Page 5 of Working for the Mob

However, there were glaring differences.

Genevieve looked like she just rolled out of bed and headed to the train station. Her hair, the color of a dark bay, was pulled back in a bun because she obviously didn’t want to deal with it.

Cute smile. Her porcelain skin contrasted with the summer tans most of the farmers in East Lannington still had. Full lips, that I wanted to bite down on. But I was more pulled to her crystal-blue eyes that reminded me of Lake George, so clear you could see all the way to the bottom.

She didn’t have the rough-around-the-edges look every woman in East Lannington had earned. No, this woman dressed like she was from a well-to-do family. Her practical skirt, hiked up enough to reveal her fit ankles, and a simple sweater over a white blouse were both fancier than most of the outfits I see at church on Sunday.

She wore a winter overcoat, even though it was supposed to get into the sixties today.

She was the type of woman who wanted a man they could take home to their parents, drag to book clubs, and help raise a bunch of kids.

That wasn’t me. I didn’t do parents. Or kids.

One thing she had in common with her sister: she was in town for less than an hour and she already had a poor sucker running errands for her.

I checked behind me to make sure the girls were still there. Fortunately, they were hustling behind me into the train station. We reached the window of the clerk as the whistle gave another warning signal––the shiny gray train, with a car visible through the open doors at the far side of the lobby, would leave within seconds. A voice called out from the platform, “All aboard!” and the sound of the train’s engine grew louder.

“Hello sir, we’ve got a question for you,” I said, with the ladies close enough behind me to hear.

“Would you like to buy a ticket?” the man behind the window asked. I could tell he was one of those odious morning people.Healready had his coffee this morning, and mine was still in my hand.

The man reminded me of a cheerful undertaker, with a long face and chin, on top of a slight hunchback.

“No, we don’t want a ticket,” I said. “Listen, did a man buy a ticket earlier? He had a patched coat and a newsboy hat.”

“And a blonde mustache,” Genevieve added from behind me.

The undertaker stroked his long chin with spidery fingers and looked off to the side. “We had a lot of people on this last train. A lot of people.”

The whistle blew again, to remind the three of us how little time we had left. I took another deep breath to prevent myself overreacting.

Fuck it. I slammed my fist onto the counter in front of us and shouted at the poor guy. “He got here earlier. In a rush.”

The startled cashier jumped an inch and shook his head, hopefully to get rid of all the cobwebs. “Oh yes. Young fellow. Just like you said, with a patched coat, blonde mustache, and crooked nose. He was more impolite than you’re being now, but as giddy as a horse.”

That must be him.

“He bought a ticket?” Genevieve demanded, and pointed to the platform. “Is he on this train?”

The man pressed his face against the glass barrier and gave a nod. “Yep. Just the one. Headed to New York City.”

At the end of his sentence, the train began to move and Genevieve gave a short shriek. She ran as fast as her skirt allowed her, through the double doors and onto the wooden platform outside. I had no idea what she would do once she caught up to the train.

“Stop that train!” Lucy yelled, and clomped after her.

“Hey! You both need to buy a ticket!” the cashier yelled at them.

I knew that we were too late, but I didn’t want to be seen doing nothing at the ticket booth. With the cashier’s shouts behind me, I took off after them and ran alongside the departing train, peeking through the windows for the drifter from the café.

I overtook the two ladies and ran alongside the locomotive. I only had time to glimpse a family of four, an old lady in more rings and necklaces than I had ever seen, and a business man in a suit similar to my own, before the train rattled past me.

I stopped at the end of the platform, out of breath and sweating, and waited for Lucy and Genevieve to catch up.

“Why didn’t you stop it?” Genevieve asked me, as she came into view. She looked as winded as I was.

“What did you want me to do? Hop on the train and demand that the conductor slam on his breaks?” I asked her.

Genevieve let out a frustrated shriek and stomped her foot like a child. She knew I was right, but that wasn’t making her day any better. She bit down on her lips and turned away.

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