“You want me to spy on Jay Gatsby Jr.?” I asked Jordan.
“Correct. Daisy’s trying her best, but it’s difficult. Jay Jr. is easyenough to find but hard to get close to. You go to school with him; you could get unique intelligence.”
I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to spy on a new friend—one of the only true friends I’d made in Harlem. How could I?
“I don’t think I can do this,” I said. “Jay seems like a good person.”
“Seems like,” Jordan echoed as she lifted a cigar to her lips, took a puff, and blew out smoke. “There are plenty of people with fake faces with cracks you can only see up close.”
“I think that’s enough.” Daisy finished her duties and came to grab me by my arm, getting in the middle of the conversation before I could respond. “We should get home before it’s too dark.”
“Yes, we’ve had enough drama for one night,” Jordan said, looking pointedly at me. “But take some time to think it over. The offer stays open until the next meeting.”
New York—you’re way too fast-paced for me!I was expected to process twists and turns faster than I could figure out what my purpose was here.
I folded the picture of Jay into my pocket, and we turned to leave.
Daisy stomped and ranted on our walk home. “I cannot believe Vivian led you to the gang! I specifically told her not to.”
“What does it matter?” I asked. “Is there aright wayto tell me you were gangsters? I can’t believe Vivian was serious about that wholestreet lifeconversation.”
“Gangsters?” Daisy stopped walking in the middle of the street, exasperated, and threw her hands up. “Well, when youput it that way, Nick! Jesus.” She slumped, looking more defeated than defiant.
“Not at all!” I pulled her to the sidewalk just as a reckless car sped by. “Actually, I was thinking as risky as it sounds, bootlegging might pay better than any normal job. Three hundred dollars a task? That’s a fortune.”
Daisy sighed and kept walking. “It’s good money, yes. I’ve been sneaking some of my earnings into the Wash ’N’ Fold’s register to chip in at home.” She turned to me, serious. “But I can’t let my parents know. They’ve got enough to worry about with Buchanan pressing us to sell our house for his apartment complex. He makes it impossible to keep what’s ours. I’d die if I had to work under him forever.”
Daisy’s eyes darkened when she spoke of him. There was a depth of frustration there. And perhaps the respect she carried for Jordan came from the fact that she gave her the power to stand up to men like him. I could see why Daisy would admire her business acumen and get involved with something like this. Jordan seemed ruthless and strong—important survival qualities anyone would need to fight for their family’s legacy.
“I get it. Pushing elevator buttons isn’t exactly thrilling for me either,” I admitted. “But it’s safe. And clean, I guess.”
Daisy turned to me. “You know, I’d hate to see you get tangled up in something dangerous, but if you everreallyneeded money, just know you have options.”
“Isn’t bootlegging like delivering milk, but illegal?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood.
Daisy laughed, amused. “If you want to see it that way, I suppose you could.”
So, her double life came with secrets, danger, and money—that added context to her late nights and expensive-looking clothes.
It was tempting to be a part of, because work felt meaningless sometimes and the few coins Mr. Kirby handed over weren’t nearly enough to pay for anything important. Could a side job really hurt?
Even as I asked myself and wavered on my decision to pass on the job, I remembered Jordan was the kind of person who paid people well but demanded loyalty.
And I had been raised to think alcohol was an enemy. Grandma had made sure of that. But Jay didn’t think it was so bad. Daisy didn’t either. Perhaps the rules changed as people aged.
I glanced at Daisy, wondering how she balanced it. How did she deal with the weight of protecting her family and putting herself at risk? And Vivian—she was a good friend to Daisy, loyal and willing to take risks alongside her. She must have been pulled in for the same reasons: the need to survive, the lure of something bigger than the daily grind. They were partners, allies, both trying their best to navigate a world they couldn’t fully trust.
“Nick, don’t do it just because it seems like the easy way,” Daisy said, reading my expression and pulling me out of my thoughts. She looked at me with a mix of worry and care, as if she didn’t want to set the wrong example.
But it was more than it being easy. I couldn’t really say it how I wanted to, but West Egg felt like it was pushing me out moreeach day. If it had been someone other than Jay, I may have taken Jordan up on her offer. I wanted something more out of this world. And I was willing to take a risk for it, but I wasn’t willing to risk Jay.
The train horn and locomotive relaxed me as I worked my next shift at Kirby’s. I had to keep moving—mopping, washing dishes, and cooking—because I couldn’t believe my very own cousin was involved in organized crime. And mere nights ago, I was brushing elbows with liquor runners in some underground lair? What had this life become?
After a few weeks of working the diner, I’d gotten mostly used to the patrons. They were older folk who’d known Kirby for a long time. I thought that was all I should expect, until Jay walked through the door.
I instantly went to hide in the kitchen, but I turned and saw him looking for a booth before slipping through the door. I thought of him too much as of late, and my decision to protect our friendship over Jordan’s proposal to become her spy. He’d see it all over my face. The pride in my choice to save us.
Get it together, Nick.
