I WAS INVOLVED WITH THE MOB. Or Mafia. Cosa Nostra. Take your pick. I was supposed to run some money but I didn’t know who was delivering or who was retrieving. They sent me out to some industrial area to stand inside an old telephone booth at night. It seemed like a rather uncreative pick-up spot. There I stood, pretending to talk to someone on the old phone, which didn’t work. I had two soldiers for backup, who were hidden in some nearby reeds. Soon a car pulled up — I couldn’t see the model through the dark — and a stranger got out. I was ready to hand over the cash, but as he got closer, I saw him pull a gun. Everyone started shooting. Bullets pierced the glass of the telephone booth. There was a gunman in the car too, and I could hear the bullets piercing the metal of the car. After about five minutes, everyone else was dead. It was just me and a suitcase full of cash in a bullet-ridden telephone booth.
Naturally, I was shaken up. Then I realized, I had enough money to buy a house on Long Island.
CHRISTMASTIME, some months later. I kept running around the house while I was preparing the meal. I would go out the front door, slide down the alley on one side of the house, cut across the back, and then wind around the driveway and porch until I reached the front door. I would go inside, check on the pasta, and then repeat this ‘running around the house’ motif. The house looked almost exactly like my parents’ house, except it was situated in a slightly more elevated area. The weather was cool but not cold and it was dark. I knew that they were expecting traditional American fare at Christmas, but I only knew how to make Italian food.
I checked the spaghetti again. It wasn’t yet al dente. Another quick run around the house.
Soon the guests began to arrive. I hadn’t seen them in years. Cousin Prescott came in with his family. He was an academic and wore dark-rimmed glasses. He used to have hair, but this had long since been reduced. It made him look more distinguished. “I’ve missed you, Prescott,” I said, patting him on the back. “Don’t tell the others, but you’re my favorite.” “Of course, I am,” he said and entered the house. My wife came down on the landing and waved to everyone.
At last my brother roared up. This moment brought me great anxiety. Would he approve of my new life? This was doubtful. He looked strange though. He had tattoos on both arms, and was wearing a leather jacket that said, Hells Angels. When did my big brother join a biker gang? My brother looked over everything and said, “Nice house.” “Thanks,” I said. “I paid for it in cash.”
north! 