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“Yup,” said Benny. Then he picked up the knife and began doing exactly what Monty had shown him. Whatever faults Benny may have had, he was an exemplary employee. Hard working, trustworthy, always on time and you usually only had to show him something once. Guys like that are hard to find.
“Okay. We good?” Monty asked as he surveyed the scene.
They were set up at the Mayor’s party in the same makeshift kitchen they used at the street fair. The same makeshift kitchen they used at every off premise event. And they had things pretty much down to a science. The only real difference today was cutting the cheesesteaks into minis. Otherwise it was the same old same old.
“Yeah. We’re good dad,” Romeo said. “Go. Go do what you gotta do.”
“Benny? You good?”
“Yup.” He was moving quickly through the rolls.
“Frank?”
“Yup,” said Frank, riffing on Benny. He was manning the grill and had everything organized and ready to go.
“Okay then. I’m going to get changed for the party.”
Romeo razzed his dad. “Right… Time for Mr Bigshot to go hobnob with the Mayor.”
Monty had supervised the set-up, but he wasn’t expected to work. As the now official winner of the contest the Mayor wanted him and his wife to be his guests. And according to the forty-seventh text he’d gotten in the last ten minutes, his wife was now on her way.
So Monty grabbed the change of clothes he’d brought with him and set off to make his transformation in the public restroom on the edge of the park. It wasn’t glamorous, but it beat driving all the way home.
Five minutes later Marco showed up. He’d found them easily. They were set up just off the left of the dance floor, opposite the caterer, beyond the edge of the tent.
“What up everybody?” he said with a grin.
“What the hell is that?” asked Father Frank.
“Not again,” said Romeo, shaking his head. “Really?”
“Yes really,” said Marco, his grin growing bigger with each comment.
“You got another one?”
“I did. ”
He did. He got another gold tooth.
“Why?”
“Why?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“It’s all part of my plan.”
“What plan?”
“I’m gonna be famous. I’m gonna be the world’s biggest rappin’ reality TV star, old school gangster style.”
“Really?”
“You can call me Marcapone.”
“Mascarpone? That’s a cheese.”
“No. Marcapone. Like Marco and Al Capone together.”
