Taking Care Of The Mobster

“You seem to have a prejudice against me,” I say in a light tone, holding her gaze, so she doesn’t look away from me.

She chuckles lightly and shakes her head. “No. I mean, maybe?” She lowers her eyes and fiddles with her fingers on her lap.

“What? You think I eat beautiful women like you for breakfast?” I ask with an amused snort.

A slight blush appears on her cheeks as a shy laugh escapes her. “I didn’t mean anything like that. It’s just... I thought you’d be... I don’t know, a ruffian?” Her eyes go wide, and she quickly covers her mouth with her hand. “I’m sorry,” she mutters without quite looking at me.

“But you don’t think I am now?” I ask softly. “A ruffian, I mean?”

“No,” Abby says. And this time, she holds my gaze boldly, as if willing me to see the sincerity of her words in her eyes. Then she lowers her eyes and shakes her head. “No, I don’t. The more I get to know you, the farther I am from the truth I thought I knew about you.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” I say sincerely. “For some reason, I want you to like me.”

She raises her head sharply. Her eyes are wide with surprise when they meet mine. “Me? Why?”

“Just because,” I reply with a small shrug.

She’s quiet for a while. Then clears her throat somewhat awkwardly. “I guess you aren’t bad for a boss. Except you don’t listen to me most of the time.”

“What irony,” I say with a chuckle. “I’m the boss, but I still have to listen to my employee.”

“It’s what you get for employing a nurse,” she says with a soft chuckle. “I have to order you around at all times.”

A comfortable silence falls between us.

I wasn’t sure before, but now I realize that Abby also has a subtle sense of humor that makes conversations with her easy.

“Thank you,” I say quietly after a long stretch of silence.

“What for?” Abby asks.

“For staying with me,” I reply with a self-deprecating smile. “And for singing till I fell asleep the other day. And for being there when I woke up. I had a good sleep for the first time in a very long time, and I feel much better since then.”

“It’s my job,” Abby says, lowering her eyes with that coy smile that’s beginning to grow on me.

“No, it’s not,” I insist. “So, thank you.”

This time, when she looks up at me, she seems to understand the words that I can’t get past my lips. “You’re welcome,” she says quietly.

I’m thrown to the ground by a large muscular man whose face is intangible. But his presence is strong enough not to be dismissed. He drags me in and throws me to the ground in the same fashion. The first thing that registers is the strong stench of the windowless room. Someone turns on a switch, and the entire place is flooded with light. I can almost hear the furious thudding of my heart as a clammy fear spreads rapidly across my chest. I look around, taking in the faces in the room. They are mostly familiar, revered gangsters in the hood. A sharp gasp escapes me as my gaze falls on Papi. Papi is the legend of the bloody tales we hear in the hood. His identity is as notorious as his presence is scarce. So what could Papi possibly want with me?

A soft moan draws my attention to the scantily clad slender woman by Papi’s side. Despite the bloodied face and disarrayed hair, I recognize the fair blonde woman, Jessica. It’s been months since I last saw her, but that’s no news. She disappears often, but her return always means trouble. This time, it looks like she’s bitten off more than she can chew, and something tells me I’m about to pay the price.

“The whore says you’re her son,” Papi says in a deep voice that sends chills crawling up my spine. “That right?”

I look toward Jessica, an unspoken request for permission to either confirm or refute the claim. Jessica had always been adamant about not acknowledging the fact that she has a son. To her, I’m nothing but the result of a momentary carelessness, hence the reason I call her by her first name. But this time, she gives me a subtle nod, so I turn back to Papi and swallow hard.

“Yes, sir,” I murmur under my breath.

“Speak louder, boy!” Papi snaps in a thunderous voice. “You’re her son?”

“Yes, sir!” I say in a louder voice.

“Your whore of a mother thinks she can run away with my shit,” Papi says with a dry snort. He grabs a handful of Jessica’s hair, and she yelps in pain. “Shut the fuck up, bitch!” He turns back to me without releasing his painful grip on her hair. “This bitch ran off with my stuff, and she was caught red-handed. I’d have shot her dead, except she says she’s got a fine son like you. You’re going to be one of my street rats for her life. So you’d better work diligently, or your Mama’s going to be cursing the shit out of you from six feet under the ground.”