Bright and early Sunday morning, Joey Tripepi emerged from his lovely, south Boston home on 1st Street, dressed in his churchly best. He and a pair of his goons climbed into his modified, extra wide Plymouth and headed out for mass. Miriam waited for several minutes after they had turned the corner before stepping out from behind the wooden fence across the street, which had served as her hiding spot for the last twenty minutes. Naomi stayed close behind her, once again tightening the belt on her spring coat.

“Miriam, I’m not sure this is a good idea,” she said, not nearly for the first time, even as she followed her across the street.

As far as Miriam concerned, it was the only viable idea. She had spent the last several days convincing herself of that. “It’s not like we’re breaking in,” she reasoned. “I’m just going to knock on the door and see what I can learn.”

“But you told Mr. Tripepi you would meet him Tuesday.” Naomi looked up and down the sidewalk in paranoia. “If something happens to the book before then, he’ll know it was you.” She tugged on Miriam’s elbow. “Let me ask Darby if he has another copy he can give you to make the trade with.”

“I’m not asking him for anything,” Miriam replied stubbornly. “Now shh.” She hopped up the three steps to the main entrance and reached for the broad, brass knocker. 

It was louder than Miriam expected, and she startled a little and let go after only the first knock. With a deep breath to settle her nerves she wiped her sweaty palms against her pants. She was just in the middle of another knock when the door opened a crack, and stern face appeared.

“Who’s there?” asked the woman in a deep voice.

Miriam gathered herself up to her full height, which was still nowhere near the woman’s, and stuck her chin up. Her “disguise” wouldn’t have fooled Joey himself had he been home: she had dressed in a suit coat and pants, her long hair drawn up tight beneath a cap. “My name is Jordan Price,” she introduced herself, doing her best attempt at an indescribable European accent. “I’m an archivist from the university. Mr. Tripepi is expecting me.”

“Mr. Tripepi is at church,” the woman said, unimpressed.

Miriam heaved a sigh and pretended not to notice Naomi fidgeting behind her. “Oh, of course he is. Well I can’t very well come back tomorrow when classes are in session, now can I? Would you mind if I come in to wait for him?”

The woman eyed her distrustfully. Miriam stared straight back, anxiety beginning to prickle along her seams like in the club when facing down Joey himself. But she hadn’t ultimately buckled then, she reminded herself; she wasn’t about to back down to glorified bouncer. The worst that could happen was she’d be thrown out. Right? After a moment, the woman snorted. “What is it you want?”

Here goes nothing. “There’s a book in Mr. Tripepi’s collection he said deserved my attention,” Miriam said, trying to sound mostly disinterested. “I believe he was hoping I would authenticate it for him, or else, alert him of it being a forgery.”

The woman’s eyebrows rose; apparently Joey was proud enough of his stolen tome that all his subordinates had heard about it as well. After a bit more hemming and hawing, she nodded and took a step back. “You can wait inside.”

“Thank you.” Miriam touched the brim of her cap but was careful not to tip it, for fear of her curls springing free. “This is my assistant, Ms. Yale,” she said, gesturing for Naomi to follow her inside. “And you are…?”

Naomi smiled nervously and gave a tiny curtsey. The woman nodded in return and gruffly introduced herself: “I’m Abigail.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Abigail.” Miriam looked the woman up and down: she was tall and broad, like just about everyone on the Slate Street Gang, it seemed, her ashy blonde hair done up in pin curls. “I don’t suppose I could trouble you for a glass of water?”

Abigail hemmed some more, but beneath Miriam’s unfaltering stare and Naomi’s shy smile, she gave in. “Come with me.”

The place was large for a city house, with tall ceilings and lots of cozy, well-furnished rooms. Despite his brutish size and appearance, Joey “The Brick” seemed to be quite the collector of delicate trinkets: the foyer boasted several glass display cases filled with statuettes, and a glance into the dining room as they passed showed several shelves holding antique painted plates. The kitchen seemed a better fit for a gangster and his crew—a large freezer and a full knife block especially drew Miriam’s attention—but even it featured framed paintings and ceramic bobbles on every available surface. 

“Mr. Tripepi is quite a collector,” said Miriam. “More so than books.”

“The boss has very sophisticated tastes,” said Abigail, with a pride and confidence that dared Miriam to disagree. “He’s a great man.”

Naomi moved closer to one of the shelves that held a small collection of ceramic roosters. “It must take an awful lot of work to maintain so many surfaces.”

Abigail puffed up a bit as she poured Miriam the glass of water she’d requested. “I do a lot of the dusting myself.”

“Oh! Well, you do incredible work.” Naomi smiled at her sweetly. “Everything is immaculate.”

Abigail mumbled a suddenly shy “thank you” as she poured a second glass. Miriam couldn’t help but eye Naomi as she sipped from hers. Oh, I guess that’s just how she always looks when she smiles, she thought, feeling foolish for remembering when they had met for the second time at the courthouse—the warm and unusual sensation of being welcomed so gladly. An unfamiliar emotion bit at her stomach, and she coughed a little. “Yes, excellent work. I certainly hope the books are in just as fine condition.”

“Of course they are,” Abigail retorted. “I’ll show you.”

She led them back the way they had come in, and as they passed into the north half of the house, movement caught Miriam’s eye that caused her heart to skip: there was someone else. Straight back from the main entrance past the foyer was the staircase to the upper floor, and seated across from  it was another barrel-chested goon. He was reading from a newspaper and didn’t so much as glance up as they passed, but Miriam’s nerves frayed a little nonetheless. What if there were even more in the house that she didn’t know about yet?

It doesn’t matter, because we’re not here for trouble, she thought determinedly. I just want to get a peek if I can, so I know it’s worth it. 

Some of Miriam’s concerns flittered away at the first glimpse of their destination: Joe’s library. Every available wall was lined with bookshelves that stretched nearly floor to ceiling, arranged in such neat and perfect rows that Miriam may have finally experienced a pang of irritation at the state of her own small, cluttered room. With a fireplace against the far wall and a broad, gentle lighting and a plush sofa at the center, it was a perfect comfort space for any bibliophile. If this was the kind of cozy luxury offered by a life of crime, maybe it was worth considering.

“What a beautiful room,” Naomi said brightly, moving toward the sofa. “A shame, that’s it’s too warm now for a fire.”

“It’s Mr. Tripepi’s favorite room,” said Abigail. “You can wait here for him, if you want.”

Miriam cleared her throat. “Yes, this will do just fine.” Her eyes darted from one shelf to the next, seeking a familiar spine. “Do you happen to know if the book in question is here, so that I can get started?”

“No, I wouldn’t know,” Abigail replied a bit too quickly. “You’ll have to wait for Mr. Tripepi.”

“Happily.” Miriam flashed her a smile, even known she couldn’t match Naomi for charm. “We’ll call if we need anything.”

Abigail frowned, but she nodded. “Do that,” she said, and as she left she made certain to open the library door all the way. “Just keep this open.”

“Of course! How else would you hear us, if we call?” Miriam then took another sip from her glass and moved closer to the nearest shelf to begin investigating. Grumbling, Abigail returned to the foyer.

Naomi set her glass down on one of the end tables and moved up close against Miriam’s side. “I think we should go,” she whispered. “This is dangerous, Miriam—what if he comes back?”

“He’ll at least be gone an hour,” Miriam reasoned. “We’ll be long gone before then. Now help me look—it might be in here somewhere.”

“It’s not. It’s above us.” When Miriam turned to stare at her in surprise, she sputtered over an explanation. “When we scryed before coming here, I saw...I think it’s in the study, upstairs.”

“Blast. We’d have to find a way past that other guard, then.”  Miriam took another sip as she leaned back to see if Abigail was close by; she stood in the hall opposite the dining room, inspecting a row of fine china ornaments. “Maybe I’ll go ask him where the bathroom is. If he takes me upstairs there might be a chance…”

“I could...make a distraction?” Naomi suggested, fingering the cuffs on her jacket. “If I made a ruckus in the kitchen…”

Miriam straightened up, unsure if she was more touched by the gesture or concerned for her safety. “You’re the one worried about the danger. I don’t want you to put yourself in trouble for me.”

 Naomi shook her head. “I’ll be careful,” she promised, taking Miriam’s glass from her. “Go first, and if you can’t slip upstairs, I’ll figure something out.”

“Okay…” Miriam nodded, determined to extend her trust to her new friend. “Don’t go too far. We can always just leave.”

“I know—I won’t.” Naomi smiled at her. “Good luck.”

Miriam felt her cheeks go hot, and before she could say or do anything embarrassing she thanked Naomi and headed out of the library. Even if Naomi did smile like that at everyone, it still felt pretty good to be on the receiving end.

Abigail was still occupied further down, so Miriam held her breath and snuck across the foyer as stealthily as she could manage. The second guard, absorbed in his newspaper, didn’t look up until she stood directly in front of him, but he didn’t look surprised enough to have not noticed her coming. He stared at her expectantly.

“Excuse me,” Miriam said, keeping her voice down as if embarrassed as she put a hand to her stomach. She was by no means a practiced or talented actress, but she’d learned from a young age that the best way to lie was to look the person in the face, and she was determined to do so now. “Might I borrow your bathroom?”

The man pointed toward a door under the staircase across from him. Miriam was only barely successful in keeping the disappointment out of her face; there wasn’t going to be any slipping past him, except with Naomi’s help. With a nod of thanks to the man she slipped into the bathroom.

Maybe she was right—this is a stupid idea. Miriam turned on the sink and wet her hands so she could smooth a few errant curls back under her cap. Even if I find the book, how could I get it out? No—getting it out wasn’t even the plan anyway, right? I just need a peek. She kept the water on so the guard wouldn’t suspect anything as she stared back at herself in the mirror. 

Everyone had always told her she had her father’s eyes. She met their reflection and wondered if Joey had thought the same thing, when she introduced herself to him at the club. It should have been an intimidating thought, considering what her father would have said could he see her now, but instead it filled her with an unexpected surge of courage. He had never backed down from a challenge, and certainly neither had Boston’s infamous Brick. There was no reason she couldn’t be as bold as them, and every reason why she should.

If it matters to you, you fight for it, Miriam, she told herself fiercely. Every inch of it.