Awakening the Mobster (7 page)

“Get changed. I’m taking you to breakfast,” I order.

“What? Just us?” she asks.

“Yeah, just us.”

All I wanted to do was crawl back into bed with Megan, but this was something I had to do. I let Vito and Megan know that I am taking Erin to breakfast alone. There’s just some shit that needs to be sorted out. This kid has to face the music.

We pull up to a little diner off campus. It’s small with a neon sign that says
Breakfast and Lunch — s
traight and to-the-point advertising. Erin is quiet for the ride. We sit in the last booth in the back. I face the entrance. I always face the doorway in restaurants. Theaters and public places too. You always need to know exits and points of entry.

This shit about her Dad has been bothering me since yesterday. “I want to talk about your Dad.”

Erin looks up from her computer-printed menu surprised.

“I want to explain things to you in a way that will hopefully help you,” I continue. “A fireman doesn’t hesitate. He just runs into that burning building. He just does it. It’s who he is.”

“What are you talking about?” she asks, annoyed.

“I’m trying to explain things to you.”

“What things?” Her voice is condescending and sassy.

“Don’t pull that shit with me.” My voice is low and commanding.

“What shit?”

“That shit. Stop giving me attitude. I’m not the one who has been lying to you for fourteen years. I’m given it to you straight.”

Erin stops and looks ashamed.

“Listen, sometimes we’re born to do things. Take my pop for example. When his Pop died, he acquired
the business
. He doesn’t force anyone to borrow money — they come to him — whether it’s for gambling debts, drugs, or whatever they need it for. Pop doesn’t force them, and the people who borrow know the consequences. There are rules, unwritten guidelines. These people are not innocents. They’re into big shit.”

Erin’s eyes fill with tears. “But why does my Dad kill people?”

I glance around the room as the question leaves her lips and tap my fingers on the table.

“It’s in his blood. It’s what he knows... He’s obviously good at it. He’s been doing it a long time. Your father dishes out the ultimate consequence for not paying or running...or even trying to push my pop out.”

“Why would anyone want to push Mr. Delisi out or take over?”

“That’s simple—power,” I answer.

“Power? Why?”

“Power can be a more dominant drug than meth or heroine. It makes them feel important. They need it.”

Erin stops to consider this. I can tell the wheels are turning in her mind.

“But this is the most important part,” I say. “No one knows your Dad is the Cleaner. It’s important that they never do.”

“Why?”

“People would come after you. Just like the other night. The anonymity of the Cleaner keeps people loyal and fearful.”

Erin wipes her tearing eyes with her fingers. The waitress comes over and takes our order. I monotonously order bacon, eggs, and coffee. Erin orders a muffin.

My phone rings. It’s Uncle Tutti.

“Eh, Tonio. How are you?”

“Good, Uncle. How are you?” Erin just sits in the booth, watching me talk on the phone.

“Where are you, kid? Haven’t seen you around?”

“Oh, you know... I’m all over, doing stuff for Pop.” Obviously, Pop didn’t tell Uncle Tutti where I am or what I’m doing, so I’m not about to.

“You chasing a runner?” he asks.

“Yeah, something like that.” Well, it’s not totally a lie.

The waitress plops dishes on the table in front of Erin and me.

“I’m out having breakfast and it just arrived.”

“Oh, okay. Talk to ya soon, Tonio. Bye.”

“Bye.” I hang up.

“Who was that?” Erin asks.

“My Uncle Tutti. He is my grandmother’s younger brother.”

“Why didn’t you tell him where you were?”

“This is a good lesson. Information is very important. You never share it if you don’t have to. My pop didn’t tell him where I am... I, sure as hell, am not telling him.”

“But he’s your uncle. You can’t tell him?”

“No. Never give anyone extra information they don’t need to know. He doesn’t need to know where I am.”

She considers this. “Does he know about my father?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Then who does?”

“Up until a few days ago, my pop and my mom, your father and mother, obviously...and the fuckers who broke into your house.”

“You didn’t know?” she asks incredulously.

“Nope. I had no reason to know.” I push my eggs around on my plate.

“How did you find out?”

“Umm...I ran into him.”

“Ran into him?”

“Look, you don’t need to know how I know. I just know.” I ramble out.

Erin grins and starts laughing, “It’s information I don’t need to know?”

“Now you’re catching on.” I say and I wink at her.

We eat in silence for a while. The waitress refills my coffee.

“Does Vito know?” Erin asks quietly, picking at her muffin.

“He hasn’t come out and said he knows, but, yes, he does.”

“Why hasn’t he said anything?”

“He’s smart and knows the rules.”

“Who makes up these rules, anyway?” she asks, disgusted.

“Life in the Mafia makes the rules,” I tell her. “And sometimes they’re hard finite lessons.”

We come through the door of the suite and the T.V. is on. Megan is on the couch watching the news. She smiles up at us.

“How was breakfast?” she asks.

“Insightful,” Erin deadpans.

Erin goes into her bedroom, and I immediately drop beside Megan on the couch. I reach for her and pull her close. I kiss her like I haven’t seen her in a week, not just a couple of hours.

“You okay,” I whisper.

“Better than okay,” she whispers back, and I kiss her again.

“I have to go out again today.”

“I figured,” she says, disappointed. I rub her cheek with my finger.

“I would much rather stay here with you,” I tell her.

“Antonio, what if we’re here a long time? Erin is missing a lot of school.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll have her read some books. The teachers will let her write some reports about them or something. Pop will take care of it.”

“I was thinking maybe we could sit in and observe some classes while we’re here. That would be a great experience for her.”

“For you too,” I say, and kiss her freckled nose. “Talk to Troy, find out when his classes are. Vito will go with you. I can’t do anything until I finish up this business for Pop.”

For the first time that his name has come out of my mouth, I don’t feel jealous. I’m okay with Troy. Last night was incredible, and I know Megan is mine. I kiss her, hard.

I murmur, “You are so beautiful. I want you again.”

Megan’s eyes flash with lust at my declaration and she says, “Me too.”

Chapter 8

Moola (moo-laa): money

Antonio:

Back on the highway, I drive towards Chicago. I didn’t even tell Vito that I was leaving the state to chase this fucker. It’s only about seventy miles from South Bend. Vito was right — this guy Allen isn’t in a bum-fuck town. He’s in the big city of Chicago. I could get messed up just for being here if anyone caught on to who I am. I am out of my territory.

You can chase runners into others territories, but the head boss is supposed to know about it. It avoids conflict and confusion...and loss of life.

Pop’s informant is a good one because it only took me two hours to track him down to a sleazy bar off the main drag. When I open the heavy wooden door, the smell of stale beer and body odor assaults me.
Marrone! This place stinks.

The bar is dark with only a few scattered lights here and there. No windows and an entrance to a kitchen on the left. Two people sit at the bar. The bartender stands behind the counter. All eyes turn on me.

I tap out a cigarette from the pack I take from my jacket pocket and light up. I know it is Allen sitting on a bar stool. He is slouched over. He is facing me, but his glassy look makes me think he is seeing passed me.

I puff out some smoke and my adrenaline starts humming. My body is prepping itself to kick some ass. I crush out my cigarette on the dirty floor and approach him. His broken fingers are taped together haphazardly; his face is swollen from where I punched him yesterday.

“You got anything for me, Allen?” I say sinisterly.

“He ain’t got nothin’ for you,” the bartender answers.

“I’d like Allen to answer me,” I return.

“He’s so fucked up, he can barely talk,” the bartender says.

“That’s not good, Allen,” I say, approaching.

Allen’s glassy unfocused eyes struggle to find me through his long stringy brown hair. I reach out and yank him off the stool with one hand. He doesn’t even struggle.

“Hey, you Delisi’s kid?” the bartender asks.

I am taken aback by his question. I am still holding Allen up, my fists clenched in his filthy clothes.
Nonna would have a fit if she saw this guy.

“No, I work for him,” I lie.
What’s this guy’s angle?
No one should know my name except the Boss. I hope Pop has done his due diligence. This could get ugly. The Chicago underground is three times the size of Palmetto’s.

I drag a limp Allen through the bar area to the kitchen. I kick the swinging door open and spot an outside door. I tug him through it out into an alley. The alley stinks worse than the bar.
Holy Shit!

I toss him to the ground. I rifle through his pockets. I don’t find a thing, not even lint. Nothing.

“Okay, Allen. Where do you get the cash to get high?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer. I kick him in the ribs. He moans.

“Hey! Allen! I asked you a question. Where do you get the money to get high?”

I circle him when he doesn’t answer. I tap his shoulder with my foot. He mumbles unintelligently.

“Allen. I’m asking one last time,” I say. “Where do you get the fuckin’ money?!” I yell it this time.

“No...money...” he slurs.

“What?” I ask.

“No...money...” he slurs again.

“Sorry, Allen, wrong answer,” I say, and I swoop down and grab his leg and twist it with a hard jerk.
SNAP!
“I’ll be back in forty-eight hours. You better have something for me.”

I leave him lying in the grubby alley. I light another cigarette as I make my way to the car. My phone vibrates. A text from Vito:

Why am I in a fucking college English class?!

I guess Megan convinced them to hang out with Troy in his classes. I smile at the thought.

*****

Megan:

The sights and sounds of the English seminar flow over me. This is so awesome. The room is a lecture hall with stadium seating. We are in the back by the door. Vito wouldn’t let us sit any further down. He said we had to be where he could see the door.
Whatever!
I am just happy to be there.

Erin is hanging on every word the professor says. The class is studying
The Odyssey
. I have read it before, but the points and inferences the class is discussing shocks me. I learned amazing things in just the short time we had been there.

Vito is playing a game on his phone, not caring at all about the discussion. The girl sitting in the row in front of us keeps turning around. She is trying to be nonchalant about watching Vito. He doesn’t even notice. Troy nudges me.

“More muscle than brain,” he says, gesturing to Vito.

“I heard that,
chooch
,” Vito whispers, never moving his eyes from his game. “Tonio is on his way back,” he adds.

My heart does a little fluttery thing at Vito’s words.
Awesome!
I can’t wait to tell him about our day.

The professor dismisses the class, and Vito jumps up ready to bolt. But he has to wait for us, obviously, so he’s getting antsy.

“Come on. I’m starving,” he says.

“There’s a great little sandwich shop on the main Green,” a sweet voice says. It’s the girl that was sitting in front of us.

“Yeah,” Troy says. “Let’s go there. You can get Falafel.”

“Falafel? What the fuck is that?” Vito asks.

“It’s fried chick peas,” the girl answers.

“Hmmm, that sounds friggin’ appetizing,” Vito says sarcastically.

“Cool. It would be great to try something different,” I say.

Vito adds, “English class and Falafel...what a terrific day! Yipp-fuckin’-ee!”

“I’m Darla, by the way.” Darla sticks her hand out to shake with Vito.

“Hi,” he says disinterested, shaking her hand. Erin does a dramatic eye-roll, and we file out of the lecture hall towards the Green.

Troy, Erin, and I debate about the lecture on
The Odyssey
while Darla tries to keep a conversation going with Vito. He just isn’t interested. He throws out one word answers, and continues to play with his phone as he’s walking. Vito has a reputation as a player. This girl is attractive.
What’s his problem?
She’s a college girl, no less. I think that would be a pretty big score for him.

We sit at a table in the corner big enough to fit all of us. Darla joins us. The waitress comes over, and we all order a falafel wrap with fries except Vito. He orders a chicken sandwich.

I observe my sister, and she is slowly turning back into her old self.
Thank God!
Antonio is amazing. That talk with her this morning must have really helped.

Troy tells us about some of the crazy things that have happened to him in college. We laugh at his animated stories. Troy could always make me laugh, even Vito chuckles every once in a while.

“Should we bring a sandwich back for Antonio?” I suggest.

“Who’s Antonio?” Darla asks.

“He’s my boyfriend,” I answer, I sense Troy stiffening a little at my reply.

“Not that shit,” Vito says. “Get him something normal.”

“How about ham and cheese?” I ask.

“Yeah, that’s good,” he says.