Lunch Break

By Ellen Grasso

In the small town of Foxchester, four employees at the billing office for St. Francis Medical Center use their lunch break for more than eating. Targeting a different local business each week, Dean, Bunny, Helga and Lori supplemented their income by robbing the place. For nearly six months, they managed to evade capture by local law enforcement. Jesse Nardelli, lead singer for the band Mardi Gras, finished touring and decided to

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781684092956

Book preview

1

W aiting in the ladies outside of the offices, she busied herself by adjusting her long greasy blond ponytail, picking the pimples on her face and glancing at her watch.

Twelve fifty-five, she whispered. Where are those two?

Working at a cubicle in the office suite, one lady had just slammed the receiver of the phone down too hard. She had been driven to the edge of frustration by a representative at the Medicaid office. It appears that the claim being called on was not even close to being paid.

Stupid idiot. Should have talked to the supervisor.

The clock in the comer of the computer read 12:57. I go to lunch, the lady decided. She logged off her computer, grabbed her pocketbook, and headed out to the lobby.

The other lady was a department supervisor with her own office. She did not have to wait for the clock to say 1:00 to go to lunch. She plucked her purse out of her desk drawer, put her phone on voice mail, and proceeded to the lobby too.

It’s about time, joked their young friend who came out of the ladies room.

Relax. We have an hour, the other woman reminded her.

Let’s go.

The three ladies headed down to the parking lot. After climbing into a white BMW sports utility vehicle, they began their lunch break.

Nickerson’s Variety Store sat on the outskirts of Foxchester. A small town about thirty miles north of Boston, it’ population stood at about 8,000. Small town mentality still existed in 2007 and a majority of the businesses were still run by trusting people who did not believe in security systems. Nickerson’s had opened back in 1955 when George and Maggie Nickerson ran it. Since their passing, Pamela, their daughter, took over the business. Mornings were the busiest time of day. Commuters stopped for coffee, the newspaper, and one of Pamela’s big blueberry muffins. By noon, most of the people were at work or school. Anyone out shopping was at the mall two towns over in Redland. Nickerson’s daily income was not large enough to warrant a trip to the bank on a daily basis. Pam let it accumulate, keeping it in a safe box behind the ice cream chest. She usually went Thursday evening, when the bank was open till seven, to deposit her income.

The white BMW pulled into the parking lot of Nickerson’s alongside a silver Lexus. The driver of the Lexus, a tall man in a suit, stepped out of the car.

It’s about time, ladies, he snarled, pulling some things out of the back of his car. The ladies exited the BMW and surrounded the man.

Told you I should have run red lights. The blonde laughed. Being an immigrant from Russia, she still spoke in a broken dialect.

The man rolled his eyes as he handed each lady a black ski mask, surgeon gloves, and paper booties to put over their shoes. They donned their coverings in record time.

You’re going to need these too, he reminded the ladies. From one of his pockets he pulled out two syringes and handed them to his redheaded friend. From his other pocket, he produced two small handguns and handed them to the other two ladies.

Let’s go ‘eat,’ the man joked.

Upon entering the store, the man turned the OPEN sign to CLOSED. He was wearing a brown wig, Red Sox cap, and big horn-rimmed glasses. The three ladies had gone in ahead of him. Pamela was in the back of the store stocking the shelves with boxes of pasta. Upon hearing the bell that hung over the door, she stopped what she was doing and said, Can I help…oh my god! The sight of masked people with guns caused her to gasp.

Just want money, one lady said, pointing her gun at Pamela’s head.

‘She means it, the other lady hissed as she fondled the syringe.

Okay, okay please, don’t shoot me, Pamela said. She moved slowly as she led the group to the safe in back of the ice cream chest.

It’s back here. I have to open it.

Hurry the fuck up. We only have an hour, the younger lady whined, pointing her gun at Pamela too.

Pamela crouched down and worked the combination on the safe. The minute the door popped open and the group saw the money, a needle pierced Pamela’s neck. As soon as the liquid was injected into her system, she slumped to the floor unconscious.

The man gathered up nearly $3,000, stuffed it in the bag he had, and turned to his cohorts.

Okay, let’s go, he said.

In record time, with no witnesses to the crime, the man and three ladies made it out to their vehicles.

See you back at the office, the man called out his window.

The driver of the BMW tooted her horn and pulled out of the parking lot oblivious to any other driver around her.

2

L abor Day weekend, Mardi Gras played their final concert of the summer at the Spectrum in Philadelphia. It turned out to be one of those nights where the audience wanted more and the band did not want to stop playing their music. By the end of the second encore, Jesse, the lead singer, stepped to the front of the stage. With sweat glowing on his shirtless chest, he stood before the audience smiling. The applause made the place shake as the other members of the band joined Jesse to take their bows.

Good night. You guys are the best! Jesse yelled. They gave one more bow and wave before exiting the stage.

The band, Mardi Gras, consisted of five friends who grew up together in a Philadelphia neighborhood back in the seventies. Each member’s love of music brought them together by the time they were in their teens. They formed a band and began playing small clubs and functions. It was at the show they were doing Christmas Eve in Atlantic City that Philip Craft, a very successful agent from New York City, discovered them. He not only knew five very good-looking men would go over well with the female population, but a band that wrote their own music to keep it fresh would succeed. Mardi Gras signed on the dotted line back in 1995 and were still very popular many years later.

After the final show, Mardi Gras booked a reception hall in one of the area’s Marriot Hotels for an employee appreciation party. They also booked about twenty rooms for people too impaired to drive. Nearly one hundred people from the roadies to the pilot of Mardi Gras’s private airplane attended. Jesse began the evening with a speech of thanks for jobs well done by his employees. He also reminded them all there would be a pleasant bonus in their paychecks.

Okay, okay, I know you didn’t come here to listen to me babble about how great all of you are. There is a ton of food and booze on those back tables. MANGIA, Jesse concluded his speech.

Applause followed as he stepped away from the microphone and retreated to one of the tables to sit with Carmine Piccolo, the bass player.

Carmine and his wife, Carolyn, were the only people at a round table with eight place settings. They had already begun to eat, and Carmine’s goblet was full of wine.

Hey, Carolyn, how are you doing? Jesse greeted her. They had not seen each other in a while. When Jesse saw the smile Carmine and Carolyn exchanged, he immediately picked up on what it meant.

Ah, Carolyn began.

Don’t tell me, you guys are pregnant again, Jesse said.

Yes, we found out this morning, Carolyn replied.

Geez, that’s kid number five. Carmine, give this woman a break, Jesse said, pouring himself a glass of wine. Carmine’s father had supplied the party with ten cases of his homemade vintage and a bottle sat at each table.

Hey, she’s the one who couldn’t keep her hands off me when we were in Hawaii three months ago, Carmine defended himself.

Oh, honey. Carolyn blushed, slipping her arm over her husband’s shoulder. They were childhood sweethearts who married out of high school. Despite Carmine’s fame and the millions of beautiful women he met in his many years of touring, his one true love was Carolyn. He had never cheated on her, and the four children they created cemented that love.

Seriously, this is gonna be my last. I’m getting old. Carmine sighed, sipping his wine.

At that moment, the rest of the band took seats at the table. Dominic, the keyboard player, poured himself a glass of wine to go with the plate of food he brought back. Joey, the other bass player, set a couple of bottles of beer next to the plate he had. Billy, the drummer, carefully placed his heaping plate on the table and filled his wine glass almost to the rim.

Hey, guys, Jesse greeted the group.

Great food, Jesse. I was starving, Billy announced after shoveling a forkful of lasagna in his mouth.

Shit, Billy, did you leave any food at the buffet table? Dominic joked about his friend’s full plate.

Some salad, Billy shot back.

The rest of the group broke up laughing.

My mom brought a ton of pastries from my dad’s shop. They’re on the table near the window, Joey informed the group.

As soon as I finish this, I’ll go check them out, Billy planned. Despite his voracious appetite, Billy had the torso of a boxer from all the drumming he did for the band.

I couldn’t believe my mom brought ten pans of lasagna and meatballs, Dominic said. I don’t think she understood the concept of this affair being catered by the hotel.

Hell, it looks like an Italian wedding reception, Jesse joked, plucking a meatball off Billy’s plate and popping it in his mouth.

Like you’re not appreciating the vino my dad brought, Carmine shot back.

Oh I am, and I gotta confess, I sampled a few glasses before I gave my sappy speech, Jesse said.

Then you were probably joking about those bonuses, Billy teased.

Har har.

The party lasted several more hours. Carmine was the first member of the band to head home with Carolyn. Joey’s wife, Michelle, had given birth to their first son three months ago and they were eager to return home to be with him. Billy had devoured so much food and wine, he retreated to one of the rooms upstairs for a nap. His plan was to return later for the pastries and espresso. Jesse and Dominic were the last two to leave. They decided to polish off the last bottle of wine. Seated at a table in the dimly lit reception room, they were oblivious to the people around them cleaning up the place. Where the hell did Billy go? Carmine asked.

Upstairs. He needed a nap. He said he would come down later to tackle the table of pastries.

They cleared that table out about half an hour ago.

After all the wine I saw Billy drinking, I don’t think he’ll be having any pastries till sunrise. Jesse laughed.

Dominic topped off his glass of wine.

Wow, another tour over, he noted.

Yeah, it’s always depressing. You know, you think, what am I going to do next? Jesse added.

Come on, you know in a day or two you and Carmine will be at our studio ready to start another album, Dominic goaded his friend. Jesse owned a fairly large home on the outskirts of Philadelphia. Though the place boasted nearly fifteen rooms, the one Jesse spent a majority of his time in was the recording studio that filled the entire bottom floor of the house.

Not this time. Carmine will probably stick close to home waiting for his fifth bambino to be born, Jesse predicted with a chuckle. He sipped his wine.

I forgot about that.

What are your plans during your downtime? Jesse asked.

I’m heading out to LA tomorrow night, Dominic replied. I landed a small part in Adam Sandler’s new movie.

Good for you. See, it pays to be pretty, Jesse teased his friend.

Dominic could have pursued a career in the movies with his electric blue eyes, black wavy hair, and six foot four frame, but playing music is what he enjoyed more. Hollywood was aware of this, but there were certain actors and producers Dominic befriended over the years that could convince him to take a role on the big screen. As long as it did not interfere with a tour or recording, he would sign on.

Oh no, man, you have the ‘pretty boy’ title in this band, Dominic corrected his friend. Jesse cringed, knowing that fact was the truth. Honey brown hair framed his perfect face and his large brown eyes had curled lashes ladies envied. A smile full of straight white teeth and dimples completed the package. He only stood about five eight, but his well-toned body, tattooed biceps, and broad hairy chest caused every female fan to go crazy the minute he was shirtless on stage. Any other man would have carried their good looks with conceit and arrogance, but Jesse did not. All he was about was making good music and pleasing his fans.

So, Jesse, what do you have planned, if you’re not going to be making music? Dominic asked.

I don’t know. I think I will head up to Massachusetts and visit with Dave Dion, Jesse planned.

Just stay clear of any flying hockey pucks, Dominic warned his friend.

3

M onday came a little too quickly for Chelsea Esposito. After spending the week after Labor Day relaxing on Cape Cod, she found it hard to pull into the parking lot of her job at the billing office for St. Francis Medical Center. She wished she were on the deck of the beach house with a glass of wine and trashy romance novel. The wind blowing off the ocean had made her forget her job as a Blue Cross biller existed last week. Several more employees pulling into the lot brought Chelsea back to reality.

Too late to turn around. She sighed, gathering up her purse. Tossing her long auburn braid over her shoulder, she proceeded into the building.

Though the St Francis Medical Center was located several towns over in Redland, their billing office was located in the industrial park on Route 5 in Foxchester. They handled the claims the hospital sent to the various insurance companies for payment of patient services. They also had to customer service department team employed there to handle calls from patient’s concerned about a bill they had received.

Chelsea began her job as a third party Blue Cross biller nearly four years ago. Having held many jobs after graduation from high school ten years ago, she finally chose medical billing as her career. She found all aspects of her job to be interesting and she enjoyed 97% of the people she worked with. She also like that the place was located in Foxchester where she lived. It only took her ten minutes to get to work.

After punching the four digit code in the security pad on the side of the front door to the billing suite, Chelsea entered and retreated to her cubicle.

Morning, Chelsea, Colleen, one of the older women, greeted her coworker. How was your vacation?

She sat behind Chelsea in the row of cubicles that filled a section of the office.

Great, but it went by too fast, Chelsea replied, as she put her purse in the overheard compartment of her cubicle. When she flipped on her computer, a screen saver of Jesse Nardelli smiled at her.

It’s always the way, Colleen said. How was your weekend?

The husband and I took the grandkids up to Old Orchard Beach for two days. We had a good time.

Did I miss anything exciting here? Chelsea asked.

Colleen kept her voice low as she filled Chelsea in on the office gossip. Several other people were seated in the row of cubicles across from them, and she did not want them to hear what she was saying.

That girl, Erica, who started a few weeks ago already gave her notice. I think Friday is her last day, Colleen said.

Wow, that’s the sixth person that the Tufts team has lost since Karen Alexander was made a supervisor, Chelsea noted.

It’s not just Karen. That Helga is no prize to work with either, Colleen added, referring to one of the rudest people on staff. Helga came from Russia. She played the ignorant immigrant act well, except if somebody said or did anything to displease her. She thought nothing of a person stupid or criticizing how they did their job. The rest of the staff wondered why management kept her in their employ.

Geez, what did she do to drive Erica away? Chelsea asked.

I guess Erica had some claims that Tufts denied stating the patient had Medicaid at the time of the service. It was the alpha split Helga handles, so she left them on Helga’s desk. When Helga saw them, she went storming back to Erica’s desk, called her a few choice names, and brought the woman to tears, Colleen explained. It seems Helga wants her work put in the Medicaid team mailbox in the mailroom, not on her desk.

What did Bunny do about this? Chelsea asked, referring to Bunny Winston, the supervisor for the Tufts billing team.

Apparently, she did nothing. Helga is still here and Erica will not be.

Wow, we have Helga because Eleanor picked the wrong name out of the cup, Chelsea recalled.

The story of Helga’s hiring was legend around the office. It came about by the fact her name had been picked out of a coffee cup over another possible employee. Karen Alexander, the supervisor for the Medicaid team, did not possess the ability to make a decision. She had been employed in the billing office for several years as a biller on the Pilgrim insurance team. When the need for a Medicaid supervisor came up four years ago, she was the only person to apply. The need was too urgent to post the job outside the office. Eleanor Birtolo, a member of the Medicaid team, turned it down. She was happy as a biller and did not want leadership responsibilities.

Two years ago, the need for another Medicaid biller came about. Karen and Gary Kenn, the office manager interviewed nearly twenty-five people. When it came down to the two they liked, Gary left it up to Karen to choose which one they would hire. This was one decision Karen did not know how to make. Her solution was to put the name of the two employees in a cup and she brought Eleanor into her office to pick the name. It turned out to be Helga.

Well, I guess we can consider ourselves lucky having Donald Marks for a supervisor and a group of good people on our billing team, Chelsea noted.

Even your pal Lori? Colleen joked. Lori Cassidy was one of the 3% that Chelsea did not enjoy working with. She sat in the cubicle in front of Chelsea.

Hey, every team has to have a rotten apple. Chelsea laughed.

Colleen glanced at the small clock resembling a golf ball that sat on her desk. And I am sure that rotten apple will not be in for another twenty minutes.

I better get my shit together and my headphones on so that I don’t have to listen to her weekend update, Chelsea said.

The billers were allowed to wear headphones to listen to their radio or CD players as long as it did not interfere with their work. Chelsea kept a compact disc holder full of recordings ranging from the Beach Boys to Mardi Gras. She sometimes just put on the headset with no music playing to drown out the noise around her.

As predicted, Lori arrived at her cubicle twenty minutes after seven. She looked over to see that Chelsea and Colleen had their headsets on so she did not bother with a greeting. As soon as she was out of her jacket and stored her belongings, she pulled out her comb. For several minutes, she stood inches from the front of Chelsea’s cubicle combing her long greasy blond hair. Chelsea glanced up, controlling her urge to gag.

After Lori pulled it into a ponytail holder, she sat down.

4

T wo days after Mardi Gras’s party, Jesse hopped on his Harley-Davidson motorcycle and headed to Massachusetts. Having no wife or children to contend with, he was free to come and go as he pleased. He spent a few days in New York City with friends and then traveled on to visit with Dave Dion.

Jesse and Dave’s friendship went back nearly thirty years. They were next door neighbors back in Philadelphia. Dave and his young wife, Francine, moved in when Jesse was around eight. Dave played professional hockey, and it did not take Jesse long to befriend him. When Jesse turned ten, his father was killed in an automobile accident. Having no children of his own, Dave stepped in as a substitute father. He was there with Jesse for hockey, school achievements, and even encouraged the music career. When Dave moved to Walwood, Massachusetts, to coach a professional hockey team, they still stayed in touch.

Are you still drilling these guys the same tired old plays? Jesse joked, coming up from behind Dave. They were standing rink side at the hockey arena where