Tony walked past him, Eric said, “Get those chips with the ridges. I like those.”
Tony turned, looking up at the man. “You got it,” Tony said, then he sprinted down the hall to the stairwell, where he took the stairs three at a time.
At the all-night grocery, Tony frantically stacked his items on the counter next to the cash register. A case of Miller, chips – with ridges, he made sure – and pretzels. Then he thought about Louie the Leg. He ran back to the beer section and grabbed a case of Michelob. No way he wanted Louie’s mouth getting dry. As he stacked the Michelob on top of the other case of beer, he heard a stern female voice say, “You got ID?”
Tony looked over the stacked beer to see that instead of the chain-smoking male clerk he had encountered last time, the person behind the counter tonight was a tiny old Korean woman. Looking at her wizened face, he estimated her age as somewhere between fifty and two hundred. “You got ID?” she asked again.
Tony shifted on his feet uncomfortably. “Uh, no – I left it, uh, at my apartment,” he said. “Up the street. Yeah, it’s back in my apartment.” He smiled encouragingly. “But I’ve bought beer here before. I shop here all the time, you know, ‘cause I live just up the street.”
“Then you go get ID,” she said. “I wait here. You live just up street, should only take five minutes, right?”
Tony felt sick. His evening – hell, maybe his whole life – was going to be ruined by some little old woman who weighed maybe eighty pounds?
“You don’t understand,” he said. “I’m in a big hurry. It’s real important that I get this stuff back to my apartment right away. It really can’t wait.”
The woman nodded, giving Tony hope. Then she said, “I see. Medical emergency?” There was the slightest smirk in her wrinkled face, as her eyes went from the beer to the chips, to the pretzels. Great, an eighty-pound woman with a sarcastic streak.
“Lady, if I don’t get back with this stuff soon, I’m gonna be the one with a medical emergency. Please? Can you help me? That other guy – the guy who smokes? He always sells me beer.”
At this her eyes narrowed, something Tony would have thought impossible given the structure of her face. He had the feeling that he might have just gotten the smoking clerk into a lot of trouble.
Desperate, Tony tried his best Frankie B imitation. He loomed over the counter with what he hoped was a daunting scowl, a look that when properly executed turned most men’s knees into jelly. It had no effect on the woman.
Abandoning that tactic, Tony groped in his pocket for his money, thinking maybe an extra five bucks might change her mind. Pulling the money out, several bills fell onto the counter. He was shocked to see that they were all hundred-dollar bills, then he remembered the money Jimmy had left him last week.
Picking them up, he held them in front of the woman’s face.
“Look,” he said, “I’ll give you three hundred dollars for the stuff I got here. Three hundred dollars ,” he said, stressing each syllable while shaking the bills in front of her.
The woman deftly snatched the bills from his hand. “Paper or plastic?” she asked, with a triumphant smile. She kept smiling while she bagged Tony’s purchases.
As he hurried back to his apartment laden with the World’s Most Expensive Beer, Tony hoped Louie the Leg wouldn’t give him any shit about his choice of beers. Wouldn’t that just figure, Tony thought – watch me bring this guy a case of Miller and a case of Mick, and Louie turns out to be a Bud man. God give me strength, he murmured, the way his mother often did. If his hands hadn’t been full, he would have crossed himself.
When Tony got back to the apartment, he found that Louie the Leg was on his fourth beer, and had been magnanimous enough to allow Jimmy and his other three friends to open one beer each.
“Made it in the nick of time,” Jimmy told Tony as he
Tony turned, looking up at the man. “You got it,” Tony said, then he sprinted down the hall to the stairwell, where he took the stairs three at a time.
At the all-night grocery, Tony frantically stacked his items on the counter next to the cash register. A case of Miller, chips – with ridges, he made sure – and pretzels. Then he thought about Louie the Leg. He ran back to the beer section and grabbed a case of Michelob. No way he wanted Louie’s mouth getting dry. As he stacked the Michelob on top of the other case of beer, he heard a stern female voice say, “You got ID?”
Tony looked over the stacked beer to see that instead of the chain-smoking male clerk he had encountered last time, the person behind the counter tonight was a tiny old Korean woman. Looking at her wizened face, he estimated her age as somewhere between fifty and two hundred. “You got ID?” she asked again.
Tony shifted on his feet uncomfortably. “Uh, no – I left it, uh, at my apartment,” he said. “Up the street. Yeah, it’s back in my apartment.” He smiled encouragingly. “But I’ve bought beer here before. I shop here all the time, you know, ‘cause I live just up the street.”
“Then you go get ID,” she said. “I wait here. You live just up street, should only take five minutes, right?”
Tony felt sick. His evening – hell, maybe his whole life – was going to be ruined by some little old woman who weighed maybe eighty pounds?
“You don’t understand,” he said. “I’m in a big hurry. It’s real important that I get this stuff back to my apartment right away. It really can’t wait.”
The woman nodded, giving Tony hope. Then she said, “I see. Medical emergency?” There was the slightest smirk in her wrinkled face, as her eyes went from the beer to the chips, to the pretzels. Great, an eighty-pound woman with a sarcastic streak.
“Lady, if I don’t get back with this stuff soon, I’m gonna be the one with a medical emergency. Please? Can you help me? That other guy – the guy who smokes? He always sells me beer.”
At this her eyes narrowed, something Tony would have thought impossible given the structure of her face. He had the feeling that he might have just gotten the smoking clerk into a lot of trouble.
Desperate, Tony tried his best Frankie B imitation. He loomed over the counter with what he hoped was a daunting scowl, a look that when properly executed turned most men’s knees into jelly. It had no effect on the woman.
Abandoning that tactic, Tony groped in his pocket for his money, thinking maybe an extra five bucks might change her mind. Pulling the money out, several bills fell onto the counter. He was shocked to see that they were all hundred-dollar bills, then he remembered the money Jimmy had left him last week.
Picking them up, he held them in front of the woman’s face.
“Look,” he said, “I’ll give you three hundred dollars for the stuff I got here. Three hundred dollars ,” he said, stressing each syllable while shaking the bills in front of her.
The woman deftly snatched the bills from his hand. “Paper or plastic?” she asked, with a triumphant smile. She kept smiling while she bagged Tony’s purchases.
As he hurried back to his apartment laden with the World’s Most Expensive Beer, Tony hoped Louie the Leg wouldn’t give him any shit about his choice of beers. Wouldn’t that just figure, Tony thought – watch me bring this guy a case of Miller and a case of Mick, and Louie turns out to be a Bud man. God give me strength, he murmured, the way his mother often did. If his hands hadn’t been full, he would have crossed himself.
When Tony got back to the apartment, he found that Louie the Leg was on his fourth beer, and had been magnanimous enough to allow Jimmy and his other three friends to open one beer each.
“Made it in the nick of time,” Jimmy told Tony as he
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