A Bridgeport Story: PART 1

Bridgeport Story Part 1

Note: Bridgeport, New York is a fictional city and isn't in any way related to Bridgeport, Connecticut.   

Why do I tell this story? Well, because it needs to be told. It’s not a particularly happy story, but hey, a good story doesn’t always have to be a happy one. My name is Michael Scarlatti by the way, and you’ll meet me later. Anyway, here’s how the whole thing began,

It was June 23, 1936 when my grandfather, Enzo Scarlatti immigrated over from a small town in Southern Italy. My grandfather was a smart man. He saw what was going on around Europe, and knew that nothing good would ever come out of it. He pretty much guessed that Hitler would make it into office, and once that was achieved, all hell would break loose across Europe. But remember, Mussolini wasn’t letting the Italians live all that happily either. His Fascist regime had already polluted the ground over there, and people were miserable. Families were being shot dead and a wave of fear had swept over towns throughout Italy. People pissed in their pants every time they heard the name. So, my grandfather packs up his belongings, whatever he can carry, and smuggles himself and his family further South towards Sicily. From Sicily, my grandfather and his family took a ship to Southern France. His heart was broken. He had to leave his friends, people he’d grown up with, all behind, because he knew what was going to happen. But he couldn’t talk, oh no, if he did, his life would have been on the line. So, they went to Southern France, and settled incognito in a small village there, until they found a cargo ship.

                My grandfather must have had a lot of guts to strike up a deal with one of these sailors, to let them sail on their ship. These guys have been known to just drown you when you’re least expecting it. Anyway, things worked out, he bribed a few people to keep quiet and he was on that ship with his family. It took weeks and weeks, with people puking, coughing, running fevers, and what not. Luckily, by the time they got to the United States it was all good. They were feeling much better. The ship had pulled up at Bridgeport, a major port city on the coastline of New York. This was a new beginning for Enzo Scarlatti…

1936

“Rosa, darling, I need you to stay close. We need to cross through customs and get our passports checked and everything. Walk tall and strong, and don’t act like there’s anything wrong with you, because there isn’t.” he whispered to his wife, and hugged her close. They smiled at those around them as they walked up the ramp. There was a doctor that stood just outside the entrance to the main immigration center, who checked them. He swabbed their tongues, and poked and prodded them in all sorts of places, before allowing them in.

“The nerve of these people. We come here in desperation, and they have the guts to try holding us up. Do they think each of us is a disease sac or something?” she hissed in Italian to her husband.

“Rosa, it’s a precaution. They just want to be safe, like us. We can’t blame them.”

“This country has not even touched the surface of suffering. They have no idea what it is to be-“

“Rosa…”

“To be under control of another person. To have their friends slaughtered before their eyes, and to be forced to stomach such injustice…”

“Rosa!” he said sharply. “This country is doing us a favor by taking us in. Let us at least show them the courtesy they deserve. We are not perfect, they are most certainly not perfect, but let us do our best to get along, yes?”

“Yes.” Rosa grumbled.

  Enzo walked through the many booths and corridors that led to the final doorway to their freedom. Freedom from oppression, from the horrors of their homeland. Enzo smiled at Rosa, as he pushed open the door to their new life.

“I feel so torn between uncertainty and hope, Rosa. I am ever grateful for this opportunity, but I struggle to see where we fit in. It is far different from our village back home.”

“It is, but I’m sure we can find a job somewhere. Something small. Something to put food on the table.”

“The life is so fast here. It’s almost like no one has a chance to rest. People are so busy growing new flowers and building new houses that they don’t have time to appreciate what they already have.”

“Or perhaps they have realized that there is more out there to appreciate, than just flowers and houses, and that they have to work towards it. That’s what they are doing, working towards it.”

Enzo smiled at Rosa and they entered the crowded streets, cars racing this way and that, and people hurrying down the roads, hardly noticing each other, and they too melted into this infinite crucible, which people called Bridgeport.

It was a few days before my grandfather found a place to stay. He and my grandmother had to scout out locations where the people were predominantly Italian. Somewhere that gave them at least a little feeling of security. Even after he found a place, it turned out to be just a little better than an average tenement. The roof leaked when it rained. It got cold in the winter, and the toilet smelled terrible. Yet my grandparents, being the tough people they were made do with what they had. My grandfather went out into the streets every day, just doing small jobs. Probably delivering a crate, or maybe sweeping the floor somewhere, bringing home a couple cents every day. Nothing much, but at least they could pay their rent. As my grandfather did more and more of this odd-job stuff, he learned a lot about the city. Bridgeport was in itself, a broken city. There was a vast gap between rich and poor. The poor were all immigrants, just eating out of the bottom of the pot, and the rich were people who’d stayed in the area for the past few decades.

The most prominent family in the entire north side of the city, where my father was staying, was the O’Connor family. They had been here since the city had been built, and as a result, controlled a majority of what went on. They did everything from fixing matches, all the way to bribing the politicians. They exploited the system left, right, and center.  Basically the city ran under their prerogative. A corrupt city it was, definitely. Most of the poor civilians did some “under the table” work to make some more money for themselves. They’d probably do some hits for the O’Connor family, or rob a few people, stuff like that. However, my grandfather would have none of that. He was an honest man back in Italy, and he’d most certainly be an honest man in Bridgeport. This is something I respect about the man. He wasn’t afraid to stand against the majority. So anyway, he found a job at a steel plant on in the upper-north side of Bridgeport. Job was rough, and wages were low, but he never once lost in him that hope that had driven him to this country in the first place.

“Robber Barons. That’s what they call them Enzo. Keeping all the money for themselves, always exploiting our labor. I sometimes feel we should have stayed back in Italy.”  Rosa complained as they sat down to eat dinner. The ceiling dripped water on the table, right beside them. The rain poured heavily outside the window, and people were racing to get back home before they got sick. Cars drove helter skelter, and civilians tried to duck under roofs. Yet in the background, solemnly stood the tall, posh skyscrapers of the O’Connor family. Enzo turned away from this demure sight, and replied,

“Rosa, don’t say such things. You would not, in all honesty want that for the family. For our children.”

“For our children? We hardly can pay our own rent, and you want to have children?”

“Yes. Don’t you want to continue the family?”

“I do, but if we can’t take care of ourselves, how will we take care of another person? A child that too? I’ll have to stop working at the clothing factory if we have a child. This means half the money, and that we’ll be kicked out of this shithole. It’s bad enough as it is.”

“Rosa, try to be a bit more optimistic. Maybe I’ll be promoted. Maybe I’ll become supervisor. If not, it’s still okay. If we have to move around every week, I’m ready to do it. I’ll do anything it takes to establish the Scarlatti family here.”

Rosa stared blankly at Enzo as they quietly finished their soup. Rosa collected the bowls and took them to the sink to wash.

“Just look at the way they treat you over in that metal factory. You work day long, for what? A few cents?”

“Yes, a few cents. It’s the best I can do right now. I left all my documents back home. If I had brought them, I could have become a banker here. Obviously, I’m in no position to do that right now. So please, Rosa, work with me here. I’m doing what I can.”

Rosa just sighed and stared down at the table, which had cast a dark shadow across the floor.

“You’re so beautiful Rosa. Beautiful and strong. I’m in a way glad I didn’t listen to my family when I married you. I’m lucky to have a woman like you by my side.” He said to Rosa, who smiled faintly. She was a buxom woman, short, but fierce, with brown hair, and olive skin. Enzo leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, before getting up to go to bed. “Another long day tomorrow. Might as well get some rest while we can.” He said, and lay down on the metal cot. Rosa lay down beside him, and he put his arm around her waist as she curled up. He nuzzled her head, with his face, and breathed out, slowly drifting into sleep.

The next day was no easier, Enzo had to work twice as hard at the factory, shaping steel, and beating the metal into shape. His shoulders ached. When he went to his supervisor to ask for a break, he was punched in the shoulder, on his bruise and pushed back to work.

“Shut the hell up and drag your ass back there! Or I’m cutting half out of your wages! Get over there!” he yelled.

Enzo fumed, but still walked back and returned to his task, beating the steel. This time harder, channeling his anger into the work. This anger apparently paid off, because he was promoted, and was overseeing a small task on the East End of the factory in a matter of weeks.

“That’s wonderful Enzo!” Rosa kissed her husband. “Now you’re making double!” she squealed with excitement. Enzo hugged her close.

“Didn’t I tell you? A little optimism wouldn’t hurt.”

But this is all just Bridgeport. The story over in Europe isn’t going all that great. Two years passed, with my grandfather doing the same monotonous work in the factory, even if he was making a little more than usual. It was 1938, and Germany was like a pressure cooker waiting to explode. The War Minister had been forced from his position, and Hitler had set his foot down on Germany’s arms. The maniac’s influence was spreading faster than anyone had ever imagined. More generals sympathetic to Hitler were brought in with the others being stripped of their qualifications, strengthening his political and military stand in the country. Using the excuse of an “emergency situation” he put the country into military overdrive. Day by day the nation strengthened with Hitler’s dogged pursuit of absolute power. It was obvious that he thirsted for war. He proved this when he moved in and annexed Austria his home country.

                Mussolini was prepping up over in Italy as well. He was building his power overseas, extending his influence into African countries like Ethiopia and Tunisia. He was upping his reputation with his people, and was preparing to make a formal alliance with Germany. The two together, would wreak havoc across Europe. What do you know? In 1939, first blood is drawn and the war in Europe starts.

1939

“I can’t believe the country’s still staying neutral after what has happened over there. Our friends and family are dying over in Italy and everyone just wants to sit here. What will it take for them to realize the gravity of the situation?” Rosa complained.

“Rosa, do you really think any country wants to plunge head long into war. I know it is terrible that our relatives back home have to endure this tragedy, but there is nothing we can do about it. All we can do is pray. Pray that they will not be harmed, so let us do that. Let us do what we can and not focus on what we cannot do. It is difficult Rosa, I understand, but life is difficult for a lot of people. Bridgeport has given us a new beginning and let us understand that.”

“Maybe being optimistic is a flaw Enzo. Maybe being optimistic just leads people further into troubles. I’m sure the Germans were being extremely optimistic…look where it’s led them. They have a tyrant leading them.”

“You do not know what the Germans were thinking Rosa. It is not fair to point fingers at people we know nothing about. If anyone, we should be focusing on ourselves.”

“Oh you’re hopeless sometimes.” Rosa said and went back to cleaning the table. Enzo chuckled, as he dusted off the bed.

The two just burst out into laughter. Not out of joy, but because of the triviality of the whole argument. How silly it was to argue about something they had no control over.

“We have certain priorities to attend to here.” He smiled and nodded at the bed.

“Oh Enzo, you dirty rascal.” She teased, and ran up to him, pushing him onto the bed. She sat atop him, and the festivities began. 

Nine months later, Vito Scarlatti, my father, was born. It was a very rainy day. My mom told me about it. Lightning crackled and the city was almost flooded. My grandmother was in critical condition and the doctors were rushing to save her. Thankfully, they succeeded just as my grandfather got there. He was overjoyed to see the newly born son. He cradled him, and looked with affection into his eyes. Sadly he didn’t know that such affection would not be returned for very long…

Rosa cradled a young Vito in her arms as she breastfed him in the corner of the room.

“He is certainly a blessing to us Enzo. The doctors were sure that I wouldn’t make it, and that neither would he.”

“I told you, optimism can take one quite far. It can even create miracles.” Enzo replied.

Rosa pulled her breast in, and wiped Vito’s mouth.

“Oh, and I’ve a present for the both of us. It’ll help us keep a little closer to home.” Enzo said, and pulled out a paper bag. He reached inside, and to Rosa’s awe, he held a radio in his hand.

“Enzo, you didn’t have to. Imagine how much that must have taken out of your salary.”

“My salary is my concern. Do you like it? That is what’s important Rosa.”

“I love it. But really, we could have bought it a little later, after we pooled up some more money.”

“Oh Rosa, come on, it was part necessity, part desire. I couldn’t let our desires just wait like that. Imagine, would we be this happy, if we’d let Vito wait?”

“You’re right, yet again.” Rosa smiled. Outside, the day was nice and sunny, and the rays of sunshine filtered in through the window, illuminating the tenement, and warming their hearts. The gray dusty walls were brightened, and for a minute the three forgot where they were.

Enzo set up the radio and tweaked the knobs until they were at the right frequency.

“…war! It’s war in Europe! After Hitler ordered his mobilise against Austria, it was quite evident that Germany would not rest until it had utmost power in its hands. Eastern Europe falls prey to the imposing Nazi Empire. In the South, Mussolini establishes the Pact of Steel with Hitler, securing the alliance between Germany and Italy, after taking over Albania. Not to mention, Mussolini already set his foot down in Ethiopia a full year back. The fate of Europe remains uncertain. But one thing we as Americans can reassure ourselves with is our neutrality. None of these conflicts shall pollute our shores. Good day my fellow Americans, and God bless!”

Enzo turned the radio off, looking over at Rosa, whose eyes were wide with grief.

“Things are looking dark Rosa. Very dark indeed. But remember what the man said? The conflict won’t come anywhere near us. Benito Mussolini cannot hurt us in any way. We are safe here.”

“Enzo, we are safe. I know that. But what about Benicio, and Adolfo, and Ezio? What about my mother and brother?”

“Rosa, there is only so much we can do from our side. God has given us two hands and two legs. Let us make the most out of them. What is out of our reach, we can only pray for. Please understand this Rosa. Besides, worrying like this is not good for the child.” Enzo said and gently lifted Vito into his arms, kissing him on the forehead. “Oh Vito, I pray you never have to live this life, that you never have to experience such grief.”

As Enzo walked down to the factory the next day people around him spoke incessantly of the state of affairs in Europe. People cursed Hitler and Mussolini religiously, and expressed their frustration about not being able to fight. Some wished to stay away, as far as possible. Not that they didn’t care, but they were afraid of their own fate.

Yet Enzo shrugged this off his shoulders, and pressed on to work. He ignored his angry boss, who was ranting about the war as well, and just focused all his attention on the work.

“Come on, faster. George wants double the output by six!” he encouraged the group.

“Hey, you’re a fucking immigrant too right?”

“What does it matter? Focus on the work!” Enzo said, and motioned towards the steel bar. He took up his own mallet and started to beat the metal into shape. Sparks flew helter skelter around him, and his skin burned from a few stray ones. Yet Enzo kept on hammering.

“It fucking matters, prick! Don’t you give a damn about your people?”

“Don’t you give a damn about your work?! Now focus or you’re losing half of what you’re making already.”

“Hey fatfuck, since when did you start giving orders around here?” one of the men approached him, grabbing him by the collars.

“Since George told me to. Now if you don’t let me go, I’ll report you there, and have you kicked out of the factory.”

“Look here pally. We’re all Irish. You’re an Italian. He ain’t listenin’ to you!” at this, Enzo flared up and punched the man, grabbing him by his lapels, and throwing him against the wall. Each punch landed with a sickening ‘thunk’ as he beat the pulp out of the man. He kicked his face, and grabbed him by the hair, dragging him over to the machine. He grabbed a mallet, and reared, preparing to strike!

“Oi! Enzo! Get your act together!” George, his boss, yelled.

“How dare you insult my country.” Enzo hissed at the worker. “We are all immigrants. Why can’t you get that through your fat head?! We are all people, no matter where we come from.”

The other workers had already started to move in, cracking their knuckles and arming themselves with metal rods.

“I said get your fucking act together!” George yelled, and Enzo reluctantly let the man go. He stared furiously at the other workers, all standing there, patting their metal rods against their shoulders.

“You’re damn lucky bucko!” one of them said. “You’re damn lucky.”

The rest of the day, Enzo worked twice as hard. Hitting down harder with the mallet, and goading on his group with more ferocity.

“Come on, is this all you’re up to?! Move it!” he urged them on. “Ai, my limbs…so sore.” He groaned towards the end. He massaged his arms, which were paining from this taxing effort. He went and took a seat by the machine. The other workers were preparing to leave, as the last steel piece was tinkered.

Enzo took his vest, and wiped his soot covered face, and headed out the factory into the night. He’d hardly set foot outside of the factory, that a group of people emerged from the alley beside him, and pulled him in.

“Stop! I-“ Enzo tried to oppose, but was thrown to the ground. The men stomped his legs, ribs, chest and almost every part of his body, besides his head.

“Try fucking with one of us again, and next time you’re not walking again. Who the hell do you think you are? You’ve been here a fucking year and already trying to boss us around. Now you hurt one of ours today, and like I said, you are goddamn lucky that you aren’t dead already. Get your head on straight!” the man yelled and punched his face. The group rummaged his pockets and took his money. Enzo had to go home empty-handed.

Enzo stumbled through the streets, blinded with pain, and just barely managed to return home.

“Enzo!” Rosa yelled, setting Vito down in the chair. She grabbed him around the waist, taking some of his weight, helping him over to the bed.

“Rosa-“

“Enzo what happened? Who did this?!”

“I couldn’t really see them. It was a dark alley. They got me when I was least expecting it. I’ll bet it was one of those Irish gangs.”

“But why Enzo?”

“I…I lost my temper on one of the Irishmen in my group today. I took him and thrashed him. He insulted our country Rosa! I couldn’t stay calm, I know it is no excuse, but…I couldn’t. I beat him black and blue. He must have told some of his friends, and…this happened.” He groaned, as he lay down on the bed. From the chair, Vito stared on with wide, scared eyes. “Rosa, you were right, we are very disloyal. Very unfaithful Italians. We haven’t done anything for our people back home. We should have stayed back there. Those Irishmen were right…I don’t care enough about our family back home.”

“Enzo, don’t be foolish!” Rosa said and hugged him close. “You were very wise in what you said. Those Irishmen don’t have any sense in their heads. Don’t listen to them.”

“Rosa, I have to do something…I really do. I want to go there and fight. I’ll sail back if I have to.”

“Enzo! What has gotten into you?”

“The desire to fight Rosa. I want to fight.”

“Fight who?”

“Mussolini, Hitler, and whatever other tyrant is hurting people over there. I’m ready.”

“No, Enzo. Don’t…don’t talk like that. I’m sorry I said those things to you before.” Rosa said, kissing him lightly on the forehead.

And what do you know, in a matter of a year and a half, America had entered the war. The Japanese had raided Pearl Harbor, and taken the United States by surprise. Pearl Harbor was the wakeup call for the country, and put everything in overdrive mode. In 1941, America officially entered the conflict. The War Industries Board had repurposed factories and companies to contribute to the war effort. Car companies started making tanks and jeeps. Steel was melted and used to make bullets and guns. Last but not least, they were drafting men into the military. Now my grandfather was in his mid-30s or so during the time, so he was old enough for the draft, and before he knew it, he was out of the house and in training. I guess it was like an answer to his call. He wanted to fight, and now he was doing just that. After just a few months of endless training, he was deployed on the European front. My grandfather had never even held a gun before, and here he was being ordered to shoot incoming waves of soldiers. But in all honesty, the real action lay back in Bridgeport.

My grandmother had to bust her ass, taking care of my dad and doing her job at the munitions factory. Good side, there was a steady income, and she could pay the rent, and afford some more on top of that. It was a crisis, and there were rations on virtually everything, but my grandmother still managed to enjoy a few amenities. Bad side, well, my dad was so young that even a few minutes by himself would be enough to drive him nuts. He was only like 5 years old. So my grandmother had to do everything she could to make ends meet. She even had to sneak out of her shifts every now and then, to check on my dad. She considered leaving a babysitter at home, but decided against it, seeing how desperate some people could be. Every once in a while, my grandfather would send a letter back home, talking about life on the front lines. Every day was filled with fear. Nobody knew who was going to conk out, or who would get captured. So when they were out there, every bullet had to count.

1941

Rosa brought down the metal press, and molded the bullet, before passing on the mold to the woman beside her. Like this her task continued, quite monotonously. She kept glancing anxiously at the clock, to see when her next break would be. Not only did she want to get out of the hot and humid factory, but she worried for Vito. Only five years old and already having to stay home by himself. She got so caught up in this thought that she forgot to bring the press down.

“Hey! Pay some attention!” the woman next to her yelled, and Rosa snapped back to her work, bringing down the press over the metal. Each bullet she made her feel a step closer to ensuring Enzo’s victory. The more bullets she made, the more bullets Enzo could fire, and the faster the enemy could be brought down.

The work was tiring, but never had Rosa felt so fulfilled. She hurried out of the factory at around noon and walked through the bustling Bridgeport. The humid summer caused her clothes to stick to her body, and she wiped the beads of sweat rolling down her forehead. She had hoped that the tall stone buildings around her would have taken the heat, but the sun, almost like a curse had positioned itself directly above the city. A man pulling a cart rushed by her almost knocking her over. Another man dressed in a business suit accidentally elbowed her, but hardly stopped to apologize, as he hurried to catch a taxi. Across the street, people were lined up with their ration cards, waiting to gather food for the week.

Day by day Rosa was starting to see how Enzo was right. The life was fast paced, but it was full of opportunity. Back in Italy she lived in a small village. Everything was nice and slow, like a gentle breeze, but the society hardly moved forward. They were still using horse drawn carriages in the same year that Bridgeport was using trucks and cars, and some motorbikes. With a smile, she walked proudly through the crowded streets, until she reached the tenement building. She jogged up the stairs and opened the door, to a small Vito.

“Oh Vito.” She smiled, and kissed his forehead. “Did Vito behave himself today?”

“Yes, ma. Why did Papi leave?”

“Well dear, it…he’s out working. Just on an assignment. He wants to bring home some more money for us that’s all.”

“But I heard there was a war.”

“That is over in Europe. Nothing for us to worry about.”

“But in the streets, people cheered for America. Why were they-“

“I don’t want you to worry about any of this. Why don’t you just take a nap. You look very tired. It’s been a hot, tiring day for me to. I’ll come to.” She picked up her five year old Vito, and walked over to the bed, and lay down beside him, stroking him gently. “The war is just like a cold. It comes and goes. Are you scared of a cold?”

“Now I am.”

“Well, there’s no need to be. Papi won’t be hurt, I promise.” Rosa said softly, pressing her lips into Vito’s head. In just a few minutes, the two had fallen asleep.

The war only got more serious as time went on, and it got harder and harder for my grandmother to hide the truth from my father. I mean, even kids were encouraged to contribute to the war effort. Toy drives, metal drives, and other stuff like that. Anything to give the Americans an upper hand in the war. So, my father figured out soon enough that my grandfather was off fighting. So naturally, get got pretty angry at my grandmother. The two didn’t talk for weeks after that, and even then he just didn’t listen to what she told him. She told him to sit on the chair, he’d stand on the table. She told him to let the water simmer, he’d make it boil. He tried to be a rebel in every way he could. I always struggle to understand how my grandmother handled all that…

“Vito, where are you going?” Rosa inquired as Vito walked to the door.

“Out to work. Found a job shoe-shining.”

“Vito, no. I told you several times already. You are to stay in the house. Don’t you understand Vito? There could be kidnappers there. People waiting to take children away, and keep them forever. Do you want them to get to you?” Rosa demanded.

“Better than getting lied to for so long. At least I know who they really are.” Vito said. He’d just turned seven. Rosa stomped up to him, and smacked him across the face.

“You watch your tongue. Do you know what war is like? Do you really think you’d feel better hearing about all the bloodshed?”

“Maybe.”

“Quiet!”

“Now you are to stay in the house, or extra chores for tonight.”

“I’ll do them.” Vito said, and barged out the door.

“Vito!” she yelled, chasing him down the stairs, but Vito slipped away into the street. Rosa slumped against the stairwell, hopeless, feeling her grip slipping on her son.

Vito walked four blocks down from the tenement building, to a small shop. The shoe-shining stand was all set up, and Vito eagerly clambered over. He grumbled to himself about how his father had abandoned the family, and how he hadn’t sent any money in a long time. He squatted down on a knee, and got ready for the first customer. A man dressed in a nicely tailored suit stepped up onto the chair, and put his shoe on the stand. Vito took out the rag and prepared to start shining the shoe, putting some polish on the front.

“So boyo, what’s your name?” the man asked.

“Joanne.” Vito replied.

“That’s a very nice boy’s name.”

Vito kept quiet and continued to shine.

“Do you like your job kiddo?”

“I like it just fine.” Vito worked faster, eager to get rid of the customer.

“But I reckon you don’t make much money down here. Your mom must be working in one of those factories.”

“Look sir, with all due respect, what’s it to you?”

“Very good question, very good question indeed. I just want to help you make a few bucks.” The man chuckled.

“Thanks mister, but I’m fine.”

“Oh come on bucko. Just a few dollars more. Can’t hurt can it?”

Vito considered, how his mother’s salary wasn’t all that high. His father hadn’t sent home any money. They were only going to get worse if they continued this way.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Oh, well I’m not that unfair. Let me introduce myself. I’m Daniel O’Connor, owner of O’Connor Textile.”

“Well I’m Vito.”

“Okay Vito, let’s set countries aside and work together, what do you say?”

“I say okay.” Vito said blandly.

“Well here. Have a look at this man.”  The customer handed over a picture to him. The person on the picture was a stout man, dressed in a white shirt, wearing a white top. His legs weren’t in the picture. His skin must have been slightly tanned.

“What do I do with this?”

“See, this man here…he’s a very bad man Vito. Very bad man, and he’s hurt a lot of people. Anyway, he comes walking down here every day about this time. You probably haven’t seen him because you haven’t really looked for him. He’s a pretty big guy though. Now that you’ve seen the picture, you’ll pick him out. I just need you to follow him for the next couple days, yeah. I’ll come back soon, and I just need you to tell me where he’s going. All right?”

“What if he hurts me?”

“Oh, he’s too busy to care about who’s around him, especially a little kid. Don’t worry. You’ll do fine. I’ll pay you extra on your next shine. How about it?”

“I guess so.”

“If you want to start early, he’ll be coming down in just an hour or so.”

“Why do you need me to follow him.”

“Oh, well, little kids are small and harder to pick out, that’s all. You’ll be okay, I promise. I’ll see you in a few days.”

Vito continued to labor in the hot summer sun. Sweat drenched his shirt as he shined the shoes of one customer after another, keeping his eye on the people walking by. As he worked, he began to question whether he should have even accepted the job. Whether it was worth the risk? What if this man was lying? Then again, seeing the dire situation his family was in, Vito just set this thought aside.

It was almost exactly an hour, when the man showed up, walking by the shoe-shining stand. Vito packed up the station as quickly as he could, and stashed it off against the wall, eagerly pursuing him.  He stayed a few paces behind and kept glancing at the store windows every now and then. The man walked down the crowded sidewalk, and crossed the intersection, barely dodging a car. He took a right, and headed further down the street. The road began to slant downwards, and Vito pressed forward, trying to keep up with the man. He pushed by a few people, an old woman, a worker, and some others. Vito squeezed by and kept his eyes on the man’s back. Finally, he went down and took a left, and walked into a bar, called Rafael’s. Vito high-tailed it back to where his stand had been, and stood panting.

My father did this for three or four days, and the guy headed to the same bar, Rafael’s. Owned by some guy from Spain. So anyway, he goes back to shining the shoes, and Daniel O’Connor shows up again. He asks him about the guy he had to follow, and Vito tells him where he went. What my dad didn’t know was that this man was ratting on Daniel O’Connor. Daniel didn’t like rats. He especially didn’t like this particular one. So a day later, some 20 gunshots ring out from down the street, and there the guy lay, his blood flowing into the gutter. The O’Connors weren’t afraid to do a little street justice, to show people what happened when someone messed with them. After all, they basically owned the city, and would pay people to look away. The guy who pulled the trigger was some poor street worker, who wanted a few extra bucks. The O’Connors always managed to stay clean. They could always buy people off, even the police, but to them, the better their reputation, the less money they’d need to pay people off.  My dad heard the gunshots, but never got a chance to see the body. Things got cleared up as quickly as they happened. Apparently, they tied weights to the guy after killing him, and threw him into the bay.

1943

The war was drawing to a close, even though people didn’t realize that. For them, the fighting got worse day by day. More shells exploding, more guts being shredded to pieces, and more lives lost. Meanwhile, my dad had been working his way up the ladder. Daniel was giving him bigger tasks. He went from just following targets around to pickpocketing, and store theft, and delivering some hot items. My grandmother didn’t know anything about this. To her, Vito was just his same old rebellious self. This was also when the first letter came home from my dad.

Rosa opened the letter which had been addressed to them, and a smile spread across her face at hearing from her husband. A small packet of dollar bills toppled out, onto the floor.

“Dearest Rosa and Vito,

I have written incessantly from the day I was put here. I don’t know how many of my letters have made it home. I am glad to say that I am well, and pray that it is the same with you. The battlefront is a very unforgiving place. Many have died, and I have never been struck by such grief. I cannot tell you much more about what we are doing here, but do not worry. If all goes well, I shall come home safe and sound to embrace the two of you. Enclosed in this letter, is 30 dollars in cash. It should last you for a few weeks, if it is used sparingly. I don’t know how long I will be able to send money home like this, but please do make proper use of the money I have given you. I trust that you won’t squander it, or put it to bad use. I miss you deeply, and ache to come back and see both of you.

With much love,

Enzo”

Rosa wiped the tears from her eyes, and one dripped down to the letter, wetting a small portion of it. As the water stain spread, she turned to Vito who was sitting, staring blankly into the air. Her heart ached at the fact that her child had to endure these circumstances. Yet what could she do? She was only one woman…just one woman with a pair of hands and feet.

She picked up the envelope with the money, and walked to Vito, picking him up and carrying him to the bed. She set him down beside herself.

“Papi has sent money home.”

“That’s great.” Vito said blandly.

“You should be proud of your father. He doesn’t even know if he’ll live tomorrow, but still he thinks of us!”

“Then, why did he have to leave?”

Rosa simply shook her head, and looked back at the letter.

“I have to deliver some papers Mami.”

“Go…just…do it. No point in holding you back.” Rosa pushed him towards the door. Vito took off without even looking back.

He ran down to the place where he always shined shoes. But he no longer shined shoes. He stood waiting for Daniel O’Connor. Daniel came within a few minutes, and patted him on the shoulder.

“We’ll do things a little differently today. What do you say boyo, that we wash some cars. You even get to ride in it afterwards.”

“No more deliveries?”

“Not today at least, it’s always nice to have some fun. You’ve been running around the city all day for the past week, delivering stuff. It’s always nice to take some rest.”

“Then what about my shoe-shining? My boss will get mad.”

“Oh, he won’t get mad. I’ve spoken to him already.”

“Really?”

“Really. Now let’s get going.”

Vito walked down the lane with Daniel. All this time he’d never taken that close a look at him. He always looked down. He was a bit shy. But now, with all the offers coming in, Vito felt a surge of confidence. He looked up at Daniel. A tall, muscular man. Sharp hair, combed back. He always wore sunglasses for whatever reason. He wasn’t all that old either…maybe in his late thirties. They walked further north and towards the dock, where there were a row of cars, with hose and soap suds beside them.

Vito stared in awe at the cars. They were top of the line Fords, Cadillacs, Buicks…cars that people like Vito could only dream of having.

“I’ll even let you choose the car.”  Daniel said.

“That I want to ride around in. Yes, exactly that. Now while you’re doing that, I’ve got to go speak to some people in that warehouse over there.”

Vito didn’t even care to hear the rest. He ran up, grabbed the sponge and started scrubbing the Cadillac. He had always liked Cadillacs. Their slick design, and rims always fascinated him. He scrubbed with all his might, as if he were trying to kill every piece of dirt there. Before he knew it, the door was done. He moved on to the front, washing the lights, and grille.

In the distance, Daniel watched smiling. This one would be easy to crack, he figured, and walked into the warehouse. Inside his fellow gang members stood waiting at the table.

“Did we crack it yet?” he asked the man on the right.

“They aren’t cooperating. I told them, like you said, that you’d offer double. They still won’t let us buy the mining complex.”

“Why do we need the mining complex?”

“Why do we need the mining complex?! Money my lad. Money. We ship raw materials to the weapons companies. They make the weapons, and give us a cut of their profit. That’s why. Got that through your lily-livered fuckin’ head?”

“Yes boss.”

“Get rid of him. I’m sick of this guy pulling my balls like this. Slice him up, get rid of him completely.”

His men nodded.

“What about our San Francisco connection? What’s our bookmaker’s word?’  

“Just got a call. Red team’s got the lead over there. He predicts that they’ll probably maintain a streak for the next two or three games. So he’s bet 25 grand all out.”

“He’d better hope to god they win, or I’ll have his balls on my table. I just lost 30 grand at Los Angeles. Bookmaker said that he was betting low, just to stay safe. Bastard put down money on the next three games. I despise people with no vision. Glad we whacked the bastard. Anyways, I’ve got us a new one. Fresh candidate. Young boy, about nine, ten years old. He’ll prove to be very helpful.”

“You’re letting an Italian into our gang?”

“He’s a boy, he’ll be Irish enough by the time he’s spent time with us. His family is broken…perfect pick. I trust you will look after him with utmost care.”

“But he’s a fuckin’”

Daniel grabbed the man and punched him in the face, and pulled out a pistol from his coat, whipping it across his nose.

“Yes, he’s an Italian, and I picked him, so you’d better shove those damn feelings up your ass, unless you want to end up like the last one. Besides, he’ll be integral to making peace with the Garibaldis in in Boston. For the past three fuckin’ years they’ve been wanting to set up shop here, in our city. With this kid in our gang, they won’t bother coming over. We’ll have showed them that we’re open minded.”

Vito ran to the warehouse, and looked at Daniel.

“All done?” he said with a wide smile on his face. “Which one?”

“The Cadillac.”

“The Cadillac, my favorite. Let’s go.”

And that was exactly what Daniel did. He just drove Vito around to every creamery, bakery, chocolate shop my dad wanted. My dad already was starting to like this guy more and more. Daniel had everything that my dad didn’t, and he could have it in the snap of a finger. Too bad my grandfather wasn’t home to set him straight. He was on his path to becoming a mobster. It was a very slippery path, and one could never guess what shit was headed their way…

In Europe, my grandfather was with the men who invaded the Italian mainland. The ships, jeeps, and everything rolled into the country. Though the Germans had set up the Italian Socialist State already, my grandfather and the other men were able to fight through enemy lines, breaking their defenses. That’s right, Mussolini was finally on the losing side, much to my father’s happiness. He’d braved 2 full years of war, and that was a pretty darn good accomplishment. His company was passing close to his hometown, and he’d requested the officer, if they could stop there and check to see how everyone was doing. His CO was so impressed with the way he had fought, that he accepted, but they just had some other business to clear up.

Enzo sat in the back of the military truck, the only Italian in the company. The rain pattered on his helmet, and had soaked his uniform entirely. He stared out at the Italian landscape. This land he’d been able to traverse so freely when he was a child, was now the site of such bloodshed. He recognized a hill, where his family had had a picnic.

“Nostalgia hitting you man?” the soldier next to him asked, patting his shoulder. “This war will be over soon, and then you can spend all day with your family.”

“Thank you. But this is my home country. I came from Italy…it’s just terrible to see such carnage taking place where I used to come for peace.”

“I hear you man.”

“So, do we have to break any other German lines?”

“Yeah, we’re headed about 3 klicks up from here, and we’ve got to break through a line of heavy infantry. Damn Germans still won’t let up. Don’t those fuckin’ Nazis know they’re fighting a losin’ battle?”

“Let’s not discuss battle too much.”

“Makin’ ya nervous?” the man laughed friendlily, and patted his shoulder. “What else ya wanna talk about?”

“Family perhaps. Tell me a little bit about yourself. Do you have a wife back home.”

“Oh we ain’t married yet, but I’ve got me a girl back home. She’s the prettiest woman you’ll ever see. Tall, blonde, tits huge, but man more than all that, she’s one hell of a character.”

Enzo laughed heartily, and explained a little about Rosa.

“I actually met Rosa very near to this place. Small town, we were just walking down. Wind was blowing hard. The dress was pressed up against her body, and enunciated all the right parts…” the soldier laughed again as Enzo continued, “anyway, we got engaged. Parents hated the idea, but we didn’t care. I couldn’t have been happier after picking her. Best woman I’ve ever met. I do hope she and Vito are doing well.”

“Vito? You got a little boy? How old is he?”

“Yes, my son. He would be nine by now. Ai, they grow up fast. Sometimes you just wish you could keep them small so you could play, and enjoy the joy of childhood with them forever.”

“Hey, I don’t have any kids, but I know what you mean. I’d give anything to be five years old again.” The soldier said.

The truck rumbled forward, towards a pine forest, and pulled up at a muddy ditch.

“All right men, let’s go. Got us some Nazis to kill!” the men hooted and cheered as they jumped down. “Now we’re setting up right near those trees over to the northeast. Germans are expected to be coming in a couple hours from now due a little more north of here. We’ll have our MGs all ready to go and rain hellfire down on those bastards. Go! Go! Go!”

The men scattered to the location. Setting down ammunition boxes where appropriate, and mounting the machine guns on turrets, digging small ditches to take cover in. They had their pistols to a side, and checked everything and made sure it was ready.

Enzo hastened over and hopped in next to the man who he’d been talking to on the truck.

“Matson?”

“Yup, Bill Matson.” The soldier winked. “Can’t wait to shoot their balls off, those Nazis.”

“My mother always told me that violence was never something that one should look forward to.”

“Well, what else is there to look forward to right now. We’ve got a wave of incoming German soldiers. It’s not really a tea party.”

In the back the truck drove away, the driver yelling something about returning in a few hours.

“Peace of mind is useful, even during stressful times like these. The calmer one is, the more rational his actions.”

“Well thank you Lord Buddha.” The soldier chuckled. “But it ain’t going to work here.”

“We all have our ways.” Enzo said. “I have to kill people on the very land where I used to play. Blood sprays over the countless hiding spots I found when I was a child. How should I handle it.”

“After we win, it’ll all be over.”

“How are you sure that we’ll win?”

“A little optimism can’t hurt.”

Enzo’s own proverb, flung right back at him. A little optimism wouldn’t hurt. He would fight harder, and stay alive longer.

The hours passed, and Enzo almost dozed off a few times. He shook himself awake each time, anticipating an order. After about the last time, a man yelled,

“Here they come!”

The Germans rode through the woods, slipping out of the rain like ghosts. The company unleashed gunfire on the incoming soldiers, tearing them to pieces. Guts and flesh spewed left and right, onto trees. Enzo’s stomach churned, and he vomited, but still kept firing the machine gun. More and more soldiers dropped down, clutching their wounds, dying. Enzo hurriedly reloaded the machine gun, and fired as more soldiers came on.

SPLAT! Blood flew onto his face, as his companion was shot dead. Enraged, he yelled as he fired into the troops. More soldiers popped off like bubbles, until there were just five along with Enzo, holding off the last wave. Two German soldiers managed to climb off their horses and come to close range. Enzo pulled out his pistol and fired into each of their heads, blood spraying across the ground. Enzo screamed at the top of his lungs, in horror.

“Hey Enzo, you all right man?!” one of the soldiers asked, climbing out of his ditch.

“No, I am not all right. I just killed so many…so many men, just like that!” he yelled.

“They were all bad.”

“Maybe, but I still had to kill them!” Enzo sobbed. The other soldier embraced him, rubbing his back.

“It’s okay now. It’s all over…now, then.”

Enzo stood up from his ditch, and walked to the radio, calling in the jeep.

All the way back to the camp Enzo sat in silence, at the bloodshed that had taken place before him. He had killed men before in the war, but never like this. Never like this.

“Hey Enzo!” his commanding officer yelled.

“Yes Sir.” He said weakly.

“We’re heading down to that village of yours. You ready.”

“Yes Sir.” He said even more weakly.

“All right then. Drink some o’ this. It’ll help you out.” The officer tossed him a small pint of whisky. Enzo pressed the drink to his lips and drank, as the truck rattled on to his hometown.

The town was only an hour’s drive away. So, they got there quite soon, and the soldiers hopped down.

“All right, now you lead the way man.” One of the men patted Enzo’s back. But he was too transfixed by the sight of the town. The buildings were war torn. The bakery he used to go to every weekend, lay in ruin with rubble everywhere. The library and his home, and everything, had been reduced to just mere rubble. Enzo started to jog out in dire hope of finding someone, if anyone still living there.

“Stay back, I’ll go take a look.”

“Whatever you need man.” The soldier behind him said. “All right everybody back. Enzo’s going to scout the area out for us.”

Some of the buildings still stood, thankfully. The church remained, and so did some of his friend’s house. But the streets were for the most part, empty. Enzo walked through, heart thumping, his eyes downcast at the depressing state of the town. Holes lay in the ground, and in windows. Walls had crumbled. Everything was war torn. He started to quicken his pace, hoping to find some people.

He kicked open the door to Ezio’s house, but found nobody. He did so for Fabio and Alfonso, and Cicero. Nobody. He turned back, and just as he did, a man appeared around the corner. He didn’t look like one of the townsfolk. He had on a grey uniform. The reality struck him. There was a company of Italian soldiers here. But it was too late…

Before Enzo could even draw his pistol, the man pulled his, and fired two shots. At first, he did not feel anything. His ears rang, and he stared in shock. More soldiers appeared around the bend, staring in contempt at him. Enzo yelled, as loudly as he could. The bullet wound seared his skin, where the metal had cut through. He clutched his chest and tried to stand, but another bullet went through his leg. Then the whole band of soldiers unloaded into him, knocking him to the ground, forever.

In the final moments. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out the one thing he valued more than his life…and that was Rosa. He pulled out her picture, and looked at it. His only regret as he died, was that he didn’t have one of his son's. He weakly kissed it, and his arm fell dead, just as his own company raced into the street, shooting the Italian soldiers down.

“Howards, check on Enzo!” one of them yelled, and the man ran over. But he was beyond help…Enzo Scarlatti had breathed his last.

The death came like a whack to the head for my grandmother. She lived every day for my grandfather. She went to work every day, to the munitions factory so that my grandfather had more bullets to fire. So that he’d have a better chance of coming out alive. All she ever got for that work, was 30 dollars and one letter of the many that he’d written. As one would probably guess, she was quite heart-broken. There was nothing to work for anymore. Going to the munitions factory wasn’t helping Vito out any, who already felt so distant. Every day was just a quiet one. She didn’t bother to say hello to Vito. If he wanted to go somewhere, she’d ask how much money, and if she could give it, she would, otherwise, she’d just sit back. Even Vito was starting to get a little worried.

1944

“Mami, is it me?” Vito asked, one day, putting his hand on his mother’s shoulder. “Mami?”

“Do you need some money Vito?”

“Mami, are you okay?”

Oh yeah, I think I forgot to mention…she hadn’t told my dad about my grandfather’s death. That’s why he felt so clueless as to why my grandmother was like that…

“You’re shoe shining thing. Shouldn’t you be there by now?”

“Yes…yes, I should.” Vito said, surprised at how eager his mother was to let him go to the job.

“Sure you don’t need any money?”

“I’m fine Mami.” He sighed, and headed out the door. The day was much cloudier today. Not like it was going to rain, but it was just extremely humid. Vito started to sweat the moment he stepped outside. The activity seemed to have died down, or maybe it was just for him.

Vito walked off to the shoe shining stand again, where Daniel picked him up. This time, Daniel took him to yet another place, the Hotel Regal.

“I want you to meet the family Vito.” Daniel said as he pulled up in front of the hotel.

“It must be a big family.” Vito giggled.

“Oh, it’s huge. We aren’t just in Bridgeport either, we’re all over.”

Daniel took Vito inside the house, where everyone was mingling, having drinks, and eating. Daniel took Vito over to one of the tables and sat him down.

“This is our new boy! Vito.” He said and everyone at the table smiled.

“Hello Vito, how are you?” a man asked from across the table.

“Very well sir, how about you?”

“Oh, look at this one. What are you ten? Already acting like a professional.” The man said with a smile.

“Well Vito, this here is Lawrence O’Connor, my brother. Next to you is Violet, my sister-in-law, and over here is Robert, my cousin. Everyone, this is Vito.”

“We ought to buy this guy a nice suit. Get him to look the part a little bit more.”

“You know what I think you need. I think you need to get out a little bit more. Have you been to a club?”

“Like…a sports club?”

“A sports club, this boy is funny!” the table erupted in laughter.

“Oh it’s a sports club…it’s just that a whole another kind of sports takes place over there.” Everyone laughed again.

“Can I come?”

“Of course you can. You’re part of the family, and you get to enjoy the benefits. Lots of women, money, fancy cars-“

“Now Lawrence…he’s still a boy.”

“Yeah Yeah.”

Vito was poured a small glass of orange juice, and he sat drinking with the rest of the group. With each gulp, he felt a strange sense of authority, like he was part of something much bigger than himself. Maybe being a gangster was not as dirty as it looked. There was a solid inflow of cash, people to fall back on, and people who actually cared. Vito felt that his mother had stopped caring a long time ago.

He asked for some cake, and ate a few sumptuous slices, stuffing his face. The others giggled fondly.

The war was just about over for the Europeans. People were feeling more hopeful. The Nazis were being driven back, and now they were on the run, trying to abandon post and escape from the Allies. They only fought for the pride of their regime, though it surprised many how people could have pride in such a bloodthirsty regime. Either way, confidence had increased. Money had increased in amount and in flow.

So, the O’Connors could be rich, not that they ever weren’t. They had their hand in all the major industries within the city and in some outside, so there was hardly a day the O’Connors went without getting some cash from one of their connections. Vito didn’t know the complexities of the gangster life yet however. He just focused on living it up in splendor, enjoying every amenity this new lifestyle offered.

For the next one year, after the end of the war, he’d be spending more and more time out of the house, and growing more distant from his already lonely mother, but he was far too unconcerned. Perhaps this was his greatest mistake…

June 23, 1946, my grandmother committed suicide. Drunk herself half to death first. She hadn’t been to the factory or anywhere in months. She’d cut off all connections with friends, and had just stayed home, and spent her hours staring at a photo of my grandfather. As far as she knew, her purpose was over. Vito was born and he obviously had a life of his own and he didn’t need her anymore.  At least that’s what she thought, and unfortunately, suicide was the first thought that came into her mind.

 It was 7:00 in the morning when it all went down, well before Vito had gotten up. She’d walked out onto the roof, and plummeted down onto the gray pavement beneath her. It was only then that my father realized how much my grandmother had been hurt. It took him that long to figure out, can you believe it? Obviously it was too late to tell her anything, so all this sadness must have built up inside his heart, and he started to channel it all into this gangster work. I mean he was literally on his knees begging to go on the most dangerous jobs they could give him. In fact, in just a year’s time, he was already doing hits. And so began his ascent in the O’Connor family.

1950

 The gang was doing an armed robbery a few blocks down from where Vito had lived. He had now permanently shifted his residence to the O’Connor’s house, he was almost like a son to Daniel.

The Ford drove along ever so slowly, being careful not to attract unnecessary attention. Inside, the men checked and rechecked their automatic weapons, as they prepared for this heist.  The windows were tinted, but Vito still made out movie signs that were up in lights on the side of the street, and skyscrapers that rose to the heavens, all their windows lit with activity. People milled on the sidewalks, thugs smoked, and women flirted, flaunting their wiles to the male passerby. The streets were fairly wide, in this part of Bridgeport, so other cars were able to squeeze by in the road. Vito admired all the elegant designs. There were many Cadillacs and Chevys that he itched to drive. A lit sign in front of them advertised a new club that had opened up called Spurs, and many other such advertisements were displayed on other lit signs. It was like a festival of lights, even at night Bridgeport was bright with activity.

The bank was about a block down from the theater, where “How to Marry a Millionaire” was premiering. But there was no time for that. Vito was given a small pistol, while the rest of the men stashed their automatics into their coats. Vito was only 16 and he felt so proud to take part in this. He finally had power over someone, and something to channel all that pain and hatred into.

“All right, do you remember the drill Vito? We walk in there, Patrick shoots the nearest security guard. You go up to the desk, don’t look anywhere else, and point that pistol at his head and say the name James Stanton. The two of us, Billy and I will hold down the civilians in the middle. Dennis will take care of the far side, and take care of any guards or any opposition we have there. He’s a big man, he can handle it.”  Dylan, one of the gangsters, said.

They walked into the bank calmly, and in a few seconds, the action had started. Patrick pulled out his automatic weapon and fired into the guard’s head, spraying blood over the wall, and onto the desk of the bank assistant. Vito followed his orders and ran up to the nearest attendant, pointing his pistol at his head, and said “James Stanton,” the attendant understood immediately.

The two assigned gangsters yelled,

“All right, down! Everyone down, this is a fuckin’ hold up! You know the drill!” they yelled and fired into the air. Civilians dropped to the ground, covering their heads in fear. Dennis ran to the far side, and as predicted a guard just ran out. Dennis fired two shots into his chest, killing him, and leaving pool of blood where he lay. To scare some of the other attendants, Dennis shot up some desks and chairs, and some of the floor.

The safe was opened, and the cash was stashed into the bag. They paid the guards, and some of the people outside the bank to keep their mouths shut, and hustled back into their Ford, racing off into the street.  

Now to be quite honest, the O’Connors had so much authority, they could have just walked in there and asked for this guy’s money, but they wanted the shock factor this time. They wanted to scare the guy who they were robbing. Turns out he was refusing to finance one of their ventures out in Vegas to build a new Casino in their name, so they just busted in and took by force, what they weren’t given. But it was in all fairness, a bit reckless of them. Nonetheless, their objective had been accomplished. They did shake up the bank, which really never had seen such a holdup before. It wasn’t adequately prepared or anything. And when questioned about these actions, the gangsters merely replied “it was a security check,” and the judge was too damn scared to speak against them…

Vito had learned a very important lesson, ‘what the boss says, goes.’ Every once in a while there was a stray rebel, who would speak out against the O’Connors and in a matter of days, they simply ‘disappeared.’ So despite Vito having a spot in the family, he made sure he was politically correct about what he said.

He received all the due congrats from the family, and was taken around to bars, given all the amenities he wanted. 3 dead people, and a bank robbery already. Over and above that, he’d done many other petty jobs, which were not small in magnitude.

 “Excuse me sir, you ordered these drinks right?” the waitress asked Vito nervously.

“So what if I did?” Vito said jokingly, but Jenna was taking aback. “Oh, I’m just messin’ with you. Yes, I ordered it. Here’s the bill.” Vito said and put some money into her cleavage, patting her breasts, making her smile a shy smile.

“Thank you sir.”

“What’s your name?”

“Oh, uh…Jenna.”

“You here often Jenna?”

“Oh, every day.”

“What do you say, tomorrow, I’ll come down here and we have ourselves a ball in that booth over there?”

“Oh, I have strict rules sir.”

“Stop callin’ me sir, and start callin’ me Vito. Anybody wants to say anything about it better talk to me first.”

Jenna and Vito were the only two left in the bar, as Jenna walked away. Vito set his glass of wine down, and looked at the pictures on the red wall. Pictures of beautiful girls, none as beautiful as Jenna for him, earlier pictures of the pub, the founders, and other such things. In the corner there was a smoking stand, but Vito didn’t like to smoke.

He leaned back in the chair and put his feet up on the table, draining the last drop of wine out of his glass. A smile splay across his face, as he rejoiced at his first love. He got up and went to the bar counter, reaching over, and pulling himself another glass of wine. The empty pub was more refreshing than the drink itself. There was some space for him to think clearly.

“All right hon’, I’m headin’ out.” He said, dropped a few cents as a tip on the counter and walked out of the bar.

“Whoa, Vito, a drink too many man?” Lawrence teased as he ran up and embraced him. “How’d it go?”

“Best day I’ve ever had.” Vito responded, all slurred.

“I can tell. Why don’t you go sober up a bit, and come on down and join us for dinner.”

The mansion was huge. 10 bedrooms, 5 living rooms, 6 bathrooms and 2 pools, one upstairs and one outside. Vito was living the life. He drunkenly stumbled up the stairs to his room, and washed himself up, and lay down for a quick nap.

He woke up at Lawrence’s calling, and proceeded down the ornate marble staircase, and went to the dining room.

“Vito!” the family exclaimed happily, pulling him in.

“My new brother!” one of the men at the table said, as he patted him on the shoulder.

“He was just a little boy, not too long ago. Look at him now, all dressed up like a professional.”

“Like a professional?” Lawrence interjected. “He is a fuckin’ professional. We didn’t have to pay a single fucker to stay quiet when he killed Freidrich, a couple weeks ago.”

“He was quick about it too. I just held his arms back, and Vito put the slugs into him like a real boss. Three shots, hardly any blood on the floor. Glad we killed that fucker, he was a real pain in the ass. Whining like a little fuck just to give us a couple hundred for an exchange. I told him we’d pay him back in full, but no. His damn family name. He was a mechanic. Gosh, wish I could just kill him again.” Another member said.

“Uh, boys, dinner is ready.” One of the women said.

“What? You’ve a weak stomach? I’ll tell you what, we even sliced his hand of after, and kept the ring.” He said, and invited laughter.

“Honey.”

“We wanted to castrate the bastard, but figured it’d-“

“Frank!”

“Okay, Okay.” Frank smiled, and took a sip of wine.

“Oh Roseanne, thank you.” Lawrence said, and kissed the woman on the cheek.

“Thank you really, everyone. I don’t think I’d be here without you.” Vito said. “Daniel…Forever indebted. I owe you back all those drinks.” A round of laughter ensued.

“It’s all on the house.” Daniel replied.

“I’d like to make a toast to Marcus, on his engagement to the lovely,” the man pointed, “Kathleen.”

The group applauded, and glasses clinked. Kathleen was a beautiful brunette, tall with firm features. Marcus stood and kissed her cheek, and she giggled as the two sat down.

“I wish you 100 years of long life.” Daniel smiled. “Your father was a great man. I have no doubt in my mind that you’ll match him in reputation.”

“What’re you all waiting for? Give him another fuckin’ hand!” Lawrence yelled, and started clapping, as others followed.

The dinner went along smoothly, with much laughter and milling. As Vito got up, Daniel called him to a side, and asked for a word with him.

“Hey kiddo, you’re what, 17 now? Shouldn’t you be finding yourself a girl…something like that?”

“Yeah Daniel…It’s on the back of my mind. I’ve got my eyes peeled.”

“Hey, it’s never good to rush love.” Daniel chuckled. “Anyway, I really wanted to ask you about something…a bit more pressing.”

“Hm.”

“I want to expand our sphere of influence. Drive out some of those bosses on the Southside. Negotiation is not an option. They’d better throw in the towel, or we’ll blast every fuckin’ building down there till Southside Bridgeport is ours. But for that we need guns, and lots of them. Everything traced back to us in this city needs to be 100% clean. We do all major dealings outside the city. There’s a company, Dolman & Reese, famous for their automatics. I need you to get me a favorable negotiation, tell him I’ll pay double, or whatever the fuck he asks. I need those weapons. Let me handle the transactions. I just need you to get him to say yes.”

Vito never asked why. He just did as he was told, figuring Daniel had his good reasons for his actions.

Daniel O’Connor was just another greedy bastard with a lot of money. He wanted more territory, and absolute control over Bridgeport, and was willing to step on the Southside boss, Dom Vanzetti to get it. Dom had always been good with Daniel, but that didn’t matter to him. He cared about money, black money, and having lots of it. He figured, that with Dom’s territory in his hands, he would increase the inflow of this black money, from the drug cartel, weapon smuggling, bookmaking, and various other illicit operations. He was rich, and just wanted to get richer.

The one thing he neglected, was the Southside’s police department. They were always a loyal bunch, and were untouchable. So, setting foot in Southside was like signing his own death warrant. 

So Vito drove 4 miles north of Bridgeport to where the Dolman & Reese warehouse was located. He, and two other men armed with pistols, walked inside.

“How may I help you gentlemen?”

“I need a couple hundred of the best automatics you’ve got in this shop.”

“If I may have your name.”

“I’m Barbara, he’s Kathy, and he’s Bridget. That good?”

“I’m sorry gentlemen, I cannot make an exchange without proper identification.”

“Fine, here’s your Identification.” Vito said, and gestured to the others. They brandished their pistols and pointed them at the owner.

“The crates are out back…would you like to take them now?” he whimpered.

“Ever heard of Bridgeport?”

“Yes, it’s just a couple miles down the shoreline.”

“Guy’s got his geography down pat!” Vito laughed. “Boss says he’ll pay double if you have it down in the next two days. I don’t give a fuck how you do it. I just want the damn guns. After you make the exchange, destroy any evidence of it, or we’ll come back and destroy you and the rest of your hangout. Capische?”

“Yyyess…”

“That’s good. But first, let me take  a look, make sure you aren’t shitting me.”

The warehouse owner cracked open some of the crates, and showed the piles and piles of automatics inside. Vito and the two others picked some of them up, examining the craftsmanship, and pointing them out in front, in a mock shootout.”

“Next two days, remember.”

As promised, two days later, the weapons arrived, covered by a large crate of vegetables. The O’Connors had the dockhand unload the crates and ship them to the O Connor house over the course of the day, so it wouldn’t look suspicious. Later on, they had some poor clerk kill the dockhand, and paid him off, even getting him out of the city. My father made sure all lose ends were tied, and that all evidence of the transaction had been wiped out completely. The charity fund was going well. Daniel was capitalizing on the Cold War situation to draw in more and more cash, putting on a front of “helping the feds protect the civilians.” He lied that the money was directed towards the government to further their efforts at outclassing the Soviets. Obviously, the money, as Daniel had stated, went to Dolman & Reese, with the added bonus of them keeping their mouths shut.

The cars rolled in silently, in the dead of night into Southside of Bridgeport. The O’Connors had their automatics leaning against the side windows of their Cadillacs and Fords. The streets were mainly empty, except for a few stray pedestrians who eventually got scared by the approaching convoy of cars.

The O’Connors had found out through a lot of espionage and tracking that the Southside’s mob boss residence was in the center of Southside, in a three story building. The O’connors suspected the presence of many other hideouts in the close vicinity.

“We do not discriminate. We shoot up every building within 300 yards of that fucker’s house, and then we shoot his house. Got it?”

The team in Vito’s car nodded. They primed their guns, and propped them against their shoulders, aiming at the buildings. Southside was not nearly as wealthy as the north side. Much of it maintained that “Great-Depression” look. The boss himself was not all that rich. He was just a thug with a lot of power, so he would be an easy task for the O’Connors. The buildings were short and run down for the most part, yet people somehow managed to live in them.

“All right, let’s lay in!” Vito shouted, and the gang started to fire, one car after another. Windows blew apart into tiny fragments, and walls were torn apart with the maelstrom of bullets. Bricks turned to powder. The screams of the people inside echoed into the streets, as the O’Connors shot into the buildings ruthlessly. The convoy of cars closed in on the house. Little did they notice the cars that drove around the bend behind them. From behind came yet another storm of bullets from the Southside gang.

“Turn! Now!” Vito yelled, as they swerved into a corner, they got out of their car and came to a stop behind a building. They got out of the car, guns held ready, taking cover behind the building wall.

The Southside gang members started to walk down the street towards their position.

“Fuck you!” one of the men on Vito’s team yelled as he jumped out and began firing at the opposing gang members. Bullets ripped through his body as blood sprayed across the street. But he successfully brought down two of the men. Three remained.

“Eat lead you son of a gun!” Vito yelled and fired into the distance. The rest of the men jumped out behind him and gunned down the incoming gangsters. They got back into their car, being sure to run over the dead bodies of Vanzetti’s men, and proceeded towards the house. But just as they were about to reach the intersection, 3 police cars pulled up at the front, lights flashing.

“Fuck this shit. I thought Southside didn’t bother us.” Vito cursed.

“Southside is a whole another world. Police here are untouchable.”

The flashing lights grew more imposing as the car drew forth. Vito could make out the barrels of automatics leaning out the windows of the police car.

It was obvious they weren’t here to arrest them, but rather to kill them.

“Split!” Vito yelled, and the four men ran in their own directions, Vito being sure to head over towards Dom Vanzetti’s establishment. He pressed towards the wall, slinking along in the shadows.

“Come out with your hands in the air!” one of the police men said as he came out in front of the police car. His gun was trained on their car. Vito had run at just the right time, to leave the police thinking that they were still in the car. He tip-toed along the wall, as he passed by the police car, engine still humming, masking the sound of his footsteps. Just as he walked around the wall, he heard two gunshots fired.

“He’s down!” one of the officers yelled.

“Frank!” it was one of men on Vito’s team. Another this time, there was a barrage of machine gun fire, and another of Vito’s men dropped dead. Vito forced himself to focus and ran down the street, towards the Vanzetti house.

The Vanzetti house was only modestly sized. It had three stories and a basement, but the rooms were quite spacious. The cars were always parked in the back, so it would be harder for police to find and search. Not to mention, to increase security, Vanzetti had placed a man in front of nearly every room. So, Vito was raiding the house cold, with no knowledge of the layout whatsoever.

Vito jogged through the cold, empty streets of Southside Bridgeport, walking past the statue of some benefactor from the 30s, and an old jewelry story called Finest Diamonds.  He ran across the 4 way intersection, towards the establishment. As soon as he reached the compound’s front walls, gunshots bounced off the sidewalk.

Vito dodged the erratic firing of bullets. Up in the top window, he spied a shooter, aiming down with his rifle. Taking a deep breath, he fired into the window. The shooter fell. Wasting no time, Vito charged into the compound, shooting down the fence. Two of Vanzetti’s men accosted him in the front yard. Vito smashed the butt of his gun into one of the men’s faces, and kicked the other man in the shin. He fired 10 shots into each, and left them for dead.

Seeing the side entrance, Vito used all his weight and brought down the door. A man tried to jump Vito but Vito shot him in the head several times. As he climbed the stairs, he heard some panicked chattering. He played it by ear and tried to guess which room was Dom’s.

Footsteps sounded.

Vito turned, and right in front of him was Dom Vanzetti.

“Drop that hand cannon!” Vito commanded. Dom immediately complied.

“Did he get you too?”

“Shut up. This place is now ours. Get you and your fuckin’ people outta town!”

“Ask yourself, is all this fighting really worth it? I’ve always been on good terms with Daniel…”

“So have I, and yes it’s worth it.” Vito said, and unloaded into Dom, spewing blood across the walls. Outside, he heard the sirens of cop cars.

Vito dragged the body, and deposited it in the laundry chute, and kicked it down. He found a towel in the bathroom, and did his best to wipe down the blood.

The police approached. It was going to be too late.

Vito bailed out of the window, and tried to roll into impact, but ended up breaking his elbow.

“Gaah!” Vito screamed, but immediately stifled it, aware of the approaching sirens.

He hobbled off into the darkness.

This was by far one of the biggest jobs my father had ever pulled for Daniel. Daniel was so proud of him, that he decided to bump him up a level, by giving him his very own gambling cum bar pub area. It wasn’t anything too flashy, but then again, in Southside, Daniel saw to it that their name was heard even less, since the cops weren’t so easy to sway. My father got his little joint to run, and had his own steady influx of cash. People from all over town came to just lose themselves. Over time, the attendance only increased, and my father was damn lucky the police didn’t do an inspection. My father was helping Daniel by smuggling weapons, money, hot items, and so many other things through this joint.

As far as Daniel himself was concerned, he was living the life. Bridgeport was basically his. Sure, he had to be a little more careful in Southside, but the criminal underworld was fully in his hands. His Vegas connection no longer bothered him, since the bank heist, and he had money flowing in from his Casinos in Vegas. His bookmaking business out in California was booming, and so far all the bets were successful. Though it took a little bit of a fight, he was also able to acquire full control over the mines, south of Bridgeport. Now he was the one shipping the raw materials to the government and minting money off it. So yeah, he was the richest man in town and was so stuffed with cash, it was oozing out of every pore on his body.

Jenna started to take a bigger role in my father’s life at this point. My father was a lot more sedentary after he got his gambling joint, and didn’t have to do as much traveling. So he had more time to see Jenna.

1955

“Oh damn, you’re good.” Jenna moaned, as Vito thrusted harder into her. “Harder…yeah…right there…uh-huh…yeah, oh yes!” she yelled in pleasure.

Vito kissed her all over her body, driving his head up her stomach, into her breasts, and up to her face, licking her cheeks. She grabbed the sides of the poker table. He thrusted harder and harder, until he climaxed, and the two lay on the poker table panting.

“We should do this more often honey.”

“Yeah…we should…” Jenna settled down, her large breasts jiggling. Her tight frame turned Vito on every time, and he kissed her body again. “Oh fuck…that was good.”

“It was.” He said and pulled out his condom, throwing it to a side.

“This is a pretty damn good hangout.”

“Yeah, it is.” He said, tongue-in-cheek.

“You’re so arrogant.” Jenna teased, and slapped him gently.

“Hey, it ain’t arrogance if it’s true.”

“Listen, there’s a new movie coming out tonight, it’s called Guys and Dolls.”

“Who’s in it?”

“Marlon Brando, Jean Simmons, Frank Sinatra. We’ve got to see it.”

“When’s the next show?”

“I saw the show times on my way down here, there’s a show in like an hour.”

“Is it really that good?”

“Come on honey, it’s Marlon Brando. He was in Julius Caesar. I mean…if you thought that was bad…I’d say you have no taste in movies.”

“Oh all right, we’ll go.”

So after an hour, the two hopped into their Cadillacs and drove over to the theater in downtown. The sign was up in lights and the movie was a hit feature, with the tickets almost sold out.

“I need a ticket for Guys and Dolls.” Vito asked the ticket vendor.

“Sorry sir, we only have one left.”

“What do you mean you only have one left. It’s my girlfriend’s night tonight, and I ain’t dropping the ball because of a ticket you don’t have.”

“I’m sorry sir, we don’t have any more tickets.”

“You don’t have anymore?”

“No sir, I’m sorry, I’ll book some early for you in the next show.”

“Fuck the next show, I want to go now!”

A line was forming behind the couple.

“Hey, get a move on! We have shows to catch! Get your ass outta here, or get your damn ticket and pay up!”

“I’m sorry, who the fuck are you?” Vito turned around and asked.

“I’m your worst fuckin’ nightmare, now get the hell outta here!” the man yelled. Vito lunged at the man, and grabbed him by the collars, throwing him against the ticket booth. He punched his face, blood spraying from his broken nose. He punched him again and again, until the teeth spilled out of his mouth.

“You better show some damn respect!” Vito yelled. “Now give me my two tickets!”

“Vito, we can just go-“

“No we can’t Jenna, not now. I’m not letting this guy pull you down like this. Now give me my second ticket!” he yelled to the vendor.

“I’ll let you go for free.”

“Even better.” Vito said, slapping his hips. He put his arm around Jenna and walked her inside, ever so gently.

“You know, as stupid as I think your reaction was…I was feeling a bit proud that you stepped in.”

“Don’t mention it. Guys and Dolls is the movie right? Well Guys have to protect their Dolls.”

Jenna giggled, and leaned in closer as the two walked into the movie theater.

Little did my dad know that he’d already crossed one of the O’Connors lines. They made it a point to never create a scene in front of everyone, yet that was exactly what my dad had done. Now this incident would make it into the papers, if Daniel didn’t pay them a whole lot of money to keep their mouths shut. The way the city worked, those who knew were too scared to talk, and those who didn’t know would never find out the truth.

Vito pulled up at Jenna’s apartment, turning off the Cadillac.

“Sorry about back there. I overreacted…even if you did feel a bit proud.” He said to Jenna. “I just don’t like seeing my girl get hurt like that.”

“Oh Vito, you’re so cute.”

“Hey listen, I’ve got to take a beating from my old man if I go home now. Chances are, he’s going to know by morning what I’ve done. Mind if I spend the night over here, at your house?”

“You don’t have to ask Vito. We’re dating. You can just…just barge in whenever you want.” She smiled. Vito chuckled and kissed her cheek.

“Thanks.”

The two got out of the car and walked up the cement steps to the brick red apartment building. They proceeded up the cramped wooden stairs to Jenna’s small apartment, and entered.

“Nice pad.” Vito commented.

“Don’t be sarcastic Vito. It really isn’t that great.”

“Oh please, I used to live in worse. Back during the war, we were lucky if the lights stayed on for the night. My mother would have…would have…ah never mind.”

“Your mother…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“You can tell me anything Vito, you don’t have to worry about it.”

“She passed away, suicide…oh god, it kills me every time I think about it.” Vito said and grabbed his face, sitting down on the bed. Jenna flicked on another lamp, and cuddled his head in her shoulders.

“Vito…it’s all done now. It’s okay….I’m here.”

“She always wanted a family, a nice solid one. But dad had to go to war, and leave us to rot, and mom had to suffer because he was too dumb to listen to her.”

“Don’t talk like that Vito. Your dad must have had some real guts to put his life on the line for the country.”

“But what about me and my mother. Was the war more important than our relationship? I wondered that ever since he left…he died too!” Vito sobbed.

“Hey Vito, come on…we can start a family. You, me, we could have a nice son. Get away from all this.”

“We can have a nice family Jenna…but I can’t get away from all this. I owe a lot to ‘em.”

“Let’s start with the kid hm?”

“We could have a kid…somebody we could call our own.” Vito said and strode to the balcony, looking out at the bustling Bridgeport at night. “Bridgeport’s ours. I’ve got a solid stream of cash coming in from my joint in Southside.

That very same night, they made the decision, and I was conceived. Of course, there was still 9 months’ time till I actually came out.

“Vito, what was that back at the theater?” Lawrence asked Vito.

“I just…I got a bit carried away.”

“You smashed the guy’s fuckin’ face. That’s not carried away.”

“I’m sorry Lawrence, it won’t happen again.”

“I hope not kiddo, I’ve got my hopes up for you. You’re going to become a very respected man someday.”

Inside the house Vito met up with Daniel, to whom he apologized for his conduct.

“Hey Vito, listen, forget about that theater thing. Don’t fuck up again. All I ask. I don’t want to waste too much of my money paying people to keep their mouths shut, I have a Philadelphia connection who I owe some money to, and I’m working on something in Raleigh. I’ve got something big planned.”

“Heist?”

“Stole the words outta my mouth. In a couple months there is a really pricey import of Gold statues from China. We melt that gold, we mint money. But we need to make sure that every loose end is tied. Nothing should be traced back to us. They’re under tip-top security.”

“How far outta town?”

“20 miles or so. You handlin’ it?”

“You bet.”

The heist went on as planned. Daniel had entered as an ordinary janitor, and held down the employee offices, while a crew of about 12 men would spread themselves across the warehouse complex, and hold down the shipping terminals. The heist went by smoothly with Daniel’s expert planning, and they had the 10 statues. It was only after a few years though, that the effects of the Heist started to set in.

1960

“Daniel, it’s been about five years, haven’t we paid off all our sums yet?”

“Bovenzi and Scotts still want their fuckin’ 20 percent. I’m not giving them 20 percent. We have a damn mining facility to expand and a Casino to run out west.”

“Want to whack them?”

“They’re made men. We’d need to consult the families, Lawrence.”

“They’d come after us either way. It’s either us or them. What about Vito? Do you think he’s going to be of any use.”

“Vito, Vito, Vito. Haven’t seen his face in a year or so, and we live in the same damn city. Let’s hope he didn’t get drunk on his 5 percent.”

“Want me to track him down.”

“Do so, I want to make sure he isn’t in on Bovenzi and Scotts. Don’t want him doing this without our jurisdiction. I also want to know why the hell he hasn’t shown up in 2 fuckin’ years.”

Vito Scarlatti was sitting in the basement of his joint, fingering the cash from the customers for the day. Enough to buy out a small apartment for himself in the Southside, and to settle down with Jenna. The underworld was all under Daniel’s control, and Daniel would never hurt him. After all, he’d been loyal for so long, he did deserve to have his own life. It was Daniel who’d suggested that he found a girl to settle down with.

But Vito had become intoxicated by one thing over the course of those few years. Greed. Greed for money. He received 5 percent of the gold value from the warehouse heist, and so far had been leading a fairly comfortable life. He figured, he’d expand his business a little beyond the walls of his gambling joint in Southside.

RRRIINGG!RRRIIINGG!

The phone rattled on the desk.

“Hello?” Vito said as he picked up the phone.

“Meet me out by the laundry store.”

“Who the fu-“

“Unless you’d like your ass in jail by tomorrow morning.”

Vito’s Buick screeched to a halt next to the laundry store in Northside Bridgeport. Another car was already parked there. It was in the dead of night, and a chilly wind blew against Vito’s face.

“Vito Scarlatti?” the man asked. He was dressed in a dark leather coat, and wore a black hat. The shadows enshrouded his figure.

“Why don’t you step out here like a man.”

“Very well.” The man said and stepped into the light of a street lamp. He was a fair, blond man, very tall and robust in stature. He held a small folder in his hands. “Mr. Scarlatti?”

“Who’s asking?”

“Your ticket out of jail.”

“I said who’s asking?”

“Bovenzi…Vincenzo Bovenzi.”

Thunder crackled, and rain began to pour down heavily, soaking both men.

“I thought we were done. The heist, it’s over. You got your share.”

“That’s exactly where you are wrong. Your boss hasn’t given me the 20% yet. I sat…Vito…I sat and thought about the money, for ages on end. So I figured, why don’t you give me the 20%?”

“Why the hell should I give it to you?”

“Like I said, unless you want to be on trial by tomorrow morning for supposedly conspiring against the nation.”

“And what fuckin’ evidence do you have against me.” Vito said and pulled his gun out.

“You can kill me Vito, but it won’t change the outcome. Someone will find out eventually, and pin these crimes onto you. These weapon dealings, hits, oooh, it’s surprising what you can find with a little digging. See Vito, quid pro quo. You help me, I help you. You give me the money I deserve, and I’ll get you a nice place to settle down with your girl. Come on, Italian to Italian.”

In the meantime, Lawrence O’Connor drove down to the gambling joint that Vito owned, and picked the lock. He pushed the door open and turned on his flashlight, which he’d been carrying in the coat’s pocket. In his other pocket were 4 phone taps.

He looked around on the counters, and finally found a big black telephone. Pulling up the earpiece, he placed the bug inside, and proceeded to find others.

There were only 3 telephones inside the building, and Lawrence found all four of them. Outside, he heard the sound of a car, revving down the road. He quickly stashed the remaining phone bug into his pocket, and locked his door on the way outside. The car grew louder. Lawrence jumped into his car, slamming the door and racing off.

Vito pulled in just as Lawrence left, and rushed inside. He turned on the lights, and walked down to his safe. He opened the first lock, the second, and then the third, and finally reaching the money. He picked up the phone and dialed Jenna’s number.

“Honey? We’re going to get settled. I just made a dealing…it’s…he said he’d help us.”

“Don’t shit me Vito.” Jenna teased. “You telling me the guy is willing to buy us a house and all that?”

“Yes. He’s willing to do everything, just for the 20%.”

“What 20%?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it covered.”

“Well that’s great Vito! I’m so proud of you.”

“Just a little old fashioned hard work.”

“Oh, okay.” Jenna giggled.

“Who the fuck is he talkin’ to?” Daniel demanded.

“Never mentioned the name. He called her honey. Must be a girlfriend.”

“Fuckin’ girlfriend. Didn’t think he’d take it this far, Lawrence.”

“You told him to find a girl for himself?”

“Yeah, I figured he’d have a fling every once in a while, but honestly didn’t think he’d go this far. He’s neglecting his duty. He’s been outta town a couple times. Can’t get my hand on him.”

“We have no choice but to wait this out. If he really takes it too far…we might have to whack him.

1968

“Here we are darling.” Vito said and pointed into the apartment. Jenna removed her blindfold.

“Vito, oh my. I always knew you wouldn’t disappoint.” Jenna smiled.

“Well I’m glad you knew. Do you like it?”

“Do I like it? I love it.” Jenna said, looking at the leather sofa and wooden upholstery. This was greater than anything either of them had dreamed of. Jenna wrapped her arms around Vito’s waist and kissed his chin. He pulled her in, and they started making out against the wall. “Don’t you want to tell Daniel?”

Vito stopped kissing Jenna.

“Tell Daniel? He’d kill me if I told him about all this. My new car, new apartment…he’d think I’d left his family.”

“Well at least give him a call.”

“After our vacation.”

“Vacation?”

“Yup, to Miami. Already booked the tickets.”

“Uh, Vito, not that I’m complaining or anything, but aren’t you taking it a bit too fast now?”

“Nothing’s ever too fast Jenna. Nothing ever is. I just need to ship out that 20% to the guy and I’m all set for life.”

“Not even a good-bye to Daniel.”

“Daniel is a very generous man, very generous indeed. But I think it’s best if I took a break.”

So my dad grew further and further apart from the rest of the O’Connor family as time went on. He didn’t really hate them or anything, he just wanted to be his own man. He wanted some emancipation, something he could call his own. Something he didn’t have handed to him. But Daniel wanted the exact opposite. He wanted Vito to be a part of the family and work on his prerogative. With Lawrence’s help he dug through all previous phone calls and was able to trace my father’s association with Vincenzo Bovenzi, Mr. Twenty Percent. After he figured out about the deal between the two, Daniel was furious and just itched for a chance to “talk.”

1973

“I want you to go and find him. Find me Vito Scarlatti. I raised that boy. I gave him shelter. I’m the whole fuckin’ reason he didn’t get shot up on the street yet. Find him, and bring him to me. I want to whack that bastard! I’m done with it!” Daniel yelled.

The cars rolled out of the garage as O’Connor’s men scoured the city for Vito. They only knew his hideout in Southside in the gambling joint so that was the first place they went. After breaking down the door and searching through the entire building.

“His files and documents indicate that there’s an apartment complex a little further south into the city, where he might be. All we can do is try our luck. As far as the phone bugs go, he seems to be talking to his lover. Don’t know her name, but that’s probably the reason he’s spending so much time away.” One of the men reported to Daniel.

“My fucking fault! My fucking fault! I should never have told the prick to take up a girl!”

“Don’t say that Daniel. He’s an obstacle now, he’s in the way. We need to do what we have to.” Lawrence suggested. “New restaurant joint just opened up in the city. I think he might like a welcome home party.”

“How the hell do I whack the guy? He’s like my own son.” Daniel fretted. He was angry, very angry, but still didn’t like the idea of killing a young recruit like Vito.

“You gotta do what you gotta do.” One of the men suggested.

“The hell I do!” Daniel grabbed the man by his collars and shook him.

“Oi, Dan, cool it. He used to be your son. He used to. Now he’s in our way, and we need to get rid of him. It’s the way business works. You’ve done it longer than all of us. You killed the man in Rafael’s that day. You know how it’s done. No hard feelings. Just business.” Lawrence suggested.

“Call him in. I want it done quick.”

So the men did some more hunting, every so often, and sent people after Vito, trying to find out where he lived, exactly. They visited the apartment complex. Their gut told them he was there, but there was no firm proof. One day though, Lawrence ventured out on his own, and saw Vito’s Cadillac pulling out of the apartments. He stalked him like a ghost all the way to the office, and then drove off to tell Daniel the whole story.

Vito Scarlatti sat, relaxing on the couch with Jenna, who was leaning against his shoulder. Vito heard the sound of car’s outside. Nobody had ever visited him this late…

Vito walked out, pistol stashed into the back of his pants. A black car pulled up….it was familiar…It was Daniel’s car! But how had he found Vito? No contact, no address was given, how did they know? Vito wondered. But he still composed himself and forced a smile onto his face.

Out of the car stepped Daniel O’Connor, as expected.

“Vito! I missed you!” he feigned.

“Me too. I’m so sorry I’ve just been occupied.”

“I can tell. I’ve looked all over for you…where were you? Why don’t we catch up tonight yeah? It’s been a while.”

“Of course.” Vito agreed reluctantly. “Let me just tell Jenna.”

“So Jenna’s her name.”

“Yeah, want to come inside for a little bit?”

“I’m fine, thanks. Just tell her and come on down.”

“Jenna, I’ve got to go.” Vito said as he entered the apartment.

“Do you have to Vito?” she asked.

“I have to honey. It’s Daniel, I have to catch up with the man.”

Fear struck Jenna, but she refused to betray her emotions. She kissed Vito’s cheek, and ushered him out of the apartment, asking him to be careful.

Vito walked out, as Jenna saw him out. Something inside of the two told them that was the last time they’d be seeing each other.  

The car drove over to a restaurant, Mario’s, and pulled up. Daniel had a table all booked just for them. The men sat down in an orderly manner and ordered drinks. Red wine, champagne, all fancy drinks.

Everything seemed to be going fine. Daniel even joked a few times, sitting around and laughing.

“Having fun Vito?” Daniel asked.

“Yeah, thanks.” Vito smiled unsuspectingly. “I’ve left you for so long, I’ve almost forgot how fun it was with you.” He laughed, and the rest did as well, except Daniel. “What’s wrong?”  

“Good. Good. Enjoy every last bit of it, you fuckin’ prick!” Daniel yelled. Then Vito knew.

“Daniel no!” but it was too late. All the men stood, raising pistols at him. First Daniel fired, a bullet into his thigh. Next Lawrence discharged a bullet into his ribs, and the man next to him fired into his neck. Vito tried to reach for his pistol, but the hailstorm of bullets was too fast. In time bullets had torn through virtually every square inch of his body.

Vito Scarlatti’s bloodied body lay limp and dead as the O’Connors left the restaurant.

My father was a very misguided man, I must say. In those seven years he should have wised up and just high tailed it outta the city to another country or something, where he could have laid low. But no, he was stubborn with his goals. Now he left my mother pregnant with me, and he was no longer alive to take care of her. As for the O’Connors they only grew after that. Killing Vito was like getting rid of some dead weight for them. That’s how much some of the people in the gang hated Vito. If only he’d understood my grandfather a little better, maybe he wouldn’t have suffered the same fate as him. I already told you, this isn’t a happy story, but it’s still a good story, with a lot left to tell…

To Be Continued…

http://yagdwriter.blogspot.com/2013/11/bridgeport-story-part-2final.html