Mooch by Dan Fante Page A

early at the shop, two hours before work. From my hideout across the street, I watched Mom and Pop behind the counter, as usual. Shift change time, five thirty, Mom went home and Pop stayed. No Yee. Now I was crazy…I had been drinking most of that day and realized too late I had forgotten to call in sick again. It didn’t matter. I hated my fraudulent body-bag job; the manipulation and pretense. Lawrence, my supervisor, was a flatulent asshole. Always making some correction in my demeanor, giving me ‘notes’ on the way I ‘conducted’ myself with this customer or that. Fuck him and all the necrophiliac sour-faced fucking ghoul cocksuckers who spend their days and nights hoodwinking the bereaved, up-selling, claiming a coffin was mahogany when it was really plastic laminate…I crossed the street and entered the shop, determined to see Yee again. Unwilling to take NO for an answer…Standing at the counter, I faced old man Chin. I wanted to let him know things were different. I spoke bluntly, ‘I’ll have a dozen donuts,’ I said. ‘And coffee to go’…Chin eyed me. ‘No bagel?’…‘No sir,’ I shot back, determined to break the rhythm of our absurd, former communications. ‘And…I want to speak to Yee. Is she here?’…‘You want me pick donut—or you pick?’…‘You pick,’ I blurted…When Pop was done, he pushed the pink cardboard box toward me across the glass. ‘Three seventy-five.’…I handed him a ten. ‘Mr Chin, is Yee here? Yes or no?’…‘Daughter not work now.’…‘I can see that. Is she okay?’…No answer. ‘Three dollar-seventy-five!’…Pop laid my change on the counter. I scooped it up. ‘Okay,’ I called out, not knowing what else to do, ‘two dozen more.’…‘Two dozen? You want two dozen? What kind you want?’…It felt good to be in control. ‘It’s of no consequence, Mister Chin. Mix ‘emup. Two dozen. Sprinkles, glazed, chocolate caramel. And toss in a few buttermilk bars. And those three cupcakes on the end. The ones with the pink icing. ’… After the new box was filled and wrapped with string, Pop punched the register. ‘Two dozen! Seven dollar!’…I slapped down a new twenty. ‘What about Yee, Mister Chin?’…No answer. The embalmed glance of the forever silent…I would not be deterred. Glancing down at the donut case I estimated that it was three-fourth’s empty. Most of what remained was on the top shelves. Specialty stuff: eclairs, oversized glazed bear claws, lemon puffs, fruit tarts of different colors, and a dozen or so wrapped canoli-looking cream-filled numbers. ‘I’ll take everything on those shelves,’ I said, pointing across the glass…Pop didn’t move. He folded his arms across his chest. ‘Daughter go school. College. No come back. ’ He pushed my twenty back across the glass. There was a gentle smile on his face. Yee’s smile. ‘You go now.’…That was it. He was gone. Into the recesses of the back room, to the secret place where heat and flour and sugar combine to formulate perfect confection. I never saw Yee again.
    Sometime after midnight I got to my feet, dressed, and walked to the pay phones next to the manager’s office. I couldn’t stop myself. Jimmi answered before the first ring, about to dial out herself: ‘…Who’s this?…Flaco, izat you?’
    ‘Jimmi?’
    ‘Bruno?…Jesus!’
    ‘…How are you?’
    ‘Wha’ chu want, man? I thought you was somebody else.’
    ‘I want to talk.’
    ‘Sept I don’t wanna talk wichu. Go piss on somebody else’s life, man.’
    ‘Are you okay?’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Hey, I got fired too. Remember?’
    ‘You crazy, an shit. Okay? You callin’ me fifty-fuckin’-times-a day. You ‘bout the craziest motherfucker in Venice. Wors iz, you act so high n’ mighty n’ shit—like you’re some kina shopping-cart-fuckin’ rock star.’
    ‘I just wanted to check in. To talk.’
    ‘I know whachu wan, man. Bah tha shit ain gonna happen.’
    ‘Can we be friends?’
    ‘I