To Become A Con Artist

Chapter Two

My mother was always awake early to prepare my brother and sister's breakfast before they left for school. She never needed to prepare mine since I turned eighteen and got a job. Though now that I was out of school she found me more productive with house work. But that would all change once I saved up enough money for college next fall, which was why I had to work at Luccinos Bakery every day. Vassar College was my dream but my mother would never allow me to go.

"I hate oatmeal. We have it everyday." My seven year old brother, Peter, groaned sticking a silver spoon in and out of the glass bowl. He'd already disheveled his curly brown hair that I attempted to sweep away from his face earlier.

My mother was running a knife of butter over a biscuit and either chose to ignore Peter who complained about the oatmeal ever morning or she genuinely had not heard him. She had been dazing off frequently lately. It scared me a bit but I never mentioned it.

"Here Peter." I grabbed the sugar bowl and scooped a bit of brown sugar into the oatmeal. He usually was more willing to eat it with sugar.

"Mary, come out here you need to eat." My mother called to my fourteen year old sister. She wiped her hands on the gray skirt she wore then turned. My mother was thirty-nine but these days she looked a bit older. Wrinkles formed at the creases of her green eyes, her skin was much too pale, her back always seemed to hurt, and her hands were cracked from all the handy work she had to do.

I knew why, everyone did. It was because my father, Michael Manor, had passed away last winter from pneumonia since he had insisted on working in the bitter cold. Things had not been exactly great back then, but he made it easier for my mother to tend to only us. Now she was forced to raise us all and work in a garment factory to pay for necessities such as the rent for this shabby tenement we lived in since it raised three dollars since last year. I tried to help as much as possible with money but my mother usually insisted that I put some of my earning in my savings can.

"Mary." She called once more.

"Okay." Mary came out of the room she and I shared with her hair clipped into a bob style. A rather messy bob. I laughed.

Of all of us she looked the most like papa with her blonde hair, deep brown eyes, and grinning red lips. Peter and I resembled our mother with brown hair, evergreen eyes, and faces spotted with a few freckles.

"What is that?" My mother asked placing her hands on her hips as I continued to laugh.

"Why did you do that to your hair Mary? It looks foolish."

"I wanted to see how I looked with a bob. Do you like it mama?" She sat to eat her oatmeal but kept her eyes on mama who shook her head.

"No, you look easy." She came behind Mary and began to remove the pins from her hair. She believed that all flappers were easy drunkards which was why I had to keep last night a secret or she would strangle me.

"Okay, I should be home later tonight."

"Bring treats." Peter beamed because he loved sweets, especially those from the bakery.

"I'll try." And with that I shut the door behind me.
                                           ••••••
"His sister's wedding is Monday Luccino, Monday okay." Charlie Brazzo, an organized crime member and frequent customer, told the owner as I lay the rolls in a basket.

"Sí, Monday. It will be beautiful." Luccino answered nervously.

"Good, I'll come by Monday morning to get it. Have a good day." Charlie placed his cap on his head then exited the store.

"Another cake?" I sighed. "That's seven by Monday Mr. Luccino." He shook his head and disappeared to the back which did not surprise me since he was usually short on words when anyone from the crime families came in. He never wanted to say the wrong thing so he just obeyed their every order and demand. However, general customers were hit with angry Mr. Luccino who cursed in Italian at those who demanded him to do anything.

As I turned to clean the flour off the back counter I heard someone enter the shop.

"Just one second." I brushed the rag against the counter.

"Take your time." Said a soft male tone. I heard the wood floor creek with every step he took, then it stopped.

I peaked over my shoulder and almost fainted to the flour covered floor by the sight of this unfamiliar customer adorned in a light gray suit and waistcoat with a navy blue tie. His dirty blonde hair was swept back with a single loose strand hanging on the side of his forehead. His hazel eyes were focused on the assortment of wheat rolls and his chiseled jaw structure looked as if it had been sculpted by Michelangelo himself.

"Uh, can I help you sir?" He looked right up at me allowing me to notice the small scar under his right eye. However, that was not important because he was one of the most handsome men I had ever seen.

"Actually, you can." He placed his gray fedora on the counter. His voice was familiar. "You have something of mine. A gold pocket watch."

My face immediately burned red as he said those words. How did he know?The pocket watch was in my bosom at this very moment since I had planned on turning it into a jeweler for money. It was solid gold and could be worth a lot. But how did he even know?! How did he find me? I could not give myself up so I thought fast.

"I have no idea what you're talking about sir." I stood up straighter, "now would you like anything?" The man eyed me for a moment then a sly smirk crept along his pink lips.

"Perhaps this will jog your memory." He reached into his pocket and flashed my special emerald broach. I had tucked it into my pocket before dancing with Jean last night. How did he have that?! And honestly, who was this man? I thought my broach had been in my pocket the entire time and didn't bother to check this morning.

"How did you get that?!" I reached for it but he pulled his hand back.

"Fair trade darling. Don't make this hard." He leaned on the counter. I needed the money. I had never been caught pick pocketing. Why now?

"I don't have your watch, buddy." I stated leaning into the counter as well. The man narrowed his eyes then shrugged and put his fedora back on.

"I didn't expect you to be this stubborn." He tossed my delicate broach up like a coin then began to exit the bakery. I cursed under my breath.

"Wait." I called. He turned back around as I pulled the pocket watch slowly from my torso and held it out for him. A smirk of satisfaction appeared on his handsome face as he slowly approached me and retrieved the watch placing my broach on the counter.

"That's what I thought." He touched the brim of his hat, "it's been a pleasure." Then he pulled the door open and moseyed on down the street. I ran to the store window trying to see him. I needed to know who he was since he'd been the only person to ever catch me. How did he know?