Their smiles vanished abruptly when Hogan slammed on the brakes at the top of the drive. There was a huddle of bodies outside of the front door of what Vergil was forced to call a mansion. Out in front of them one of the flappers from the club was waiting for them with a tommy-gun aimed right at Vergil’s chest through the windshield. Vergil’s first instinct was to go for his piece, but somewhere between baring his chest and bearing his soul, he had slipped his holster off so all he could do was grip the upholstery and hope Hogan had been right about how tolerant his outfit were of his proclivities. Hogan was out of the car before the engine even turned off, talking in that low growl of his to the girl who had the gun turned down to point at the gravel a second later.
Vergil started to bre
