Elsie Spaeth: Pip, grafter, and moll. She’d been a moll for as long as she could remember being a part of gangs. And somehow with luck and a few bimbos to take the fall this moll had dug herself deep into the underground. Now here she sat with the last remaining triggers in the run down old clip joint they’d always reverted to after being flushed out by the bulls. “So now what?” She muttered.
“What do you mean ‘now what’?” one of the goons grinned jokingly to the dame’s question.
“Dig you lug, you do get that our last operation was nothing close to eggs in coffee. I’m surprised you haven’t been loaded in the meat wagon by now” She spat at the dim witted gunsel, “The bulls knew our operation inside and out, no thanks to G-man Clyde”
“Hey no lookin’ at me, I know from nothing about how Clyde got mixed into all this,” another trigger piped up “For all I knew he was straight,”
“Straight?” Elsie laughed manically, “Clyde was wise to the operation the whole time he was running with us. Get a slant; we’re out of dope, hop, and any of the sourdough that we had left thanks to the bulls. I’m out. This whole mob’s out.”
“What do you mean you’re out, you rat?” one of the remaining brunos asked as Elsie stood up from the table.
“Rat, nah. I’m out of this mob’s scene trouble boys, and I’m out of this dive.” Elise replied tapping the table lightly with two dollars worth of dough, “My exit pay,” and with her infamous kiss of death to the dwindling gang, she fled the dive just as two undercover bulls entered the diner. Seemed Elsie’s luck hadn’t run out just yet.
Created: Mar 26, 2011Attilee Document Media