““‘Neither a borrower nor a lender be,’ Mr. Cardone. Fifty cents.” I picked a letter from Joe out of the pile of mail on the counter. “Are you okay, Mr. Plotnick?” The bruise on his head was almost gone, but why was he leaning like that? “I’ll be okay when you give me my fifty cents. Otherwise, no egg.” “But what’s with the —?” I assumed his crouched position. He scowled from down there. “You want to know what it is? I’ll tell you what it is. Mind your own business, that’s what it is.” But I cou...ld tell he was in pain, because he was grim and pale, and he was abusing his customers even more than usual. And as the day progressed, every time I passed by the deli our landlord looked a little stiffer and a little more bent over. Finally, at dinnertime, when I brought Don and Ferguson to observe the situation, Plotnick had locked up into a miter joint. His tenants were crowded around him, all sympathy and advice. “What is this — a side show? You’re going to order, or what?”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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