Page 74 of Working for the Mob

“Your sister didn’t drop off a loaf of bread last weekend,” Mrs. Jenkins said, as she took her coffee and I felt reprimanded.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Jenkins. We were at the hospital for most of the weekend.” And it wasn’t a lie. Lucy, Art, and I returned to the hospital the previous night to visit Cissy and bring them both food.

“I heard about that. How is Jamie doing? He’s always been a good-natured boy. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to shoot him.”

They’d want to shoot Art.

“He’s doing much better, thanks. Cissy is in good spirits that he’ll make a full recovery,” I said.

“Good,” she said, and left with her coffee.

I breathed a sigh of relief and went back to preparing another order when the door chimed open and Miss Dunham walked in.

“Miss Dunham,” I said. I had completely forgotten about the order. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you. Where are the cold cuts?”

My heart dropped from her frown. This wasn’t going to be good.

“I’m sorry, Genevieve, but that’s why I’m here. I came to let you know that we didn’t receive our meat shipment today. Something to do with the damn crosstown war.”

Schnitzel.

“But what about our sandwiches? A turkey sandwich with no turkey is a pretty hard sell,” I said.

“There’s nothing I can do. I’m missing out on sales as well,” she said, and shared what she must have thought was a comforting smile.

This can’t be happening. Not on my first day of work. Art will blame me. He’ll be angry that we had to close down the shop and he’ll take over as manager.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“We can hope that the shipment arrives tomorrow,” she said. “I need to get back. I’ve got some aged meats that I can prepare for today.”

Schnitzel. Schnitzel. Wiener Schnitzel.

How could I conjure up enough meat for one-hundred sandwiches? The orders next to Lucy’s register kept piling up. I needed to think of a solution to this. I had to.

I continued to run the coffee orders to the customers, often throwing in a scone or two. How were we going to get through this problem?

I kept an eye on the clock. Thirty minutes until we closed for lunch. Put on another pot of coffee. Grab a scone. Pour three cups of coffee. Bus a table. Pour a cup of coffee. Fifteen minutes. Pour a cup of coffee. Bus a table. Ten minutes and no new ideas. Grab a couple scones. Pour a cup of coffee. Five minutes. Think, think, think.

“I think it's time to flip the sign, Genny,” Lucy said. “That was one busy morning.”

“We aren’t getting the cold cut delivery today,” I said, as emotionless as I could. Sometimes it was best to just rip the band aid off and deliver the bad news.

“Do we have to go to Miss Dunham’s to pick it up?”

“No. She never received her shipment and can’t deliver them to us,” I said.

“But what will we do? We open in an hour.”

“Which means we don’t have much time.”

???

I knocked on the door to Art’s office, breathless, and entered without waiting for a reply.

Art swung around in his office chair, with his eyebrows narrowed. “You can’t just barge in here like that.”

“Miss Dunham couldn’t deliver the cold cuts today, so we don’t have any meat to make sandwiches,”

---