The Legend of Joey Trucks: The Accidental Mobster

by Craig Daliessio

  I had to come up with a plan. I usually do my best thinking when I’m working with my hands. So I went out to the garage to try fixing the leaf blower again. Dang thing just won’t start and when it does, it won’t stay running. I like to make lists when I think. It helps me think. So as I saw it, I had two problems. One was that by Christmas morning, there’d be seven people sleeping with the fishes and I was the only one who cared enough to be upset about it. The other was that my neighbor was a mafia and nobody seemed to care much about that, neither. I had to solve the one problem immediately and then hope that I could solve the other one soon after that. After a few hours tinkering on the leaf blower I come up with a plan. It was a darned fine one too, I might add. Gladys and me was going to Mezill’s Christmas Eve party!

  12

  La

  Vigilia

  Christmas came at last. I spent the month of December hanging lights on every square inch of the house, and most of the five acres. I had a cousin who lived in the suburbs of Philly and he had enough yard to make a Christmas display so big that people came from miles around just to see it. I always wanted to do that, because it felt like you were giving the Christmas spirit to the whole world, you know? I had every inflatable Christmas item I could find. I literally had seven miles of strings lights. I had a giant manger scene, Santa sliding down the chimney, angels, reindeer. Man, it was fun.

  Angie took care of the inside of the house. She has wonderful style, my wife. Every room but the laundry room had some sort of Christmas tree in it. Each bedroom, the guest rooms, the dining room, all of them. The crowning glory, of course, was the giant twelve foot Douglas Fir we bought for the great room. That was the only room with ceilings high enough for a tree that tall, something we never had in Philly. There were wreaths, and garland, and lights and, of course, a leg lamp in the picture window. I had arranged flights for as many of my family as wanted to come, and I rented the Suburban for Tommy Fallone to drive my mom and dad and Nonna down. Nonna was only told that “Joey was sending a car and a driver to bring them to his house for Christmas.” When she protested, my Old Man simply said, “We’re doing Seven Fishes with Joseph this Christmas, momma. If you don’t come, you’ll be alone here.” Nonna finally relented, and the trip was scheduled for December Twenty-First. I figured I’d give them two full days, in case Nonna and her bladder needed the extra time.

  I wired Tommy five thousand bucks. Actually, I wired it to my cousin Arty and had him give it to Tommy in cash, because the Feds were still watching his checking account for any illicit activity. The poor kid was probably going to have to live with that for the rest of his life. I called Tommy a week before the trip. “Tommy,” I said, “Take the money I sent over with Arty. Use it to buy yourself a nice suit. Black. Don’t skimp either. You go to old Mr. Lagolo’s shop and have him tailor a nice suit for you.” Tommy was a little baffled at this. “Why, Joe?” he asked me, “Is Seven Fishes a formal affair down there in Virginia?” I laughed at that. “Seven Fishes is no affair at all in Virginia, Tommy. As far as I know, we might be the only family in this part of the state having La Vigilia.”

  “Then why the monkey-suit?” he asked. I explained: “Because Nonna will be on her best behavior only if she believes you are a professional driver. If she thinks you’re Tommy Felonius from Shunk Street, she’ll be peeing at every exit and taking pictures of every road-marker between Philly and Forest, and the trip will take three days. Now, if you want that...” “No!” Tommy said with a laugh, “No, No, No. I am well aware of Nonna Mezilli’s road trip habits. I’ll get the suit.” “Good” I said, “Now...that suit should set you back a grand or so, since Mr. Lagolo isn’t cheap. So you get yourself a few more nice changes of clothes, and you do some Christmas shopping for your family before you leave town. I sent my credit card with Arty as well...you put the expenses for the trip on that, don’t use your own money. Anything else you need, you call me. Capicse?”

  “I got it, Cuz.” he said emphatically. He was silent for a minute, then he said softly, “Hey Joe...thanks for letting me do this. My first Christmas out and all. It’s gonna be nice to be with some family again for the Holidays. Christmas sucked in Holmesburg.” Tommy was pretty emotional when he said this. “Yo Cuz!” I said, trying to lighten his mood a bit. “What’s Christmas without uncle Franny’s baccala stew...Huh? Besides, you might not be thanking me after driving my folks and my grandmother down here.” Tommy laughed. “Now, you get that suit and some clothes. Oh, and buy yourself a nice piece of luggage for the trip. You show up with your clothes in a garbage bag and I’m shipping you home on a Greyhound!” “Naaah, no Polish luggage.” he said. “I’ll get myself a nice suitcase. Thanks again Joe. I mean it. I’m really looking forward to this trip.” “Me too, Paisan,” I said, “We lost a lot of time, pal. This will be a good chance to just hang out.”

  Tommy said goodbye and hung up. I was thinking about how long he was away. The best part of his life. He was almost thirty-one when he and Nicky Bowties tried knocking off that ATM. He did thirteen years. By the time I was thirty-one, I had three boys and we were working on that little girl. I had a house. I’d been married for eleven years. I had weekend cookouts with my friends and beach trips and weddings and celebrated the births of friends’ children. All those christenings, and birthday parties for our children, and the general feeling of growing up, Tommy’d missed that. He went in when all his friends were just getting started. He came out forty-three years old and way behind everyone else.

  I missed Tommy when he was away. I wrote, and we visited every month. I put money on his commissary card so he could buy things. I sent him pictures of the family and the families of the kids we grew up with. I did what I could to help him pass the years. But he still lost a lot, and now he was a convicted felon, and if it hadn’t been for Skip O’Brien being successful and giving him a decent job at the fish market, Tommy might be bagging groceries at the Acme, and living in a flop house somewhere. Usually, a guy with no prospects and no support system ends up back in the can because he gets desperate and does something stupid again. We were all determined not to let that happen to Tommy.

  I was talking to Angie at breakfast one morning, in midDecember. “Anj” I began, “I’ve been thinking about Tommy Fallone.” “Yeah?” she said, “Thinking about knocking off a bank?” Angie laughed at this. She loved Tommy as much as I did. She was friends with his sister Maria, and she knew Tommy was really just a dumb kid when he did what he did. But she has the same acerbic wit I have, and she likes to bust ‘em now and then.

  “No,” I chuckled, “Thinking about helping him really rebuild his life. He’s got the job with Skip, and he’s living in our apartment on Oregon Avenue, but he’s fourty-four now, he needs to feel like he’s accomplished something in his life. He needs some success. at something he’s good at.” “Oh jeez, Joe,” Angie laughed, “You’re gonna get Stan Stevens to let him get away with knocking off an ATM? Help him deal with his unfinished business? Is this about closure, Joe?”

  I literally shot coffee out of my nose. Angie could be the funniest person in the world when she was on a roll. When I stopped laughing, I said, “No Babe. Mikey Baldino told me that when Tommy was inside, he got a job in the woodshop. Turns out he’s a heck of a carpenter. He’d get old house project magazines and he could duplicate the stuff like it was nothing. They eventually made him a crew leader on grounds maintenance.” Anj shifted forward in her seat and got real close to me. She was smiling coyly. “What do you have in mind, Cuz?” she asked.

  “Well,” I continued, “I was thinking about buying some investment properties over by the college. I’d like to make them as cheap to rent as possible. Maybe find out from the school which students are from real hardship situations and give them their rent at a discount. Maybe free to the right ones...you know?” “Where does Tommy come in with this idea?” she asked. “Well, I was thinking I could bankroll him in his own business. He could get his contractor’s license and do the work on th
e properties for us. Maybe buy a few to flip, as well. Let him get creative and do the work and put the profits in his own pocket. I think it would be good for him. He’d get away from the old element, and he’d be someplace where nobody knows his history but us, and he could make something for himself, instead of feeling like he owes Skip and us for what little he has.”

  Angie sat back and sipped her coffee. “It’s a good idea, babe. I think he could use the fresh start. You’ll maybe let me do the interior designs, hmm?” I had her now. Anj loves designing a home. We’d be great partners in this, and Tommy would have a real second chance at life. “Yeah, babe.” I said, “You and me and Tommy Felonius, building our empire. I’ll talk to him over Christmas. Okay, I gotta get going. I’m having the boat winterized today. I’ll be back at dinner.

  I walked out into the bright winter sunrise. In a few days, my entire family would be here, all of them seeing this place for the first time. I was looking forward to this like maybe no other Christmas before. It was going to be wonderful. I had invited the neighbors to drop by on Christmas Eve as well. I wanted to show them a really good time...Philly style. The Milledge’s said they were coming. The Erickson’s. Even though Larry Erickson likes to pretend he’s in the mob every single time he sees me and he talks to me like I’m “Vinny the Goombah,” and it irritates me like nothing else. Larry is laboring under the delusion that, simply because I’m Italian, I am mobbed up, have peoples legs broken, settle arguments with a gun, and arrange people’s deaths. To be honest, it gets on my nerves and I’m often tempted to just play to it and throw a scare into him. But he’s a good guy at heart and so I try to tolerate it.

  All the neighbors had responded and most said they were coming. All except Phil. Now to be honest, part of me was glad he hadn’t gotten back and I was thinking of quietly ignoring it so he wouldn’t show up. But we’re gonna be neighbors for a long time and so I thought I’d reach out to him once again. When I walked outside to leave for the marina, Phil was in his driveway, picking up his newspaper.

  “Yo! Phil!” I yelled, walking toward him across the street. I walked over to him and said “Good Morning.” He muttered a greeting and I figured he just wasn’t a morning guy. “So Phil, listen, everyone else is coming on Christmas Eve, but we haven’t heard from you and Gladys. You coming over for Seven Fishes, or what?” I was pretty cheerful about this, but Phil went white. It’s hard to tell with Phil, because other than Larry Erickson, Phil is the whitest human being in the world. Erickson is Swedish, so he has an excuse.

  “Well...Uh...I haven’t really talked to Gladys about it yet.” Phil stammered, “I’ll, uh, I’ll discuss it with her today. I’ll have her call your wife either way...’kay?” “Sure Phil,” I said politely, “but try to stop by for a little bit at least. I’d hate for you to miss it. I’d love you to meet my folks, and my grandmother. They won’t be around forever...ya ‘know?” Phil started coughing like he was having a heart attack. “Jeez, Phil...you okay?” He coughed for a long minute and looked up at me with watery eyes. “I’ll see what we can do.” he said. He sort of snarled when he said it and I wondered what the problem was. “Well...okay, Phil. I have to run. Let Angie know, okay?”

  I drove out to Smith Mountain Lake and the marina where my boat was being stored. Now, my boat is too big for the lake. It’s a fifty-four foot Hatteras with twin Cummins diesels. It’s a straight-up, deep-sea rig. But the only marina in the area that was equipped to winterize her was at the lake, so I had her delivered there. In the spring, I’m taking her over to Hampton, to a slip I leased on the James River side that opens out into the Chesapeake Bay.

  It was a longer drive to get to her than when we kept her at Fortesque, NJ, but it’s a straight shot on highway 64 and still only about two hours. Angie and I had decided to buy a smaller boat for the lake. Smith Mountain Lake is only thirty minutes from my house, and we realized that in the long run, we’d be spending more time there than on the big boat at the beach.

  On my way out, I called Skip O’Brien, to discuss the idea I had about Tommy. “Yo! The Caviar Kid! What’s up Paisan?” Skip is always up early to meet the trucks at his warehouse to oversee the off-loading. He has an eye for anything that looks bad. Bad fish would ruin his reputation. Skip worked very hard for that rep of his. Every fish man in the Italian Market buys from him, as do most of the seafood restaurants. Skip is obsessed with perfection where his business is concerned. “What’s happening down there, Joey Trucks?” I laughed out loud. “Maddonn, Skip, you know when was the last time anybody called me that?” Skip chuckled, “Well don’t blame me, you’re the one who moved to Mayberry.”

  There comes a point in your time as a South Philly guy that you shed the nickname. You keep it all through your childhood, then usually when you get married, and your pals get married, they stop using nicknames for a while. Then sometimes in your mid-thirties, you start reminiscing about the old days and start calling each other by the nicknames again. It’s comforting. But for some reason...maybe the position I had in the neighborhood and with the business and all, they never resumed calling me “Joey Trucks” In fact the only people who still called me that were Skip and the guys, and Angelo Cataldi. It was actually really great hearing it again.

  “Skip,” I said, “Let’s talk about Tommy.” Skip got serious. “Yeah, that’s a good idea,” he said, “I was going to call you about him anyway. I think Tommy is getting restless working with me. He’s a great worker, you know? He appreciates everything you and I have done for him. But as it turns out, he’s a creative guy and a heck of a carpenter. I had him build a deck for me at my beach place...you should see it, Joey. It looks like something Bob Vila created.” “So I heard.” I said to Skip. “Mikey Baseball told me about it. He told me about Tommy rising to the top when he was inside at Holmesburg, because he was such a good carpenter. That’s what I want to talk to you about.” I laid out my plan for Skip. I told him about buying investment properties and getting Tommy his license and his own crew of guys. Skip agreed it was a great idea. “But Skip,” I said to him, “I don’t want to take him from you if he’s a great worker. But you’re telling me he doesn’t seem happy and if he doesn’t have a real future with you -and you’re okay with it- then we’ll do it.” Skip assured me that he was all for the idea. “Listen, Cuz, Tommy’s one of us. So that means he has a job with me as long as he needs it. But I want the guy to be happy. He still has half a life left, you know? So whatever you’se decide...it’s good with me.

  Absolutely.”

  “Okay Skip, I’m gonna talk to him about it when he drives my folks down here at Christmas. Speaking of which...you got my fish ready to send down?” Skip laughed, “You better believe it. I’m heading over to get the dry ice tomorrow and shipping it Wednesday. You’ll be looking at a garage full of baccala and a crate of smelts and calamari. Anything else you’re gonna need?” I thought for a moment, “Can you get us some good blue claw crabs this time of year?” Skip laughed, then in a playful, smug tone he said, “Joey Trucks...I’m the Caviar Kid, remember? Uncle Squatch can get you a mermaid and the Loch Ness monster if you have the cash!” Then he said, “I’ll call my guy down in the Gulf, They bring in crabs all year long. Six dozen be enough?” “Yeah that’d be great, Skip,” I told him. “Really great. Call me with the final number and I’ll give you my card. Thanks pal. I’ll talk to you again before Christmas. Say hello to Joanne and the kids.”

  I clicked off the phone just as I was pulling into the St. Georges Marina at Smith Mountain Lake. I drove around to the storage yard and there she sat...my pride and joy. Fifty-four feet of fish-chasing beauty. The Emily A. I named her after the two best girls in my life...my daughter and her beautiful momma. They were just putting on the shrinkwrap around the hull when I pulled up.

  The yard is owned by Pat Sylvester and his family. Pat grew up here at the lake and his father is a tremendous marine mechanic. They were the only people with the facilities capable of winterizing such a big boat. I rolled
up to where she was sitting in the trailer and hopped out. “How’s she coming Patrick?” I asked. Pat leaned over the rail and waved. “Hey Joe.” He said, “Just about finished up. The fuel is stabilized, batteries are inside in storage with chargers on them. We painted the hull and detailed the cabins and staterooms. Once she’s wrapped, she’ll be good until you ship her to Hampton. She’s a beautiful boat, by the way. I’ve always been partial to Hatteras, myself.” He climbed down the ladder and we walked into his office.

  “You know, you could just keep her here,” he laughed. “Smith Mountain Lake is plenty deep enough and I could sell you a slip at a good price.” I smiled at the notion. “Yeah but the lake isn’t big enough. I could never open her up.” “True...true.” Pat responded. I got you the brochures on the houseboats and the runabouts that you asked for. You just let me know what you want to look at and I’ll call the rep and find where they have some nearby.” Pat is a responsive, conscientious businessman. He knows what boat owners like. I appreciated that. I’d only been out here a few times but I’d really been impressed with him and his father, both.

  “You have a bill ready for me, Pat?” I asked. “Yep, right here. Now you’re going to store until mid-March?” “Yes,” I told him, “That’s my plan. Then we’ll have her trucked over to Hampton and she’ll stay there.” Pat handed me the bill and I wrote him a check. I picked up my copy and headed out to my truck. On the way home, I called Jannie, our realtor. I figured I’d have her check on the “fixer-upper” market. I asked her to be watching out for the availability of something we could rent out, and a few we could flip. She said she would, and that she and Kirk and the kids would be over for Christmas Eve.