Greenbacks to Go

I was in the mood for pie, when I realized I had no dough to buy or make it.

Nevertheless, I made my way to Midge's, a little joint just under the L off 86th street. It was starting to turn into a rainy day, and the breakfast crowd had all but cleared out. A booth at the end had an ambiance that meshed with mine. It called out to me for a seat, and I took it up on its offer, a purposeful change from the lonely counters I was used to.

Having just used my last dime at a payphone two blocks away, I pondered over a worn cup with a dark brew about whether or not that payphone would pay off. I put hope in it, and hope is usually expensive. Before another cloud could darken my horizon, the diner door bell clanged, and my good pal, Walt, walked in the door.

I smiled at him as he made his way back to my booth. As he slid into his seat, I greeted him simply with, "Walt, ya made it!"

"Hiya, Sam. Of course I made it." Walt said as he shook the rain off his jacket.

"How ya doin', Walt?"

"Well, I've been better. I'm not gonna lie; I'm a little nervous." Walt settled into his seat, but left his wrists on the table.

"Nervous about what?" I asked him, calmly.

"Well," he leaned into the table and whispered, "You said you had a job today, but I don't have any details. We don't normally do it this fast."

I raised my hand and caught the attention of the waitress.

"Ya know, my old lady keeps tellin' me I gotta be more spontaneous." I responded.

Walt noticed the waitress arriving. He leaned back, and added, "Maybe with her, Sam. But you and me, we can keep it real orderly."

"A menu for my friend, please," I said to the waitress with a smile. She nodded and left to find a menu. I continued to Walt, "Nah, I think she has some merit to it. What do you think of this place?"

"What do I think?" Walt asked, perplexed.

"Yeah, of this place?" I nodded.

The waitress returned with a menu for Walt. She placed it in front of him while he responded sternly, "I heard they have good omelets."

Dryly, the waitress stated, "I'll give you both a couple minutes," and walked back toward the hot-pass.

"What's that expression?" I pondered aloud coyly, "If you want an omelet you gotta be willing to break some eggs?"

"I'm thinkin' the cook does that here, Sam."

"I guess that depends." I responded nonchalantly. I pulled the jelly packet rack close to me and started tossing out the apple butters. "You know, I've been lookin' for a job."

"You really thinkin' here?" Walt questioned, seemingly trying to shake my confidence.

"Yeah, ya know," I continued, playing things cool, "I might put in an application. Start knocking on doors."

Walt stared at me for a moment, then turned in his seat to see the lay of the land. He nodded to himself then offered his assessment, "Looks like there's only one cook, and two servers."

I knew where this math was going, and I was excited to hear what he would say next.

"I'm not really hungry for an omelet today," he continued. "Think they have a salad, you know, something greener?"

"Lotta folks been in here today," I added, "We can probably do somethin' meatier. Maybe meatballs?"

Walt considered seriously for a moment, before responding, "It's hard to get that sauce when the lid isn't open."

I smiled, realizing he had taken my bait. We were really going to do this. I tapped my finger on the table two times and added, "I gotta pretty good grip. I can usually make it work." I leaned back, opening my jacket slightly so he could see the handle of my gun.

"I guess only one of us needs that," he tilted his head to the side in acknowledgement. "You know what, I'm thinkin' we're gonna need a couple of to-go bags."

"This diner does do carryout," I reassured.

"What time is it?"

The L rattled overhead. "20 minutes till the lunch rush," I answered, confirming with the neon framed clock above the diner door.

Walt sighed, "Good a time as any."

We both stood, exiting the booth and walking toward the counter. I had just enough time to reach for my gun, removing it from the the holster in my jacket as we reached the register.

"Remind me I need to have a word with your old lady." Walt said to me before I turned the gun to the cashier and he blocked the door, shouting, "this is a robbery!"