Death in the City Read Online Free PDF

Al turned to Bobby and gave him a deadly cold stare, which Bobby did not seem to notice. “Well, Al, this is our new employee. His name is…wait, what is it?”
    “Death,” said Death.
    “Excuse me?” asked Bobby.
    “Uh, that is, Derek,” said Death.
    “Oh, alright, this is Derek then. Al, why don’t you show Derek how to do everything around here?”
    “How you doing?” asked Al as Bobby walked through the back door of the deli. He cast a look of unswerving petulance over his hooked nose and thick glasses. “First thing is, you need to put on some of these latex gloves. You change them whenever feels right for you when you’re handling meats, but you absolutely must change them when going from the fish case to the meat case. Get it?”
    “Yeah,” said Death. Bobby returned with an apron and hat and handed them to Death, who hurriedly put them on over his suit.
    “There you go, new employee,” said Bobby, who then turned to Al and said sharply, “Hello, Al, anyone home? You have customers waiting on you.” He pointed to the group of people shoving and fighting to get to the front of the counter. Bobby left and Al acted like he had not heard him.
    “These machines, they’re beautiful,” said Al, running his fingers along the base of one of three silver deli slicers behind the counter. “I’ve been working in delis ever since I got out of the army. Nothing is quite like the feel of a freshly cleaned slicer, of the meat running along the blade, of turkey zest spraying gently in one’s face.” He had his eyes closed and was being positively poetic, almost sensual. Death grew uncomfortable. The crowd raged behind them, louder than ever.
    “How do I use it?” asked Death, trying to get the same appreciation for the machine that Al had shown.
    “Well, why don’t you try it?” asked Al eagerly, retrieving a turkey from the glass case and setting it gently on the slicer. “Just turn this dial to get the right thickness, and press this button to get it spinning.” He was indicating the steps quickly and Death struggled to keep up. “Grab hold of this handle here and slice away. Then gently put it on this piece of wax paper.” He took a square piece of plastic from one of many bright yellow boxes and set it down on the base of the slicer. “Try it out,” he said, smiling and gesturing to the meat. Death noticed that Al was dripping in sweat.
    Death found slicing the turkey to not only be easy, but fairly fun. Al clapped in enjoyment at the sight of his new trainee. “Wonderful, bravo,” he said. “Now you need to set it on the scale.” He set the meat down on one of four digital scales and pointed to a sign that was taped to the door of the glass case. “Each meat and cheese has its own code. They’re posted here, but you’ll memorize them soon enough. This is Thin ‘n Trim Roasted Turkey, 706.” He punched in the code on the scale and a sticker printed out with the price and weight. “Bag it, sticker it, and hand it to the customer.” He held the bag of turkey out to a skinny old man who looked disgusted.
    “I didn’t order that, idiot,” said the man. “I ordered Krakus Ham.”
    “Aha,” shouted Al. “Very sorry sir.” He leaned in to Death and covered his mouth to whisper, “Now we can eat this one.” Death nodded and laughed as Al went for the ham.
    “Well, I think Al could learn a thing or two from you,” said Bobby, who had been watching from the doorway. Al stopped slicing and looked at Bobby, then Death. His face showed a powerful glimpse of heartbrokenness, then he was utterly seething. Bobby walked out the back door again.
    “He seems nice,” said Death. He looked at Al, who was still frozen as the blade of the slicer spun menacingly. He was a horrifying shade of red, his jowls jiggling in rage, his eyes wide with disgust. “Al? Al? Is something wrong?” Al did not answer, but went back to cutting the meat. When he was finished, he leaned against the counter with