OVER AT UNCLE HAL and Aunt Edith’s apartment, the telephone was ringing. Uncle Hal had already gone out in his taxi for his shift, and Aunt Edith was in her bedroom painting on her eyebrows. She was experimenting with a more severe arch, a technique that she had seen in a recent issue of Ladies’ Home Journal, and she was finding it to be quite tricky. Meanwhile, Ava and Martha were in the living room playing with paper dolls; Martha was dressing them up and Ava was holding them for ransom.
Martha had named the prettiest one Mary Beth, and Ava had just nabbed her before answering the telephone. “Leave the money in a briefcase under the bridge or the girl gets it,” Ava said in a deep voice.
“Pardon me?” said Mr. Barnard.
“Only the governor can pardon you,” said Ava, “and I hate to be the one to tell you, but he’s in on the job.”
“I’m calling from Barnard’s Pharmacy,” he said, clearing his throat. “This is Mr. Eugene Barnard speaking. Is there a Mr. Hermann Baum at home? I have his daughter here and she does not seem to have enough money to pay for what she ordered.”
“Is that right?” said Ava. “What did she order?”
“What? Oh, well, a root beer float.”
“Good choice,” said Ava. “What kind of ice cream?”
“Excuse me,” said Mr. Barnard, “but may I speak to Mr. Baum about this matter?”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” said Ava. “He’s a very busy man, and I’m afraid he doesn’t take kindly to being disturbed, if you know what I mean.”
Mr. Barnard turned to Frankie. “Hold on one moment; is your father the same Hermann Baum who’s opening the new restaurant in town?”
“That’s right,” answered Frankie.
The color in Mr. Barnard’s face began to pale. “Oh, I see.”
“Do you know him?” asked Frankie.
Mr. Barnard shook his head slowly, the handset still pressed against his ear. “Not directly. But I’ve heard about him.”
On the other end of the phone, Martha and Ava were deep in a row. “Where did you put Mary Beth?” shouted Martha. “Give her back!”
Ava put her hand over the phone and whispered to Martha, “Like I already told you, you’ll see Mary Beth again after I get the money. That’s how a ransom works. And if you don’t deliver, the boss told me to turn Mary Beth into spitballs.”
“What boss?”
“The boss,” said Ava. “The head of my crime family, who do you think?”
“Oh,” said Martha. “Is he nice?”
“Nice? I just told you he wants me to turn Mary Beth into spitballs, and you’re asking if he’s nice?”
“You wouldn’t do such an awful thing,” said Martha.
“Oh, wouldn’t I?” Ava cradled the phone under her chin as she produced paper Mary Beth from under her dress and promptly ripped off her head.
Martha screamed bloody murder.
“Look,” said Ava, returning the phone to her ear, “you don’t want to make him angry. He’s got connections, see? He’ll turn you and everyone you know into mincemeat. Minced!”
Martha picked up Mary Beth’s head and ran down the hall, screaming for their mother.
Mr. Barnard swallowed. Then he slowly returned the handset to the base while Ava went on about her mobster connections. “You know,” he said to Frankie, “why don’t we just forget this ever happened.”
“Really?” said Frankie. “I’ll bring you what I owe. Honest.”
Mr. Barnard shook his head. “Don’t think a thing about it, really. Like you said, you didn’t even touch it. It wouldn’t be right to charge you for something you didn’t drink.” He escorted Frankie to the door. “And tell your father that I didn’t know. I mean, I didn’t realize who he was.”
“What do you mean, who he was?” asked Frankie. “Who is he?”
It seemed like a strange question to ask, but Frankie was beginning to think that maybe she didn’t really know.