on water.” Nick puffed smoke toward the ceiling in slow, lazy rings and nodded. “Sleep good.” Out in the bar, Sloane caught Stephen’s eye just as he was delivering a drink order. When he came over, Sloane said, “Upstairs.”

RIDING across country when you were nineteen and most men around you were bigger and better fed, you didn’t admit to being scared about anything. So Johnny had never told anyone how much storms frightened him. He’d seen

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 26 tornadoes lift whole houses into the sky and smash them apart like wood toys. Thunder rolled across the sky. He turned over and drew the heavy blanket over his head. Sloane’s place didn’t have any windows. But the whole roof was made of what Johnny thought of as glass bricks. The sky showed through, distorted. When lightning flashed, the whole bedroom lit up, like flash bulbs from a hundred cameras. The storm was getting closer. Lightning crackled. Thunder clapped, and it sounded like it was right over his head. Johnny jumped out of bed, ran toward the door, and stopped. Past the door, he heard something worse, something he’d heard in boxcars in the middle of the night. Someone was talking in a low, pleading voice. Johnny didn’t have to hear the words to know what he was saying. He’d sounded just like that. It hadn’t changed anything. The door was cracked maybe an inch. No light came in. He pressed his eye to the crack. First he saw Sloane’s face, the hard face of a man who’d stopped listening. He was pushing his unzipped pants down with one hand and bending a boy over the couch, a boy about Johnny’s age, naked, ass up. Trembling, Johnny saw that the naked boy’s eyes were squeezed shut. He was gritting his teeth, and his whole face was deep red. Sweat or tears were running down his cheeks. Whatever was about to happen, it wasn’t the first time. Johnny knew he should go back to bed, should press the door closed, but he couldn’t. Just hours ago, he’d

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 27 wanted Sloane to have him, to give him anything he wanted. Now he could see what Sloane wanted, and how he wanted it. Thunder rolled overhead again, louder this time, shaking the walls. Like he’d woken up from a bad dream, Sloane backed away, looking at Johnny’s door. "Get dressed.” He handed the boy his clothes. “And tell my brother I said I’ll pay off your debt. Go home.” “You don’t have to—” “Hurry up,” Sloane said. “Before the storm gets you.” The boy pulled his pants on, grabbed his shirt, and went out, shutting the door quietly behind him. Sloane bent down, out of Johnny’s view, and when he stood up, his chest was still bare, but his pants were done up. He moved silently across the living room, toward Johnny’s door, barefoot. Johnny fought the instinct to slam the door and lock it. He moved backward carefully, desperate to stay on his feet, not wanting to find himself on his back looking up at Sloane. Sloane pushed the door open. “What are you doing up?” One bad step, and Johnny would be on his back, looking up at Sloane’s hard on. Trying not to let his lips tremble, he said, “Thunder woke me.” Sloane moved past him and sat on the bed. “Storms scare you?” Uneasy at the thought of Sloane behind him, Johnny turned around. “Yeah. Sometimes.” But lying to Sloane made

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 28 Johnny even more nervous. “No,” he said. “All the time. Even little ones.” Sloane got a look on his face like Johnny had a lot worse things to be scared of. “I need to tell you something,” he said. “What?” “If anyone asks where I found you, don’t talk about Donnelly. Don’t tell anyone you were his driver.” The storm was really revving up. Wind was blowing over the glass roof. He was alone with Sloane. He should have stayed with the Packard. “I won’t make any trouble for you,” Johnny said. “I know.” Something about the way Sloane said it, the way he kept his voice low made him seem harmless, the way a tiger with a full belly could be harmless. “You think they’ll play the game tomorrow if the field’s all wet?” “Maybe.” Sloane fell back onto the bed and scrubbed his hands over his face. “If they don’t, I’ll take you somewhere else.” Johnny took in Sloane’s hard flat belly, his arms heavy with muscle, the way his pants pulled against his crotch, showing the curved lines of his cock. Tonight, Johnny had come so close to dying that being on his knees between Sloane’s legs seemed almost… safe. And he wanted to be on his knees, inhaling Sloane’s scent, pressing his legs farther apart.

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 29 Kneeling at the edge of the bed, Johnny pressed his face into Sloane’s crotch and kissed softly. Sloane reached down and ran his long fingers through Johnny’s hair, and everything was going good until thunder rolled across the sky. Johnny nearly jumped out of his skin. “Come sleep in my bed,” Sloane said. “That’s all. Just sleep. I don’t want you alone on a night like this.” Johnny didn’t want Sloane thinking he was some crybaby who couldn’t make it through a storm. “I don’t mind,” he said. Sloane sat up, looked down at Johnny and rubbed a thumb over his lips. “I do.” Johnny leaned his head over so he could rub his face against Sloane’s rough hand. “Up,” Sloane said quietly. “Go on.” Sloane’s bed looked like it could sleep five and have plenty of room left over. It was all black, four posters, maybe mahogany. Johnny was completely distracted by wrong angles that didn’t add up. “How did you get a bed like that in here?” Turning toward Johnny, his eyes steady on him, Sloane said, “All the boys I brought up here, and none of them ever asked about the bed.” Flushing deep red, Johnny mumbled, “I grew up seeing men build things.” “Lie down,” Sloane said. “Get some rest.”

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 30 Johnny, in just pajama bottoms, lay down on the side of the bed farthest from the door, his back to the wall. Sloane left and went into what Johnny thought of as the Big Room, and then Johnny heard the sounds of something pouring. By the time Sloane came back, the storm was raging through the night. The ceiling was just like the other bedroom, all glass. It glowed with lightning. Sloane lay down on the far side of the bed, facing the door. Johnny watched him through slitted eyes, the curves of muscle on his body, the way he didn’t look scared, almost like a stormy night was nothing compared to what was on his mind. Thunder clapped through the sky loud enough for Johnny to think the glass would crack for sure. He jumped a little, trying to act like he’d been sleeping. In the dark, under the muttering thunder, Sloane said, “It’s just a storm. Not like we’ll blow away.” “Seen whole houses get blown away,” Johnny said. “Where I come from, storms kill you.” He turned toward the wall, because what he really wanted was to be under the bed. But that was too embarrassing. A while later, when lightning rippled across the sky, Johnny felt Sloane slide closer, felt his hard body against him. Johnny didn’t move, afraid that he’d fallen asleep and this was a dream. Sloane kissed the base of his neck. Lightning lit the room, showing Johnny their shadows flickering on the wall. Sloane kissed down the middle of Johnny’s back,

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 31 making him squirm and push back against him. “If you want me to stop,” Sloane said, “tell me.” The feel of Sloane’s lips, his soft breath on his spine, made Johnny shiver all over and made him forget the storm. But nothing could have made him not hear how Sloane’s voice sounded like a lie a man told himself. A man like Sloane took what he wanted, even if he didn’t think he would. Johnny turned in Sloane’s arms, moving onto his back. Sloane’s lips covered his, making Johnny moan softly into his mouth. Sloane rolled over on top of Johnny, holding his weight on his arms. He kissed Johnny’s neck and whispered in his ear, “I won’t hurt you.” In freight cars Johnny had seen enough to know that Sloane was telling the truth. He wouldn’t hurt Johnny, as long as he didn’t say no. But that didn’t matter, because of all the words on earth that Johnny could think of, over the sound of his pounding heart, over the sound of rolling thunder, “no” was the last one that would have come out of his mouth. He slid his arms around Sloane, trailed his fingers down his back, and met Sloane’s eyes in the lightning. “I never wanted it like I do with you,” Sloane said, and mashed his lips to Johnny’s and slid his tongue into his mouth, moaning softly. His hands slid down to Johnny’s pajama bottoms, slid them down, and cupped his ass, squeezing gently.

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 32 Johnny hissed in breath when Sloane’s fingers found his pulsing hole and rubbed slowly, making him shoot his hips up, grinding into Sloane’s hard cock. “If I do this,” Sloane said, his lips against Johnny’s, “I won’t let you leave. You’ll be mine.” In dark freight cars rolling across the country, lonely and scared, Johnny had dreamed of a man like Sloane, a man who could keep him safe. Looking out on the night lands rolling by, it hadn’t occurred to Johnny what kind of man he was dreaming of, that it would have to be a man with a wide, dark streak through his heart—a man like Sloane. “I know,” Johnny whispered. Sloane kissed down Johnny’s flat, quivering belly, stopped when he got to his hard cock, and rolled off the bed. He slid his pants down and drew Johnny to him with a crooked finger. Lightning flashed and threw Sloane’s shadow up on the wall, a jagged outline of a man with muscled legs spread, hands hanging at his sides. Johnny lay crosswise on the bed, his feet touching the wall, his head hanging over the edge of the mattress. He looked up at Sloane, who hesitated, but Johnny got impatient and licked the slick cock head hanging inches from his lips. Groaning, Sloane slid his cock into Johnny’s throat in one deep stroke. Moaning, Johnny reached up to caress Sloane’s heavy balls, letting him stroke into his throat again and again.

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 33 Johnny couldn’t get enough of Sloane in his throat. He loved feeling himself stuffed full of Sloane’s hard cock. Sloane moaned and pulled out of Johnny’s mouth. “Spin around,” he said. “Put your feet on the edge.” Johnny turned so his open legs were facing Sloane, eyes on the muscled body standing over him. Sloane took Johnny by the ankles and lifted his legs. When Sloane pressed his cock to Johnny’s ass, Johnny bit his lips at the feel of the thick cock head sliding into him. He winced at the pain, but Sloane bent over him and kissed him, flicking his nipples. “God, you’re tight,” Sloane said, inching slowly into Johnny. Resting Johnny’s feet on his shoulders, Sloane brought both Johnny’s hands up over his head and held them there while he slid into his ass. Johnny tossed his head slowly side to side, feeling Sloane filling him, pressing deeper into him. He was thick and hard and pulsing and when lightning flared through the windows and thunder rolled overhead, Johnny didn’t care. All he wanted was more of Sloane, more of him filling him, taking him. Sloane smiled and stroked into Johnny, slow at first, then faster. As his strokes picked up, the storm raged harder across the skies. Lightning flashed and glittered against the glass. Shadows jittered over them as Sloane claimed Johnny’s ass for his own. Johnny had seen a lot, been forced to do things he wanted to forget, but Sloane was different. He wanted Sloane to take him, wanted to give him all he’d never given to any man.

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 34 Sloane seemed to sense that and bent over Johnny, stroking harder, deeper. “Go on,” he said. “Come for me. Let me feel your ass come around my cock.” Johnny pumped his hips up and down, taking Sloane deep, moaning. With his arms pinned over his head, he rubbed his cock against Sloane’s hard belly and groaned at the delicious friction against his hot flesh. He arched his back, exploding hot come onto both of them. Sloane grunted, pinned Johnny harder to the bed, and pumped into him mercilessly, his hips driving his thick cock deep. He clenched his teeth, threw his head back, jammed his fat cock deep into Johnny, and came in a single savage thrust. Johnny’s cry of pleasure and pain was drowned in a clap of thunder that seemed to split the sky and pour jagged lightning through the night. Sloane pulled out of Johnny and collapsed next to him across the bed. He pulled Johnny into his arms, and Johnny lay against his strong chest, listening to Sloane’s heart pound like a racing engine. Johnny threw one of his legs over Sloane’s, nestled closer to him, and said quietly, “I know this is real. I wouldn’t dream about thunder and lightning.” He kissed Sloane’s shoulder, caressed his smooth chest, and licked at his nipple, until Sloane pressed his head down, fingers stroking through his hair. “Your rail riding days are over, Johnny.”

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 35 EVEN as he said, it, Sloane knew what he really meant was Don’t try to leave. Don’t make me hurt you. He didn’t want to think it, but he did. After he came inside Johnny, Sloane knew his life was over. Whatever he’d thought he knew, it was all gone, and he was starting over. Sloane moved so they were lying the right way on the bed. He kept Johnny in his arms, felt his breathing slow down, and thought about how many times he’d watched until a man breathed out for the last time. That was how it worked. Every man had a day when he breathed out and didn’t get to breathe in anymore. Sloane had seen it enough times to know. His thoughts drifted to Nick. Except for specials like Donnelly, Nick left the blood work to Sloane, because to Nick, dead was dead. He didn’t care how a man got there. He was good about letting Sloane do what he wanted when it came to his work. His brother only cared about one thing: loose threads. Lying next to Sloane was the loosest thread since that whole Garden of Eden thing unraveled. Sloane couldn’t keep Johnny hidden forever, but he couldn’t send him away either. When he let go his last breath, he wanted to do it knowing he’d done at least one good thing in his life. Sloane ran his fingers through Johnny’s hair. He didn’t know what was happening, or why he hadn’t taken what he wanted from Stephen instead of Johnny. None of what was happening to him made sense. He wrapped his arm around Johnny’s thin body, kissed the top of his head, and closed his eyes.

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 36 Thunder rolled through Sloane’s dreams. Except it wasn’t thunder. It was a train, riding under a dark sky, and ahead nothing, just night.

SLOANE came awake the way he always did. Between one heartbeat and the next, he was fully awake, eyes open, fully alert. He heard his brother come in. No one else would have the guts to walk into his place. He let go of Johnny, pulled on pants, and went out into the living room, shutting the door behind him. “What are you doing here?” Sloane said. Nick leaned against the wall next to the door, playing it cool. “I used to think you were smart.” He glanced at the bedroom door. “How could you be so dumb?” Sloane rubbed his eyes, pretending he was sleepy, but he watched every move his brother made. “I found out who he is. What are you doing bringing Donnelly’s boy here?” Nick’s act about being cool broke down completely. He stalked across the room and slapped his brother’s face. “Are you fucking crazy? You trying to get yourself dead over a pretty face?” The slap didn’t hurt, but Sloane rubbed his jaw, buying time to think. “He wants to stay with me.” “He wants? Get rid of him, little brother.” “No.”

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 37 Nick went on as if Sloane had stayed silent. “A tall building, a deep grave, under a fucking church. I don’t care. Take him some place, do what you want to him. But make sure he doesn’t come back.” Sloane knew his brother wouldn’t let him go to death row over this. Nick would kill Johnny first. “All right,” Sloane said. “I’ll take care of it.” Nick left and slammed the door behind him. Sloane sank onto the couch, head in his hands, staring at the floor. About an hour later, he was on his feet, and he’d settled his face into a dark, neutral mask, the face he wore when he had a job to do. He went down into the empty speakeasy, pulled out a floor board no one knew about, took out the wooden box hidden in there, and stuffed his pants pockets. Then he went upstairs. In the bedroom, he shook Johnny awake. “Get up,” Sloane said. “We’re going out.” Without a word, Johnny slipped from the sheets and dressed fast, his eyes on Sloane. “Something wrong?” “My brother found out who you are.” Sloane turned to Johnny and took him by the shoulders. He was trembling, and breathing so hard, his breath came out in soft little sounds. “I get a cut for every job I do. I have a stash.” He bent over so Johnny could see his eyes. “It’s almost morning. When’s the first freight train out of the city?” “Which way?” Johnny asked. “Doesn’t matter,” Sloane said.

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 38

GETTING out of 39 was easy. For a man like Sloane, walking the city streets at night with enough money on him to start a new country was even easier. They walked ’til they were just outside the train yard, where Johnny said it was a good spot to run and jump. Johnny talked him through jumping on the boxcar, and then they settled down and waited. When the freight line rolled out of the city, Johnny and Sloane were inside wide doors, watching streets and bridges slip by. Sloane pulled Johnny into a corner, settled him between his legs, and they jostled to the rolling iron under them. They got off in Massachusetts, where Sloane found a farmer who needed cash more than he needed a house and land. Sloane got tanned from working outside, fixing up farmer’s places. Johnny V got muscles that Sloane teased him about in their long, candlelit nights. Neither of them minded living so far outside a city that there weren’t electric lines. There weren’t any phones either. That made it easy for a man and his nephew to live a quiet life. When winter came, Johnny was in school. In front of the fire, with snow blowing hard against the window, Sloane taught him to read the papers. By the time Johnny learned how to read little kid books, Sloane had stopped checking the horizon every night for headlights coming down the narrow dirt road that led to the farm. By summer, when Johnny could read dime magazines,

Johnny V and the Razor | Ryssa Edwards 39 Sloane only checked every other night. By the time he and Johnny were sitting by the radio, hunched over, listening to Babe hit his sixtieth home run, Sloane had made himself forget about his brother, forget about the lights that might come down the road through the dark. By then he’d told himself a man could live and forget, because the past was so far down the track, it would never catch up.

About the Author

RYSSA EDWARDS is a writer of paranormal romance. Her day job just outside Dallas supports her writing habit. She can be found in local malls, camping out at the food court, with notebooks, papers, and scribbled notes spread all over one of those nice big round tables. So if you live near Dallas, and you see a lady at the food court in your local mall scribbling away, come on over and say hi.

Copyright

Johnny V and the Razor ©Copyright Ryssa Edwards, 2011 Published by Dreamspinner Press 382 NE 191st Street #88329 Miami, FL 33179-3899 USA http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/ This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. Cover Art by Anne Cain [email protected] Cover Design by Mara McKennen This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 382 NE 191st Street #88329 Miami, FL 33179-3899 USA http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/ Released in the United States of America November 2011 eBook Edition eBook ISBN: 978-1-61372-212-1