She and Wanda exchange some brief small-talk about where she’s from and where she’s lived, and while she does, I find myself surprised by an old, familiar feeling in my chest.
I only knew Cherry for the shortest of times when she was in town, sure. But seeing her again has been like seeing the ghost of an old friend. Maybe she just reminds me of the life I used to see in Bayonne, before the bosses had a chance to really dig their claws in. But the more I watch her mannerisms, the way she unconsciously plays with a lock of her hair, the way she talks...I don’t know. I feel like I’m talking to an old sweetheart. I find a smile playing across my face involuntarily, and I’m only snapped back to reality when I feel a hand on my shoulder suddenly.
I jerk my attention up to see Gerald giving me a knowing smile, and I feel color in my face as I give a quiet scoff and focus on my coffee again. I shouldn’t get distracted like this, anyway. We may be out of the frying pan for now, but as the saying goes —
As if on cue, all four of us nearly jump as a loud pounding sound knocks at the door.
8
Cherry
“Oh no,” I murmur, scooting over closer to Leon on the floral couch. The police have found us. We’ve been caught. I glance suspiciously at Gerald and Wanda standing in the kitchen, wondering if maybe they’ve turned us in. Wanda might have called the cops while we were busy talking to Gerald. I don’t want to believe any of that, as the old couple seems so warm and genuine, but in my current state of fear my brain is just searching for someone to blame.
“Who’s that there?” Wanda calls out sweetly. She hobbles into the living room, leaning on her cane. When she catches my eye she gives me a wink and a smile. As if she knows exactly what’s going on.
The pounding at the door gets louder as a second voice outside shouts, “URGENT BUSINESS ABOUT YOUR FLOWER BEDS!”
At the sound of his voice, I can feel Leon’s shoulders relax and his fists unclench. I give him a look of confusion. Why isn’t he panicking like I am? What the hell is the cop talking about? Flower beds? Is this some kind of weird, elaborate prank?
Leon stands up and pats Wanda gently on the shoulder as he makes his way to the front door. I want to run after him and pull him away, hide him from the cops. Surely he isn’t stupid enough to answer the door himself! Doesn’t he know they’re here to arrest him? That filthy slimeball Mickey Lamar probably pinned the shooting on Leon and now they’re booking him in for attempted murder or something.
“Alright, alright!” Leon says loudly as he turns the front door handle and opens it. I cautiously get up and look around the corner to see Leon facing down a pair of officers.
“What is he doing?” I hiss, biting my lip worriedly. Wanda appears at my side looking very calm and sagacious. She puts a hand on my arm and shakes her head, still smiling.
“Oh, sweetheart, don’t worry. It’s all under control. They’re on our side,” she informs me quietly. Gerald comes walking around the corner with his lopsided gait to stand by Leon at the front door.
“What seems to be the matter, fellas?” he asks gruffly. But there’s a hint of sarcasm to his voice, like he’s simply reading from a script and finding it more than a little amusing.
“Routine business, sir,” responds the first officer. “May we step inside?”
“Of course, of course. Anything for the strong and just arm of the law,” the old man answers with a deep belly laugh. He stands aside and spreads one arm in a gesture of welcome, and the two officers walk in.
“Let me start a pot of tea and fetch us some sandwiches,” Wanda pipes up brightly, taking me by the hand suddenly. “I’m sure you’re all famished!” she adds as she nudges me alongside her to the kitchen.
“Thanks, ma’am,” says officer number two.
Standing at the little wooden island counter, I lean back to peer around the corner into the living room, where Gerald, Leon, and the two policemen are gathering now, talking in hushed voices. Wanda is humming some upbeat tune as she takes various items out of the cupboards and refrigerator, setting them down on the counter in front of me.
“What the hell is going on?” I whisper urgently. Wanda turns around to face me, beaming. She slides a bagged loaf of bread toward me and sets a butter knife down.
“We’re making sandwiches,” she quips lightly.
“I can see that,” I reply, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. The whole Stepford Grandmother routine is getting old. I just want to know why, after Leon and I took every precaution to avoid being caught, the men are now simply shooting the breeze with a pair of cops in the living room ten feet away.