Eddie’s Bodega by Susan Isla Tepper

We got burgled twice— in daytime, no less— I called in a carpenter to raise the counter and add plywood sides where Contralta sat up front behind the register.  I figured it would be a turn-off.  They’d have to squeeze in with her to demand the money.  Burglars like an open counter for the quick get away.  

Instead of being scared afterward, Contralta was pissed.  She has a mad-dog face.  Telling me You gotta go all plastic, Eddie.  Her reasoning being word would get around the street.  They’d target someplace else. I tried explaining that people use cash for small purchases.  I did not explain that cash is liquid.  It wasn’t her business to know how I ran my business.  This was not a woman you could reason with.  Her dentist told her to have her extra-long bicuspids shaved; but no go.

At any rate, it’s been a few weeks since the new carpentry.  So far, so good.  Personally, if it was me going to hold up a bodega, this particular one would no longer be at the top of my list.

But my problems were just beginning.  Not a small woman, Contralta hated the cubicle as she put it.  “It’s like working in a phone booth,” she said.

“Whaddya mean?  Your head’s not buried, you got a lotta space above your head.  Reach up and you’ll see what I’m talkin’ about, wiggle your fingers.”

She wanted no part of it.   

“Go on!  Reach up and wave your arms.  Lotsa space.  You’ll get used to it.  Trust me.”

She got off the stool and came out.  Mitzi was spooning hot food onto what used to be the salad bar.  

I waved Contralta toward the food.  “Go on— go on— grab a plate and have some lunch— on me.” 

She looked at the food, sniffed, then left the store.  

“I could do the register,” said Mitzi.  “It wouldn’t bother me being in there.”

She was a small woman with a small face.  How could I tell her I need a bulldog guarding my money.  

“Don’t worry,”  I said.  “You know, I like the way you put the food in there, how you place the wings, all nice and neat.”  I smiled at her.

“You’re fucking with me,” she said.  Her face turning mean and rat-like.  

I scratched my chin.  That might work.  It just might.

                                                           END

Susan Isla Tepper is a twenty year writer in all genres.  Her stage play "Crooked Heart" will be featured in Origin Theatre Company 'May Play Festival', NYC.