Page 91 of Working for the Mob

I opened my mouth and looked to the chalk menu, where he had lowered the price of bottled soda by a cent. A tremor of fury ran down my spine.

“Dad, you can’t do that!”

“Now Genevieve, calm down. I …”

We both turned once Art entered the room. I told him we would be less conspicuous by entering apart.

“What’s going on?” Art asked, and rubbed his chin.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” I said.

“I noticed this morning that the drinks in your case weren’t moving as fast as I could. I rearranged them to display all of them, and I lowered the price of the sodas by one cent.

“We sell coffee in the morning. We sell soda in the afternoon,” Art said, with a tone of finality.

“Let’s just see how they sell, shall we?”

Chapter 27 – Art

Genevieve found refuge from her father in my office after the café closed every night. Genevieve talked her father into helping Lucy with her baking.

The setup was fine with me. I don’t do parents. Even for girls Iwasn’t dating.

She organized more of the books as I continued to hold the town in one piece. And the Friday before we were to meet the bootlegger in the city, her knock came at the door.

“Come in,” I said, expecting Genevieve. But when the door opened, it was my least favorite person.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked Lance.

I hadn’t seen him since the weekend Jamie was shot, with his shouts following me all the way to my car. I can’t say I was happy to see him.

At least his cocky grin only disfigured half his face today, like it was a pain to smile.

“I just came by to share some news,” he said, but his eyes didn’t meet mine. He stared at the side of the room. That wasn’t like Lance, he never had trouble with eye contact.

“Spit it out, and get out of here,” I said, and his eyebrows narrowed in anger.

“There’s also something else I wanted to say.”

“What?”

“Just let me say my bit,” he said, with an edge to his voice.

“Then say it, dammit!”

“I’m trying to!” His eyeballs threatened to bulge out of his head.

“Don’t shout inmyoffice!”

Lance smacked over a pile of paperwork Genevieve had spent at least an hour organizing. This escalated to a ten in just a few words. But that’s Lance for you.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Lance shouted, and he gulped mouthfuls of air like he had just taken all the stairs in the town at once. I stared at him dumbfounded. Lance had never apologized for anything in his entire life. “It’s my fault.”

“What’s your fault?”

He stared at me with a look that could turn most people to stone.

“I’m sorry for escalating this war. And I’m sorry Jamie got hurt. Happy?”

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