Page 8 of Working for the Mob

I refused to take his helping hand on the way out. Lucy accepted his offer with a smile.

He helped a door open for us and allowed us both to go inside. I only followed him because of the promise of coffee. And my nose told me we were close.

“Are we even allowed in here?” I asked, and entered the backroom of a restaurant. Bottles lined the walls, along with a dirty mop, and a sink with stacks of dishes piled inside of it.

“We’re definitely not allowed back here,” I said.

“Will you stop complaining?” Art asked. I imagined him working his jaw.

Lucy tailed him so I shook my head and followed him through a swinging door

The door led to the buzz of a café with the glorious fragrance of coffee.

“Find a table,” Art said. “I’ll bring the coffees over.”

The coffee shop was lined with Phillies paraphernalia, including hats, photos of the stadium, and several signed baseballs. Although I’d rather visit the dentist than sit through a baseball game, I didn’t care. This café could be lined with baseballs and I’d still worship it as long as they supplied coffee. A register stood at the back of the café, where we walked in, and a display case lined the right of the shop.

People packed the café, sitting in wooden chairs at wooden tables. I found a table to the side of the restaurant, and dragged Lucy with me.

We sat in silence. It had been a long morning and it wasn’t even eleven a.m.

I don’t know what I’d do if they weren’t able to catch the drifter in Turnersville. I’d be out my life’s savings. It had taken me years to save up that much cash and just as much time to build up the courage to leave my mom and dad’s.

I didn’t even have the money to buy a train ticket back home to see my parents––if I ever wanted to see them again.

“I heard you ladies were having a bit of a rough morning,” a friendly voice said, and I looked up to the most beautiful sight: two cups of steaming coffee, accompanied by a pitcher of cream and a bowl of sugar.

The tray carrier was a stocky man, bald, with a thick neck and a clean-shaven chin.

“Sir, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me,” I said, and had to stop myself from snatching the tray out of his hands. “Would you mind if I put you up for sainthood?”

He chuckled. “I think I need to do a little more than brew a pot of coffee for that. I’m Jamie.”

I introduced myself. He seemed to know Lucy’s name already.

I needed to pay and reflexively reached for my clutch, and remembered it wasn’t there. “Lucy, can you spot me some change?”

“Don’t worry,” the man said. “The boss said it was on the house.”

“The boss?”

“Art,” the man said, and pointed behind him. Art stood behind the counter on the phone. “He owns the place.”

So Sex Suit owned the café? Interesting. I tried not to let my lip curl too much at the sight of him, but Jamie still caught me.

“Oh, don’t look at him like that. He’s a little rough around the edges, but he’s still a good guy.”

“He picked me up and moved me out of line for coffee this morning,” I said, matter-of-factly.

Jamie just chucked again. “Maybe he’sveryrough around the edges. I’m closing up to prep for lunch, but you two ladies sit here for as long as you need to.”

“Jamie, you’re the only good thing to happen to me in Lannington,” I said.

He just smiled and closed the shop. That left the three of us and Art, who still talked on the phone behind the counter.

If I wasn’t so worried about my life’s savings, it would’ve been peaceful. Pleasant. Instead, Lucy and I sat there, wrapped in our thoughts.

We both looked up at the rapping on the door.

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