I heard he also bought himself a hunting camp out on route 221. What’s a city fella need a hunting camp for? What’s he ever hunted in his life? I bet I know. I bet nobody here wants to know what goes on out there, but I’m gonna find out. I figured he was doing drug deals out there, or burying bodies. At least that’s what I thought until I talked to old Timmy Peppers yesterday. That changed everything.
I seen old Joe Mezilli –if that’s even his real name- driving out to the CoOp. I was heading there myself to buy a heat-lamp for my granddaughter’s little baby chicks. I didn’t want him seeing me inside the store while he was there, so I went across the street to the Krispy Kreme and had me a cup of coffee, real natural-like. I seen him talking to Tim Peppers on the way out and Peppers handed him his card. Timmy is a real good kid, but he ain’t sharp, not like me, he ain’t. He ain’t suspicious. Or at least he weren’t until I straightened him out about ol’ Joe Mezilli.
I swung my truck into the parking lot of the CoOp just as soon as Mezilli was out on the road. I seen Tim Peppers over by the Carhart section, buying himself some new coveralls. I walked up to him real casual. Now...Forest has some nosy people and I don’t like them knowing my business. So I had me a copy of the Bedford County farm news and I slid up next to Tim Peppers and held that magazine over my mouth when I talked to him...you know the way them football coaches do it so the other team can’t read their lips? Same thing here.
I asked Tim, “What’d Mr. Mafia Boss want with your business card, Tim?” Now, old Peppers isn’t sharp, like I said. He sorta looked at me like a calf. “Huh?” he muttered. “Mafia who?” “Mezilli!” I half-screamed, “Joe Mezilli, the mafia boss. What’d he want with your business card?” Peppers looked shocked. “Well he, uh.... he wants me to come do some irrigation for him, because he’s planting a garden, and he said...” “Irrigation!” I hissed, “What kind of garden needs irrigation? What kind of garden is so special that it needs more water than the Lord can provide with rain?” Peppers apparently fell for Mezilli’s smooth talk, because he said, “Tomatoes.” “Huh?” I said, “Tomatoes.” Peppers repeated, “Mr. Mezil...I mean Joe said he needs his garden irrigated because he grows tomatoes. It’s like a family thing or somethin’ and...” “Tomatoes!” I said, “He said he needs an entire irrigation system just to grow some tomatoes, and you don’t find that suspicious? Huh? And what’s with calling him ‘Joe’? You boys all chummy all of the sudden?”
Peppers was stuttering now, he does that when he’s nervous. “W-w-well No. N-no we ain’t chummy, he just likes to be called by his first name.” “Well I ain’t falling for his act.” I told Peppers, “There’s something up with that man and I’m gonna figure out what.” I had to watch it now because I was raising my voice in the CoOp. I didn’t want anyone else getting the drop on me exposing this Mezilli character. “Peppers, when are you going to his house to meet him about this irrigation system?” “Monday evening.” Tim said, “Around six.” “Okay,” I answered, “You stop on by the house after you’re done over there. I’ll debrief you. We’ll put the pieces together for sure.” I was watching them Mezilli’s for a good hour before Peppers got there. I was standing in my garage with the door up, but I was back in the shadows so he couldn’t see me. I’m good at watching folks because I learned how to think like the people I’m watching. I drive past my garage sometimes with the door open and notice where the good hiding spots are, you know...the way a cop will remember places on the side of the road where you can’t see his cruiser until it’s too late and he’s already got you on radar. Anyway, Peppers was in there for about an hour. He came strolling out of the house with old Joe Corleone over there, smiling and waving goodbye. If I hadn’t stepped out to the curb, he’d have forgotten altogether about coming over to talk to me after he was done. Timmy rolled his window down and I stuck my head in the cab. He told me what Joe the “garbage man” was up to. When he got to the part about digging little ditches in his back yard to help with his “garden” I knew I was right about this guy.
“Trenches?” I yelled at Peppers, then I banged my head on the door post, I was so upset. “What’s he need trenches for to plant these tomatoes of his? And you say they’re how long? About eight feet? Eight feet, Tim. He’s diggin’ a bunch of trenches eight feet long. I knew it!” Peppers sat there with his jaw slack, as usual. “You knew what, Phil?” I couldn’t believe he was this blind. “Trenches, Peppers! He’s burying something!” Peppers cocked his head like a puppy. “Yessir, he told me he was burying something. That’s why I’m diggin’ the trenches.” I couldn’t take it anymore. “Peppers!” I barked, He’s burying something in a trench that’s a little bit bigger than a body. Don’t you see it Peppers?”
The light came on in old Timmy’s head. It was dim, like a flashlight with a weak battery. But it came on nonetheless. “You...you really think so?” He asked. “Well of course, Peppers. What else would he be burying back there?” Peppers eyes narrowed, like he does when he gets suspicious. “You really think so?” he asked. “Of course Peppers. He bought this place as a cover. He ain’t planting no garden, he’s burying something so nobody else finds it. Peppers drove off with that squinty scowl on his face. I went back to the garage, but not before Mezilli waved at me, like he was keeping his eye on me.
Imagine that. Someone suspicious of me! I went inside and got on the internet and searched his name. The only “Mezilli” I found was that fella what used to play baseball for the Mets. I saw a couple of stories about my neighbor selling his trash hauling company. I think those stories were planted by the FBI to cover his mob activities. But nothing about him being a mob boss. I knew it! I thought. He’s in the witness protection program. Or he faked his death and moved here to start him a whole new crew. They call their gang a “crew.” I seen that on “The Sopranos” and on that other show, the documentary about the mob. The one where Shoeless Joe Jackson played Henry Hill, and he married Dr. Malfi.
All the rest of the week I watched those people across the street. I gotta tell you, they’re good at pretending to be normal. They’d fool anyone else, I reckon. But not me. Old Phil Lowery has been around and I tell you, I saw through their disguise. Saturday morning I woke up to the sound of a big ol’ truck creeping down the street, and it had Pennsylvania tags! I called Hank Milledge, next door. “Hank!” I said, “They’s started already. “Started what, Phil?” said Milledge. “What are you talking about?” “They’ve started invading our neighborhood!” I hissed at him. “There’s a big dump truck across the street with Pennsylvania tags!” Hank didn’t understand...he just didn’t understand! “So? So maybe it’s a friend of his coming to visit. Drink your coffee and mind your own business Phil.” Milledge said. “Hank!” I shot back, “They’d come to visit in a dump truck?” Hank went silent for a second. I could hear him walking across his bedroom. “Well I’ll be, there’s a dump truck over there, sure enough.” He said.
“Of course there is!” I said, “You think I’d make that up?” Hank didn’t answer me. “I’m telling you, this is trouble!” I said to Hank. He cleared his throat and said “You know Phil, I bet there’s a reason those folks are here. If it bothers you, just go ask him what’s going on. It sure doesn’t bother me. I gotto go let the dog out, Phil. I’ll call you in a bit.” Dang it! I thought, That’s just what they want us to believe!
I stuck my head out the front door and walked out to get the paper. I was acting nonchalant and I’m sure my neighbor had no idea I was assessing the situation, but I was. The first thing I noticed was the God-awful stench coming from that dump truck. It smelled like something rotten. That’s when it hit me, it was something rotten! That smell was rotting corpses. It had to be. I ain’t never smelled nothing so foul in all my days except a rotten corpse. I stumbled across an old hobo once when I was a kid and I was walking the B&O tracks out near Big Island. The old coot had been dead all winter and I found him after he thawed out a bit in March. Well that’s what I smelled that morning coming from the ba
ck of my neighbor’s friend’s dump truck. All I needed was a little more proof.
Well it didn’t take me long for me to find the proof I was needing. Mezilli left with his buddies in the dump truck. He took his old Ford and they followed him. A few minutes later, Timmy Peppers showed up and pulled his rig into the back yard and started digging those trenches. I knew Peppers couldn’t hear me while he was sitting on his backhoe, so I snuck through the woods alongside Mezilli’s property and I had me a look. By God, if Peppers wasn’t digging graves then I don’t know what a grave is! Eight feet long and two feet deep and spaced evenly over the area where my neighbor, “Mr. Waste Management,” was claiming to be planting a garden.
What does digging grave-sized rows have to do with growing vegetables? I thought.
I watched for about an hour and then snuck back to my house. I’ve seen Tim Peppers work his backhoe plenty of times. I didn’t need to sit there watching it again. It took half the day, but Mezilli came rolling back down the street with the back end of his Ford dragging from a big load in the bed. I grabbed my binoculars and peered through the venetian blinds. He backed his truck into the driveway and walked into the back yard. A few minutes later, he came back up with Peppers in tow. Then I saw it. I saw the bodies. Why I can’t get nobody to believe me I still can’t understand, but by God there were bodies in that truck. The tailgate was down, and Mezilli grabbed ahold of one end of a giant burlap roll. It had the ends tucked in, like a big, old burrito from Manny’s lunch wagon down at the foundry where I used to work. It was about six feet long and rolled up tight. Mezilli slid the thing out of the bed of the truck and motioned to Peppers to grab the other end. Poor Peppers, he ain’t suspicious of nobody, and I saw that blank stare on his face. He didn’t even think this was odd at all. They wrestled this thing onto their shoulders and walked back into the yard. Dang, thing even sagged in the middle like a body. Whoever this poor old wretch was, he was fixin’ to be part of Mezilli’s secret burial ground. I figured he was probably some rival gang member or some poor feller that owed Mezilli money. Whoever he was, he was probably some unsavory sort, but dad-gummit he deserved a better final resting place than this.
I grabbed my cell phone and ran across the street and ducked underneath some ewes that ran along the far fenceline of Mezilli’s property. I couldn’t see real clear...but I seen clear enough! Clear enough to see them dump this poor sucker into one of the trenches that Peppers had dug that morning. Clear enough to watch Mezilli break out a bag of lime and cover the body in the burlap with it! The sick son of a bitch! He even smacked his shovel on the top of the body a few times, because it was sticking up above the edge of the trench a bit!
Next thing you know, Peppers and him were shoveling topsoil on the burlap and covering up the entire crime. I dropped my camera at one point. I was so shocked by what I seen that I forgot to take any pictures at all. I had to sit under that bush for another twenty minutes waiting for them to start burying a few more. Meanwhile, Hank Milledge’s dog -the overweight Weimaraner- comes waddling over and pees on the very bush I was hiding under. Dang stupid dog. I hated that dog already. Now I really hate him. So I’m lying there under the bushes with dog pee on my shirt and watching my friend Timmy Peppers help this mobster bury his enemies. Right in his own back yard.
I waited until they were deep into burying their fourth body and I snuck back over to my house. I stood in my favorite hiding spot...in the shadows of my garage where they can’t see me...and I snapped some more pictures of them carrying the last few body bags into the back yard. They were getting tired and I seen Mezilli arch his back and stretch himself like he was getting sore. “Serves you right, you heartless animal!” I thought to myself. “I hope you shuffle your spine like a deck of cards!”
I waited in the shadows with my jaw hanging open. I can’t believe what I just saw. By God it was just like The Sopranos where they were burying bodies on Tony’s uncle Pat’s farm. “Cans of peaches” he called them. Like they weren’t people they was burying, they was just lumps of dirt. I always knew that show was more truth than fiction. Didn’t Rich Little say something about life doing great art imitations, or something like that? Well ol’ Rich Little was right.
They finally came back up from burying the last one, and Mezilli put up his tailgate. He shook Pepper’s hand and walked back to the burial ground I guess. Peppers rolled his truck and trailer out into the street and I called him on his cell phone. He answered. “Peppers!” I said, “Stop on over in front of my house before you go any further.” “Who is this?” Peppers answered. Dear God how does this man walk upright? “It’s Phil!” Stop over at my house Tim, right now.” I hung up the cell phone and walked to the curb casually. Peppers pulled over to the side and rolled down his passenger window and I stuck my head in.
Peppers wrinkled his nose when I stuck my head in the window. “Phew, Phil, you smell like dog piss” “Peppers!” I barked, cutting him off, “You big dummy! You made yourself an accessory after the fact!” Timmy’s jaw dropped open. “A what?” he said, with a look in his eyes like a deer in the headlights. “An accessory after the fact. You’re complicitish now!” “What’s that mean?” Peppers asked me. Dear God, I thought, This poor boy is just a sheep heading for the shearers. “You’re complicitish! You done participated in a crime, Tim! He had you burying those bodies with him and now you’re guilty as he is!” I tried not to be too excited but I was losing my patience with Peppers. “What bodies?” Peppers yelped, “What the hell are you talking about, Phil?”
“Them bodies you was burying with Al Capone over there. The ones you dug the holes for, Timmy. You done assisted in the disposal of evidence. I seen this on The Sopranos. I seen this on NCIS. What do you think was in them burlap rolls? Burlap?” Peppers was wide-eyed and he didn’t say nothing at all. I think it started to make sense to him. “What did he say was in them rolls, Timmy?” I asked him gently. “Well...” he started, about two minutes later he said, “He told me not to ask.” Peppers swallowed hard with this. The light was slowly coming on. “What did they feel like?” I asked. “They were heavy, and bulky. Just dead weight.” I waited for this statement to click with him. And when I was done waiting, and nothing clicked, I asked him, “Anything peculiar about them rolls, Tim?” Peppers scratched his head under his John Deere cap. “They smelled real bad,” He said, “Like poop, and wet straw.” I banged my head on the doorjamb of his truck. “Poop! Wet Straw? Peppers that’s exactly what dead bodies smell like!” I yelled. I hate yelling at Peppers because he’s like a child. But the boy done admitted to me that they were burying bodies and he didn’t even realize it! Peppers looked like he was going to cry. “Did Mezilli say anything at all about what’s in those rolls? I asked him. “Nope,” he said, and then his face went white. All he said when I asked him why they smelled, was “decomposition.” Hey, Phil, what is decomposition, exactly? Is that the name of a mafia boss? I thought it was when you wrote a paper in high school.
I rubbed my eyes and tried not to laugh. “Yeah, Peppers,” I thought to myself, “You ain’t never read the papers about “Vinny Decomposition” He’s a killer.” I waited a second or two then I reached in and swatted him on his head.
“Oh my Lord! You’re in danger Timmy!” I said, “The man knows that you know where he done buried them poor souls. Once he don’t need you anymore, he’s gonna see you as a liability.” Peppers swallowed hard and his eyes got glassy. “You don’t really think that, do you? I mean he seems like such a nice guy.” “Peppers!” I shouted, “Tony Soprano killed his own cousins to cover his crimes! You don’t think a mob guy would kill somebody he thought was going to turn him in?”
Peppers rubbed his eyes. “What are we gonna do?” he asked. “We need more proof.” I said. “I’m gonna have to keep watching this guy until we can get enough on him to have Sheriff Stevens come out.” I leaned back out of the window of his truck. “You leave this to me, Timmy. I’ll take care of everything.” Peppers looked worried, “What ar
e you gonna do?” he asked, “I’m gonna watch him like a hawk day and night, Timmy. You can be sure of that.” “Maybe I shouldn’t do that irrigation work for him, huh?” he asked. “No!” I said, “You go on like always with him. Do the job. It will give us a chance to get in that yard.” I thought for a moment. “But Timmy,” I said, “If you still got your daddy’s pistol I’d start keeping it with you when you’re around him.
Just in case.” “Yeah,” Peppers whispered solemnly, “I was thinking about that too.” “It’s gonna be okay Timmy,” I said, “We’re gonna expose this guy and nail his butt to a tree! Now you do me one favor...keep this quiet. If word gets out about this man, we’ll blow our whole operation and he’ll just cover his tracks.”
Peppers drove on up the street and I snuck back to the hedgerow and hid out while Mezilli buried the rest of them bags. Only this time he used his sons to help him. His sons! That murderin’ bastard was already training his boys in the art of getting rid of bodies. Hell, they looked they was having fun doing it. Like one big old mobster family. I was sick to my stomach watching it, I tell ya.
I wasn’t going to stand for this from this Capo across the street. I’m going to do something about this.
10
Sleeping With
The
Seven Fishes
It got to the point where Tim Peppers was my ears and eyes over at Mezilli the mobster’s house. I didn’t go over there much because I didn’t want him getting suspicious of me. But I watched him. I watched him like a hawk. Like I said, I’m good at it. Nobody suspects that I’m watching them when I watch them. That’s the key to it. Don’t be suspicious.
The Legend of Joey Trucks: The Accidental Mobster Page 16
