Guido's Liquor by John Coultas

This is a scene from a work in progress The Wheel

Guido Lazzari was ringing up a sale at his old fashioned cash register, brass, huge keys and lots of noise as the drawer banged open. "Mrs. Cecchi, will that be all tonight?" He asked as he bagged the grey haired woman's purchases.

Mrs. Cecchi looked around, rubbing her hands at her sides. "Sure Guido, don't think I forgot nothing."

"How’s about a lotto ticket? Big drawing tonight, and I got the winner in her, I can just feel it." He encouraged with a smile.

"You know me Guido; never buy those things, waste of money." She pulled the bags forward, squeezing them in her ample arms. "Waste of money Guido, you know me; money comes too hard to waste on no lotto."

The door banged shut as Mrs. Cecchi went out into the cold night. A young fellow in grease stained coveralls placed a bottle on the counter. "Ciggies Guido." He requested.

Guido turned and pulled a pack form a carton, slapping it on the counter. "Marlboro Red, and a bottle of Old Grand-Dad, how ya doing Sal?" Guido asked.

"I'm ok. Give me five lottos, let the machine pick the numbers." Sal said. Guido went about ringing up his sale and tending to the lottos.

"Tonight’s the night Sal." Guido smiled as he handed the ticket to his customer.

Sal shrugged. "With you Guido, every night's the night."

The wind pushed a frail Joe Ferrara through the door, pellets of snow followed after. "Night Sal." Guido nodded, and stepped back as Ferrara approached the counter. He slammed a stack of bills on the counter.

"Count it Guido, two hundred and fifty dollars." Ferrara smirked.

"And what you want me to do with your two hundred and fifty dollars Mr. Ferrara?"

"Lotto tickets, I want you’s to start printing out lotto tickets." Ferrara turned to view the old Rheingold clock. "Aint got much time Guido." He chuckled.

"Your right Mr. Ferrara, not much time I'll print 'em out ten to a slip."

"No you won't Guido, each one separate ticket, you know how I do it." Ferrara protested. He made another pass at the clock. "Hurry it up Guido, shuts down in twenty-five minutes."

Guido slumped. "Sure Mr. Ferrara two hundred and fifty individual tickets." As he turned to his lotto machine he exhaled. "Ass hole."

"What's that Guido, what you say? I can go down the street, I can go some place else ya know."

"I didn't say nothing Mr. Ferrara, punch up your tickets just fine." Guido began pushing at keys.

Frankie browsed through wine bottles, reading labels and checking the prices. He pulled his wallet from his pocket, leafing through the few bills to be found. He pulled the cheapest bottle he could find from the rack, and walked to the front of the store. "Hi Guido." He called to the owner, whose head was down intent upon the lotto numbers.

Guido looked up and over to the clock. "Hey Frankie, how ya doin’? "His head returned to the lotto machine.

"I'm ok." Frankie responded to a preoccupied Guido.

Guido scribbled a notation. "Mr. Ferrara, Frankie here has a hot date. How's about I ring him up?"

Ferrar puffed up his small frame as best he could. "Frankie's hot date is gonna wait I need those numbers before eight, now get with it Guido." He snarled and glared at Frankie.

Frankie had difficulty not staring at the clock clicking closer to eight. He could envision Sadie slipping off her uniform, and leaving the diner. He wouldn't be able to see her until Monday. Monday was to damn far off, too far to think about. "Gotta see her tonight." He mutterd to himself.

Guido placed the two hundred and fifty tickets in front of Mr. Ferrara. "There you go Mr. Ferrara, two fifty, just like you wanted."

Ferrara's hand reached for the tickets. "How's about a bag, don't wanna lose one." Guido suggested.

"Don't need a bag, want to see the numbers, feel the paper, know that I got the winner here." He grabbed at his purchase.

"That's what I been telling my customers all day, got the winner here in my store."

Ferrara smiled. "No Guido, I got the number here in my hands." He shook the numbers at Guido as he left the store.

"I don't know why he buys those things; he is as rich as The Donald. Putz!" Guido shook his head and reached for Frankie's bottle. "What you got there Frankie." He looked at the wine. "You don't take this for a date with a girl, this you drink in an alley." He laughed.

"All I could afford Guido, that bad, huh?"

Guido rang up the wine. "How about a ticket, maybe Ferrara didn't get it, the big winner, never know?"

Frankie handed over all his bills to Guido. "That's all I got."

"Some hot date she is going to have." Guido laughed at his joke and Frankie’s predicament as he slid the bottle into a bag. "Night Frankie." Frankie nodded as he went to the door.


Joe Ferrara stood below the street light, lotto tickets fanned out in his hands; his lips moved as he read through the number series, squeaks of glee were emitted from his mouth as lucky series were found. He knew that this was going to be his day. He wasn't going to buy anything. He had his rentals, oiffice building. He could buy more, but more buildings, more headaches. He wanted to hold the money, millions, tens of millions in his hands, smell it and feel it. He was thinking of emptying that extra bedroom, filling it with money and just rolling in it.

The wind tugged at his collar, he reached up, turning up his overcoat just as a strong gust ripped at his ticket pulling them from his hand sending them skyward in a swirling eddy.

Frankie stepped out of Guido's just in time to see what appeared to be a flurry of snow sliding up to the street lamp. Ferrara stretched as high as his small frame would allow, his arthritic hands grasping at the ascending tickets. He stood for a moment, staring at his departing fortune. "Mr. Ferrara, can I help, wha's the matter?" Frankie asked.

Ferrara doubled up and sobbed. "My tickets, ever last ticket is gone." Frankie put his hand on the grieving mans shoulder. "Get away, Joe Ferrara don' need your help. Joe Ferrara needs nobody's help." He yanked his shoulder away from Frankie.

"I just wanted to help was all."

"Like I says, don't need no help." Ferrara straightened, and shrugged away from Frankie, shuffling through the accumulating snow down into the darkness of the receding sidewalk.

Frankie slipped the wine into his coat pocket, and buttoned his collar against the encroaching wind. “God, Sadie’s gotta be there.” He spoke to himself, striding off towards the diner.