Revenge, Served with Chocolate Cake

Walden Rampino lumbered through the door of the Freshery Café at his usual time of ten-thirty. Behind the counter, Becky stiffened. She’d planned for months, and now her limbs were wooden at her sides. She couldn’t go through with this.

Yes, she could.

For Michael.

Becky swallowed her fear, looking up as the enormous Rampino waddled closer. At the tables, patrons, most of them holdouts from when this neighbourhood had been part of Little Italy, nodded their respect. Rampino ignored them all.

Two of his goons lingered by the door. Unlike Rampino, both were thin, athletic, alert. The boss himself was not only grotesquely obese, but softened in complacency. He’d won years ago. His enemies were compost and fish food. No one could touch him – no one would dare.

Rampino reached the counter, leaning heavily against it. His breath gusted in and out between bulbous lips. Sweat sheened his jowls, and a sickly pallor made him resemble a melting wax figure.

His shining eyes found Becky. She forced a polite smile, even as his own turned her blood to ice. One pudgy hand, each finger swollen around a gold ring, swept his hat from his head.

“If I knew they’d hired such a pretty new thing to watch the registers,” he said, puffing between every other word, “I’d have come here earlier.”

Becky had studied Rampino’s patterns. She knew he visited the Freshery every morning at the same time. As she’d suspected, he’d got complacent.

“It’s my pleasure to serve you, sir,” she said.

Rampino’s fleshy cheeks lifted in a disgusting smile. “The pleasure is all mine.”

Becky’s fist curled around the pen in her pocket. I could jam this into his eye. But, no, that would only get her killed.

Rampino leant even closer. Becky strained against her urge to pull away from him. The scent of coffee and fresh cakes made her dizzy for a moment, as if this was just another fantasy of revenge.

“Where’ve they been keeping you, eh?” he said.

Becky shrugged. “I usually work in the back, baking. Too many people off sick today though.”

“Hmm, baking. I used to enjoy baking myself, before my job got its claws in me.” He chuckled, and Becky supressed a shudder. How many people have you killed?

She couldn’t ask about his job. Anyone who lived in this part of the city for a while knew of Walden Rampino. Instead, she maintained her passive smile, fingers white around the pen.

Becky saw Michael’s body behind Rampino. She saw her little brother twisted on the road, spat out from underneath Rampino’s car, smearing blood along the tarmac. She saw his empty eyes rolling. She saw the same face she’d seen peering from the car’s passenger window, except now it was before her.

She blinked, and Michael was gone. Rampino smiled at her again.

“Away with the fairies, eh?”

“Sorry, it’s been hectic out here on my own.” Becky smiled back. In the kitchen, she’d given the other baker, Nina, strict instructions not to touch anything.

“Ah, we all have our off-days,” said Rampino. “I’ll take my usual. Black coffee, and a slice of your famous chocolate cake.” He patted his paunch. “My weakness.”

He always ordered the same breakfast. Black coffee, chocolate cake.

“We’ve had a cake baked fresh just this morning, sir,” said Becky. “Please, take a seat. I’ll bring it out for you.”

Rampino ambled to a table, sitting with his back to the door and the windows. Becky scowled as she turned away. The man acted as if he was invincible. He’d soon learn.

In the kitchen, Nina leant against the wall, twirling her ponytail around her finger as she chatted on the phone.

“Yeah, like I said, extra money,” Nina mumbled on in her gaudy Boston accent. “All the other staff got this, like, stomach bug or something. I’m just here covering the supervisor.”

Becky pulled the oven open, a waft of sweet air billowing over her. The chocolate cake emerged on its tray.

For a moment, Becky could only stare. Doubts came. Would it be enough? I can’t back out now.

Slamming the oven closed, she set the cake on the top to cool. She headed back out to man the register.

“Don’t touch that cake,” she said to Nina, who shrugged and carried on her conversation.

The next ten minutes trickled by with agonising slowness. Becky drifted, collecting plates and cups like a magpie. She indulged the old regulars in their meandering conversations. All the while, she sensed Rampino’s eyes following her.

Either courageous or too exhausted to care, she moved to his table. His two goons eyed her, but the boss himself leant back. Wiry black hairs protruded from his open collar.

“I’m sorry for the wait, sir,” said Becky. “The cake will be done in a few minutes.”

“And my coffee?”

Becky’s heart plummeted. After all her planning, she’d forgotten his coffee.

Rampino grinned. “One of those days, eh? Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. It’s ready when it’s ready. So, you go to college around here?”

“I left college last year,” said Becky, startled. “I can get your coffee-”

“You lived in this neighbourhood long?” said Rampino, crossing his fat fingers into a steeple.

Sweat stuck her shirt to her back. Becky’s chest tightened, and her hand groped for her inhaler. The last time… when Michael had been hit, she’d collapsed next to him, wheezing and gasping. And then he was gone.

“My parents moved here a few years ago,” she said.

“I could show you around a bit more though,” said Rampino, his grin curling. “A nice girl like you, you should see all this place has to offer.”

Becky stammered for the first time. It was hard to tell whether Rampino noticed. Against his sickly, soft face, his eyes were glinting, sharp as butcher’s knives.

“I’ll fetch your cake now, sir.”

“Ah, maybe I should put off the cake,” said Rampino, and her heart lurched.

She stared at Rampino, and felt her plan sifting away like flour through her fingers. Her hands shook as she bunched them into her pockets. Her lungs ached.

“Please, sir, I’m trying my best.” Becky hated to resort to begging, but she needed Rampino here. It has to be today. I can’t go through this again.

Rampino chuckled. “All right, I guess I don’t take much convincing. Go on, sweetheart.”

Rampino watched her go, and she let out a heavy breath when she pushed through into the kitchen. Nina had ended her call. She raised an eyebrow.

“Make up some black coffee,” said Becky.

“Black coffee?” muttered Nina. “You’d need guts of steel to drink the tar we make here.”

“Just do it.” Becky hurried to the oven.

Gasping, she leant against the kitchen top, taking air from her inhaler. Her lungs stopped aching, but her whole body quivered with adrenaline.

The kitchen door slammed open. Nina swore as she dropped scalding coffee over her hands. Becky turned, heart in her throat.

“You weren’t lying about the shortages,” said Rampino, waddling to her.

“The hell are you doing here?” demanded Nina.

“Sir, you can’t be here,” said Becky, more tactfully.

Rampino just ambled on. “Got tired of waiting around with the rest of those old saps out there. I’m a busy man, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, well, you still got to wait-”

“Shut up, Nina!” snapped Becky. “Go watch the register.”

Nina huffed and stormed out. Sending her away did nothing for Becky’s anxiety though, which rocketed with every step Rampino took.

She scurried past him to fetch the half-filled coffee cup. Grimacing, she pushed it into his hand.

Rampino took a sip. “You know, I’ve been trying to place you. I swear I know your face, but I ain’t seen you here before.”

Becky shrugged, turning her back on Rampino to spread chocolate frosting over the cake. Every instinct told her to run now. God, turning her back on him was something only an idiot would do.

I have to see this through.

“You got anyone important in your family?”

Her spatula clattered against the top. A sob choked her. Shaking, she gripped the tray with both hands, willing her emotions away.

“My dad died when I was young,” she said. “My ma died a couple months ago.” She saw no point in lying now. “Suicide.”

Rampino slurped at his coffee. “You need money? I could give you a good enough life, you know. Ask anyone, Boss Rampino takes care of his friends, his community.”

Becky picked up a knife. It trembled in her hand. Slowly, she cut through the cake, praying in her head.

“You don’t want to be working in a place like this all your life,” he continued. “Plus, you got the looks for better things. You got prospects.”

Becky scraped the knife along the tray. Taking a breath, she pulled a fat slice of chocolate cake free. She slipped it onto a plate and presented it to Rampino.

He looked at it, then looked at her. “You think I came back here for a slice of cake?”

“Please,” she said, her voice cracking. “I tried so hard because I knew you’d be here.”

Another sickly smile, and Rampino picked up the plate. Becky leant back, her knees shaking.

Rampino took the slice in one huge hand. He shoved it into his mouth, jowls swelling. As he chewed, Becky took another puff from her inhaler.

The boss swallowed, eyes darting to her. “You nervous?”

Becky laughed. “A little.”

He took another bite, chewed, swallowed. How long does it take?

Nina barged into the kitchen again. “Those two guys are asking what’s taking their boss so long out here?”

“Tell them to wait in the car!” yelled Rampino, through a mouthful of chocolate cake.

Becky shook as if electrified. Surely, surely, it would be soon.

Nina stormed out with a huff.

Rampino finished the last mouthful of cake, smacking his sweaty lips. As he held out the plate to her, his hand began to tremor, and it slipped, shattering on the floor.

“What?” he mumbled.

Becky drew herself up, astonished. It worked. Michael, it worked.

Rampino staggered back, gulping and flailing his arms. Becky walked over to him, as he crashed against the cabinets, sliding to the floor. His eyes, now shiny with panic, rolled up to her.

“My brother though,” she said, “he was important to us. Not to you.”

Rampino spluttered, throat bobbing under his bulbous chin. He opened his mouth, but no words came.

“You killed him,” said Becky, crouching. “You’ve killed a lot of people, I don’t doubt. You probably thought no one would come after you. Not for some little kid you hit in the poor part of town.”

Rampino gasped and his body shuddered. His bloated face began to look like a ripe grape, tongue flopping out from his mouth.

Shaking, Becky rose, as Rampino’s eyes focused beyond her, dull and glassy. She went back to the kitchen top, picking up the cake and dropping it into the rubbish. When she turned back, Rampino had gone still and silent.

With a sigh, Becky hung up her apron, hands trembling, and walked out through the fire door.