Prohibition is the law of the land, but Nellie needs cash - after socking a gangster in the face, she's got ten days to make it right. Frightened and caught empty-handed, Nellie turns bootlegger.
She accepts a job from her sly friend Lola to pick up...
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FRIDAY, MAY 15 1925
I tried my hardest to wiggle out of the dinner but my father insisted that I be there. Captain Cunningham agreed to shuffling my shifts around so I could attend the function, though I was embarrassed to even ask the favor. Mother, Father and I share a cab on the way to the Jansen's place; they've been friends of theirs for ages.
It's a forty-minute ride to the South Side. The Jansen family lives in a fashionable neighborhood and their brownstone leaks grandeur. Mother grabs my arm before I leave the taxi, giving me one last once-over as she does.
"Please remember your manners," she says.
I nod. It's not as if I make big plans ahead of time to be rude. Behind those four words of Mother's is the simple fact: we are lucky to have friends such as this after Frankie's scandal. When Mother releases my arm we both hurry to catch up with my father, who is halfway along the walkway. Mrs. Jansen, chestnut hair polished and gleaming, greets us warmly; her daughter, Trudy, hovers behind her. Trudy is probably one of the reasons why we're here tonight, and it's not her fault. I smile at her a bit. Mr. Jansen invites us into the parlor, nothing more than a booming voice at first. Once we're seated, they offer us some wine. Mother politely refuses, her smile strained. Father takes a glass, and so do I. Mother's eyes bore into mine; I resist the urge to remind her that it isn't illegal to drink in one's own home, but she's always been a Teetotaler.
Trudy sits in a plush, upholstered chair next to mine. She's got her dainty fingers wrapped around the neck of her own glass, though there's not much liquid at all inside.
"Is it true?"
"Is what true?" I reply, sipping at my wine.
"That you're working for the police."
"Yes," I say. Trudy tucks some of her hair back behind her ear. I wonder if her haircut caused some strife with Mrs. Jansen. It's a severe, angled bob that just barely brushes the bottom of her ears.
"How exciting! I couldn't believe it when Mother told me; I thought, 'Surely not Lester!'"
I manage a small smile. Trudy leans closer, her eyes darting to both sides for effect. "My friends and I, we've been thinking—how exciting it would be to get caught up in a raid!"
My smile turns into a grimace. Trudy's blue eyes—nearly the color of the hyacinths Mother had planted in little pots in front of our door—are begging for me to let her in on some sort of secret. To agree with her that it would be a proper adventure. My tongue ties itself up.
"Andrew—do you know Andrew? He's always getting into something or another; and he said it's no big deal, really—but boy would I like to see it myself!"
"Raids are dangerous," I say, finally, "And getting arrested certainly isn't fun."
Trudy blinks, then purses her lips like she doesn't believe me. But then again, if Trudy did get arrested during a raid maybe it wouldn't be so bad for her after all; she's got her father's name and his money, and that goes far these days.
