Work Text:
''It's not saying goodbye-e-e, it's knockin' down the door of your candy store!''
Carisi was singing passionately, not even giving a single fuck about the three cars beeping behind him. It wasn't really his fault, though, there was an old lady who was taking a while to get across the street.
"You're welcome!" He yelled at her through his rolled up window as he sped past, assuming the following drivers would have just plowed her down. Midtown traffic sucked. It did, but he didn't mind having an excuse to get down to the smooth funky beats of Santana and the beautiful dulcet tones of Michelle Branch.
''A little bit of this, a little bit of that, it started with a kiss…''
He was singing so hard and so high it started to make his head hurt, but it just didn't capture the feeling as well if he sang it an octave lower. It's not like he could actually sing, anyways, or like anyone could actually hear.
On ''It's all in the game of love,'' Carisi got too into it and his voice cracked to a point where he was even embarrassed alone in his car. Oh, well. He listened to the awesome guitar solo with a huge grin on his face, oblivious to the world around him, except for like traffic lights and turn signals and stuff. He was good at multitasking. But the song hit somewhere deep in his soul. It reminded him of simpler times not that long ago when his favorite sandwich shop, Tony's, was still open. Ever since it closed down due to the infamous health inspection of 2006, Carisi had been searching for anything that could even slightly compare to the meatball sub they used to make. Even when he came close to finding it, it was always delivered to him with such a warm and accompanying presence. Nothing like the standoffish and off putting disposition of Tony Jr. and the frantic, manic energy of his father who always seemed like he was being abused by his son emotionally or even sometimes physically.
But Carisi would find it one day.
Could today be that day?
He had heard about a sandwich shop near Fordham, well, not really near, but it being all the way up there gave him an excuse to go somewhere else ridiculously far from where he worked and lived. Apparently this place had the best meatball sub in the city. However, someone else had once said that about a place because they 'made their mozzarella in-house,' but Carisi could smell a rouse from a mile away. That place clearly would charge him upwards of 20 dollars for a simple sandwich. He might as well go to Subway.
Carisi briefly considered stopping at Subway when the drive got so long that his tummy started rumbling.
The bell tingled as he walked inside. That was a good sign. Any sandwich shop with someone ready and waiting for the next customer was a red flag. They should all be antisocial and/or busy working on an order.
The worry started when the man greeted him with a big smile.
"Welcome to Mike's Mozzarella." The man said with no discernable indication of whether or not he was Italian at all.
Carisi grew suspicious. "Yeah…" He took a long second to look the man up and down. Something wasn't right. The store had no mediocre decor or stock image-like paintings, it was just plain and simple. There were no stains on the guy's clothes, his arms and neck were barren from any tattoos or jewelry. Was he even going to be capable of making a sandwich?
The menu was distracting, printed out on the wall in vibrant colors and a thick font. He didn't need it.
"Can I get a meatball sub?" He asked, his stomach making a concerning growl as he said the words. The counter was small, none of the sandwich ingredients visible. Where was he going to make it?? And what bread were they going to use?? These were questions that he'd rather answer through observation. He was undercover now. He didn't want to seem like he was coming into this trying to expose them or anything. He wanted them to give it their honest effort, like they'd give to any regular customer.
"One meatball sub." The man nodded, and he walked into the back.
Carisi looked around, eyeing one other person sitting at a small table in the back of the establishment eating a salad. A salad. He scoffed, his eyes wondering to the TV mounted to one of the walls. It was off. No news, no obnoxious commercials, just silence. What was this operation? Some kind of elaborate scheme to bait men like him? For what? He scoffed again, louder this time, as he eyed the drink fridge and the racks of snacks and chips. It was all iced tea and Monster Energy. What was this, a Subway? He should have gone to Subway.
When the man finally returned to ring him up, he packed the wrapped sandwich in a bag and placed it on the counter. Hm.
"Seventeen fifty-two." Said the man.
"What?"
"It's seventeen fifty-two."
"Why?"
The man blinked at him.
This was outrageous. Almost twenty dollars for a sandwich? He knew that prices around here had been skyrocketing, but this was a seemingly new business, a popular one at that. This was highway robbery.
"O-kay…" Carisi said suspiciously. He took a twenty out of his wallet and waited patiently as the man counted out his change. He snatched it up as he left, the man calling after him for him to have a good day.
That was looking doubtful.
He finally climbed back into the car with what he was hoping would still be a delectable meal, but something didn't feel right. It was like he could feel it watching him from inside the paper bag. Like it was warning him.
It smelled okay. He hadn't seen them make it, but aside from that and the general vibe of the establishment, he didn't notice anything too odd.
But…
He extracted it from the bag, still warm. Hefty. That was a good sign.
He unwrapped it.
It smelled amazing. His anxieties were immediately sated as he took in the sight of what looked like a fresh roll containing a solid portion of meatballs in what looked like a generous amount of marinara sauce.
He took half the sandwich, preparing to bring it to his mouth, when something odd struck him.
Carisi studied the cross section of the sandwich for a moment.
How peculiar.
For some reason he couldn't seem to see the cheese.
He closes the sandwich, flips it around and opens it again. The sauce is thick, the meatballs smelled divine.
The cheese… wasn't there.
There was no cheese on it.
"Huh" Carisi wondered angrily. He took the sandwich to his mouth, but hesitated. He opened the bread again incredulously.
There was really actually no cheese on it.
Carisi re-wrapped the sandwich and took it with him as he stormed out of the car and back into Mike's stupid fucking Mozzarella.
The bell tingled. The man looked up with his irritating smile, and then it immediately fell as he saw Carisi barreling towards him.
"Hello-"
"What the hell is this?!" Carisi yelled, throwing the sandwich at the man where it hit him square in the chest. He seemed baffled, completely in shock. When he finally pulled himself together, he stammered.
"Sir- you- I thought-"
"Yeah? You think I got all day to wait around for you to form a sentence?" Carisi ranted. The man's eyes were darting, and Carisi turned around as they landed on the salad man. Salad man looked away promptly as Carisi spotted him watching.
"The fuck are you looking at, salad guy?"
Salad guy held his hands up defensively, not looking at them.
"What is that," Carisi yelled back at the man, who was moving away from Carisi rapidly. Oh no, he didn't.
Carisi pulled his gun out of his holster and pointed it right at the guy. "Don't you fucking walk away from me. What is that?" He gestured quickly to the fallen sandwich before returning his aim to the man's now utterly horrified expression. His hands were in the air, shaking, but he still wasn't answering the damn question.
"Are you deaf?!" Carisi yelled.
"Meatball sub! It's a meatball sub!" The man yelled, and then whimpered, cowering.
No the fuck it was not.
"How is that a meatball sub? Is that what you call a fucking meatball sub around here, a goddamn sandwich with no cheese? And then you have the balls to call yourself Mike's Mozzarella?"
"No, no, sir, I'm not Mike even, I-"
"I DON'T GIVE A FUCK. I'll deal with Mike later."
He turned to check on salad guy, who was now underneath the table. "You can go, dude." He said to salad guy. Salad guy didn't move. "Alright," He shrugged.
He turned back to not Mike. "You. Pick it up."
Not Mike carefully walked forward, keeping his wide eyes on Carisi all the while. Carisi rolled his eyes. The guy didn't really have to be so scared. If he would just function normally and correct his error, Carisi would be on his way.
Mike stood cradling the sandwich in it's disheveled wrapper.
"What is that?" Carisi asked calmly.
"Meatball su-"
"Don't fucking- that is not a meatball sub."
"I'm sorry, sir. I'm sorry. I'll make you- you can have whatever you want. You can make any sandwich you want! Take all the money in the register, sir, I'm-"
"You're serving people meatball subs with no mozz. At Mike's Mozzarella."
"We… we have a special, sir. A different sandwich, sir. We just call it Mike's Mozzarella with Meatball."
"What the fuck is Mike's Mozzarella without meatball?"
"It's- we don't have that."
"What- what the fuck, why wouldn't you assume everyone ordering a meatball sub wanted that? Why the fuck would anyone order this shit?"
"It's- sir. I'm so sorry. I usually do, but it's, the meatball sub normal is also on the menu, and I'm new…"
Carisi looked up at the menu. Meatball sub was clearly a different option than Mike's Mozzarella with Meatball, with different listen ingredients, but that was fucking ridiculous. A horrendous excuse.
"What you're gonna do," Carisi cut off the man's terrified rambling. "Is you're gonna make me a meatball sub. A real fucking meatball sub, with the regular ingredients that a meatball sub would have."
"Yes," The man nodded frantically, "Of course, sir,"
"But first," Carisi jerked the gun as the man started to move. "Take a bite."
The man looked at him crazy.
"Take a bite," Carisi gestured to the sandwich in his hand.
The man placed the mess on the counter, tremoring as he brought a soggy half to his mouth. He watched Carisi with wild eyes as he took a bite. He grimaced.
"How is it?" Carisi asked.
"It's… fine."
"Fine?"
The man nodded.
"You would order that?"
The man looked at Carisi, and back at the sandwich. Shook his head.
"That's what I fucking thought." He said, stepping closer and watching the man flinch. "You would order it with cheese, wouldn't you?"
"I'm- I'm vegan."
Carisi blinked. Damn. He actually felt kinda bad now. That was kinda fucked up a little bit. Except wait. No he didn't. What the fuck was a vegan doing working at Mike's fucking Mozzarella?
"Is that a fucking joke?" He growled.
"No! No I-"
"Just make me my fucking sandwich," Carisi whined. He was really hungry.
"Alright. Alright." The man began to retreat into the back, and Carisi walked around the counter to follow him, which made him shake, but he really should have figured Carisi would do that, because, like, he was technically holding him hostage at this point and he actually wanted his sandwich to get made.
The man put on latex gloves, watching Carisi out of the corner of his eye as he pulled out a new roll and sliced it down the side. He opened it, laying it to toast on the open grill as he, thank God, began to slice some mozzerella.
"Gimme," Carisi held out a hand in a grabby gesture. The man looked confused and handed him a slice. He ate it. Not enough salt.
The man loaded the bread with the meatballs, arranging them carefully, and then started to close it.
"Put the fucking cheese on the goddamn sandwich!" Carisi screamed.
The man flinched, suddenly realizing his error. He scolded himself silently as he layered the mozzarella and closed the sandwich once more. He picked it up, moving to the butcher paper.
"AND YOU'RE GONNA HEAT IT UP." Carisi yelled. This guy was really testing his patience. He said he was new, but Jesus. Carisi had half a mind to call up Michael right now and get this guy sacked.
The man nervously held the sandwich, hovering over the paper, frozen.
"You'd better put that shit in the goddamn oven, back on the grill, put it in a damn microwave for all I care, but you are not handing that unmelted stack of mozzarella to me like it's a cold-cut."
"Okay! Okay," The man whispered, moving to the oven and placing the sandwich on a tray.
They waited for a minute in awkward silence. Carisi checked his watch.
The man extracted the sandwich, finally wrapping it and handing it over.
"Thank you," Carisi sighed as he took it. He put his gun in his holster, and the man watched standing stock still. Carisi left the kitchen and went to leave. Salad fella was gone. He probably called the cops, which was fine, because Carisi was the cops. He would just lie probably.
Carisi left a dollar in the tip jar as he walked out, his mouth watering. Sandwich smelled really good.
The man was just staring at him from back by the door to the kitchen.
"You're good, man. I just wanted my sandwich. You tell Mike he's gonna be outta business in a year if he doesn't clean up his act."
"So please tell me why-y-y you don't come around no mo-ore" Carisi belted as he sped down the highway. The crumpled sandwich wrapper lay in the passenger seat beside him, sandwich completely devoured, his hunger quenched. He wiped a spare fleck of the savory sauce from his face.
Behind him were police sirens, which was fine. He was a really fast driver. Especially with Carlos Santana leading the way.