Читать книгу Dinner With The Mafia - Armando Lazzari - Страница 8

731 Lexington Avenue: Bloomberg Tower

The backrest of the big, black, leather armchair was facing the entrance to the thirtieth-floor studio, offering a legendary and marvelous view. The highly technological glassed wall was remote controlled to allow the light to dim or shine as desired. Joe Santini’s favorite pastime was to fiddle with this gadget while tossing one of his customary mints around in his mouth, especially while his mind was occupied with his nephew, Benito. Or Ben, as he preferred to be called.

“You have to admit, he managed a pretty good escape, grabbing the girl and taking off like a jackrabbit right out the front door.”

The man speaking about Ben’s adventure was called Valerio Esposito. From a recently immigrated Italian family, he was part of the group called the “Observers”, who looked after the young man’s physical well-being, unbeknownst to him. Esposito, like a doctor, was available when necessary to administer the proper “therapy”.

“We need to take some cautionary act against that guy, just to make sure he won’t be interfering again. What did you say his name was? Jerkoff?”

“Jerkov. Bill Jercov. And I’ve already taken the liberty to prescribe a tranquilizer.”

Coincidentally, whenever Ben got involved in some kind of annoying trouble, Joe could feel a strange pain in his gut, a burning in his stomach like he was breathing embers of fire. He figured it was only frustration, attributing the cause to his addiction to the mints that he couldn’t get enough of. From a wood box on his desk, he took a cigar and lit it up in hopes that it would calm the unpleasant feeling.

Colombia Presbyterian Medical Center

Dr. Newman was looking over the new patient’s medical chart.

“Nasal septum, mouth, both legs and your right arm broken. Well, for a simple fall, you’re sure a mess.”

The patient, in a state of confusion, partly due to the painkillers, was desperately attempting to open his mouth to show the empty spaces between his teeth.

“Ah, I see. Also missing an upper molar and an incisor. All right, we’ll get you fixed up in no time, Mr… Jerkoff?!”

The doctor walked off with a smug smile on his face, followed by two gorgeous nurses while Bill whispered, “Je… rko… v!”

Clearly, Bill’s feeble attempt at correcting his last name was useless. The patient’s file had already been completed with the insulting wrong name.

Bloomberg Tower

Joe appeared satisfied, rotating his armchair back around, deeming to look his visitors straight in the eye.

“Well done, good job. Now, where is my nephew? Is he still with the girl?”

Esposito answered confidently, pleased with a job well done, “Yes. They’re together right now. Near 6^th Avenue at that restaurant called The Italian Affair.”

The Italian Affair Restaurant

Ben and Susan were still a little rattled from their experience; they caught their breaths while sipping their wine at an elegantly set table. Between the two, Ben was the one most shaken up by the events of the evening.

“I still can’t believe what happened! It was absurd, incredible. I had a funny feeling about that job. I should have listened to my sixth sense…something wasn’t right about it. I should have turned around and run the other way as soon as I set foot in that place.”

Susan looked at him with a puzzled expression. “Well, I’ve got to say, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what kind of club it is! I only took the job because if I don’t have the money by the end of the month, I won’t be able to pay my rent and I’ll be on the street. But you? Why the hell did you accept? You don’t look you fit in with those kind of people. Or like you’re hard up for money, seeing as the way you’re dressed.”

Ben, embarrassed, looked down at his clothes, awkwardly trying to hide the Emporio Armani signature.

“Oh ya. I mean no! I’m not a loser or a convict or anything like that, but I’m not a millionaire either. My uncle got me a great deal for the suit from some relatives from Italy. But gee, now that you mention it, you’re out of a job because of me.”

“No, don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault. I don’t think I could have stood it much longer there, anyway. Tonight was the perfect occasion to get away from those perverts who kept trying to feel me up.”

Ben felt lucky to have always had a family who was there for him no matter what, helping him out in every way.

“But now how are you going to pay the rent? I mean, have you got someone to help you? Your mom or dad, a relative, a boyfriend…?”

He casually threw the question out there, just to ascertain her status, while he swigged his wine to hide the fact.

“I’ve never had a real family, and regarding men…ugh, forget it!”

Red flags were waving in Ben’s mind, which made him curious to find out more. “In what way…do you mean you, and men…you don’t like…?”

He had always thought of himself as open-minded to the idea of a lesbian friend, but in all honesty, if it were true, it would have shattered a few of his fantasies he’d already had about Susan.

“Are you asking me if I like women? Well, what would be wrong with that? You like women, don’t you?”

He blushed for even bringing up the subject. Pushing his chair back, he sat up straight and tried to wipe the look of a predator off his face.

“Ya, I’ve always wondered how women do it.”

Susan burst out laughing, and Ben realized that he was way off the mark.

“You fell…hook, line and sinker!” Even if she couldn’t stop laughing, she did her best to control herself.

“You mean to tell me that you were pulling my leg?” Although relieved that she wasn’t into women, he was pretty shocked at the idea of being made fun of by someone he barely knew.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Plus I wanted to break up some of the tension. Are you ok now?”

She tilted her head and nibbling at a piece of bread, kept looking mischievously at him. That gesture, apparently insignificant, was extremely seductive to Ben. It went straight to his heart and tied him to her forever.

“Ya, thanks. It’s usually me who has to contrive ways to make other people laugh.”

The waiter brought their steamy first courses. For Ben, bucatini ‘all’amatriciana’ and for Susan, homemade fettuccine with pancetta and asparagus. While Ben rubbed his hands together in front of his plate, Susan’s stared, open-mouthed at hers.

“Wow! Except for pizza and spaghetti, can you believe that this is the first time I’ve ever tasted real Italian food?”

“Really? I have a hard time not eating it; in the traditional Italian family, cuisine is very important. So, ‘buon appetito’. I hope you enjoy it.”

At first, Susan found it a little difficult to twist the fettuccine around her fork, but then got the hang of it and started emanating sounds of rapture with every bite. The people dining at the nearby tables thought it was rather funny, while the owner of the restaurant was delighted.

When Susan had cleaned her plate, Ben offered her a taste of his bucatini and she didn’t hesitate.

“This food is amazing! Now I understand your parents!”

A cloud of nostalgia passed through Ben’s thoughts. “Actually, my Uncle Carmine raised me, along with my other uncles. My mother died giving birth to me. And my father, well, I only have a few memories of him. He was out for a walk and found himself in the middle of a shootout and was hit by a random bullet when I was just two-years-old. The greatest thing that I inherited from him was my vocation. He was a comedian, a great comedian. I think he would have made it big, if only he’d had the time.”

“So, in a way, you’re trying to break into the business to honor him?”

“Well, in part, yes. But mostly it’s for me. I truly love this work and I know he would have understood and supported me. Unlike my uncles…”

Ben wanted to talk about himself, but was worried about boring Susan, so he tried prompting her with incomplete sentences to see if she was really interested.

“Your relatives aren’t happy with what you do? So, do they want you to do something else?” asked Susan.

“They’d like me to do something a little more traditional. Like Uncle Johnny, who’s the manager of a company that deals with insurance.”

Ward’s Island Bridge

Two hulking men on the bridge had their sleeves rolled up to their elbows. One of the men’s biceps were so flexed, that the material of his shirt was on the verge of ripping.

“Damn you! I told you I should have got one size bigger!”

“What are you talking about? You tried it on a month ago at the shop and it fit perfectly. It isn’t my fault if you work out so much at the gym.”

The two of them, having what would have been a normal conversation in different circumstances, were actually swinging a passed out man upside down by the ankles over the side of the bridge.

“If this creep ruins my shirt, I swear I’ll let him drop like a rock!”

Johnny Greco, sick and tired of listening to the two men argue, threw down his cigarette butt. “You guys wanna shut up? And you don’t drop anybody without my permission, otherwise you get a nice little hole in your forehead, understood? This fuckin’ Chinese is worth his weight in gold, and I’d rather have the crisp banknotes than a useless cadaver!”

The man, intimidated, apologized immediately for his arrogant comment. “Sorry, Boss. I was just sayin’. Ten minutes now we been holding this fish who’s fainted and won’t wake up.”

Johnny looked over the bridge to see for himself and realized they were right. “All right, I’ll take care of this chickenshit.”

He unzipped his pants and started pissing over the bridge right into the poor man’s face, who instantly came to his senses, spluttering and gurgling.

“Well, well! Good morning! So what’s your decision? You want our insurance policy, or not?”

The poor wretch realized where he was and terrorized, started screaming. “Yes! Yes! I want it! I want it!”

Johnny smiled pleasantly for a job well done, lighting another cigarette to celebrate and seal the deal.

“Did you hear that guys? We have a new client. Pull him up before he shits in his own face.

The Italian Affair Restaurant

Ben listed all of the respectable occupations of his uncles as he had been told by them.

“…and my Uncle Frank works in finance, in banking.”

Somewhere in Manhattan: in a basement

Frank Colombo was silently and calmly examining the banknotes delivered by Bart Wilson, who was fauning for approval. “So, Boss? How does it look?”

Bart was more than satisfied with his work, but had to wait for the final word that only his boss could give. He had been working day and night for months; it was a question of principle more than anything.

“The paper is good quality, pleasing to the touch. The edges aren’t too soft, either and the color is pretty clear…”

The dark circles under Bart’s eyes lit up with pride while he tried to point out further details. “We also improved the loss of color on the seal.”

Frank picked up a piece of paper and held it under the banknote, then with his fingernail, he started scratching the seal. He then examined the paper and didn’t see any loss of color. He repeated the operation with a dull pencil and still didn’t see any loss of color. In one more attempt, he rubbed it harder to get a faint result. It looked like a job well-done…except for one tiny detail.

With the magnifying glass, he scrutinized the serial numbers.

“We’re still not there yet.”

Bart’s world came crashing down on him. He started stuttering, “W-w-we…we’re…still not there yet?”

“The serial numbers, see? They’re still not perfectly aligned. The rest is passable, not perfect, but pretty good. Now get back to work. I want a final result by the end of the week.”

“Sure, Boss. Consider it done.”

Staggering away from sheer exhaustion, Bart headed back to the drawing board.

The Italian Affair Restaurant

“They’d even be happy if I went to work at Uncle Carmine’s restaurant.”

The waiter then brought the second course to their table. “Here you are. Beef braised in Barolo wine with porcini mushrooms for the signorina. And seared lamb cooked on embers for you, sir. The roasted potatoes are on the house.”

“Thank you so much and send our compliments to Mario. Everything is exquisite, as usual.”

The waiter didn’t leave without first winking at Ben in reference to Susan’s beauty and choice of food. If she noticed, she didn’t show it.

“On one hand though, you’re lucky. I mean, whatever happens, you’re always covered.”

Ben felt his chest swell a bit. “Yes, it really has its advantages. It means I can dedicate all my time to my passion. I should say, though, that I’ve been pretty lucky since childhood. I remember the time, when I was ten-years-old, an encyclopedia salesman knocked on the door and gave me a beautiful new soccer ball, just to promote his books. It was the exact same ball that a neighborhood kid had stolen from me just a few hours before.

Twenty years ago

The doorbell echoed throughout the house.

“Ben! Someone’s at the door. Can you answer it?”

With eyes red and swollen from crying, little Ben did as his uncle asked and answered the door. Standing in front of him was a hunched over man with a beat-up face. He took off his hat and greeted the boy with a forced smile that was missing three or four teeth.

“Hello‘fere, young man. I’m a falefman for the Academic American Enfyclopedia.”

Skeptical and unsure, Ben stared at the man.

“I waf paffing frough your neighborhood to prefent my bookf and to give a prefent to the good boyf. Are you a good boy?”

Unsure of what the man in front of him was saying exactly, Ben understood perfectly the universal word “present”, and nodded his head.

“Well, then thif if for you!” The man, who was hiding his hand behind his back, presented Ben with a beautiful new soccer ball. Ben’s sad and desolate expression immediately transformed into joy and happiness.

“Wow! Is it really mine? It’s exactly like the ball that son-of-a-bitch Jim stole from me!”

The man’s upper lip trembled slightly, but he managed not to fall completely apart.

“Yef, fon. It’f a prefent for you! I have to be on my way now. Pleafe fay hello to your uncle for me.”

In silence, the man left the way he arrived, leaving Ben happy, but puzzled by the man’s parting words.

“Look! Look what some strange man gave me!”

The Italian Affair Restaurant

“When I say it like that, it seems silly. But believe me, that’s just one example of many random incidents that sound like I'm making them up. Every time something bad happened, some kind of karma would intervene and turn the situation around in my favor.”

Susan listened to everything, but not in awe like most people would have. Ben appreciated this aspect of her personality; the way she accentuated her positive opinion of him as if he were someone special.

“Yeah! Like the scales of justice. C’mon, tell me more. Just one more story to satisfy my hope that there is a God.”

Ben smiled pleasantly and stalled for time wiping his mouth with his napkin, while trying to think of another interesting and original story.

“I remember when I was sixteen and had just got my drivers’ license. I had worked all summer in a fast-food joint to save up for my first car. With that money, I bought an olive green ’77 Buick. It wasn’t the hottest car, but that was all I could afford and the salesman guaranteed that it was good for several thousand more miles. I remember how excited I was to have something that was all mine, that I had earned with hard work. I felt like an adult. Then about an hour later, I felt like a complete idiot. While I was driving, the engine started smoking and then the car took its last breath…and broke down. I went home with my tail between my legs. I was so mad, especially at myself, for letting someone rip me off like that. I didn’t sleep a wink that night.”

“So I guess you went back to the salesman the next day.”

“You bet! But the dealership told me that the salesman had quit and anyway, the title in my name was nontransferable to a different car.”

“Outrageous! You were swindled,” said Susan, shocked.

“Yep. And the worst part was that I couldn’t do anything about it. The proof was in the paperwork.”

“So what was the heaven sent lucky break?”

“A phone call,” said Ben, holding out for suspense.

But Susan tried to answer before Ben, “Don’t tell me that the salesman felt sorry for you and gave you back your money?”

“Nope. Even better than that. The same dealership contacted me to tell me that I had won a contest they had announced, of which I hadn’t the slightest memory of entering. I guess among all the paperwork I had signed, there must have been something about a contest. Anyway, the fact is, first prize was a car that I could have never afforded: a cherried-out, flaming red Mustang!”

“That’s amazing! I’ve never met anyone who’s ever won anything in a contest…unless they were related or the mistress of some manager.” Susan seemed really sincere, even though she appeared to be a chronic pessimist.

“Well,” said Ben “I don’t think that it’s just a question of pure luck. I mean, most people never win contests because they don’t participate. They either give up before trying or just don’t tempt fate.”

Susan felt hurt by his accusation of inertia. “What? I don’t agree at all! I would have signed up for hundreds, if not thousands of contests without having won even a consolation prize. You just got really lucky. That’s all, just luck, honey!”

Calling him “honey”, even if blatantly sarcastic, went straight to his head, giving him a smug sense of satisfaction.

“It’s not as rare as you think, you know. Lots of times in my family, we’ve won unexpected prizes from promotions from some brand of cereal or another.”

“We’re not talking about some little toy for kids. We’re talking about a car and…can I dip some of my bread in your sauce, too?”

“Ah, you want to try the ‘scarpetta’?”

“The what?” she asked.

“The ‘scarpetta’. It’s a typical Roman expression, it means ‘little shoe’, but it doesn’t refer to the shoe you wear on your foot. It’s an imitation of the gesture of the workers who cut and sculpted rock from the quarries. These guys were called ‘scalpellini’, or stonecutters. They shaved the slabs of Piperno stone before carving it, just like we’re doing right here with our bread on our plates.”

“Wow! That doesn't sound quite as tasty as bread and sauce, though. I was just hoping some of your good luck would rub off on me to help me find a new job.” Susan's request wasn't presumptuous in the least.

“Of course! Why didn't I think of it sooner? If it's all right with you, I could ask my Uncle Carmine if he needs a waitress at his restaurant. At least nobody would lay a hand on you there.”

“Really? That would be great! That's exactly the kind of job I'm looking for. Thank you so much!”

In a surge of excitement, she threw her arms around him, almost knocking over the bottle of water on the table. Ben was taken by surprise by the unexpected contact of her prominent bosom, as well as the loud kiss she planted on his cheek.

“You're welcome. If I had known that this was the reward, I would have asked you a lot sooner. So how about this, you can come with me tomorrow to the restaurant and I can introduce you in person to my uncle. When he sees how pretty you are, he'll hire you on the spot!”

“Tomorrow? Oh no, I have an appointment that I absolutely can't miss,” said Susan.

“All right, no problem. I'll talk to my uncle first, then we can make the introductions. How about day after tomorrow? Unless your appointment will take longer than a day?”

“No, the day after tomorrow is perfect. I have an exam at the university tomorrow.”

“Really? You didn't tell me that you study. What are you specializing in exactly?” asked Ben.

“Law. My dream is to become an attorney one day.”

“That's fantastic! Fighting crime on the front line. If you need a hand, just give me a call!”

The Italian Affair Restaurant: at the table next to Ben and Susan

The Observer, Guido “Baguette” Bernard, known for his tall, thin stature and his French-Italian origins, couldn't help but murmur his thoughts out loud. “Holy Mother of God! And now what am I gonna tell the Boss?”