Dark Chicago    The City    Neighborhoods    New City      Pastrami Deli

Description - Exterior

The storefront is narrow and forgettable—aged red brick with a sun-bleached green awning that simply reads “Delicatessen” in hand-painted white script. A tarnished bell jangles when the door opens, and old flyers curl on the display window, advertising pierogi specials from five years ago. A rusting sandwich board reads “Hot Pastrami Today,” but nobody comes here for the food.
Locals call it “Bagels’ Place”, though that name’s not on any sign. The sidewalk out front is always clean. Some say that’s because the cops don’t ticket here. Others say it’s because Bagels doesn’t like mess.

Description - Interior

Inside, the deli is a time capsule from a better decade. The tile is checkered black-and-white, the walls paneled in dark wood, and the light fixtures flicker in a way that somehow never feels accidental. A long glass counter displays cold cuts, cheeses, and half-empty pickle jars. The air smells of mustard, meat, and coffee that’s been on the burner since dawn.
The back dining area—just four booths and a small corner table—is where the real business happens. Nobody talks too loud. There’s a booth with a clear view of both the entrance and the alley exit. That’s where Bagels always sits.

Run By

Miriam “Miri” Sadowski – Tough-as-nails Polish widow in her early 60s. Been running the deli since before the war. She pretends she doesn’t know who Bagels is, but she always has his order ready, and his booth is never taken. Keeps a .38 under the cash register and a mezuzah nailed crooked by the door.

Regulars

Joe “Bagels” Testa – This is where he holds court, meets allies, makes threats, and hears confessions. Always the same booth. Always with a plain soda and a pastrami sandwich.
Phil “Chunk” Testa – Shows up like clockwork, eats like a rhino, never speaks unless Bagels does.
Detective Carmike – Comes in for coffee and slow nods. Never pays. Never gets a refill.
Tommy – Bagels' driver. Always standing. Always watching. Orders pie, never eats it.

History

The deli’s been around since 1921, once a haven for Polish and Lithuanian workers from the Yards. Rumor has it the back room was used to print Communist leaflets in the ‘30s—and bootleg whiskey labels during Prohibition. Bagels started showing up after the war, quiet at first. Now, it’s known all over the South Side: if he calls a meeting “at the deli,” you show up. Or you don’t get another invitation.

Notes

The back booth is rigged to signal Miri if someone pulls a gun—nobody knows how.
Cops don’t hassle anyone coming or going. The beat men say they “don’t eat meat.”
Bagels tips well. Always in cash. Always crisp bills.
The back alley has hosted more than one quick conversation… and more than one body.
A Veil-sensitive crew member might notice the faint hum of protection magic—something woven into the floor tile beneath Bagels’ booth. No one admits to putting it there.

Alternative Names

The Deli

Type

Pub / Tavern / Restaurant

Parent Location

New City

Owning Organization

Bagels Crew