The Barista

"Dude, when are you going to say something to her?"

I shrugged and rinsed out the milk pitcher. Of all the jobs I'd had to take on, being a barista was probably the most fun. There was just something about the culture of the coffee world that I found appealing.

"Seriously man," said Franc, my coworker. "She's into you. She's been coming here since she was twelve, and I've never seen her smile at anyone the way she smiles at you." Franc was an ass of a name, but a peach of a guy, so I gave him a pass.

"You're sick, Franc," I said, putting the pitcher for the steamed milk back next to the cappuccino machine, handle tilted out just so, upside down to drain the rinse water. "You've been eyeballing her since she was twelve? She's probably can't even drink legally yet." Maybe I like the job because people coming to get coffee always seemed to be in a good mood.

Franc sputtered, trying to muster a defense. "No! She-"

"Kidding, Franc," I said. He sighed, relieved. He was the sort to overly worry about how he was perceived. It's something of a paradox that happy people buy coffee. You'd think we would only see grumpy people coming in, right?

"So," Franc said, leaning against the counter. "You gonna hit her up?"

I stopped washing out the cappuccino glasses and turned to give Franc a quizzical grin. "'Hit her up'? Jesus, Franc, when are you from?" I went back to washing the cups out, waiting for Franc's response.

"I'm just saying, she's all exotic beautiful. Half oriental, half American," he said, leaning closer to me. "One hundred percent hot," Franc finished, pumping his eyebrows up and down at me.

"She's a spoiled brat," I said, turning to look at him. The soccer mom rush had finished half an hour ago. We'd be seeing randoms and regulars for the next few hours, before it picked up again around lunch. "She was wearing sunglasses that cost more than you or I make in a week. And," I continued, but was interrupted by the bell above the door jingling.

Two men entered, both large, both wearing blazers and sunglasses, both regulars. Following them in was a shorter man with the most fiercely intelligent eyes I'd ever seen. They were a demons eyes.

"Shhhhhit," Franc breathed, then called in a louder voice, "Good morning, Mr. Bendelli!"

Mr. Bendelli, Mr. Area Mob Boss Bendelli, passed his eyes dismissively over me, then smiled brightly at Franc. "Goooood morning, Franc. How's the..."

Their banter passed into the back of my mind as I began preparing his usual drink. My hands worked mechanically, by rote, crafting his drink to perfection. I handed it to Franc before he was done exchanging pleasantries with Mr. Bendelli.

"On me, Mr. Bendelli," Franc said, passing the drink across the counter. The Don sipped it, then sighed expansively.

"That's a good cappuccino, Franc." He was goddamn right. I made the best cappuccinos in the city, I'd wager. "Whatever the boys want, okay?" he said, pressing a bill of an unknown denomination into Franc's hands. 'The boys' ordered cold drinks. I let Franc get them as I cleaned my work space. Best damned barista in the city, and I've been doing this less than four months.

"Of course she's spoiled!" Franc whispered. I would have been startled if I hadn't seen his reflection approaching in the cappuccino glasses. "That's her dad!" he said, gesturing covertly towards Don Bendelli.

"Franc," I said, not pausing in my cleaning. "Why the fuck..." I trailed off, worrying at a stubborn cling of congealed milk with my rag, "Would you try to get me to 'hit up' the daughter of a Don?"

Franc looked at me like I said something surprising. "Why wouldn't you? Don Bendelli's not..." He gestured inarticulately.

"Not?" I prompted.

"Particular" Franc finished clumsily.

Now I got to look at Franc like I was confused. "I'm not worried about him being particular," I said, throwing a glance over my shoulder to check on the Don and his men. The Don was reading news on his tablet. The men had their eyes on the front door. "I'm worried about motherfucking cement shoes."

Franc frowned at me, apparently confused. "There aren't any rivers nearby."

"Not the point, Franc," I muttered, untying my apron. "Toilet," I said. I folded my apron neatly and set it behind the counter, then set off to spend the next ten minutes relaxing in the men's room.

The thing was, Miss Bendelli was one hundred percent hot. And better than that, she was fucking hilarious. The expressions she made with those goddamn eyebrows of hers...

I heard shouting coming from the front and several loud pops. Breaking glass. I ripped the top off the toilet and grabbed the gun duct-taped to the underside of the lid. About fucking time.

I strolled out into the dining area, gun raised and finger on the trigger. The Don was on the ground, clutching at his chest. One of his bodyguards was very obviously dead, his head now not being entirely in one piece. The other was kneeling in front of the Don, his gun trained on the door where several other bodies cluttered the entrance.

"How many more, Stefano?" I said conversationally.

"At least three. Maybe one out back," he said, glancing down to check on Mr. Bendelli. "You okay, Boss?"

"Christ, it took them long enough," growled the Don. He groaned then, reaching to pull a revolver out of his jacket. He struggled to raise it towards the door, then let his arm fall with a moan.

I rolled my eyes and grabbed the gun. "Franc!" I yelled. Franc was a puddle of misery behind the counter. "Get over here, Franc," I called to him. Franc stumbled over, slobbering and mumbling and generally being worthless. I gave him the gun.

"I ca-... I can't..." Franc blubbered.

"You can," I said. "Point. Shoot. Got it?" Franc seemed to pull himself together, wiping at his nose with his sleeve. "'atta boy, Franc." Peach of a guy, Franc. "The back is locked, Stefano," I said, walking back behind the counter, my feet crunching on broken glass.

I crawled out the drive-thru window and walked around to the front of the building. Three men in black suits were huddled around the front door. They turned their heads towards me, but I already had my gun on them.

"It's me," I called, waving my hand in front of the door. "Clear here." I squinted, looking up and down the street as Stefano stepped out.

"Shame about Benny," he muttered. "I'll get the car." I nodded.

Franc came next, giving his shoulder to Don Bendelli, who was fussing with his Kevlar vest.

"I'm fucking your daughter, Boss," I said.

Don Bendelli grunted a laugh. "Finally decided to grow a pair and tell me, eh?"

I shrugged. "Now seemed like a good time."

The Don nodded his head back and forth. "Makes sense. We're good Catholics, and you know it. If you don't marry her, I'll have Franc here kill you."

Franc panicked. "I can't... I, I, you..."

"Jesus Franc!" I nearly shouted. "He's kidding!" Mr. Bendelli was choking on his chuckle.

"Wedding in the spring?" the Don asked when he regained his breath.

"Fall," I answered, stepping to open up the door as Stefano pulled up. "Your daughter has always wanted a fall wedding."