Accidental Mobster

by M. M. Cox

  “What grade are you going into this year?”

  I swallow quickly. Too quickly. The hot macaroni burns my throat on its way to my stomach. “Uh, ninth grade. I’ll be a freshman—unfortunately.”

  “Unfortunately? No, that’s fantastic!” Ronnie says it like she truly means it. “High school is wonderful!”

  I feel sure that high school was probably a good experience for Ronnie. If her daughter Julia is any indication, Ronnie has never struggled in the looks department. And let’s face it, in high school, few kids see past a person’s appearance. I look okay, but being poor has a limiting effect on my wardrobe, and therefore, my overall reputation. My ratty jeans may have been cool had they come from a socially approved, expensive mall store, but jeans from the local Save-Much are less than acceptable to my peers.

  Ronnie ignores the fact that I have not responded. “Danny, you’ll just love high school. The dances, the dating—it’s all so much fun! And now you’ll get to go to Vince and Julia’s school. It’s just a fantastic place!”

  I stare at her, but she is too busy jamming silverware into their slots in a drawer to notice.

  I might not be going back to Ridley, I realize and feel as though Gino has not been completely honest with me. Have they removed me from my home for good? Is my mother abandoning me, giving me to strangers?

  I guess circumstances could be worse. The Vigliottis are obviously wealthy—Mom may be thinking that she is doing this for my own good. And maybe this is for my own good, and I am being ungrateful for being taken in by such a family. But even with the kindness shown to me by Gino and Ronnie, I can’t help but feel lonely at this particular moment. And now that my stomach is full, I feel like the only thing that might bring me any comfort is sleep. Thankfully, Ronnie seems to notice my exhaustion. “Hey, let’s get you set up in one of the spare bedrooms,” she says gently, taking my empty bowl from me and placing it in the sink. “I’ve got one that will be perfect—toward the back of the house on the ground floor. No one will bother you there.”

  It is just the thing I need to hear.

  * * * *

  The morning sun hits me full in the face. I open my eyes wearily, expecting to see my bedroom in my house in Ridley. Several moments pass before I realize that I am in a sunny guest room towards the back of the Vigliotti’s small mansion, that I am in a bed that would fit at least two more people my size, and that there is a furry little creature who is curled up and snoring, his head resting on my foot.

  “Baxter?” I call quietly, trying to remember how the dog had come to be in my room. And, for that matter, how did its dwarfish little body make it up onto this big bed? The dog lifts his head lazily at the sound of his name. “Who are these people you live with?” I ask, gazing into the little black eyes that stare back at me intently. Dad once told me that someone could determine a dog’s intelligence by whether it was able to make eye contact. Whether this is true or not, Dad also believes that pets are dirty and too expensive and that they should be avoided at all costs. Except, I think, that with the occasional rat in our house, a small terrier or a cat would have been useful in my home.

  Baxter, however, is not a dog that appears to have spent much time running after rats—or, for that matter, running at all. For being as small as he is, Baxter has a rather round belly that hints of too much food and an absence of any meaningful exercise. But I have to admit, he is a cute little guy, even if he is definitely not the most macho pet a person could own. I stay in bed several minutes, letting myself enjoy the softness of the mattress and the silky sheets. I have never, ever slept in a bed like this. Once, at my grandmother’s house, I was able to sleep in a queen size bed; however, it was not nearly as nice as this bed, and the springs creaked whenever I rolled over. My bed at home is far worse—in fact, it is not even a bed, but a futon Dad bought at a yard sale. But this bed is not the only item that makes staying at the Vigliotti house so amazing—the room is quiet, protecting me from any noise coming from other parts of the house. This is also a stark contrast to my house, because I can’t remember a morning that I did not wake up to slamming doors and shouting between my parents.

  I can’t get used to this. I will eventually be forced to return to my life in Ridley, so I cannot get accustomed to this lifestyle. I am poor, and this type of living, if I ever experience it again, is far in my future, when I make my own way in the world. Gino is my godfather, not my dad. And sooner or later, I will be headed back to live with my real family. I suddenly feel an overwhelming urge to call my friend Reggie and tell him everything that has happened to me. I’ll have to ask Ronnie if I can make a quick call. With that thought fixed in my mind, I climb out of the bed and take a shower in the adjoining bathroom. Having my own bathroom is another luxury because I don’t worry about taking too long or someone barging in the door. Complete privacy is something I have always wanted but have never experienced. I can’t get used to this life. I can’t live with more disappointment. Baxter is still on the bed when I exit the bathroom, and he is staring at the floor and whining as though the carpet were a bottomless pit, unreachable for his scrawny legs.

  “Here,” I say, picking him up and setting him on the floor. Baxter immediately starts to wag his tail and bounces around the room, yipping excitedly.

  “Easy there, little guy,” I say, trying not to laugh. “Just give me a minute to put on some clothes. I think if I walk out of here naked, my temporary parents will kick me out immediately!” I throw on an extra large T-shirt I find draped over the back of the chair (taken without Vince’s knowledge, I’m guessing, by Ronnie, who took my own bloody shirt from me the night before). Then I put on my own pair of jeans, which are definitely in need of either a wash or the garbage can.

  I hope that I have a chance to pick up my things today. I don’t have much, but I could at least use some of my own clothes. Maybe I’ll try to catch a bus back to my house—in the past that’s been the only way I’ve been able to participate in any activities at school, as my parents have more important things to do with their time, including drinking beer, watching television, and arguing endlessly over where last week’s paycheck disappeared. I follow the yipping Baxter down the hall and through the living room toward the kitchen. The house is quiet, and I wonder whether anyone is home. My question is answered when I reach the immaculate, oversized kitchen; Vince is slouched in a kitchen chair, slurping a bowl of cereal and intently reading the back of the box. He turns from the box of Cocoa Nuggets as Baxter puts a paw on his pant leg, eagerly waiting for some food. Vince shakes his leg. “Get off me, Bastard. You can’t have chocolate, dumb dog. It will kill you. So don’t tempt me…”

  I stand silently at the counter, debating what to say, when Vince notices Baxter is not the only newcomer in the kitchen. He nods his head at the cereal box. “You want some of this cocoa crap? Bowls are in the cabinet to the left of the sink. Spoons are in the drawer on the right.”

  I find a bowl and spoon and sit down at the kitchen table across from Vince. I shake the box of Cocoa Nuggets at my bowl and pour just a spoonful of milk over the dark brown puffed cereal. Vince is watching me with interest, so I try to make conversation.

  “Where is everyone?”

  Vince shrugs. “Dad’s not home yet. Mom’s at a tennis lesson, and Julia’s sleeping. And she won’t be getting out of bed anytime soon, because she’s lazy.”

  I am most interested in what Vince said first. “Gino’s not home yet? Where did he go?”

  “Out.” Vince replies cryptically, and then his gaze trails to the back of the cereal box.

  “Hey, this says the longest one syllable word in the English language is ‘screeched’.”

  I try to sound interested. “Oh?” I pause. “Your dad wasn’t taking care of anything to do with me, was he?”

  Vince’s eyes remain on the box. “I doubt it. That’s just his normal hours.” He looks at me meaningfully.

  I have no idea what Vince is trying to say. “Okay. Well, I’ve got to go
back to Ridley then, because I need some clothes and stuff.”

  Vince reaches in his pocket and pulls out a credit card, tossing it on the table. “No, don’t worry about it. Mom gave me this and told me to take you shopping for school clothes and other junk. She wouldn’t give me cash because she thinks I’ll take it for myself.” He grins.

  “Smart lady.”

  I stare at the credit card. “I don’t need your parents to buy me stuff. I just need to get to Ridley. All I need is a few bucks for a bus fare.”

  Vince is staring at me as though I’m crazy, or maybe from another planet. “You’re not going back to your place. Mom said so. She said she wanted me to make sure you spent at least seven hundred dollars on stuff you need, but you could spend up to a thousand. That’s the limit she set.”

  I know my jaw is hanging open unattractively. A thousand dollars? That is more than twice what my parents scrounge up each month to pay the rent. I don’t think all the clothes I have ever owned would add up to a thousand dollars. How could I ever spend that much money just to buy clothes?

  Vince is amused by my shock. “Hey, if you don’t want it, I could easily spend it on myself. Besides, I’m not thrilled that I have to chauffeur a freshman around. Then again, if you don’t come home with some crap, I’m going to get in trouble. And I need to play things right. I’ve got to convince them to help me buy the Camaro. Besides, if I take you shopping, I get to drive the Lexus. And let me tell you—me driving the Lexus is a totally worth-it experience. When you’re in that thing, the girls can’t keep their hands off you.” He grins again and takes another slurping bite of cereal.

  I grin too, but it’s because I am trying to imagine girls unable to keep their hands off of the slurping Vince. I think of the comfortable life Vince has, and suddenly, I have to fight down the urge to use every single penny Ronnie has given me. “I won’t spend the money. I’m not even related to you guys. I don’t need your money.”

  Vince rolls his eyes. “Face it. You definitely need it. Just take it. A thousand bucks in this house is a night on the town for my dad, a few haircuts for my mom, or a designer bag for my sister. It’s nothing. So get off your underprivileged high horse and be grateful.”

  I glance at the side of the refrigerator, having noticed earlier a smattering of coupons held in place with colorful magnets from different states. “You’re saying your family always spends money like this?” I ask doubtfully.

  Vince follows my eyes to the magnets. “Oh, believe me, my mom likes to act like she’s saving money—clipping coupons, buying items on sale, driving a practical minivan to her social things—but she’s as big a spender as the rest of us. She just needs to find ways to justify it, which is not like the rest of us.” He glares at me. “So enjoy the money and quit whining.”

  I am not trying to be ungrateful, but surely the Vigliottis will want something from me in return. My dad has told me over and over that every gift comes with some sort of price attached. “Look, I’ll pay them back,” I offer lamely.

  Vince laughs, milk and cereal exploding from his mouth back into his bowl. I wipe away a droplet of milk that has landed on my nose. “Pay them back?” Vince is having difficulty pulling himself together. “That would be a first! Good luck with that! My dad would probably beat you senseless for trying!”

  I flinch at Vince’s words and am abruptly reminded that I am here because my dad, Del, struck me. I recall hitting my head on the battered coffee table on my way to the floor. The memory is painful, and I subconsciously reach up to touch the stitches near my temple. Vince’s eyes widen. “Hey, look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. That was a stupid thing to joke about. My dad said, well, he said that your dad—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I cut in. I can’t talk about last night’s events, and I’m desperate to change the subject, so I pick up the credit card on the table. I’ve made up my mind—I deserve this, right? “Should we go spend some money?” I ask.

  Vince smiles. “I’ll get the Lexus.”

  Chapter 3

  For a Saturday morning, the mall is quiet. I expect that most people are doing some lastminute outside activities before the start of a new school year. The Newcastle mall is far nicer than the one in Ridley. My dad has always thought the mall is absolutely unnecessary (what could someone buy there that couldn’t be bought for half the price at Save-Much?), and Mom has spent so much money on department store makeup that there is little cash left to buy much else. For that reason, I have no idea where to start.

  Luckily, Vince seems to have no trouble putting the little plastic credit card to work almost immediately. He leads me into an expensive sunglasses store and begins to flirt with the leggy, tanned teenage girl standing behind the cash register. In less than five minutes, I have a pair of sunglasses sitting on my nose.

  “What do you think?” Vince asks casually, but he isn’t looking at me. He is staring at the girl’s long legs.

  I shrug. “They’re fine. But I’m not sure sunglasses count as a school item. And if I spend a hundred and fifty bucks on these, I’m definitely not going to be able to buy much of anything else.”

  Vince rolls his eyes and shoots the girl a charming smile. Despite his husky body, he certainly seems to be attracting positive attention from her. “This kid is unbelievable,” Vince says to her. “It’s like he’s never spent money before in his life.” He turns to me. “This doesn’t count against your tab at all. You were being such a pain at the breakfast table, I forgot to tell you my dad left us some money to spend too.” He pulls out two hundred dollars in cash and hands it to the girl. “Keep the change,” he says, smiling. She shakes her head. “We’re not allowed!” she squeaks.

  Vince looks around the empty store. “Hey, who’s going to know?”

  She giggles nervously and takes the cash. All of it.

  In less than two hours, I have four pairs of jeans, at least ten new shirts, an expensive backpack, three pairs of brand-name sneakers, khaki and athletic shorts, and some bath items from a drugstore. But my items are nothing compared with what Vince has purchased. Despite his mom’s warning to only use the card for me, Vince has used the plastic to buy several expensive clothing items and some cologne for himself, saving most of the cash from Gino for his “car fund”.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Vince says, glancing at our numerous shopping bags. “We’re beginning to look like chicks.”

  Several minutes and a few potential speeding tickets later, we are racing down the interstate, and I can tell we’re not headed back to the house. “I gotta stop to make,” Vince says casually, as though the SUV were not flying down the road at ninety miles an hour. I feel exhilarated by the speed, and I’m positive that the Higgins family has never owned any vehicle that could even come close to going seventy miles an hour, much less ninety. I’m suddenly struck by a thought. “Is this your dad’s car?” I ask.

  “Yup.”

  “Then why isn’t he using it right now?”

  Vince grins. “He doesn’t use the Lexus for work much. I think it would cramp his style.”

  I’m confused, but I don’t push the issue. Vince is difficult to read, and I want to make a good impression on him. We quickly leave the nicer part of Newcastle and enter the older section of town. Exiting the highway, Vince drives the Lexus down a narrow street that winds through weathered, grubby buildings. The area isn’t shabby or dirty, just somewhat neglected. The buildings may have been the center of Newcastle a few decades ago. Vince pulls the Lexus in front of an aged brick two-story building featuring a weathered sign reading, “Jimmy’s Diner.”

  I give Vince a questioning look and receive a grin in return. “This is the office!” he says cheerfully. Vince turns off the ignition and hops out, but as I begin to open my door, he holds up his hand. “Stay here. I’ll be right back—don’t move.” And with that, he slams the door and disappears into the building.

  I’m not in the SUV for three minutes before the sweat begins to drip down my fac
e. Vince didn’t even leave the keys in the ignition, so I can’t turn on the air conditioner. The middle of August is not a good time to be sitting in a dark, sealed vehicle during the hottest part of the day. I wait three more minutes before calling it quits and stepping out of the SUV. The ninety degree weather feels cool and refreshing compared with the stagnant air in the vehicle. I quietly shut the door and try to lean against the SUV’s exterior, but I quickly jump away from the scorching metal. So I’m standing next to the Lexus, feeling awkward, annoyed, and curious all at once.

  Three more minutes, and I am seriously considering whether I might follow Vince inside the restaurant. Did he actually think I would wait in the car in such steamy weather? And I’m wondering what Vince is doing at a place like this. Maybe this guy has activities going on that his parents don’t know about. If that is the case, I don’t want to know about them either. A second later, my theory is blown to pieces, because through the tinted glass of the driver’s side window, I’m surprised to see Gino exit the restaurant, roughly dragging Vince by the arm. Vince is talking very fast, his usually husky voice sounding strangely highpitched.

  “Dad! I’m sorry. But I had to ask you, and I can never get you on the phone!”

  Gino spins Vince around to face him directly. Gino’s face is hard, his body tense.

  “There’s a reason for that, and you know it!” His voice is seething with anger. My body becomes rigid, and I pull myself out of Gino’s line of sight. Being so new to the family, I do not want any of Gino’s fury directed at me. The Gino from last night was tough, yet kind. There’s no kindness in that voice now.

  “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Vince stammers. “I just wanted to talk—”

  “You can wait ‘til I get home!” Gino says fiercely. “You should never, ever come here!”

  He pauses, and a moment of uncomfortable silence hangs in the muggy air. “You didn’t bring anyone with you, did you?”