Over Steak

"Alvy, why do you keep Harry if he's stealing from you?" Frema asked over a Friday night steak dinner at Steak World.

"Because I'm never going to find another in-house salesman who can sell like Harry. This year he's on track to sell for a million bucks. That's a lot of fucken belts..." Alvy looked perturbed.

"You seem bothered."

"I'm still fucking waiting for my Polish sausage! Of course I'm upset!" Alvy stood up from his chair, waved his arm at the waiter and mouthed, "Polish sausage," then muttered, "Jerk-off."

"Last time you caught the shipper stealing from you, Alvy, you had him arrested."

Alvy beamed, reflecting on that memorable moment when the police escorted and hand-cuffed the head shipper, Tommy with the fucked-up tooth, out of the factory while all the 250 Shugar Belt employees looked on in fear.

"Wearing his Che Guevara T-shirt!" Alvy liked to remind everyone. "Vive le criminal record libre, I say," and then he'd inevitably break up into hysterical laughter.

"That was different, Frema. That commie bastard was really stealing. With Harry, it's more like an arrangement--"

"You have a heart of gold, Alvy."

"A weakness, Frema, don't remind me. Harry's family, and besides, I underpay the little prick.  So he tries to make up for the shortfall, but trust me, doesn't come close. A salesman as good as Harry is worth double the money. Easily. So I turn a blind eye. But in the end, Alvy Shugar still comes up on top."

The waiter finally arrived with Alvy's Polish sausage. The Belt King grunted with delight and stabbed the spicy sausage with gusto. A projectile of fat juice squirted out, landing bullseye on his Hermes tie.

"Shiiiit! This is a $145 tie, now ruined. That's coming off the fucker's next paycheck!"

Alvy lifted his left buttock and farted.

"This kid is killing me. First thing Monday, he's out!"

Frema sighed, hoping that Alvy would forget about it over the weekend. She didn't relish the thought of yet another Alvy-initiated family war, especially a couple of months before the wedding of Stacey, their youngest daughter. It wasn't the time to start a family war, the wedding would be held in the Ritz Carlton ballroom and the Shugars needed heads. Afterwards, there'd be plenty of time to pick fights with relatives.

"Mustard!" Alvy barked to the waiter. "What am I, a jerk-magnet?"