Page 57 of Working for the Mob

“What’s the passcode?” the voice asked again.

“I don’t know the passcode,” I said.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” the voice said, and the slat snapped shut.

Lucy and I exchanged a confused look, but Henry was smirking. He was clearly enjoying himself.

He knocked again and the slat opened for him.

“What’s the passcode?” the same voice asked.

“Glacier,” Henry said confidently.

After a couple scrapes and thuds, the door of the speakeasy opened to a raucous roar. The whole town must have been cramped into this tiny basement.

The owners really put a lot of work to make the place feel more like a bar than a dungeon. Rows of christmas lights hung from the pipes overhead, providing mood lighting. All the men wore suits and the women wore extravagant flapper dresses. It was the rowdiest I had ever seen the citizens of East Lannington.

A red-faced Jamie greeted us at the threshold. He looked like most kids on their birthdays.

“Welcome!” he said, and gave all three of us a hug. “Come in and get in the warmth.”

After we gave our jackets to the doorman, Henry disappeared to grab us drinks.

Jamie gave Lucy and I an appraising look. “And look at you two. Someone’s been shopping.”

Lucy had radiated excitement since the delivery. After seeing my attire, she changed an additional three times before settling on a bucket hat and an off-white dress that cut off just under the knees.

I wore the same red dress I picked out earlier.

“Happy Birthday, Jamie,” Lucy said. She held up her plate. “I brought some scones. I hope they didn’t get too cold on the ride over.”

“They look delicious,” Jamie said, and grabbed the plate. He took a bite out of one of them and a good-natured woman smacked his arm.

“Where are your manners?” she scolded in a country drawl.

The plump lady’s rosy cheeks accentuated a contagious smile. Her curly blonde hair fell to her shoulders above her attractive curves.

Jamie tried to look abashed, but it was ruined by his wide grin. “It’s my birthday,” he said, with his mouth full.

“You must be Lucy and Genevieve. Jamie talks about you more than he does the Phillies,” she said, and I finally placed her. This was the lady from Jamie’s picture at the Phillies game. “I’m Cecilia, but you can call me Cissy.”

I went to shake her hand, but she brought me into a bear hug.

“I’m sure we’re going to be great friends, Cissy,” Lucy said, and hugged the two of us at once.

After meeting Cissy, Jamie brought us around the speakeasy to introduce us to all his friends. I felt like a prize horse he wanted to show off.

I recognized most people from around town, but it was good to finally meet them outside of work.

One jarring detail was that everyone had drinks in their hands. I had never been somewhere with alcohol before. It had been outlawed since 1919, and my parents never took me anywhere like this.

“And I believe you two already know Mrs. Jenkins?” Jamie asked.

Mrs. Jenkins turned around in an elegant dress she could’ve worn to dinner with the Queen. “Good party, Jamie. I’m glad you splurged on the booze,” she said, and Jamie nodded happily. He pushed a scone on her.

“Mrs. Jenkins, did you make this yourself?” I asked her, referring to the dress.

“I make all my dresses,” she said, and puffed herself up. “I see you finally found one that accentuates your figure, instead of hiding it beneath wool blankets. You look stunning.”

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