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Rated: E · Short Story · Crime/Gangster · #2056801
Make your train.
Angeline was early. As they stood inside a doorway half a mile from the train station fifteen minutes prior, Brock had said, “I have to go call Paulie, let him know we made it to the train, make sure he’s going to meet us at the other end.”

Angeline had been scanning the street. She jerked her head around and looked at him. “Go? Go where? Use your cell phone.”

“Traceable,” Brock had answered. “The cops could have a bead on my cell. There’s still a pay phone in the train station. I’ll go ahead. Stay away until just before we board. Meet me in a half hour, inside the station, under the big clock. Thirty minutes.” He had turned and walked away with a deliberately casual stroll; Angeline knew why: street runners attract attention.

Angeline stood now under the big clock. Ten minutes to go.

She turned in a slow circle, checked everyone. A man in a suit and fedora leaned against a pillar, reading a newspaper. Nah, thought Angeline. Too obvious. I mean, c’mon, wearing that hat? Reading the paper?

Five minutes.

In the other direction, a man in a baseball cap stood alone near a bench full of travelers, nothing in his hands, no obvious reason to be there. Angeline moved behind a souvenir stand, then peered back out in time to see a young girl fly into the man’s arms and shout, “Daddy!”

Two minutes.

Angeline sensed them before she saw them. She whirled around to a wall of uniforms. “Angeline Ferraro? You’re under arrest.” A man spun her, clicked on the cuffs. Behind him stood Brock, his badge on a cord around his neck.

Fire filled Angeline’s eyes. She mouthed the word, couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud. Undercover.

“Sorry, Babe,” said Brock.


(Word count: 300)
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