Trade Secret
Door opens, bell rings. Leaves skitter in.
Tiny glanced up from his crossword. “Nice haircuts.” He went back to it for a moment before looking up at Jerk again. “You let Kid do that?”
Sad Eyes was packing in his lunch, his shift over. “You look like Maynard.” He smiled with approval.
“I like it.” Jerk ran his hands through his hair. It was shaved on the sides and a messy shock of hair on top. “Kid did a good job.”
Tiny couldn’t stop staring at Jerk’s hair. He shook his head. “Mort parted your hair on the wrong side one time, and you accused him of malfeasance while you were still in the chair.”
“Malpractice.” Jerk corrected him. “How do you forget what side a person parts their hair on?” A fire engine passed on 4th, heading north. He grit his teeth.
Sad Eyes leaned in while Jerk and Tiny continued arguing barber malpractice. “Your egg salads are fantastic, Kid.”
Kid’s copper penny eyes brightened. “Thanks! My recipe,” they half-whispered back, smile wide.
“When you grow it back, you’ll have cowlicks everywhere.” Tiny said crossing his arms. “It’ll be worse than your baby pictures.”
“I’ll just wear a hat when I grow it back.” Jerk said, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the pot, automatically starting to make a new pot.
“You never wear hats.” Tiny looked at Kid, hands raised as if he was holding up his confusion as evidence. “He’ll wear a hat now?”
“I’ve got a Mets cap he can wear.” Jerk had never seen the Mets cap in Kid’s stuff, and they didn’t have much.
Tiny was disgusted. “The Mets? I’d rather he shaved his head.” He flashed 5 fingers at Sad Eyes as he left. “Truck tomorrow. 5am.”
“Not a Mets fan. Got it.” Kid grinned as they backed away from the counter. “I’m gonna check and see how Star’s doing in the Deli.”
“I think a warmer on the Bunn’s going.” Jerk complained. “Coffee’s lukewarm.” He took another sip and grimaced. “I replaced the thermostat on that one last year.”
“Why’s the facility manager telling me this? Get it fixed.” Tiny grumbled under his breath.
Like starlings taking flight in unison, three customers decided to check out. Jerk paced Aisle C patiently while Tiny worked and silently walked through the process of replacing the burner in his head. The last customer had food stamps, slowing the big man down.
Kid returned as the bell rang for the last customer. “Tiny, we’re out of sandwiches again.” They scratched at some scrubby sideburn whiskers recently graduated from fuzz.
“Sad Eyes had Star hide one before we ran out.” Tiny shook his head. “We haven’t done sandwich numbers like this since before Norma’s first surgery.”
“I’ll come in earlier, make more–”
“No.” Tiny leaned back, crossing his arms. “Halve the Italian clubs and the ham and Swiss numbers.” His eyes were unfocused, he was running numbers in his head. “Focus on the egg salad. They’re the one people ask after when we run out.”
Jerk scratched the bare side of his head. “Those take the longest, we could have Roxy–”
“No!” Kid and Tiny reacted simultaneously.
“We give her the reci–” Jerk, being practical.
“Screw that–”
“Recipe’s mine–”
Tiny and Kid talked over each other. Kid stopped and looked at Tiny. He led.
Tiny cleared his throat. “Recipe’s is Kid’s trade secret and since Kid’s employed by The News as–” He paused, thinking. “‘Assistant Manager, Deli’,” He nodded and smiled at the title he’d just created. “We have exclusive rights.”
Kid looked at Tiny for a moment before nodding. “Paulie talked me up to his mom and dad after his last visit, but I keep telling them no when they ask me to join the kitchen, or–” Kid shrugged. “I like bussing and washing dishes. Two nights of no thinking, just doing.”
Jerk wondered what Kid thought of when they weren’t thinking. He always found himself factoring the differences between different powers of primes.
“Tiny, sticking around long enough I can go to Kelly’s? They should have the parts I need.”
Tiny nodded, then paused, thinking. “Got a delivery you two can handle on the way.”
“Sandwich delivery?” Kid tilted their head slightly and raised an eyebrow.
Tiny huffed. “Look who’s getting curious. No. You still might drool, though.” He looked at Jerk. “Carmen needs a refill. Usual mix.”
“It’s two weeks late.” Jerk knew the normal frequency.
Tiny shrugged. “Not our concern.” He looked at Kid. “Pay Kid the standard rate.”