Accidental Mobster

by M. M. Cox

  “Well, that’s great—that’s just great!” Ronnie is still furious. “And the other kids, they look like you two?”

  “Worse.” Vince smirks. “Danny’s a champ. Although the beating he gave Tommy didn’t seem to keep that butt-head from being a snot-nosed brat to Joe Saviano.”

  Ronnie puts her hand immediately to her chest. “Tommy? Tommy Gallo?”

  Vince glares at her defiantly. “Yeah, Tommy was the one who started everything.”

  Ronnie is staring at him, but she no longer seems angry. She looks frightened.

  “Vince, I told you not to provoke that boy. I told you to leave him alone! You know why!”

  I can’t help but feel I am missing information that would make Ronnie’s behavior make sense. Vince is no longer smirking; he angrily slams the Cocoa Nuggets on the table, causing crispy chocolate pieces to come flying out of the box.

  “I don’t care who he is—or who his father is!” Vince says loudly. “If he’s going to rush at me, fists flying, then I’m going to reply with some fist flying of my own. And Danny’s no different. He’s not going to sit there and allow Tommy to give him a bloody head for no reason. And I’m glad to have him on my side. It’s about time Tommy had some competition. The whole school is tired of his bullying.”

  Vince meets my eyes with a look of respect, and I can’t help but feel a little proud. Ronnie, however, is not as touched by Vince’s words. She steps forward and puts her hands on his shoulders, her eyes pleading as they look into his. “It’s not about being brave or even about self-defense, Vince. It’s about keeping you safe—keeping this family safe. Making sure your father doesn’t suffer for what happens among boys on the playground.”

  Vince shakes her off. “Playground? Seriously, Mom! Don’t say crap like that. And I don’t care! You hear me, I don’t care!”

  He flies from the room, and several seconds later the stairs are again treated to his pounding feet.

  Ronnie turns to me, her face pale. “Well,” she says, “I guess it’s back to the hospital for you.”

  * * * *

  I gingerly touch the new set of stitches in my forehead and realize that my gash will probably take longer to heal now that I have hit my head twice. But at the moment, I don’t care. I am on the phone at the Vigliotti house and am sitting in the office chatting with Reggie, trying to update my friend on the strange turn of events without being too specific concerning what happened to me in Ridley. No one needs to know that my dad crossed the line; I feel that any information might make its way back to Barb Kluwer, who is certainly still working on getting hold of me, if I have judged her correctly.

  “Okay, so your parents got in a fight, decided to split for a while, and now you’re staying with your godfather in New Jersey? Man, I don’t know, Danny, that sounds a little crazy!”

  I can understand Reggie’s disbelief. The whole thing is somewhat absurd. “I know it’s weird. But it gets better—I’m staying in one of the most fantastic houses I’ve ever seen, and today they bought me all these nice new clothes. And I’ve got a great big bedroom and bathroom!”

  “Wow, with all that, you’ll never come back to Ridley!” Reggie is joking, but I can hear the slight strain in his voice.

  “Oh, I’ll be coming back. Ronnie hinted that I might go to school here for a while, though.”

  “Really? That’s no good! We were going to be starters on the wrestling team this year!”

  I can sense Reggie’s disappointment. How would I feel if my best friend abandoned me?

  Yet, I am having a difficult time feeling the same disappointment. Reggie and I have a great friendship, but today has been an eye-opening experience in what living in a wealthy, happy home might be like. Well, perhaps they are not one hundred percent happy, but every family has their problems, right? I keep having this nagging feeling that I should not get too attached to these people or this lifestyle. But for the moment, I am going to let myself enjoy the feeling of being a teenager who, for once, is not forced to worry about buying groceries, paying bills, or playing peacemaker to fighting parents.

  “So, who are these people?” Reggie asks. “What’s a godfather?”

  “Ronnie said a godfather is supposed to look out for his godchild’s spiritual upbringing. I think it’s a Catholic thing, which I don’t quite understand because I don’t remember my parents going to a Catholic church. Or any church for that matter.”

  “Yeah, that’s kind of strange. We don’t have that in my church. You said the last name was Vigliotti? That sounds Italian.”

  “I guess,” I answer.

  Reggie sucks in a deep breath of air. “Hey! You don’t think they’re in the mob or something, do you?” He sounds excited.

  “Oh, come on, Reggie! Seriously? You need to cut down on watching so much TV.”

  “I don’t watch much. But just think about it—they’re Italian, they live in New Jersey, and he’s your godfather!”

  I roll my eyes, knowing Reggie cannot see my frustration, but I can hear the edge in my voice as I reply. “Knock it off. I told you godfathers were a Catholic thing. And not every Italian is a mobster!”

  “Yeah, but some of them are!”

  Gino steps into the office doorway, an odd expression on his face, and I smile in silent greeting. “Reggie, I’ve got to go now. I’ll call you again soon.”

  Reggie sighs. “Fine. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Talk to ya later.” I hang up the phone and swivel my chair to face Gino.

  “So,” Gino begins, his voice gruff, “I heard that you made another trip to the hospital today. And that you met some new friends at Joe Saviano’s lot.”

  My body goes rigid. I have no idea how to answer Gino. Does he know I was at the diner? Should I apologize? Is Gino thinking twice about bringing me to stay at the Vigliotti house? “Uh, Vince and I, we had, um, what you might call a disagreement with some other teenagers.” Geez! Is that the best I can come up with? Now I sound like a mobster!

  “Just be careful, okay.” Gino’s tone is strict, but surprisingly, not angry. “Ronnie and I don’t always agree about fighting—I don’t think you should always back down—but just be smart about it. Tommy Gallo is not a kid you want to tangle with unless it’s absolutely unavoidable. You may be able to kick his butt—good for you. But that kid has a very powerful father, and it’s not smart to provoke him.”

  “I didn’t provoke—”

  “I know.” Gino cuts in. “Vince told me. But nevertheless, you are grounded for one week. We’ve got to make Ronnie happy. Vince is grounded for three—he lied about bringing you to the diner.”

  I feel my face flush. One day at the Vigliotti’s and I’m already causing trouble. At home, I’m usually so responsible, and now I feel like I’m behaving like a poster boy for troubled teens. I want to make a good impression on the Vigliottis, but now they might send me away.

  “I’m very sorry, Gino. I’ll understand if you want to send me back to Ridley. Just don’t send me to Barb Kluwer.” I hate the pleading tone in my voice.

  Gino smiles and shakes his head. “Danny, you are not going back to Ridley until Penny is ready for you to come home. You’ve got a really screwed up idea about family. Just because you make a mistake doesn’t mean we give up on you. Heck, if that were true, Julia and Vince would have been given away a long time ago! You’re a good kid—I know that. So don’t worry about it.”

  A brief silence follows. If Gino considers me part of the family, I know I could never come up with the right words to thank him for that kind of acceptance. Gino motions to me. “Let’s go grab some dinner. And your stuff from home has arrived.”

  * * * *

  Being grounded at the Vigliotti house is like a fun-packed snow day. The first day of our punishment, Vince and I play video games all morning in the game room (I catch on quickly, even though I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve played a video game). The game room is equipped with an enormous TV and a state-of-the-art st
ereo system, which means that every game is an audiovisual thrill. Then we order pizza (on Ronnie’s credit card, of course), watch Goodfellas (which isn’t quite as dumb as I remembered), and go online to debate which Hollywood actress is most “talented.”

  Despite Vince’s sketchy loyalty during the fight yesterday, I feel we are forming some sort of friendship. I have started to realize that Vince is a bit of a loner, but that he is enjoying my company, despite my freshman status. I wonder if this is what having a sibling is like. In addition to watching Goodfellas, Vince and I consume an assortment of mob movies, every one of which Vince seems to have seen before. I have to sit through several seasons of Sopranos (the “good ones,” as Vince observes), and by the end of my exposure to various Mafia stories, I know that a wiseguy, a made man, or a button man is a guy who dedicates his life to the Mafia, that a gumata is a mobster’s girlfriend, and that getting whacked or “hit” means you’re not long for the earth.

  After overdosing on video games the first day, on day two Vince introduces me to FaceSpace, a website where Vince chats with other kids his age. Well, “kids” means mostly girls; despite Vince’s loner personality, he obviously has plenty of time to flirt. And he appears to have quite a few fans. Between texting on his cell phone (I’m envious because I’ve never had a phone) and e-mailing, he has a large network of friends. The rest of the week rushes by in what seems like minutes, and I find myself easily becoming accustomed to the Vigliotti lifestyle. Ronnie cooks amazing meals every night, and I am already packing on a few pounds—I’ll have to be a little more careful if I am going to try out for wrestling. Going to Mass on Sunday is quite a new experience for me, and not completely unpleasant. My only church experience so far has been at Reggie’s Baptist church in Ridley, which is extremely different from this one.

  Someone is letting Baxter into my room at night (although I always forget to ask who), and I hate to admit that I enjoy walking the little dog around the fancy neighborhood. Vince often joins me on these walks, even though he spends most of the time teasing me about getting attached to a dog that is really more like a rat. I don’t mind the teasing or the dog, and I decide that if and when I go back to Ridley, I will force my parents to get me a dog to make up for traumatizing me. But maybe I’ll ask for something a little less girly than Baxter. Julia ignores me as easily as she ignores everyone else at the Vigliotti house. Whenever I see her, she makes an effort to show me just how little I matter in her life. I could care less—she is certainly gorgeous, but after meeting Portia, Julia’s snooty attitude makes her slightly less attractive. In fact, I’m glad that my lack of interest seems to irritate her.

  “She’s usually worshipped by boys, so she’s offended by any male interest that is less than extreme,” Vince tells me. “I’d show her some attention if you want her to be friendly.”

  I just shrug, but am thrilled with the little power I hold.

  The day before school begins, I am finally becoming comfortable with the idea of attending Newcastle High. High school would be a challenge regardless of whether I went to Ridley or Newcastle, and Newcastle may actually be a better experience because I have the connections and the clothes that I never had in Ridley. However, I know my reputation as a good wrestler at Ridley won’t matter at Newcastle unless I prove myself. What if I’m not as good or can’t make the team? This motivates me to go jogging and work out in the Vigliotti’s home gym, especially with all the pizza Vince and I have been consuming. Vince mocks me when I work out and has no intention of joining me.

  That same day, my mom shows up on the Vigliotti doorstep. I am still damp from my after-jogging shower as I answer the doorbell and am ashamed of the panic I feel when I see her. Mom looks terrible. Her bleached hair is pulled back from her face in a limp ponytail, and her face is clear of the usual five pounds of makeup she applies daily. The bruise on her left cheek is conspicuous in the glaring sunlight. Her green eyes are bloodshot, and the wrinkles around them seem to have been etched overnight. I would never have considered my mother beautiful, but now she appears weary and miserable. A battered Volkswagen sits in the driveway; I remember it belongs to the lady who owns the salon where Mom works.

  “Hi,” I say quietly. “Are you okay?”

  She nods, her eyes brimming with tears as she notices the stitches in my head. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

  “Have you come to get me?” I ask abruptly, even though I wish I didn’t have to hear the answer.

  But to my surprise, she shakes her head, a tear trailing down her tanned, crinkled face. I feel relief, but I don’t want Mom to cry, especially not out on the Vigliotti doorstep. I pull her inside the house. She immediately appears out of place in the luxurious environment. Is that how I looked when I arrived here? I wait as she takes in the impressive foyer and elegant staircase; she seems to be lost in thought, so I finally clear my throat. Mom turns to face me. “It’s been so long. I had forgotten how wonderful everything was.”

  “Yeah—it’s pretty amazing. How do you know these people?”

  She ignores my question, and I wonder whether I will ever find out how a woman like my mom knows people like the Vigliottis. Instead, she looks me over, her eyes skimming my new clothes. “Are you okay, Danny? Do you like it here?” she asks. I shrug; I don’t know how much to tell her, thinking I will hurt her feelings if she knew how much I like it at the Vigliotti’s. “It’s fine. It’s easy to get used to the nice stuff, I guess. What happened to Dad?” I ask, changing the subject.

  “I’m not sure. I’ve been staying with Sue. I guess he’s back at the house. No one’s pressing charges, so the city’s not going to waste their time with it,” she says, her face expressionless.

  So, Mr. Doonesby didn’t press charges, I realize. Maybe my principal feels guilty about the whole mess.

  He should.

  Mom continues to study me, staring at my head for a long moment, and I shift from one leg to another, feeling uncomfortable under her scrutiny. “But are you okay? After everything—you know—how are you handling it?” she asks breathlessly, as though she almost can’t ask the question, just as the look on her face says she doesn’t really want an answer.

  I stare at her. I can think of many things to say—many things I want to shout at her. The pain and loneliness take hold of me, threatening to become angry words. So I say nothing. Isn’t that what she wants anyway? What good would anger be for either of us now? Neither of us can handle it, neither of us wants it. She should leave, just as she did a few weeks ago. Leave and let me live this new life that is the only item of worth she has ever given me. I can feel myself trying to tell her these things with my expression, and fortunately, whether Mom understands the exact message or just my emotions, my meaning seems to push its way through.

  “I’ve gotta go, Danny. I still have so much that needs to be done before we can be a family again.” Her eyes look at me hopefully.

  I feel heartless as I gaze back at her without giving any sign that there is still hope for our relationship. I can’t forgive her, at least, not at this moment—and not for some time to come. Even though I am feeling selfish now, she is the one who was selfish. That selfishness took me from her, and perhaps, that is exactly what self-centered people deserve. She puts a hand on my shoulder, and I stand motionless. I can’t hug her—not yet. A few more tears stream from her eyes, and she turns and leaves the house. I have given her no indication that I miss her, and now she is leaving again. And I am ashamed that I am glad.

  * * * *

  Later that night, I lay my clothes out and gather my school supplies into my expensive new backpack. I am so excited and nervous about the next day that I wonder if I will get any sleep. I want to make a good impression and blend into the background all at the same time. And I find myself wondering if I will see Portia, and if so, will she be friendly like she was before? And will Vince pretend that he barely knows me, ignoring the last week of fun we’ve had together in order to not appear to be “friends”
with a freshman? I decide that’s probably a good possibility based on Vince’s past behavior.

  I choose a pair of jeans and a green polo shirt and wipe a scuff mark from my shoe. I try to think of what else I might need. My sunglasses! I skim the room and rack my brain for where I might have left them. Then I remember the argument Vince and I had on the way to pick up milk for Ronnie. Vince, who had once again been driving the Lexus, had grabbed my expensive shades from my face and had thrown them in the backseat after an argument over the score on a recent video game. I had grabbed for Vince’s sunglasses in retaliation, but I quickly gave up when Vince’s attempt to fight me off resulted in the Lexus swerving toward the guardrail of the highway. I now realize I never retrieved my glasses from the backseat. The house is quiet as I leave my room and make my way toward the garage. Ronnie is having a girls night out, and Vince and Julia are probably in their rooms, although almost certainly not in bed yet—it’s only nine p.m. Gino is nowhere to be found, and I guess that he is out, possibly working. Ronnie explained that Gino is a computer networking specialist who works mostly during the night on company computers so as not to disrupt the company’s normal daily business. I do not think Gino fits the stereotype of a computer technician, but then, I don’t know many computer technicians. At any rate, he must be very good, judging by the way this family spends money.

  I switch on the light in the garage and open the back door of the Lexus. I start searching the seat and floor for my sunglasses and eventually shut the door when the vehicle starts beeping. Thankfully, the interior lights remain on as I continue my search. Several minutes later, I am sweaty and frustrated. I climb over the backseat and into the large rear area of the SUV. Some junk is back here (Ronnie has a complete winter roadside emergency kit—even in the middle of August), and the interior lights click off as I strike my knee on a snow shovel and grit my teeth in pain. I decide to stop searching just as my hand feels the smooth lens of my sunglasses. I rub them on my T-shirt and lay on my side for a moment, enjoying the pitch-black quiet inside the vehicle. However, the heat is too much for me, and I am just about to climb back over the seat when the front doors of the Lexus suddenly open.