The irony does not escape me. I’ve served six months for serving illegal booze and running a speakeasy, and now I’m on a stool, sipping cola, at the counter in the former bar car on the train. That train is homeward bound, Madison. We are miles away from my ‘speak’, but in my head, I’m still trapped in that basement hallway, dealing with that bastard, Roy.
* * * *
It was after hours, Maddie and I were cleaning. I was in the dark hallway of the speakeasy, and I wasn’t alone. A new customer, Roy, who had been a real asshole earlier, reached around me and grabbed the doorknob.
“Come on sweetie, be nice to ol’ Roy. Ya see doll, I have something you need. All you need to do is play nice with me, and ol’ Roy here has a nice big look-away chance for you. Why don’t you show me how much you want to keep pouring beer?” Roy leaned in and ran a finger down my neck.
Christ (sorry, Father. Hail Mary, Full of Grace), he was a Fed. A prohibition agent.
I gave him a shove and spoke one word, “Vaffanculo!” (Go fuck yourself). I raised one of the bottles in my hand, prepared to smash it on Roy’s head. Instead, a large, meaty hand grabbed him by the shoulder.
“Hey, bub. You heard the lady. Staff only.” My champion spun Roy around. I peered past him and saw Art, and he looked none too pleased. Nothin’ like a large, determined football hero to ride to a girl’s rescue.
Art leaned back and popped his fist into Roy’s nose. Roy’s head snapped back, he fell against me, and then slipped to the floor, out cold.
I looked down at Roy, then up at Art. Holy cow.
“You okay, Jennie?” he asked. “I saw this asshole follow you down the hall and thought you might need a bit of help.”
I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath until I stepped over the unconscious Roy. ‘Thanks, Art. Come and let me buy you a beer.”
“You bet, let me just get my pals and we’ll drag this guy outta here.”
After they’d disposed of Roy, Art and his pals, full of bravado, came over to the bar. There was no sign of Jake.
“We left him propped up against the fence, Jennie. He won’t be bothering you anytime soon.” Art put a hand on my shoulder and looked down at me. “And if you have any more trouble, you make sure to call me first.” He was surrounded by pals who were good-looking, strong boys, but I only had eyes for Art.
“I sure will, Art. Although I don’t have one of those telephones yet, so maybe you should stick close?” I winked. Art blushed.
My heart skipped a beat when our eyes met. I could see myself falling for a guy like this pretty hard. Too bad he wasn’t Italian. Mama was old-school. She’d only be happy with a nice Italian boy for her Italian daughter.
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