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He shrugged me off with a grunt and a grumble. “You show me some copy, then I’ll talk to Randy for you, all right?”
“That’s a deal.” I held out my hand.
He took it and stared into my eyes.
“Be careful,” he said. “I’m serious, Mona. Mafia guys are no joke.”
“I’ll be careful,” I said.
He held my hand tight then let it go. He got to his feet with a grunt and pushed the paper back under his arm. He shoved his hands in his pockets and gave me a flat look.
“I want to see some copy by this weekend,” he said. “You hear me?”
“I’ll get on it,” I said.
He nodded and turned away without another word. He stalked off and I watched him disappear into a mob of teenage boys on skateboards laughing about something, half of them fiddling with their phones.
I turned and faced forward again before taking a small, plain white card and my cell phone from my back pocket. I held them next to each other and stared at the number printed in plain, simple black.
I typed it into the phone app and hit the call button.
The phone rang as another pack of teenage boys came skating past, or maybe it was the same pack with new additions, I couldn’t tell. I watched two small kids, maybe six or seven, throw a ball back and forth as their parents sat on benches a few feet away. I smiled a little to myself, tried to picture what it would be like to have a family in the city, tried to picture having a family at all, and fell short.
Nothing came to me. The phone kept ringing.
After a few seconds, I thought it would go to voicemail. I started to compose the message I’d leave in my head, trying to make it clever but still breezy, just really breezy and clever and cute, and maybe a little flirtatious, just enough to get him interested, so breezy and clever and cute and flirtatious, but still professional, when all of a sudden the phone clicked and a voice came through.
“What?”
I didn’t expect him to answer. I sat in silence for half a beat and stared down at the gray paved path, at a line of rocks next to my shoes.
“Hello?” he asked and sounded annoyed. “Who is this and how do you have this number?”
“Hi, yes, uh, hi, it’s me, it’s, uh, it’s Mona,” I said and I wanted to kick myself in the face. “The waitress from last night.”
That wasn’t breezy, or cute, or anything but stupid.
There was a short pause.
“Mona,” he said, and his tone changed. He sounded interested all of a sudden, and his voice dropped in pitch, sounded velvet and baritone. “I wondered when you’d call.”
“Hi,” I said again. “I guess I’m calling now.”
He laughed. “I’m glad you did. I was just wondering what I was going to do for lunch.”
“That’s perfect, because I was wondering the same thing,” I said. “How about we solve this mystery together?”
“If I didn’t know any better,” he said, “I’d guess that you were flirting with me.”
I laughed. “Not even a little. I have some professional standards.”
He chuckled and I pictured him sitting at a long, gleaming wooden table with a whiskey in one hand and a cigar in the other. I decided to make him shirtless in my fantasy, because why not.
Mobster or whatever, he was a handsome man.
“That’s right,” he said. “You’re a journalist. Just looking for a good scoop.”
“Just looking for an interesting subject,” I said.
“If we have lunch, it’s off the record,” he said. “And there may never be a record at all.”
“I won’t come armed, I promise,” I said. “So long as you don’t.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I always come armed.”
I could hear the smile in his voice and I rolled my eyes toward the branches up above me.
“Clever,” I said.
“Where are you right now?” he asked. “I’ll send a car to get you.”
“Where are we going?”
“Little spot I like. Belgian Cafe. You know it?”
“Sure,” I said. “I haven’t been in a while.”
“Good. Text me your address.” He hung up the phone without another word.
I shook my head and typed a quick text. Clark Park, across from the health center.
I hit send and felt butterflies flutter through my chest.
Maybe I was making a mistake. Tommy’s words came back through my mind, drifting through my brain.
Men like Vince were dangerous. I was getting myself into a dangerous situation, all because I wanted to get some job.
All for a story.
I took a deep breath to steady myself. That was the whole point. I’d put myself in a risky situation, into a really minor risk, all for the story. That’s how I’d prove myself, how I’d prove that I’m a real journalist.
My phone buzzed a second later.
See you in ten. Look for a black SUV.
