Fresh Cut
Carmen clipped the end of the cigar and rolled it under her nose. “Oh, he wasn’t kidding about them being fresher.” She closed her eyes and inhaled again. “The maple notes come through even stronger now.”
She struck a wooden match and let the sulfur burn off before lifting it to the cigar. “If you use a match, remember to let the sulfur burn off.” She said, noticing Kid studying her preparation. She took three puffs, the coiled smoke rising like an offering to the heavens.
Carmen held the smoke in her mouth before passing it to Kid. She blew out the smoke in a lazy circle, sizing Kid up. “When Tiny said he had a new hire he wanted me to meet, I thought he’d finally hired a leg breaker for collections.” She smirked. “Instead, I get a handsome devil who’s a sandwich prodigy.”
Kid laughed nervously. “Never seen any of those guys around Tiny.” They sniffed the wrapper. Behind the maple: a dry, sharp spice. Almost nutmeg, but meaner. “I just keep the deli running and make sandwiches.” They drew the smoke in. It was sweet, bitter, dry. They held it just long enough for it to sting the back of their throat before exhaling, trying not to cough.
“That makes you a real heavyweight.” Carmen raised her glass in toast. “To Kid, egg salad maestro.” She drained her glass before refilling it with the last from a sweating bottle of tonic water.
“Have you been talking to Paulie? He butters me up like that.” Kid passed the cigar back to Carmen. “I don’t get it. I still have cardboard lining my favorite boots. I’m nobody.” Kid immediately looked embarrassed. “It’s fine. They’re broken in.”
“You’re the one who shows up. Does the work. Keeps your promises.” Carmen leaned in. “Some people call that love.”
Kid glanced at the door.
Carmen ashed into the tray with slow precision. “This delivery deserves more than a thank you.”
Kid tilted their head, eyes cautiously curious. They knew Carmen wasn’t that kind of danger.
Carmen passed Kid the cigar. “It’s not what it sounds like. How would you like to raid my wardrobe? It’s next door along with my studio. You can see my latest work too. Late as Adonis.”
“Are you kidding? I’d love it.” There was an ache in their stomach, like the hunger the first time Jerk offered to feed them. Kid sat with it before a realization hit. “Wait. Late models?”
Carmen’s sly smile returned as she nodded. “He even shows up on time. Usually.”
Carmen held the ashtray like an hors d’oeuvre platter, ashing into it. “I think I even have some boots that will fit your strut.” She motioned. “There’s a passage through the kitchen.”
The passage smelled of perfume, cigarettes, and damp brick. Kid followed, spongy cardboard insoles forgotten.