The Wrong Type: A Short Story Collection

14. My Stepdad, the Gangster - Part 1

Nobody was dumb enough to steal fifty grand from Jack Bannon.

Nobody except Mom.

I sat wringing my hands in my lap, my mind going in circles, wondering what went on in her head to steal from someone like him. Don't get me wrong, I loved my stepdad, he was everything I wanted in a father figure. He gave me money and filled me up with presents just because, calling me "doll" and "flower girl" and those other sweet nothings that made me feel so cherished I wanted to burst from happiness.

But I wasn't naive.

Mom's, "He owns a couple clubs, sweetie," was a code word for striptease clubs and casinos and a lot of illegal dealings I was to close my eyes against and play dumb, and I was just fine with that. Because none of it ever touched me, until now.

Oh, why did Mom have to go and ruin everything?

Glancing up I met one of the goon's gaze. They'd forced their way in my apartment like they owned the place and barred me from leaving. I didn't know what to think about Mr Bannon setting his men on me, but I knew it didn't mean anything good.

"Is Mr Bannon coming?" I asked.

The man glanced at me, his lip curling slightly before going back to staring out the window, ignoring me.

It could've been an hour, or maybe only a couple minutes when I heard Mr Bannon's gritty voice in the hall, making my heart fill with dread, every bite of his word making me tense up.

"I only asked for one of you to come," Mr Bannon was saying.

"We wanted to make sure —"

"Make sure what? You're telling me you alone can't hold down a five foot nothing girl?"

No answer. After another barrage of my stepdad cursing I glanced up to see him enter through the lounge. Hard black eyes narrowed from under a heavy brow, landing on me sitting by the dining table.

"Flora Flower," he sang, his surly expression transforming, his voice turning gentle. "How are you, sweetheart?"

I still remembered how terrified I'd been the first time I saw him, a six foot and a half giant standing outside his house in the middle of a mild snow storm, his brocade robe flapping in the wind, hard eyes squinting through the mist. But appearances can be deceiving. I knew he had it in him to be merciful.

Jumping out of my chair I ran to him. He caught me up in a bear hug, planting a rough kiss on the side of my face, his stubble pricking me.

"Mr Bannon?"

"Hmm?"

"Please don't hurt Mom."

Sighing, he let me go, scrubbing his face with one hand. "Listen, doll, it ain't just me. Letting somebody who stole fifty grand go scot-free makes me look a fool."

He didn't meet my gaze as he said it and I knew he meant it. He took one of the empty seats by the table, knuckles tapping on the table top, gold signet ring on his pinkie glinting.

Standing alone in center of the kitchen I hugged myself.

For the first time since Mom left I started to feel abandoned. Sure, she chose to leave me as soon as I turned legal, but I thought I still had my stepdad. But I think I was losing him too. Why else would he come here? Why else would he send those men to the apartment except to tell me to leave? He paid the rent, he paid for everything.

Feeling my face buckle I turned and ran out, hiding away in my room, out of sight. The horrible thing was, my tears weren't just for Mom. Everything we had we owed to my stepdad. Without him we'd still be living in the shack in Detroit, pouring watered down milk on my cereal. Just the thought of going back to that way of life made my eyes well up with fresh tears.