Page 124 of Working for the Mob

The question floored me. I sat in front of him, tied to a chair. I’d been better.

“Hello, Barney. How are you?” I asked, in a nasally voice.

“Ms. Casey?” Lucy whispered, but I pushed my chair against hers to shut her up.

“Follow my lead,” I said out of the corner of my mouth. Either Barney didn’t hear or he wasn’t paying attention.

“I’ve been doing just fine. Larry told me that we had a couple captives up here, and I know he’s not always the best host, so I wanted to make sure you were both taken care of.” He held out the plate of biscuits. The purpose of the bucket suddenly hit me with a jolt.

I hoped his “taken care of” had a different meaning than most people associated with gangsters.

“That’s … ACHOO!” I sniffled. “I’m sorry. That’s very nice of you Barney.”

Barney’s face flashed a deep shade of red, visible even in the dim light. “Well, I try, Ms. Casey. I try. And who is this?”

“This is my sister, Lilly,” I said.

“How do you do, Lilly?” Barney asked, as though we were at a cocktail party instead of a makeshift prison.

“ACHOO!”

“I’m fine,” Lucy said, in a strained voice. She was having more trouble than I was being civil.

“It’s just a pleasure to meet you,” he said, beaming.

“ACHOO!” I sneezed again. “Say, Barney. You don’t happen to have any cats around here. Do you?”

I sneezed again, and attempted to wipe my nose on my shoulder’s sleeve.

“Oh yes, we do. Quite a few of them, actually. They’re good at keeping the rats away. Can’t have rats in a corn warehouse. My favorite’s Mr. Thimblepaws. He’s somewhere around here. You’ll know him when you see him. He’s a white cat with little gray paws.”

Now is as good of a time as ever.

“Barney, I’m deadly allergic to cats. When I’m around them, my throat, it …” I stopped and gagged. I bulged my eyes and contorted my face.

“Are you alright, Ms. Casey?” Barney asked, as calm as if he asked how my day was going.

I continued to gag, but Barney only looked at me, unconcerned. “Ms. Casey?”

I drove my chair into Lucy’s to get her to help.

“What?” she asked, agitated. Then she caught on. “Oh. Quickly! Untie her! Her throat closes up around cats. She's got to be able to breathe.”

“Untie her?” he asked, and scratched the back of his head as I convulsed against my bonds. “What for?”

“To help her breathe! Do it now!” Lucy yelled, her voice close to hysterics. I hoped that no one else was close enough to the room to hear the commotion, but I couldn’t tell Lucy to keep her voice down

“Oh.”

Barney pulled my chair out as though it were as light as a pillow, and worked at the ropes that tied my wrists together.

“Please be alright, Gen–er, Ms. Casey. Promise me she’ll be alright,” Lucy pleaded.

My throat really hurt from all the fake gagging noises I was making.

“I’m trying. I’m trying,” Barney said, and yanked at the cords.

When the ropes were almost loose, I pretended to pass out in the chair and held my breath.

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