Eventually she’d agreed, and he’d cut a deal with an acquaintance who was able to deliver cartons of cigarettes that happened to have fallen off the back of a truck. He bought the cigarettes for cash, then sold them in the shop at the going price, making a healthy profit, which he put back into the business. Another acquaintance supplied him with jars of coffee, and sometimes he’d score a whole truckload of canned goods that had never quite made it to their intended destination.
Grandma Lani didn’t notice what was going on, and since he was now in charge of the books, it made things easy. Her arthritis was so bad that she could barely use her hands, plus she was becoming vague and distracted. She was still smart enough to appreciate her grandson’s active interest in the store, because Vinny certainly didn’t give a damn.
Michael didn’t consider what he was doing illegal; it was merely good business. Still, he made sure not to confide in Max or Charlie, because he was well aware that neither of them would approve. They came from families who cared about what they were up to.
He got a kick out of being in charge, and since he looked much older than his age, nobody questioned his authority.
His sex life was also going well. Shortly after dropping out of school, he’d broken up with Tina. She’d found out about Polly and confronted him. He’d admitted that yes, he was seeing someone else, and then, as gently as he could, he’d suggested it was best they stopped seeing each other.
She’d screamed, sulked, and several weeks later taken up with Max—who couldn’t believe his luck, because Tina was the prettiest girl in school. Also the most virtuous. No sex before marriage—Michael could vouch for that.
Perhaps if she’d been a little more forthcoming in that department, they might have stayed together.
Max had asked him if he minded. “Go ahead,” he’d said magnanimously.
Privately he considered it a revenge move on Tina’s part. She couldn’t have him, so she’d go with his best friend to try and make him jealous.
News flash: it wasn’t working.
He met regularly with Polly. Even though she was almost twenty-one and he was only seventeen, they spent many a sweaty night in the back of the local movie house, where he found he was able to perform some of his best work.
Sometimes Polly’s girlfriend Sandi lent them her apartment. Those were the best of nights. And there was always the hotel, although Max no longer worked there, so paying for a room wasn’t something he wanted to do too often.
Polly freely admitted that she still saw her steady boyfriend, Cyril, which didn’t bother Michael at all. They both knew they were in it for the sex—and as long as the sex was hot, why should it concern him?
Things were pretty good all around. He worked hard, hung out with his friends, and Polly was there whenever he needed sex—which was most of the time. He certainly had nothing to complain about.
One day two men sauntered into the shop. The shortest man put up the CLOSED sign and hovered by the door, while the other man came over to Michael, leaned his elbows on the counter, and said, “Hey, you. Hear you’re runnin’ plenty of business here.”
“Maybe,” Michael said, recognizing the man as a known wiseguy.
“It’s your lucky day,” the man said, scratching his chin. “ ’Cause I’m here to make things run even smoother.”
“How’s that?”
“How’s that?” the man repeated. “Well, sonny, you’ll pay us a little somethin’ every week, and for that you ain’t gonna be bothered.”
“Bothered by what?” he asked.
“Don’t act dumb,” the man said irritably. “You know who I’m representin’ here.”
It occurred to Michael that he could stand up to them—that is, until he remembered what had happened to several other store owners in the area who had resisted paying protection. He thought about the smashed windows in the bar next door. The fire in the dry cleaners. And old Mr. Cartright from the pawnshop getting beaten up. The rumor on the street was that all the stores were now paying.
“I guess we can work something out,” he said slowly.
“Smart,” the man said, picking up a pack of cigarettes from the counter and breaking the seal. “My boss likes smart ones who don’t give him no trouble.”
“Who’s your boss?” he asked, although he was pretty sure he already knew.
“Ain’t that a stupid question,” the man said, shaking out a cigarette.
“Vito Giovanni,” Michael blurted out. “An’ I’d like to meet him.”
“A punk like you?” the man said, snorting his amusement. “Forget it.”
But he didn’t forget it, and a few weeks later when he and Polly were snogging in the back of the movie house while the previews played, he was excited to observe the entrance of Vito Giovanni, surrounded by several henchmen and his brassy blond wife.
He quickly shoved Polly’s hand out of his crotch. “Quit it,” he said tersely.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, quite put out.
“You see that guy sittin’ over there?” he said, leaning forward to get a better look. “That’s Mr. Big.”
“Mr. Big?” she sneered. “What does that mean?”
“He’s the man who runs this neighborhood.”
“What is he—the mayor or something?”
“No,” Michael said impatiently. “He’s Vito Giovanni.”
At last she got it. “The mob guy?” she asked curiously, her interest piqued.
“Not so much a mob guy as a man who does things his way,” Michael explained.
“And what way is that?” she asked, tilting her head.
“Any way he wants.”
The movie playing was Birdman of Alcatraz, starring Burt Lancaster. Suddenly he’d lost all interest in seeing it. All he could think about was that sitting a few rows in front of him was Vito Giovanni, and he was desperate to meet him. Ever since he was a kid he’d heard stories about the man who ruled the neighborhood. Vito Giovanni was rich. He was powerful. He was everything Michael aspired to be.
The movie started and Polly obviously expected the usual goings-on in the back row, but he wasn’t in the mood to touch her; he had other, more important things on his mind.
“What’s with you?” she asked after a few minutes.
“I wanna see this movie,” he lied. “Do you mind if I concentrate for once?”
“Sorry,” she drawled sarcastically. “Didn’t know we came to the flicks to actually see the film.”
“Thought you liked Burt Lancaster.”
“Wouldn’t kick him out of bed,” she admitted with a sly giggle.
As soon as the movie was finished Michael was on his feet, standing in the aisle just as Vito Giovanni and his entourage were about to pass.
“Excuse me, Mr. Giovanni,” he said, blocking the way of the short, heavyset man who was famous for favoring cashmere overcoats and flowing white silk scarves.
“Out the way, punk,” one of his bodyguards said, shoving him aside.
“All I wanted t’ do was meet him,” Michael said indignantly, almost losing his balance.
“Get lost,” the henchman growled as the group moved on.
The following day Mrs. Giovanni walked into the shop. Michael immediately recognized her. She looked like an overblown Hollywood starlet, with her teased blond hair and enormous bosom. She was wearing a skintight white dress and was accompanied by her cousin Roy, who stood outside the shop smoking a cigarette.
She sauntered over to Michael and came right to the point. “You Vinny Castellino’s kid?”
“Uh . . . that’s right,” he said, trying not to stare at her big breasts.
“What did ya wanna talk to my husband about?”
“I pay him protection,” Michael said, startled by her visit. “So I kinda figured we should meet.”
She threw back her head and roared with laughter. “You’re a ballsy little one, ain’t cha?”
“Not so little,” he answered boldly.
�
��You look like Vinny,” she said, squinting at him through heavily mascara’d eyes. “And you got a mouth, which is more than I can say for him.”
“Where do you know my dad from?” he asked, quite shocked that she’d mentioned Vinny by name.
“It was a long time ago,” she said, thoroughly checking him out. “How old’re you, anyway?”
“Twenty.”
She gave a derisive laugh. “No way, sonny.”
“Nineteen,” he lied.
“Try seventeen,” she said, tapping her long red nails on the counter. “Am I right?”
“Maybe,” he answered cagily.
“Yeah, I’m right,” she said, very sure of herself.
“How well did ya know my dad?”
“Well enough,” she replied with a secretive wink. “If you get my drift.”
“An’ my mom, did ya know her too?”
“Oh—her,” she said dismissively. “Wasn’t good enough for your old man. He dragged her over from Italy on account of the fact that he knocked her up. I guess you was the bun in her hot little oven.”
Michael stared at her, trying to decide what to make of this flashy blond woman with her huge breasts and disrespectful attitude.
“Okay, kiddo,” she said, smoothing down her short skirt. “Why don’t you come see Mr. Giovanni tomorrow, two o’clock? I’ll make sure he gives you the time of day. Oh yeah,” she added, turning on her way out, “an’ you can tell Vinny that Mamie says hello.”
“Mamie?”
“That’s my name, honeybunch.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“Sorry he’s stuck in a wheelchair,” she said, hesitating for a moment. “Only, that’s what you get when you choose the wrong path, ain’t it?”
“Huh?”
“No big deal,” she said. “Vinny’s the loser. I’m the winner.”
“My dad’s not a loser,” Michael said, quickly defending Vinny, because family was family and he didn’t want to come across as disloyal.
“Have it your way,” she said, pausing to lick her jammy lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow. An’ you’d better not be late. I got no patience, sonny.”
Then she was gone.
Michael was excited; he couldn’t wait to question his dad. How come Vinny had never mentioned he knew the wife of the most important and powerful man in the neighborhood? Even cooler than that, he now had an appointment to meet with Vito Giovanni, and who knew what that would lead to?
Vinny was watching Ben Casey on TV when Michael finally got home. Grandma Lani was sitting in an armchair, fast asleep, her head lolling to one side.
He circled his dad. “Who’s Mamie?” he demanded, tapping him on the shoulder.
“What?” Vinny said, looking up and frowning.
“Mamie. Mrs. Giovanni,” he said impatiently. “She claims she knows you. Says she even knew Mom.”
“What’re you doin’ mixing with people like that?” Vinny demanded, his face reddening.
“People like what, Dad?”
“The dregs of the earth. Gangsters. Cowards,” Vinny said fiercely.
“Where d’you know her from anyway?”
“Never you mind,” Vinny said, increasing the volume on the TV.
Grandma Lani awoke with a start. “What’s happenin’?” she croaked. “Did I cook dinner yet?”
“Who’s Mamie, Grams?” Michael asked.
“Oh, her,” Grandma Lani said crossly. “Don’t tell me she’s comin’ round again, trying t’ get her hands on my Vincenzio. Somebody should tell her it’s too late, he’s a married man now—and,” she added, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “his wife is pregnant.”
Soon they would have to consider putting Grandma Lani in a home.
He could see he was getting nowhere with either of them, and since he had a date with Polly, and tonight they were borrowing Sandi’s apartment, he didn’t plan on being late.
He ran upstairs, took a quick shower, and changed his clothes.
By the time he left the house he still had no clue what connection Mrs. Giovanni had to his dad, although if there was any truth to what Lani said, it seemed as if Mamie Giovanni could have been an old girlfriend.
The thought blew his mind. Sex and Vinny did not go together. Especially sex with a woman like Mamie. As far as he was concerned his dad was some crusty old guy confined to a wheelchair; it was hard to imagine him any other way.
Polly was waiting at her girlfriend’s apartment. “You’re late,” she said crisply.
“I’m here,” he said, looking forward to losing himself in the sheer voluptuousness of her warm flesh.
“We’ve got two hours,” she said, unzipping her skirt and stepping out of it.
“Keep your stockings on,” he said as she dropped her pink lace panties.
“Kinky!” she exclaimed, leaving her flesh-colored garter belt and tan nylons in place.
He was immediately hard. She had that effect on him—although at his age a stone statue would have had that effect on him.
“How about dancin’ for me tonight?” he suggested, sitting on the edge of Sandi’s pull-out bed, which Polly had thoughtfully covered with a large terry cloth towel.
“Don’t be daft,” she giggled, reaching up to pull her sweater over her head.
“C’mon,” he coaxed. “It’ll be a kick.”
“There’s no music,” she protested.
“I’ll hum.”
“Okay,” she said, quite liking the idea.
He started humming “Tossin’ and Turnin’.” Polly began gyrating in front of him, swiveling her hips like a professional.
He was mesmerized by her thick triangle of black pubic hair, outlined by the garter belt, and found himself getting even more turned on.
Polly was attempting a few stripper moves, thrusting her crotch at him, then drawing back.
Grabbing a tuft of overgrown pubic hair, he pulled her down on the bed beside him.
“Ouch! That hurt!” she complained. But as soon as he jammed his hand between her legs, he could feel that she was as turned on as he was.
Frantically he pulled off his pants and underwear. Then he spread-eagled her, ready for action.
“Give it to me, Mike, give it to me good,” she moaned as he plunged inside her.
She was so hot and ready that he thought he might come immediately.
She wrapped her legs around his waist and began making loud noises.
He manipulated her legs until her ankles were firmly clasped at the back of his neck.
Holy shit! Six solid thrusts and he was coming. The best one yet. Jeez! It seemed to last forever.
As soon as he was finished, he rolled off and let out a victory yell.
“Pretty good, huh?” she said, licking her lips.
“Freakin’ fantastic!”
“I’m glad, ’cause it’s the last time we can do this.”
“Why’s that?” he asked, hoping it had nothing to do with his performance.
She sat up in bed, casually reaching for her bra. “Cyril and I are gettin’ hitched,” she announced matter-of-factly. “So . . . I hate to tell you this, Mike—but I’m afraid it’s good-bye.”
Dani—1964
You’re a very pretty girl,” Mr. Lomas said.
“Thanks,” Dani replied, lowering her blue eyes so she wouldn’t have to look at his smarmy face.
Mr. Lomas was the floor manager at the Estradido Hotel, where Dani worked as a maid. Nobody had any idea how young she was, which suited her because she was well aware that if her employers discovered the truth she’d be out of a job.
“Yes,” Mr. Lomas said, repeating himself. “Very pretty.”
Dani managed to stay silent. It was not like she hadn’t heard it a hundred times before. Men were always coming on to her, invariably handing out the same old lines.
So far she’d been able to repel what she considered their crass advances, although recently Emily had given her a lecture. “You’re gonna be si
xteen anyday soon,” Emily had said in full big-sister mode. “Isn’t it about time you got yourself a boyfriend? You can’t spend all your time stuck in the library.”
“I like the library,” Dani had answered stubbornly. “I enjoy finding out about stuff I never had a chance to learn.”
Emily had rolled her eyes. Dani was such a sweetheart, it would be nice to see her out having fun instead of spending all her spare time locked away reading books.
Emily and Sam were now married. They lived together in his apartment, while Dani stayed put in the small place she and Emily had shared. She could just about afford it, although Sam kept on telling her it would be smarter to get herself a roommate and split costs.
The good news was that as far as they knew, Dashell had never come searching for either of the girls. Sam always kept a sharp lookout and had not spotted him. “It’s like he knows you could nail him for all the bad things he’s done,” Sam reasoned. “He probably feels safer at the ranch an’ don’t dare come to town.”
“I’m sorry for the other kids we left behind,” Dani said wistfully. “At least we got to escape, thanks to you.”
“And I got me a wife,” Sam boasted with a broad grin. “The best girl in the whole world.”
Emily giggled. They truly were a happy couple. Emily now worked as a waitress at the Stardust Hotel, and Sam was a parking valet at the Desert Inn. They were both into their jobs and loved living in Vegas. In their spare time they managed to see most of the shows, getting in on their employees’ discount. Sometimes Dani went with them but not often, because she was more interested in educating herself.
“I was thinking,” said Mr. Lomas, a skinny man with sparse brown hair combed carefully over his forehead, and thick, bushy eyebrows—hardly a prime candidate to date the delectable Dani.
“Yes sir?”
“I was thinking that you and I should go out and uh . . . celebrate,” he said, stroking his chin.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Lomas,” she answered carefully, “but what exactly would we be celebrating?”
“You’ve worked here awhile now,” Mr. Lomas continued, clearing his throat. “I never see you with a boyfriend, an’ since today is your birthday—I saw it on your job application—somebody should take you out to celebrate.” He smiled, revealing tobacco-stained teeth. “I know a nice motel near here where they serve a fine dinner.”
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