Criminal Act

Chapter One Sample

    Fabrizio Fellini called the staff of chefs, kitchen crew, waiters, busboys, the wine sommelier, and hostess for a quiet meeting before the restaurant was scheduled to open at 6 p.m. They met in the foyer, the only open space in the restaurant large enough for everyone to gather.Everyone knew why they were there and expected Fabrizio would announce the official news at any moment. “Where’s Lauren?” he asked.
    “She’s just on a call with a guest,” one of the busboys answered. “She’s updating the size of the Kennedy party.”
    “Okay. Can you please get her? This is important.”
    “Sure thing, boss,” the boy in the white-pressed uniform confirmed, then ran off toward the tiny office at the back of the restaurant.
    Fellini’s in Chicago, opened by Fabrizio’s father, Aldo Fellini, and had grown into a landmark establishment as famous as Windsor Castle in England. Since 1952, when it opened in the historic Wrigley Building in downtown Chicago, Fellini’s quickly established itself as the premier Italian restaurant for the elite of Chicago’s social crowd hosting presidents, movie stars, sports icons, and business moguls. There was no pizza on the menu, only the traditional plates of pasta and seafood dishes of Italy available to order. The only option to book a reservation was to know someone who knows someone. Even then, reservations would still be for a month or more in the future. The restaurant of eight tables, ten booths, and a bar area looked like a modern mobster hangout, save for the 157 photographs of celebrities from Frank Sinatra to John Legend, Humphrey Bogart to Matt Damon, and Phil Esposito to Jonathan Toews. Each one shared the picture frame with either Fabrizio or Aldo Fellini. That evening, Fabrizio was ready to let the shoe drop.
    “I know I’m generally quick with announcements,” Fabrizio acknowledged, “but this one is serious, and we best wait for Lauren and Michael to get back.”
    For the group of twelve men waiting, time dragged. Waiting for bad news has never been a speedy or comfortable affair. The men walked and paced about, chatting.
    Michael appeared first, ambling back as he felt no need to rush. “Lauren will be just a half-minute, boss.”
    When Lauren appeared from the office adjacent to the kitchen, all eyes turned toward her, and the chatter in the restaurant foyer subsided instantly. Lauren walked toward the waiting staff, apologizing for her absence from far back in the restaurant. She projected loudly to be heard over the distance. “Sorry, gentlemen!” The shout overpowered the silence.    While walking that few remaining yards, she captured every man’s gaze with her stunning beauty. At twenty-four, she was fit and supermodel gorgeous. Fortunately, Fabrizio ran a tight ship and never tolerated crass language, innuendo, or improper behavior directed toward her. It made her feel safe.
    Unknown to Lauren was the after-work talk between the younger crew members. They could not comprehend how her partner abandoned her and their child. The best they could surmise is that Lauren and her boyfriend were too young to bring a daughter into the world and care for her. It was assumed he wasn’t up to the responsibility and left Lauren in favor of another woman and carefree life.
    “Thank you, Lauren,” Fabrizio said when she was close enough to hear. “Did you get the Kennedys sorted?”
    “I did. They asked to add two more to the guest list, totaling fourteen. We can fit them into the Italian Room, but we’ll need to push the table row to the wall to fit in the additional table. I’ll just need help from Riccardo to move the tables and bring in another table and a set of chairs.”
    “Okay, wonderful. I’ll leave you to it. Now to the matter at hand. As you all know, there have been many rumors about how the state will handle this new dangerous flu-like disease, Covid-19. After Governor Pritzker was in last Sunday, the Governor pulled me aside for a private talk. We spent a few minutes discussing the effect Covid-19 is having on the population and the sudden climb in infections. He told me this virus is far more serious than we all think; three out of every one hundred people who get sick from Covid-19 die. Three out of a hundred! Unfortunately, the news is even more dire, especially for us. He advised me that on Sunday, he’ll announce that the restaurant industry will be shuttered effective Monday, March 16th. They will only allow for takeout service. You all know we don’t do takeout as well as I do, which means we’ll be shutting our doors completely. I’m sorry, that means no work, no shifts, and no paychecks.”
    The faces of the staff turned stone cold, expressionless. After a few seconds, Gregory, the restaurant sommelier, asked the most obvious question, “How long will Fellini’s be closed?”
    “Good question, Greg. The Governor told me the closure order would be for two weeks. Until March 30th. We should be able to reopen then. In the meantime, Governor Pritzker assured me they are looking at emergency unemployment benefits should this closure go on longer, but he had to admit that Congress would take the lead on that.”
    “With the restaurant normally closed on Monday, does all that mean we just don’t come in on Tuesday?” Lauren asked to confirm her thoughts.
    “I’m afraid so, Lauren. We’ll be closed. One thing we need to do is empty the fridges of all our perishable supplies, which we can do on Monday. I’ll need three of you for that, and you’ll get paid your standard rate.”
    Nine hands went up as if students had questions for a teacher in a schoolroom.
    Fabrizio continued. “I would like to divide the restaurant supplies for the staff to take home. So you can all come by Monday afternoon and pick up your kit.
    With the hands still raised, Fabrizio picked the lucky ones. “I see most of you are interested in working Monday. Let’s go with Lauren, Riccardo, and Anthony. Are there any questions?”
    Chef Marco was not concerned about the perishables; he looked to the future. “If we’re going to reopen on the 30th, we’ll need to plan for that, to get the fresh produce, meats, etcetera. Can we schedule that now?”
    A cold response sent shivers down the spine of all those within earshot. “I’m going to say no. I can contact you and make arrangements at that time. I get the sense, and I am worried that this situation might last longer than we think. If that’s the case, jumping in with the intent to open on the 30th might not be that wise.”
    As people moved about, forming a circle, Lauren pressed him. “Do you really think this might last a long time?”    “I’m sorry, I have to say yes. But, I’m only basing that on reading between the lines during my conversation with the Governor. I could see the worry in his eyes. So, we’re going to take a wait-and-see approach.”
    “That doesn’t sound good,” Marco admitted.
    “I understand your worry. Yet we still have to focus on the now. We’ve got three more open nights. So, let’s keep our focus on Fellini’s customers and continue to make every one of their experiences a memorable one. Thank you, everyone, for listening, and if you have any questions, please come and speak with me after we close. Now let’s get back to it! And I expect you all to keep this shutdown thing to yourselves. Not even the slightest mention to our clients until it’s publicly announced on Sunday.”
    The staff, most in shock, walked off slowly to their respective stations to finish prepping for the evening’s activities. Lauren returned to the office, deeply worried.

    The last of Fellini’s patrons left the restaurant at 11:30 p.m., having stretched their dinner well into the three-hour mark. On the way out Mr. and Mrs. Westbrook and friends stopped to say good night. Lauren thanked them for their patronage while assisting Mrs. Westbrook with her jacket. Mr. Westbrook rewarded Lauren for the hospitality and wonderful meal, showing his appreciation by dropping a fifty into her tip jar. Lauren saw the tip and offered the familiar Mr. Westbrook a hug which was denied.    “No, thank you, love,” he said, believing his bride might object. “Don’t want to get in trouble, but do treat yourself to something nice.”
    Lauren momentarily wondered if he, too, knew about the seriousness of the virus and the upcoming closures.
    “I shall. Thank you, and have a wonderful night, Mr. and Mrs. Westbrook.”
    Well aware she was lying, Lauren added, “See you soon.”
    Lauren was released from her hostess duties as soon as the doors closed.
    She collected the gratuities from her tip jar and walked back into the office. Sinking into the chair in despair, she stuffed the full $155 into her purse. Lauren was fortunate to keep the hostess tip money for herself while the table tips were split among the chefs, servers, and bus staff. Fabrizio insisted on it when he agreed to hire her better than a year before. Despite no experience as a hostess and limited time as a waitress, he knew that she would fit in at Fellini’s well, and she did not disappoint. Next to Fabrizio, all the customers saw her as the heart of the restaurant. Fabrizio treated her like a daughter.    A sudden tap on the door startled Lauren as her mind drifted toward anxiety about her future.
    “Lauren, may I come in?”
    “Of course, Fabrizio,” Lauren answered as she twisted the knob and opened the door.
    “What’s with the closed door? That’s not like you. What’s going on?”
    “I’m sorry, Fabrizio. I needed a bit of quiet time to think about the impact this shutdown will have on me. Would you mind closing the door?”
     Fabrizio turned and closed the door without questioning the request.
    “Without a paycheck,” Lauren began, “I’m not sure how I’m going to manage. Baby Abby needs so many supplies, diapers, food, and clothes. That stroller I just got was $700! And the rent is $1,300 a month. I’m terrified I won’t be able to pay my bills.”
    “Oh, I’m so sorry, Lauren. Did you manage to save up some money over the past year? I know your tips have been decent.”
    She spoke as if almost panicked. “I only have enough for next month’s rent on the first. There have just been too many expenses, including the monthly portion I have to pay the hospital for Abby’s delivery.”
    “I understand. I know you’re separated, but doesn’t Abby’s father help out?”
    “No,” Lauren said in a long and soft tone. “I haven’t seen or heard from him for more than a year. He’s vanished.”
    “Oh, I’m sorry, Lauren. Let me help out a bit, then. I’ll include your first week’s pay from our reopening as an advance on your upcoming paycheque. Hopefully, that will help you out.”
    “It will, Fabrizio. Thank you.”
    Still standing after opening the door, she reached forward without permission and gave him a hug she’d saved from Mr. Westbrook.
    Comforting her, he returned the hug softly and then relaxed. “It’s the least I can do,” he promised. “And please don’t tell the crew I’ve done that for you. Otherwise, I’ll have a mob at my door demanding the same advance.”
    Lauren also relaxed and pulled back to look at his face. “Mum’s the word, Fabrizio. Thank you again.”
    “You’re welcome. Now get on home to that kid of yours.”
    Lauren said her goodnights to the crew, taking the Pink Line to her two-bedroom apartment in a five-story walk-up on the west side of the Little Village area of greater Chicago. The forty-minute trip with some walking was now a familiar route.
    Once inside, she made her way to the top floor to enter her sparsely furnished home. Her ex-boyfriend Felix had taken most of the furniture the couple purchased while starting to build a life together. When Lauren became pregnant, she looked forward to becoming a mother; Felix demonstrated anxiety. On numerous occasions, he went so far as to ask Laren to consider an abortion. She knew he was uncomfortable with the idea of becoming a father but believed he would change as most parents do upon seeing their child for the first time. Once Abby was born, Felix drove a series of angry arguments with Lauren that appeared to escalate with each successive event. He regularly wanted to go out drinking with the boys from work; she needed him to stay home and help with his daughter. Lauren discovered just how unhappy he was when she arrived home from one evening’s work finding the apartment missing the bed, nightstands, dresser, sofa, chairs, and TV. He left her the crib, a pile of clothes on the floor, the kitchen table, and a note stating that Abby was with the old lady next door. Lauren read the note, collected Abby from the neighbor, and set about restoring her life, one piece of furniture at a time. That night she slept on the floor beside her daughter’s crib.
    Lauren pulled a bottle of wine from the refrigerator, then a tumbler from the cupboard. As far as she was concerned, the shape of the glass had no bearing on the flavor of the Riesling. It was a wonderful reward at the end of a long day with a quiet night’s sleep still ahead of her. Her daughter Abby was next door with Mrs. Camilla Buchanan. The retired woman provided daily child care for Lauren, who was never home earlier than 12:30 a.m.
    “Abby might just as well stay with her until the morning,” Mrs. Buchanan had said and insisted, providing Lauren a guaranteed restful night. Lauren then picked up Abby at seven in the morning to spend the day with her before heading to work at 4:15 p.m. For Lauren and Mrs. Buchanan, Monday and Tuesday evenings were days off.
    In the moments before Lauren packed it in before bed, she pulled her phone from her purse, activated it by pressing her thumb on the Home button, and tapped the Citi Bank icon on the home screen. The display flashed to the bank icon, a list of available services, and a banking summary. There were two accounts listed, checking and savings. The balances she saw frightened her: $1328.57 and $210.20, respectively. She could foresee the possible impact. Based on the Governor’s comments to Fabrizio, Lauren would easily make rent on the first of April if the restaurant shutdown concluded at the end of the month as expected. Were it to run longer and with only one more paycheck forthcoming, she would find herself in a dire financial situation sometime during the next month, even if she wouldn’t be paying for the childminding services from Mrs. Buchanan. Worried and stressed, Lauren poured herself another glass of wine and ran the numbers.
    With the one-week advance, her final paycheck would only come in at about $1560. Her modest hourly pay of $12.50 was manageable as it was accompanied by her $75 to $100 per night in tips. Tonight’s $155 was an anomaly. Her pay plus Saturday’s and Sunday’s tips should put her total bank balance in the vicinity of $3350. Enough to cover next month’s power, phone, streaming services, and food, leaving enough for next month’s rent and a little more. Following her effort to look into the future, she felt mildly better knowing she wouldn’t be out on the street in April.
    On March 19th, all her counting and planning changed. Without warning, Governor Pritzker issued Executive Order Number 8, a Shelter-At-Home order running through April 7th. The order required all persons residing in the state to stay home unless their activities were considered essential. Lauren saw this as a blow against her returning to work anytime soon. Then on April 1st, the Governor extended the Shelter-At-Home through to April 30th. Shattered at hearing the news of the extension, Lauren came to expect the Covid situation to worsen still. She had to manage her finances. Lauren resolved to hold off and not pay her rent in favor of saving money for other essentials. Essentials for Abby, and to lower expenses wherever possible. She was a responsible mother.
    To reduce her liabilities, Lauren canceled her Netflix and Prime accounts, moved Abby into her bedroom, shut off the electric heat in the now-empty room, and limited her food budget to essentials only. She could manage without snacks and treats. While she kept her cell phone, she did cancel her internet and arranged to share Mrs. Buchanan’s WiFi as an alternate. Youtube became her new video friend during the evenings. Her most significant savings came after negotiating with the hospital to defer maternity payments for six months while the state was shut down.

    Rent day arrived quickly despite long days at home with little to do. Lauren refused to spend money on entertainment and meals out, further isolating herself from her few friends who continued to work under the mandate of essential staff. On April 2nd, Lauren finally heard the expected knock on the door.
    “Good morning, Trevor,” Lauren said with a smile. “What’s up? If someone’s left the dumpster bin lid opened again, I swear it wasn’t me.” Expecting the topic to turn back to rent, she diverted it as best she could.
    Trevor Williams had to look upwards toward Lauren; he was considerably shorter than the average man. At fifty-two, the man had managed a jump start on a beer belly but didn’t have the sense to update his wardrobe to accommodate his ever-increasing waist size. The buttons on his old gray shirt looked like they were under significant strain. Two buttons were on the brink of exploding off. Lauren suspected he had been working in the complex. Armpit stains told the story of some sort of physical effort. Matching the sweat stains, his brow was dotted with beads of moisture, and his breath was labored. She considered silently, Maybe it was just the walk up the four flights of stairs? The man could be described as greasy.

    “Morning Lauren,” he said as he took a deep breath. “It’s the second, and I haven’t seen your rent payment yet.”
    “I’m sorry, Trevor. I’m waiting on my paycheck from the restaurant,” she deflected. “They said they put it in the mail, but I’ve not received it yet. Can you give me a week from Friday?”
    Trevor did some math in his head, speaking out loud while he went through his process. “Today is the second, Friday, tomorrow is the third, so you’re saying you’ll get the rent to me on the tenth?”
    “That’s right, Trevor. Friday next week.”
    “I don’t think I can do that, Lauren. It’s not fair to all the other tenants who have paid their rent. You’re the only one who’s late. And you know as well as I do that the landlord isn’t patient when it comes to rent payments.”
    Trevor stepped into the doorframe closer to Lauren and bumped his shoulder against hers, albeit a good eight inches below hers. “I like you. You’re a pretty breath of fresh air in this building full of retirees. I’ll see what I can do.”
    Lauren stepped back, restoring her personal space. “Thank you, Trevor. Oh, and one other thing, are there any one-bedroom apartments for rent in the complex?”
    “I’m sorry, no,” Trevor confirmed. “The free one was snapped up in the middle of the month, almost as fast as it was vacated and cleaned up. The evicted guy left the place in a sad state, I tell ya. Why do you ask?”
    Lauren reached for the door and pushed Trevor slightly with it. “With only Abby and I in this two-bedroom and my old boyfriend long gone, it seems like too much space for just the two of us. Thanks anyhow. Oh, if a one-bedroom unit comes available, let me know.”