“And back here’s where you’ll be working.” Max’s smoldering cigar swapped hands as he opened a beat-up door, revealing a small closet. A burner was set up on a crate, boiling a single egg in a metal cup.

“What am I supposed to do?” Jimmy said. “Teach my grandma how to suck that?”

Max cuffed Jimmy on the back of his head. “Watch your tongue, punk. And watch the egg. You gotta swap it out every few hours with a fresh one from the fridge. If Pat or somebody else needs you to help out with something, you do that too, but don’t forget the egg. When you got nothing else, I want you back here keeping an eye on it. You can eat the old one when you swap ’em.”

“Why?” cried Jimmy. “This is a bar. People don’t come here for eggs!”

Another cuff. “City rules say any joint serves liquor also serves food. City inspector walks in, we can give him a boiled egg. Other places bribe ’em, but this is cheaper.”

“You gotta be kidding me,” Jimmy sighed.

“No, and if you think you’re too good for an egg-watcher, you can just march right out that door,” said Max. “Peyton, the bartender, worked his way up from egg-boiler. So can you. But if you can’t even watch a boiling egg, you’re not worth anything to me.”