Rum for the Money

TWENTY - N E L L I E

"Nellie darling!"

Lola kisses me on the cheek. Behind the two of us, Felix is pulling the ten bottles from their hiding place beneath the seat of the car.

"I just knew you'd come through for me. There's a little bonus in there for you." She winks, hands over an envelope. I peek inside. Two hundred dollars. That's eighty for Felix, and the rest for me.

"There wasn't any trouble was there?"

She means with cops, or with the Feds. I shake my head.

"Swell," she says, "Just swell."

Felix is done unloading. He approaches but hangs back to the side. Eyeing him now his anger is broadcasted on any and all frequencies.

"I've got something else for you kids."

"For your wedding?" I ask. My thoughts were already in the dumps; I've remembered that cop she was paling around with, and I'm tempted to ask if he's the one.

She smiles at me, but her eyes travel around the cavernous storehouse. It's advertised as a canning facility, but there's a lot more than just canning going on.

"No," she says, "It's something on behalf of my old man."

She lets that sink in. I'm cautious, though. Michael Collins is no slouch.

"Business is booming," she says, "So we're a little overbooked and need some fresh blood. Payoff is a cool thousand."

One thousand dollars.

I could use that money to get started. I'd operate out of a cheap apartment, somewhere with a landlord who wasn't picky. Build up my business there before moving on to bigger and better things. I still had a couple handfuls of my Roy Thompsons—rich kids looking to make a few extra bucks to spend without dear old Mom and Pops finding out. I could manage.

"Where?" I ask.

"Detroit," she says.

Detroit. Now that was a hell of a trip. Twice as far as the pick-up we'd just made. But I couldn't ask Felix, not after this. And this was a trip straight to Rum Alley. Smugglers drove the booze over the Detroit River when it froze in the winter. And from Detroit—

"You'll be handling only part of the shipment," she said, "Five cases' worth."

That was a hell of a lot of booze for my car. Five cases? It wouldn't all fit in the seats. I'd have to be more creative than that—or not risk stopping.

"I'll do it for eight-hundred, if you lend me one of your cars."

I whip my head around, furious.

Felix just undercut me. I can't believe it.

Lola laughs. "What's this now? Competition?"

"Felix," I say, short, "This is my deal—"

"Oh yeah? Who drives? I don't need you, Nellie."

I flush, mad as I've ever been. "You ass—you're just—you're doing this because I hurt your feelings!"

"No," he shoots back, "I want the money. Same as you."

"Don't listen to him, Lola," I say, "He's not thinking straight."

Lola's grinning from ear to ear now. "Deal's only on for you two working together. I'd love to know the juicy details—but it isn't up for negotiation."

It stings. But she's right. How can I expect to find a driver I can trust as much as I trust Felix? Despite the childish stunt he just pulled—I can still trust him, can't I?

"You've got a week to sort out this mess between you. Why don't you enjoy yourselves until then? Relax a bit, huh?"

Easier said than done. I dole out the money I owe Felix; he stows it inside a pocket in his coat.

"You've got no business sense," I say, "She could have lowered her offer to nine hundred for both of us!"

Felix's eyes narrow to little slits. We've both stopped outside the car.

"You need me," he says, voice tight, "And I need this money. From here on out, this is a business transaction, Miss Sypek. If that's the only thing you understand—business. I drive, you sell. And when we return I get my share and you get yours and we can go our separate ways."

"Fine," I snap, "Just fine by me. You're a real keeper, aren't you? I tell you the way things have to be and you can't accept it—it all has to be on your terms. Did you ever think to ask me for some money to help your family out? Huh? Or are you too proud to ask for help from a gal?" I can't help it; the disgust is and anger is real and deep. "You're just like all the rest of the slick operators out there—playing it safe until you can't, and you get all upset when we won't play by your rules! Well! You've got another thing coming, Felix Müller!"

Felix is left holding the car door open for me. I slam it shut and head for the exit.

"Nellie!"

"I'm walking!" I call back.

I've disgusted even myself. 

I stand at the intersection, hugging my arms across my chest. This was not how this was supposed to work. I was just too tired, that was all. Too tired to see the clear way out. I should have apologized to him.

But why?

I kick at a few cigarette butts on the curb. It's going to rain, and I have no umbrella. Just my pocketbook and my rumpled clothes. Sure enough some lady gives me the stink-eye. I glare right back at her.

I cross the street. Any minute now. Felix will drive up and ask for forgiveness. Or he'll make some overture and we can make put this all behind us. Pretend like it never happened. Like he didn't just try to double-cross me in a business deal with my contact, of all people.

But I walk two blocks. Three. And there's no sign of him.

It's an awful far walk all the way back home. I just need to make it to the streetcar stop.

Somebody honks their horn directly behind me. I expect it to be some idiot in a roadster with a goofy grin but it's not—it's Lester Howard—on a motorcycle.

He pulls up along the curb. I halt. Just my luck.

"Can I help you?"

He shrugs, and fixes his cap after hopping off the bike. "I was going to ask you that very same question."

"You've been hanging around the Collins' place, haven't you," I say, "Was it them that got you that pretty new ride?"

Howard smirks at me. "Not even close."

I have to wonder. Is that the answer to the first question, or the second?

"I'm still wondering what you were doing at that party."

"Lola invited me," he says, "Just like she invited you."

I roll my eyes. "I don't have all day to stand around and chit-chat. What you do with Lola is none of my business."

He inspects his gloves. "It's not exactly like that."

"Not exactly?"

"You sure you're all right?"

I do what I've done more times than I like to admit. I smile, I nod.

And I lie.

"Just fine, Mr. Howard. I am just fine."