Persephone

Chapter 5

The bell above the door rang as I entered. The door was heavy, and I could barely keep it from slipping from my fingers without the wood catching on a nail and breaking it.

The receptionist, a Negro woman with pointed glasses, looked up from her books.

"What're you here for, hon'?" She asked with a Southern drawl.

I pulled out the card Mr. Russo had given to me, saying, "Mr. Russo had come into my shop a month ago. He said he wanted to work a partnership between our businesses."

The woman stood and leaned over the desk to take the card. She flipped it around to see the front as she sat.

"Have a seat. Mr. Russo is in a meeting, and will be out shortly." She told me.

I nodded before turning to the waiting area. Two Negro women sat glaring at me while a white man sobbed into a handkerchief.

I took a deep breath in before sitting as far from the strange group as I could.

A clock ticked the time away, but it was hidden behind the receptionist's head.

After a few minutes of quiet ticking, the women began to talk.

"As I was saying. That fire last night was pretty terrible. Killed half a dozen men, three in the Blues Gang and others in the Ricci Family. I heard from my cousin that they're looking for the one responsible." One of the women whispered to the other.

"Hmm," the other murmured before saying, "It happened so late that I don't think there'd be any witnesses in that area of Harlem."

"But how can all of those boys die in a three story building? At least half of them should have been able to escape."

"Unless the door was locked, so those boys practically melted in that brick house."

"My, how terrifying to imagine that someone so sick as to lock men inside a burning building is still walking around."

I pulled my hands further towards my stomach, hiding them in the fabric of my blouse.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Russo. Truly, it was! I will have the money back to you by the end of the month with the interest!" A man exclaimed as he left one of the rooms behind the desk.

"I will give you an extra week to return the money to me, without the inclusion of interest for that week, but you must return me my money or..." Mr. Russo's voice was a warm purr, and I saw his hand come up to shake the other man's.

"Oh, yes, certainly, Mr. Russo, certainly," the man squeaked, shaking his benefactor's hand fervently.

"Poor fool," one of the women murmured to the other.

I watched as the man left, a heavy-looking suitcase in his hands.

In this side of town, it would be a wonder if he made it out alive with that conspicuous bag.

"Mr. Russo, a woman is here to see you. She brought this card with her," the receptionist drawled, handing Mr. Russo the card.

His back was to me, but he was still rather handsome. Broad shoulders in a nicely padded brown suit. His dark hair was slicked back with pomade and shined in the afternoon light as he spoke to his receptionist, "Thank you, Madam Wilson. I was beginning to lose hope on that side of business."

I narrowed my eyes at him as I began to understand that his approach to my shop wasn't a coincidence. This man was a businessman through and through, and now I knew that appealing through his emotions was not going to work in getting the funding we need.