The Last Hurrah of General Jackson

Carlotta saw shadowy figures in the distance. “Men in uniform walking. I’m out of here.”

Arturo scratched his mustache. “I’m not leaving the stuff behind.”

She grabbed his scrawny shoulders. “If you hadn’t messed up, I’d still work in Mrs. Weatherly’s house as a maid.”

Arturo spat on the pavement. “We’re in this together, stupid bitch.”

The curtain of fog lifted as night and day changed hands.

“NYPD,” Carlotta whispered, pulling on Arturo’s jacket. “We have to stash the jewelry.”

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