Excerpt
Tony pegged the deli's new customers as part of the old neighborhood before they ever opened their mouths.
He'd never seen them before, but he could tell Jersey girls anywhere. It was a combination of the hair and the makeup and a certain way of moving—attitude and swagger and tough-girl entitlement. After Tony had turned a certain age, his aunt used to trot out girl after girl from the neighborhood in an attempt to get him to pick one to settle down with. He knew the look well.
"Oh, man, this smells like home," the man said, his voice loud and expansive. "You ever think we'd find something like this out here in the sticks?"
"Think they have ziti?" the woman asked. "I haven't had a good ziti since we got on the plane."
The man was in his late forties, solid, tan-skinned and dark-haired. He had dark eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses and the kind of permanent five o'clock shadow only a heavy beard could produce. His pinky finger sported a big gold ring, and the smell of rich cigars and old liquor wafted in the door with him. He had a thick neck and muscular arms stretching the sleeves of his golf shirt. He strode in the deli with the swagger of a man used to not being messed with.
A made man? Maybe. That swagger said a lot without saying a word.
The family had two kids with them, a bored-looking girl of about thirteen and a boy of about eight. The girl had earbuds in her ears, long legs, and a flat adolescent belly on display thanks to her too-short baby doll tee. She had the pouty, self-indulgent face of her mother, but beneath the attitude, it was easy to tell she was going to be real trouble in another couple of years.
The boy was skinny and dark-haired, his tee shirt hanging off him like he had a coat hanger for shoulders. He had dark eyes that seemed to see everything but hold it all deep inside, like his own little secret. He reminded Tony of himself at that age.
"What can I do for you folks?" Tony asked.
"You have ziti?" the woman asked.
"Got a fresh pan." Carter had brought it out an hour ago. Tony had only served up one portion so far.
"That's what I want," she said.
"You're not gonna eat it all," her husband said.
"Then I won't eat it all. What do you care? I'll save it for later."
"Get her ziti," the man said to Tony. "Make it to go."
The kids ordered sandwiches, and the man wanted a meatball sub. Tony went about putting their order together, all the while conscious of the man's eyes on him.
"You're from back home, too," the man said to him.
Tony spooned meatballs and sauce on a fresh roll. "Yeah. Been out here a couple of years."
"Where from?"
"Trenton," Tony lied. "My pop had a place back home."
"I been to Trenton a few times. What's your pop's place called?"
Tony wrapped up the meatball sub in foil, then dished up the ziti in a to-go tin. "Closed up when I was just a kid. I'm kinda winging it here, going from what I remember."
The guy kept studying him. Trying to figure out if he knew Tony? Maybe. Back home, that kind of scrutiny would have been taken as a challenge. Tough guys, or tough guy wannabes, would have gotten in the guy's face, asked him what the fuck he thought his problem was.
Guys had died over less.
Here, Tony just kept his professional face on. He was pretty sure the guy caught that Tony hadn't answered the question. He was ready for the guy to press the issue, but he didn't.
"Good memory," was all the guy said.
Tony crimped the edges of the to-go tin to keep the cardboard cover in place over the hot ziti and went to work making the kids' sandwiches.
The guy got bored watching Tony and went to see what trouble his wife was getting into. She was browsing around the shelves. Tony saw her pick up a package of Italian cookies. They'd been out by the lake, that much was clear from the oversized beach bag she was carrying.
It would be pretty easy for her to drop the cookies in that bag. Some of the Jersey girls he'd known used to make it a game, ripping off stores. They always took something small, just to see if they could get away with it.
Thing was, none of the merchants ever said boo, not if the girls belonged to one of the families. Carter said the merchants considered those losses part of the cost of staying in business in a town run by the families.
Tony wouldn't say anything now if the wife decided she was entitled to the cookies because of who her husband was. The guy would expect Tony to just take it, especially if he'd grown up in Trenton like he said.
He finished with the sandwiches. The woman brought the cookies up to the register and put them on the counter.
"Bag all this up," she said, gesturing with a finger to encompass everything Tony had put together for them. Then she turned to her husband. "Come pay for all this stuff so we can get out of here."
Tony bagged up the food. "You need a fork?" he asked her.
"Fork, napkins, whatever you got," she said.
Tony obliged while the guy pulled a thick wallet from the back pocket of his baggy shorts. He handed Tony a hundred-dollar bill like it was a challenge.
"Got you," Tony said, opening the register to make change.
The guy hadn't recognized him, Tony was sure of it. He was just starting to think the family would go away and everything would be fine when Carter stepped through the door separating the front of the deli from the kitchen, and Tony knew their luck had run out.
