Page 7 of Working for the Mob

“Geez!” he spluttered. “What was she doing with eight-hundred dollars?”

I lowered my voice so Lucy couldn’t overheard me.

“She’s Lucy Baker’s sister,” I said, and that was all the answer George needed. Lucy had the reputation for being a bit of an airhead. “I asked the Turnersville police to give you a call once the train arrives there. Can you stay at the precinct for the call and meet us at the café, tell us the news, and take her statement?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thanks, George. See you then.” I hung up the phone.

We found Genevieve on the platform, still pacing. She had an entire boxcar length to herself; the other people waiting had shied away from her like she was diseased.

“We called the police,” I said, but she didn’t break her stride. She stomped ten paces on the wooden deck, turned around and kept going. “They should be able to catch the guy when he gets off the train at Turnersville.”

I wasn’t even sure she heard me.

“We need to go see Officer Brighton downtown. Come on, I’ll drive you,” I said.

She turned her head but didn’t break her stride. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

She marched another ten paces and turned around again.

“I’ll buy you a coffee.”

As she contemplated my words, a blood vessel almost burst in her forehead.

“Schnitzel!” she yelled, grabbed Lucy, and marched past me.

Her shoulder brushed my own, and I absentmindedly put my hand to it. I caught up with them in the station’s lobby.

“Schnitzel?” I asked her.

She barely spared me a glance.

“A lady shouldn’t cuss,” she said.

“I don’t think you’ll find that’s true in Lannington.”

Chapter 3 – Genevieve

Johnathan Wheeler no longer held the top place in my life’s worst moments. The last twenty-four hours will officially live in infamy as the ‘Worst Day of my Life.’

The car ride to the café with Lucy and Lucifer might have been the longest car ride ever. Lucifer owned a black Ford Model T. I rode shotgun while Lucy climbed into the back. On the way there, I contemplated how to put my life back together while Lucy asked Art to compare the speed of his car to a horse.

The only solace I could take is that it felt good to be doing something. Anything. I needed to be in the act of working towards getting my money back.

I stared out the window as Art drove back to town. The grass fields were replaced with buildings as we drove into town and I sat up for a better view.

I had to admit, even for Hicksville, if this town had cheeks, I’d pinch them. It was that cute.

Everything a town needed was right there on the main street. The post office, a bank, and a steepled church were right across the road from the café. Small houses lined the road past the church, bunched together like people on the subway.

I wanted a house like that. With clean air outside and a swing on the front porch. I had never had a front porch. Or a swing. Much better than the apartment I shared––or used to share––with my parents in the city.

I was envious of the people who walked along the street, enjoying their Saturday morning. This Saturday was anything but enjoyable.

Instead of parking on the street like everyone else, Art drove behind the shops and made his own parking spot in the back alley.

“Aren’t these for employees only?” I asked, but Art ignored me and rushed to open my door. “I can get it myself, thank you.”

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