Page 56 of Working for the Mob

“I mean, I didn’t drive a Packard before I met Art. No, he caught me at my lowest point.”

“He has a habit of doing that to people,” I said, and Henry just chuckled.

“You just need a change of perspective,” he said.

“And what changedyourperspective?”

Henry didn’t answer immediately. He shot a glance at Lucy and shuffled his hands on the wheel before responding. “I, uh … Listen, growing up, we didn’t always have the most money. My dad worked twelve hours a day at the Necci factory just to put food on the table while my mom took care of my siblings.

“But when I was sixteen, he broke his leg, and the money suddenly stopped. It was on me to provide for my three brothers and two sisters.

“I did what I could for a while. I worked four jobs, served everyone oatmeal for three meals a day, and I tried to get my fourteen-year-old brother to work wherever I went. But whatever I did, the money just wasn’t enough. And my family was hurting for food.

“So, I went down to the factory one night, and I stole over three hundred dollars of parts,” Henry said.

I tried my best to hide my gasp. I knew what it was like to be stolen from. Although Art probably didn’t save his entire life for three hundred dollars, it was a lot of money.

“A security guard caught me before I even made it to the road. He called the police, who held me until Art got there.”

It was Lucy’s turn to gasp, and she put her hand around Henry’s shoulders while he drove.

“There I was, in handcuffs, in the parking lot, with Art, Officer Brighton, and some security guard. And Art looks at me and says, ‘What the hell are you going to do with three-hundred dollars of semiconductors?’

“I wasn’t sure why he wanted to know, but I had nothing to lose. So, I told him, ‘My dad got hurt working atyourfactory, and I need to sell the parts to feed my family.’

“Art gave me the death glare for a full twenty seconds––I’m sure you know which glare I’m talking about––and then offers me a job, and gives me a two-week salary on the spot. I was floored. And the security guard was pissed.” Henry grinned at the recollection.

“I suddenly had more than enough money to feed my family. And I’ve been working for him ever since.”

The roar of the engine cut through our silence while no one said a thing. Lucy stared at Henry like she would stare at a wounded veteran––she’s really falling for this guy.

I didn’t know what to think. Had Art really been that understanding and forgiven someone who stole from him? It didn’t seem like the Art I knew. He only put up with me for the cheap labor.

Henry pulled into the gravel parking lot behind the shops on Main St. He turned around to turn his gaze on me for the first time tonight.

“Whether you deserve one or not, Art believes in second chances.”

The words were definitely meant for me, but I wasn’t sure why. I didn’t need Art to give me a second chance.

???

Henry escorted us to the back of what I was sure was Miss Dunham’s butcher shop.

“The speakeasy is in a butcher’s?” I asked, but Henry laughed at me.

He pulled open a set of basement cellar doors against the back of the building, and gestured for us to go down a flight of concrete steps.

It looked more like a morgue than a speakeasy, but I followed Lucy down a set of cramped steps. At the bottom of the steps was an iron door with a slat in the middle. A single exposed bulb illuminated the entryway.

“Do I knock?” I asked Henry,

Henry shrugged, but Lucy nodded.

I knocked three gongs, and a slat in the middle of the door slid open to reveal a set of bloodshot eyes.

“What’s the passcode?” a gravelly voice asked us.

“Uh …” I looked to Henry, who just shrugged again.

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