Page 51 of Working for the Mob

“Yes,” I said, quickly. I took the pen and signed it. “We want the oven in the back and the espresso machine …”

Dirty mugs littered the counter. “Can you bring in the oven while I clear this off?”

“I’m going to install the oven, honey. But I don’t know jack about the coffee machine. Boss threw in an extra five to bring it over.”

I hastily dumped the mugs into the sink, while Bert retrieved the oven and the customer orders piled up.

“Jamie, can you show Bert where to install the oven? I can run out orders,” I said.

“The oven?” he asked, and his face dropped. “It’s here right now?”

“I just signed for it,” I said.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Jamie bleated, and ran his hands through his hair. “He was supposed to come on Sunday, when we’re closed.”

Jamie ran out to the truck, and I ran a couple of orders onto the floor. Why did it matter what day of the week the over was delivered?

I stood at the door while Jamie argued with the delivery man, angrier than I had ever seen him. He waved his hands wildly while the delivery man shook his head.

“We can’t shut down the café today,” Jamie yelled.

“Look, I’m either delivering this today, or it’s going back on the truck to New York and I’ll bring it back next week. You dec––”

I closed the door, but the delivery man’s mouth kept running.

“Genevieve, I need help,” Lucy called out. She pointed to the mounting pile of orders beside the cash register.

I hurried back to prepare them. As we worked, Jamie remained outside and the customer line kept growing.

Several orders later, a disgruntled Jamie pushed open the door and stomped through.

“We’re going to have to close down the shop during lunch,” Jamie said to Lucy and me.

“What? Why?” I asked, in the middle of preparing an order.

“They need to evacuate the building while they install the gas line to the stove,” Jamie said.

“What? No. We can’t. We have eight loaves of bread that will go bad,” Lucy said, and I felt her pain. My hands still ached after all the kneading I did the night before.

“I don’t have a choice. If we don’t take the oven today, we aren’t going to get it until next weekend,” Jamie said. “We’ll also be missing out on sales for the day, and hours for you two.”

Less hours meant less money. I would still spend my afternoon with Art, but Lucy would miss out on an afternoon’s worth of wages. We still hadn’t decided on a monthly rent, but without the hours, we may be forced to skip a meal or two.

The door opened and Art walked into the café, his jaw already working. “What are you guys standing around for when there’s a line all the way to Miss Dunham’s?”

“Boss, the oven came in, but they need to shut down the café to install it. He mentioned some rubbish about ‘customer safety,’” Jamie said.

Art’s face darkened and he swore in frustration.

“How would a single day’s profit from the café impactyouso much?” I asked him. “This is a small portion of your … your …empire.”

Art surveyed the line of customers, perhaps wondering whether he had time to explain it to me. “Because we can’t have my citizens going hungry. This is the only café in town. Do you expect them to hop a train to Turnersville for lunch?”

Lance walked in the door and my heart fluttered. He wore a pinstriped suit and matching bowler’s hat. I was so surprised to see him that I almost missed Art’s scowl.

Lance looked to Art, held up his arm, and pointed at his wrist. Art was late for something.

Art turned to us, his lip curled. “Just take care of this. I’ll be back.”

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