Prohibition is the law of the land, but Nellie needs cash - after socking a gangster in the face, she's got ten days to make it right. Frightened and caught empty-handed, Nellie turns bootlegger.
She accepts a job from her sly friend Lola to pick up...
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The walk to Felix's place takes a little longer than usual. I've given up hiding my limp but nobody pays much attention.
I feel the loss of those damned shoes and shawl more keenly. I hadn't even been able to break the damned things in properly, and I'd fallen in love with them in the shop window, to the tell the truth.
The streetcar stop isn't crowded. It's just the beginning of the evening rush. A few of the factories have already let their shifts go and the bakery behind me is closing for the night. Briefly it smells like warm bread and scones but then it's gone, replaced by cigarettes, sweat, and urine.
A motorist almost collides with the streetcar as it turns up the avenue. There's some shouting and fist-waving and then it's all over and I can finally sit.
The buildings roll by. How different they all look in the daylight! Brown, grey, and sad. But in the night—they're elegant shadows lit by a moon.
I lean my head against the window, the cool glass clearing my head. I need to get my bearings, I need to come up with a plan. If I do this job for Lola, she might give me another. Or maybe she'll be able to loan me the five hundred dollars I need to save my hide. By the time we pull up to my stop on Western Avenue I'm itching to get started.
The Müller Garage shares the block with a closed theater of dubious repute and a few offices. It's cramped and narrow; the family name isn't anywhere to be seen except on a metal sign that swings slightly in the lake breeze.
I slip inside. Until the sun sets in the west there won't be much natural light. It's much lighter upstairs in the apartment above the shop, where the Müllers live.
I tread carefully, just in case something's changed since the last time I've been. But both Felix and his uncle are creatures of habit. There's a filling pump and a rack of tires to my left. Beams across the ceiling suspend two pulleys and chains responsible for hauling a roadster halfway in the air. Opposite the tires is the long workbench—it must be an antique. From the look of things it's been through an awful lot. I walk over to it and run my hand across it. The Müllers keep their tools clean and in their place—they gleam in the lamplight. But there's no sign of my quarry.
"Felix?"
"Are you touching the tools?"
My heart gives a little start. Wells' tepid brown eyes float in my mind's eye.
"No," I say, "I know better than that."
When I turn around Felix is getting to his feet, wiping his hands on a cloth. I'm nearly coming apart at the seams, I'm so excited. Felix lifts a brow. With his sleepy blue eyes he always looks like he's just woken up from a nap.
"Good old Nellie," he says. I grin at him. Back in the old country—some remote town in Bohemia—Felix was a coal miner. A cave-in that lasted for three days was the final straw. I'd like to thank that coal mine in person someday. And now after my encounter with the head of the Juniper boys, just seeing him calms me down a little.
