Saved by the Outlaw(14)
“C-can I help you?” says the man in a thickly accented voice.
“I don’t know,” I say, “you a new hire here?”
“Hire? Uh, yes sir.”
“How much is the old man paying you?”
The man is visibly shaking now, and the fear in his eyes tells me everything I need to know even before he begins shaking his head and feigning not being able to understand my question. He’s clearly an immigrant being paid under the table.
“The answer is ‘not fairly,’” I say to him, giving the terrified man a pat on the back as I nod for the rest of the club to follow me inside. Some of the boys give him an encouraging nod as they file in after me, but the man is too terrified to react.
As we slowly flood the entrance to the shady liquor store, Mickey Lamar himself raises his head from behind the counter, a perpetual scowl on his face. He’s a wiry guy in his fifties, thin from doing nothing but working the shop his whole life and blessed with a kindly, elderly face. But the moment his eyes fall on all of us, his whiskery face blanches behind his thick-framed glasses.
“Fucking shit,” I hear him whisper as he starts to fumble at the counter, but before he can do anything, I hold out a hand to him while the other goes instinctively to the pistol tucked in my back.
“Hold up there, Mickey,” I say as I circle around the counter before tilting my head towards the club. “Fellas, mind tellin’ Mickey’s treasured customers that he’ll be closing shop early today?”
The club obliges, and the few customers in the shop are politely asked to make their way out while Mickey and I glare each other down over the counter. My hand is still at my gun. I don’t think Mickey has it in him to try anything stupid, but I know there’s a shotgun behind that counter, and I’m not taking any chances.
“What the fuck do you thugs want, barging into my store like this? I’m an honest man, I pay my taxes! Isn’t that what you jobless fucks tout about defending all the time? Get the fuck out of here!”
“Come on, Mickey,” I say, the world’s fakest smile on my face. “We haven’t paid a visit in a long time, and that’s how you’re gonna say ‘hello’? We just thought we’d stop in and check in with you and your valued employees since we’ve got nothing else to do today, isn’t that right, Eva?”
“That’s right,” my Vice concurs, “I hear one of them has a bun in the oven, is that right? Thought we’d congratulate the expectant mother.”
“Funny thing is, Mickey,” I say, “I didn’t see her on the way in, but I did see a new face at the ice machine. His English isn’t too good, but I’m sure you’re helping him out with that, aren’t you? After all, everyone knows you’re a generous kinda guy.”
The look in Mickey’s eyes is positively glowing with fire.
“Alright alright, get off my ass, shithead,” he snarls. “I know what the fuck this is about, so cut the bullshit.”
“You want me to cut the bullshit?” I laugh while some of the club checks through the bottles on the shelves idly, but I know it’s a ruse—their eyes are watching the entrance and the employee doors for signs of trouble.
“That’s rich, Mickey, real rich. Alright, so if you wanna cut the bullshit, let’s cut the bullshit.” I step towards the counter, taking my hand off my gun and resting both palms on the surface in front of me, my face about a foot away from Mickey’s scowl.
“Why don’t you explain to me why, the second the suits from Washington start cropping up in town, you think your ass can get away with firing a couple of honest employees and hiring a couple of immigrants you pay a third of a living wage in their place? Why don’t you start with that, huh?”
“I ain’t gotta say shit to any of you Russkys.”
There’s a quiet confidence in his eyes, like a smug, petulant child who knows he has the teacher on his side in the middle of a playground scrap. I know it’s because he feels safe with the FBI around town. And I know that to some degree, he’s right in that security. One fed happens to be driving by the shop right about now, and we’d all be in the slammer before sundown.
But I’m not going to let that threat stop me. Not when there are folks’ livelihoods at stake.
“Look, Mickey,” I say, my voice becoming deadly serious, “let me put it this way. Now, I know you think you’ve got your ass covered with the big boys from out of state coming around town to clean out thugs like us, but it isn’t gonna work that way. Unless you like the idea of having trouble with the club,” I give a sharp nod towards me crew, “then you’re gonna give those two employees you just laid off their jobs back. And they’re gonna have the exact same pay as they had when your slimy ass kicked them out.”