The Moolie of Port Town.
Posted: 25 Oct 2021, 12:01
"We gonna do this shit every time, kid?"
"I ain't your kid," Martin all but spat at him as he opened his sandwich and held it in front of his face, "You call this a fucking melt? You need cheese for it to melt!"
"You want extra cheese," the cook pointed at the menu," You order extra cheese!"
At the table, Jamie and Donte's conversation continued without missing a beat. At this rate, it had become a tradition that Martin would order the Frisco melt, with no extra cheese, and complain about the lack of said extra cheese. In his defense, it was a bit plain.
"You might as well stay here," Donte shrugged, "I'm just saying, ain't the point of moving to the city to be in the city?"
"It's not the same," she pulled the newspaper away from him, "See, it says right there that I can be in the city in like fifteen, twenty minutes."
"I heard you," Donte took a bite of his sub, keeping his complaint of it being almost all bread with just a few cold cuts to himself.
"Besides," Jamie said as Martin finally joined them at their table, "Y'all need to be looking for a fucking job too."
"He's already busy painting some white motherfucker's fence," Martin scoffed, plucking one of Jamie's fries which drew a dirty look.
"Finished up last Thursday," Donte sucked his teeth, "You're talking shit but that was good pay, wouldn't mind a few more jobs like that."
"Ain't no real money in that," Martin shook his head.
"Ain't real money in what you're doing either," Jamie quipped.
"I'll show you how real my shit is," Martin pulled out a wad of cash and threw it towards Jamie's face.
As expected, the fiery redbone didn't take kindly to this, reaching across the table and tried to slap his face but failed to connect, drawing a laugh out of Martin. Jamie got up and grabbed her drink to throw it at him but Donte quickly got up as well, taking it out of her hand and pushing her back down to her seat.
He managed to calm them down with some stern looks but they had already gotten the attention of the entire restaurant, including its owner.
"Get the fuck out of here!" yelled one of the workers as two guys -- apparent cooks -- came from the kitchen.
"We're leaving," Donte said as he grabbed Martin by the arm and guided him to the exit, careful to keep Jamie at a safe distance as well.
"Fucking moolies!" said one of the workers from the back of the restaurant.
"What'd you call us?" Jamie snapped back in the general direction of the cashier, not sure who it was that said it.
Both Jamie and Martin redirected their anger away from each other and towards the workers as they started to approach the two workers and the cashier that were now just a few feet away from them.
"Donte, get them the fuck out of here. It's the same bullshit as always with this one, fucking waste. I don't want to see them back here again."
"I got it," Donte reassured him but when he went to grab Martin's shoulder, all he saw was the flash of a chrome object being pulled from the back of his waist.
"Yeah, bitch!" Martin yelled out as he waved the gun in front of the workers, swaying it from side to side.
"What the fuck?!" Donte screamed out as Jamie quickly ran out of the store along with all of it's other patrons.
"Don't fucking move, don't fucking move!" Martin continued to yell to the co-workers as he got closer to the cash register, "Hey sweetheart, put the fucking money...."
Martin looked around and emptied out the cardboard box on the cash register counter that held the napkins, "Put the money in there!"
"I can't open it!" yelled the cashier, a fair-skinned girl that was perhaps straight out of high school. The two other workers that had came from the kitchen just stood still as Martin rotated from pointing the gun at the cashier and then to them.
"Make a fucking order then," Martin instructed, "Let me get a frisco melt with extra cheese, honey!"
Martin got a kick out of his joke, a joke that only him and Donte would understand. Donte was in no laughing mood as he contemplated bailing on his friend or perhaps even disarming him. He knew that if he left, there was a good chance that those two guys would make a move on Martin and likely result in at least one of them getting shot, if not killed.
The cashier frantically placed the order, which opened the register and soon enough, she placed about $80 dollars worth of bills into the cardboard box.
"Let's fucking go!" Donte yelled out as he took a peak out the window. The mass exodus from the restaurant had drawn attention but nothing major yet as people were sort of wandering closer to the restaurant, not sure what was happening. As soon as Donte turned around to see what Martin was up to, he let off a gunshot into the back of the restaurant followed by a deep, roaring laughter before making a dash to the exit.
…
"You're going to cause trouble," he strained out of his seat, using the tablecloth that was previously on his knee to wipe the corners of his mouth.
"I'm serious," Joey insisted as he placed a hand on her shoulder, "This was one of the best meals I've ever had, I swear it on my life."
"Stop it," the elderly woman blushed, "I hardly had any time to finish up, you're just teasing me."
"With all due respect, I don't kid around when it comes to food, Mrs. Palmieri. Come on, just look at me. Does it look like I've missed any meals?"
"You're welcome any time," she smiled as she started to clear the table but Bobby, her son in law, quickly got up.
"Boys," Bobby commanded, "Help your nonna out, I want everything spick and span when I get back, okay?"
"What about Andrea?" Leonardo complained.
"Enough of that," Dominique chastised their youngest, "Get to it now."
The women and the kids cleaned up as Bobby and Joey headed to the backyard.
"I see why you married into this family," Joey lit a cigar.
"You're telling me?" Bobby patted his stomach, "She cooked every day when Dom was pregnant with Junior, gained about thirty pounds and still trying to fight it off."
"It's all in the sauce," Joey replied, "These new broads, they don't fucking respect the sauce. I mean with Monica, God bless her heart, she cook it straight out the can but thinks I don't fucking know."
"No shit?" Bobby shook his head.
"I ain't married her for her cooking either so what the fuck am I complaining about?"
Bobby nodded in agreement, taking out a cigar of his own.
"Speaking of complaining, our friend Bruce is crawling up my ass."
"Again?"
"It never ends with that one," Joey waved his finger in front of Bobby, "I mean the thing with his brother, I understand the man might still be shaken up but you've got to drop your balls at some point and be your own man."
"Hey, we always knew it was going to be something, right?"
Joey paused for a moment, taking in what Bobby had just said. He chomped on his cigar some more, taking in a few puffs before resuming the conversation.
"The devil you know," he raised his eyebrow in agreement, "Anyway, one of his joints on the east side got robbed, some fucking deli or something."
"On the east side? Across the bridge?"
"I know," Joey scoffed, "I had to give him something and nobody was fighting over that pile of shit so I figured it'd be a good way to get him earning."
"We thinking Casella, maybe?"
"What? No, fuck no. It was two fucking moolies, had some chick with them, I think. That's what Bruce told me anyhow at six o'clock in the fucking morning."
"He called you at six o'clock in the morning over a deli being robbed by a couple of fucking shiners?"
"He's an unreasonable man," Joey quipped, "But fuck it, we're here, right?"
"I'll handle it," Bobby patted Joey on the shoulder.
"I ain't your kid," Martin all but spat at him as he opened his sandwich and held it in front of his face, "You call this a fucking melt? You need cheese for it to melt!"
"You want extra cheese," the cook pointed at the menu," You order extra cheese!"
At the table, Jamie and Donte's conversation continued without missing a beat. At this rate, it had become a tradition that Martin would order the Frisco melt, with no extra cheese, and complain about the lack of said extra cheese. In his defense, it was a bit plain.
"You might as well stay here," Donte shrugged, "I'm just saying, ain't the point of moving to the city to be in the city?"
"It's not the same," she pulled the newspaper away from him, "See, it says right there that I can be in the city in like fifteen, twenty minutes."
"I heard you," Donte took a bite of his sub, keeping his complaint of it being almost all bread with just a few cold cuts to himself.
"Besides," Jamie said as Martin finally joined them at their table, "Y'all need to be looking for a fucking job too."
"He's already busy painting some white motherfucker's fence," Martin scoffed, plucking one of Jamie's fries which drew a dirty look.
"Finished up last Thursday," Donte sucked his teeth, "You're talking shit but that was good pay, wouldn't mind a few more jobs like that."
"Ain't no real money in that," Martin shook his head.
"Ain't real money in what you're doing either," Jamie quipped.
"I'll show you how real my shit is," Martin pulled out a wad of cash and threw it towards Jamie's face.
As expected, the fiery redbone didn't take kindly to this, reaching across the table and tried to slap his face but failed to connect, drawing a laugh out of Martin. Jamie got up and grabbed her drink to throw it at him but Donte quickly got up as well, taking it out of her hand and pushing her back down to her seat.
He managed to calm them down with some stern looks but they had already gotten the attention of the entire restaurant, including its owner.
"Get the fuck out of here!" yelled one of the workers as two guys -- apparent cooks -- came from the kitchen.
"We're leaving," Donte said as he grabbed Martin by the arm and guided him to the exit, careful to keep Jamie at a safe distance as well.
"Fucking moolies!" said one of the workers from the back of the restaurant.
"What'd you call us?" Jamie snapped back in the general direction of the cashier, not sure who it was that said it.
Both Jamie and Martin redirected their anger away from each other and towards the workers as they started to approach the two workers and the cashier that were now just a few feet away from them.
"Donte, get them the fuck out of here. It's the same bullshit as always with this one, fucking waste. I don't want to see them back here again."
"I got it," Donte reassured him but when he went to grab Martin's shoulder, all he saw was the flash of a chrome object being pulled from the back of his waist.
"Yeah, bitch!" Martin yelled out as he waved the gun in front of the workers, swaying it from side to side.
"What the fuck?!" Donte screamed out as Jamie quickly ran out of the store along with all of it's other patrons.
"Don't fucking move, don't fucking move!" Martin continued to yell to the co-workers as he got closer to the cash register, "Hey sweetheart, put the fucking money...."
Martin looked around and emptied out the cardboard box on the cash register counter that held the napkins, "Put the money in there!"
"I can't open it!" yelled the cashier, a fair-skinned girl that was perhaps straight out of high school. The two other workers that had came from the kitchen just stood still as Martin rotated from pointing the gun at the cashier and then to them.
"Make a fucking order then," Martin instructed, "Let me get a frisco melt with extra cheese, honey!"
Martin got a kick out of his joke, a joke that only him and Donte would understand. Donte was in no laughing mood as he contemplated bailing on his friend or perhaps even disarming him. He knew that if he left, there was a good chance that those two guys would make a move on Martin and likely result in at least one of them getting shot, if not killed.
The cashier frantically placed the order, which opened the register and soon enough, she placed about $80 dollars worth of bills into the cardboard box.
"Let's fucking go!" Donte yelled out as he took a peak out the window. The mass exodus from the restaurant had drawn attention but nothing major yet as people were sort of wandering closer to the restaurant, not sure what was happening. As soon as Donte turned around to see what Martin was up to, he let off a gunshot into the back of the restaurant followed by a deep, roaring laughter before making a dash to the exit.
…
"You're going to cause trouble," he strained out of his seat, using the tablecloth that was previously on his knee to wipe the corners of his mouth.
"I'm serious," Joey insisted as he placed a hand on her shoulder, "This was one of the best meals I've ever had, I swear it on my life."
"Stop it," the elderly woman blushed, "I hardly had any time to finish up, you're just teasing me."
"With all due respect, I don't kid around when it comes to food, Mrs. Palmieri. Come on, just look at me. Does it look like I've missed any meals?"
"You're welcome any time," she smiled as she started to clear the table but Bobby, her son in law, quickly got up.
"Boys," Bobby commanded, "Help your nonna out, I want everything spick and span when I get back, okay?"
"What about Andrea?" Leonardo complained.
"Enough of that," Dominique chastised their youngest, "Get to it now."
The women and the kids cleaned up as Bobby and Joey headed to the backyard.
"I see why you married into this family," Joey lit a cigar.
"You're telling me?" Bobby patted his stomach, "She cooked every day when Dom was pregnant with Junior, gained about thirty pounds and still trying to fight it off."
"It's all in the sauce," Joey replied, "These new broads, they don't fucking respect the sauce. I mean with Monica, God bless her heart, she cook it straight out the can but thinks I don't fucking know."
"No shit?" Bobby shook his head.
"I ain't married her for her cooking either so what the fuck am I complaining about?"
Bobby nodded in agreement, taking out a cigar of his own.
"Speaking of complaining, our friend Bruce is crawling up my ass."
"Again?"
"It never ends with that one," Joey waved his finger in front of Bobby, "I mean the thing with his brother, I understand the man might still be shaken up but you've got to drop your balls at some point and be your own man."
"Hey, we always knew it was going to be something, right?"
Joey paused for a moment, taking in what Bobby had just said. He chomped on his cigar some more, taking in a few puffs before resuming the conversation.
"The devil you know," he raised his eyebrow in agreement, "Anyway, one of his joints on the east side got robbed, some fucking deli or something."
"On the east side? Across the bridge?"
"I know," Joey scoffed, "I had to give him something and nobody was fighting over that pile of shit so I figured it'd be a good way to get him earning."
"We thinking Casella, maybe?"
"What? No, fuck no. It was two fucking moolies, had some chick with them, I think. That's what Bruce told me anyhow at six o'clock in the fucking morning."
"He called you at six o'clock in the morning over a deli being robbed by a couple of fucking shiners?"
"He's an unreasonable man," Joey quipped, "But fuck it, we're here, right?"
"I'll handle it," Bobby patted Joey on the shoulder.