Writing prompts this week courtesy of Kelley McNeil’s A Day Like This, my current read.
It was meant to be a fun night out, just me and him, a one course meal at a cheapish bistro, a glass of wine each. The most we could afford. There was a mortgage to pay and kids to clothe and feed, and money was tight in this ‘cost of living crisis’.
But we needed the time out, and with my sister on hand to babysit, we grabbed the opportunity with all four hands.
Rain fell as we approached the restaurant, and we ran the last few metres, laughing, pulling up the hoods on our coats. Not that anything could have made my hair worse, with the last visit to the hairdresser a distant memory. I would have to find the money to go soon, or my boss would stop taking me on client visits. When that happened, everyone knew doom in the shape of a backroom job was on the cards.
He pushed open the door, stood aside to usher me through. I stepped into the warmth and soft light, breathing in the scent of good food with more than a hint of roasting garlic. A waiter took our reservation, ticked us off in the book, and showed us to our table. It was when I was shrugging off my damp coat and hanging it on the back of the chair that I saw her.
Obviously, money for hairdressers and stylish clothes wasn’t a problem for her these days. She was immaculate in a deep red silk shirt open at the neck, exposing her long neck around which – I squinted – was quite a set of pearls. She was with a broad-shouldered man, who, even from the back, similarly emitted the tantalising sense of well-groomed money. An expensive bottle of champagne sat on the table between them.
Well, this was a turnup. Last time I’d seen her she’d been slopping about in jeans and tees, hair pulled back in a rough ponytail, declaring she had no idea what to do with her life. We hadn’t been close, so when she disappeared from our wider social circle, I didn’t pursue it. I had other things on my mind then, like major heartache at breaking up with my boyfriend of two years. He was off to the big city to find his fortune, and I didn’t fancy all that poisonous air and crowded tubes. He’d taken it well, poorly hiding what seemed like relief, glee even, which had hurt. I’d wondered if there was someone in the wings, chided myself for my suspicions. I’d been the one to say I didn’t want to go.
My partner was already seated, examining the menu. ‘Excuse me a sec,’ I said. ‘Seen someone I know.’
Slowly, I approached the table, making sure it was her. She glanced up, blinked, and with perfect poise, held out her hands, palms up.
‘Is it really you?’ Her smile was whiter and straighter-toothed smile than I remembered.
‘It is! And it’s really you.’ I stood there, horribly aware of my ungroomed hair, my out of fashion jeans and ancient top. ‘You’re looking terrific.’
‘Thank you.’ She didn’t return the compliment, but gestured to her partner who had glanced up at the sound of my voice.
I turned to him, waiting for the introduction.
None needed. The boyfriend. I took in his lightly tanned skin, the crisp shirt, the fancy jacket. I looked from one to the other.
Seems he had found his fortune. Seems she had found what to do with her life. When had that happened? I wonder.
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Slowly I approached the table, automatic pistol hidden from view. The last thing I wanted to do was tip off crime boss Antonio Martino that I was there to kill him.
“Guiseppe!” he greeted me with a warm smile and a massive embrace.
Gasping at the bone crushing bear hug, I extricated myself from his clutches.
“Uncle Antonio.” I returned the greeting. “How have you been?”
“Wonderful,” he replied, beaming. “But it has been too long since I last saw you. What have you been up to?”
“Not much,” I responded. “Just this and that – you know.”
I wasn’t about to tell him that a rival crime family had convinced me to assassinate my uncle in the interest of making a lot more money.
Antonio was old fashioned. Crime paid – in a big way – but only if you dealt in traditional goods such as cigarettes, alcohol, illegal gambling and other similar pursuits.
Drugs were out of the question. My uncle was not interested in flooding the streets with cocaine or heroin and adding to the already dire drug problem that plagued New York.
His rivals felt totally differently, but Antonio had subjugated other crime family with an iron fist for so long that no one was willing to move against him.
That is, until Joe Verdo arrived on the scene and started taking over other crime districts using unmitigated violence. As far as he was concerned, nothing worked better than a bullet in the head for anyone who stood in his way.
It was this very threat that had convinced me to turn against my uncle. Better him than me, I thought – given that he was already 65 and I was only 30. I still had my whole ahead of him, while most of his was over.
Tucked in my waistband, the pistol was still hidden from view and, moving my right hand slowly, I felt for the grip.
In order to obtain a better shot, I stepped back a couple of paces. In doing so, I stumbled over an adjacent table and headed backwards for the floor.
Everyone froze at the sound of the gunshot.
“Shit,” I cried in pain. “I’ve shot my bum!”
Ha ha!
I guess that’s one interpretation!
I can only presume he left her for her friend and they went gangbusters after that (LOL)!
Slowly Kathy, approached the table, as Debbie did not know she was coming, as Kathy was a surprise, for her birthday! When Debbie saw her she was so pleased!
They were at the Celtic manor, for cream tea. (I am leaving this as I felt I should help.) Thank you very good story.
That’s fine, tks