Page 28 of Working for the Mob

She had the door open, when I stood up.

“Just a couple of quick stops, right?”

Genevieve lit up like a lightbulb. “Do you know where the Brightons live?”

???

After stopping at the supermarket, I found myself in the car with Genevieve, who had a bouquet of flowers in her hand.

“Why the hell are we here?” I asked her, and she gave me a stern look. She couldn’t have said ‘don’t ask me about it’ any clearer.

“I’ll just be a minute.”

I stayed in the car while she hurried up the sidewalk to the Brightons’ house and knocked on the door. Officer Brighton owned one of the nicer houses on the street, probably because of the kickbacks we paid him to ‘look the other way.’ Most of our businesses were legitimate, but it always helps to grease the wheels.

Virginia Brighton came to the door, with her arms crossed and her face pinched. For some reason, Genevieve kept the bouquet hidden behind her back.

I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Virginia’s muffled yells penetrated the car. What the hell did Genevieve do to piss this woman off?

Virginia pointed her finger at Genevieve, but Genevieve just shrugged and held out the bouquet. Virginia lowered her finger and took the flowers. She covered her eyes with her hand and shook, like she was about to sob. But all the sudden, both women were hugging. How did flowers make a woman go from a gargoyle to a teddy-bear?

The hug lasted for a good twenty seconds before Virginia shut the door, and Genevieve returned to the car.

“Are you going to tell me what the hell that was all about?” I asked her, probably in the same tone Virginia used on her.

“I was just righting a wrong,” Genevieve said, and wiped at her eye. “Can you take me home now?”

Without another word, I drove away. We sat in silence for a couple streets, until we were just a couple streets away from her house.

“Listen, I wanted to uh … say something,” I said, and parked the car on the side of the road.

“You want to do it right here, in the middle of the street?” Genevieve asked, and crossed her arms.

“Just let me speak,” I said, annoyed. I wanted to get it out, and I might lose my nerve if I lasted another second. But I needed to think of the right words first.

“Are you going to apologize?” she asked me.

“What? No. What do I have to apologize for?”

“For being a complete ass?”

“An ass? I drove you to the café before I even knew who you were. And then I found you a place to live, and I got you a job.”

“And you don’t see how some of those things are completely self-serving? You found yourself anemployee, Art. You aren’t altruistic.”

“I offered to bring you back to the train station. That wasn’t self-serving.”

“It was if the only reason you brought me there was to get rid of me,” she said, and I took a deep breath to prevent myself from snapping back.

“Well, that’s not what I wanted to say. I wanted to say that I’m not into girls like you.”

“Girls like me? And what is that supposed to mean?”

“A city-girl,” I said.

“You’re rude to me because I’m not from here?”

“I’m rude to you because every time I look at you I want to take you into my bedroom and ravage every inch of your body, while you scream my name,” I snapped. I waited for the regret to sink in. The ‘you shouldn’t have said that hammer’ to smack me over the head and make me correct myself, but it never came. I’m glad I said it. I needed to put it out there.

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