Page 40 of Working for the Mob

“Can I help you?” a stout man asked, before we had walked ten feet into the store.

My eyes instantly caught his ash-brown mustache, long enough to twirl with his finger. His beady eyes studied the three of us, and I felt like I was being assessed. Like someone wondering how much money a piggybank held. He wore a bleached jacket over a white button up and tie. He had the brand name “Herrington” stitched into his shirt, the largest hardware store in the city.

“Yes, we are here to buy an industrial oven,” Art said.

“Excellent. Excellent,” the man said. “All three of you?”

He surveyed Lucy and I inquisitively. I frowned back at him. He reminded me of the salesmen that would spend an hour talking shop with my dad.

“Yes. That’s not a problem, is it?” Art asked, and stepped close to the man. The height disparity between the two men could not be more pronounced. Art towered over the man, who almost backed into a Christmas light display.

“No, not at all, sir. Not at all. You may call me Milton,” he said, and offered out his hand.

The men shook hands, and Milton nodded at the two of us.

“For the oven, we only have a couple floor models on display, but you can view our catalog for the specs you want,” he said, and indicated for us to follow him. He led us down an aisle with cardboard boxes stacked to the ceiling. I had never been in a hardware store like this. Growing up, my father had always gone by himself.

“Do I really get to pick out the oven myself? I can buy whatever I want?” Lucy asked Art. She reminded me of a kid in a candy store.

Milton shot her a look of disdain.

“You’ll be the one using the equipment. I’ll need your input,” Art said, and Milton’ eyes bulged. What was his problem?

We stopped in front of two ovens, each decorated to look like a cabinet. Each oven’s legs bowed out, similar to my mom’s cherry-wood table at home.

“These are the best models in the city,” Milton said, and twirled his mustache around a stubby finger. “You won’t find ones this nice anywhere else.”

I swear Lucy was ready to pounce on the ovens, but she looked to Art for permission. He gestured at the ovens, and she sprung over the oven with a squeal. She opened the door to check the size, and turned the knobs.

A frown plastered itself across Milton’s face, accentuated by his curled mustache. His entire body had gone rigid, and his hands curled into tight fists.

“These are gas ovens, right?” Lucy asked, and looked to Milton.

The man let out a muffled “humph,” but gave no other indication that he heard her. Lucy shot me a confused look and I shrugged. Art studied Milton, expressionless.

“Sir. I mean, Milton,” Lucy hesitated. Milton’s entire face had turned beet red, and he stubbornly refused to look at Lucy. “Are these gas ovens?”

Still no answer.

“Sir?” I said, not gently this time.

At this, Milton lost his composure. He stomped his foot and burst at Art. “I’m sorry, but I have had enough. Is this really how you allow your women to act?”

“My women?” Art asked, his eyebrows narrowed.

It finally clicked for me, and I opened my mouth in disgust.

“Yes.Yourwomen. I have never been so insulted in my life. This is a place of business,” he said, and puffed himself up.

Lucy’s exuberance popped like a balloon and her face fell.

Anger flowed through my veins. No one was allowed to treat her with that disrespect. I opened my mouth to let the salesmen know exactly what I thought of him and his place of business, but Art spoke up first.

“And here I thought that all the ignorant people lived outside the city. I don’t think that I’m in the mood to buy an oven anymore,” he said, a cold fury etched into his features. “Ladies, let’s try the store down on fourth.”

He turned away from Milton’s flustered face and stamped out of the hardware store, his hands shoved in his pockets. Lucy caught my eye and we hurried after him.

We popped into my favorite coffee shop and I ordered an espresso. Art gave the drink a side eye and complained about too much caffeine. I didn’t care. I wasn't going to let him ruin my moment.

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