That was settled for now. In a week, Tommy would be here with my folks and Nonna and we’d discuss what he was going to do for the second half of his life. The house was ready, the food was being shipped, my family was on their way. This was going to be the best Christmas in a long time.
Over the River and Through the Woods
Christmas was only three days away. I called Tommy and made sure the final details had been worked out for the trip down. I called Mr. Tripoletti at the pharmacy on Shunk and asked him to send a couple of Xanax over to my dad. If worse came to worse, he could drug the old girl again and get her down here. Tommy called me on the twenty-first of December. They were loading up and heading out. So Joey tells me they were on their way. If all went well, they would be here by dinner. I knew better than think all would go “well.” Not with Nonna in the car. I told Tommy to take Eighty-One South and avoid the whole D.C. corridor traffic jam. That way he wouldn’t be paralyzing the old girl with the Baltimore tunnel. The only bridge on this trip would be the Tidings bridge at Havre de Grace. It’s straight and flat, so she won’t ever lose sight of the road. He did as he was told, but she still had to pee every forty-seven seconds or so. Then, once they hit Nelson county, she saw the signs for “The Walton’s” museum and made Tommy stop, under the guise of another pee break.
Nonna loved the Waltons. So much so, that when we were kids, my friends and I had a game where we made up Italian names to replace the characters on the show. We called it, If The Waltons had Been Italian... We had characters like Poppa and Mamma of course. Nonna and Nonno, obviously. But the kids names were classics. Elizabeth was “Elisabeta” Jim-Bob was Jimmy-Roberto (There’s no real Italian version of “James”) Ben was “Biaggio” a little side note on this one...Nicky Bowties once cracked that “Biaggio” on the Waltons was the result of an illicit affair between John Walton Sr. and Sylvia Mastofione, my dad’s office manager. The group of us went silent for a second and then I threw a pretty bad beating on him for it. I never liked Nicky after that and he felt that same way. I always suspected that he’d rolled over on Tommy because of my cleaning his clock that day. I can never be sure, but you didn’t disrespect Sylvia and Benny. Not when I was around.
Anyway, next was Mary Ellen, who we named “Maria Elaina,” then Jason, whom we simply called Lenti, derived from the Italian word for freckles, Lentiggini, because he had ‘em, I had to ask Nonna what the word was. Of course the star of the show was John-boy. At first we called him “Giovanni-boy” which wasn’t very funny. The Italian word for boy is “ragazzo” and “Giovanni-Raggazo” is too cumbersome to be funny. So –being twelve and thinking this is hysterical- we called him “Johnny Rags.” Sort of an amalgam of the Italian and the American. I made the mistake once while watching the show with Nonna, of saying outloud, “Hey look, it’s Johnny Rags!” I had to cook up some elaborate story about that one or she’d have figured out the game my friends and I were playing.
So now you can understand how enamored she was to have stopped at the Walton’s Museum on Nelson County, Va, and why it made the trip last almost nine hours.
By the time she finally said goodnight to John-boy, it was 7PM, and they still had about 90 minutes left to go. Tommy called me again at 9PM. They were turning down my street, he said. “Get out here!” he said as he hung up. Angie and I and the kids were waiting on the porch when the black Suburban rolled up the circular driveway. Tommy came to a stop and jumped out to open the doors. He was shaking his head and looked pale around the lips. Pop hopped out and helped my mom out of the truck. Then he opened the door and started to get Nonna. I stepped in and said, “I got her, Pop, you take momma inside. We have food in the oven for you.”
My dad looked relieved. I’m guessing Nonna drove him nuts. I helped Nonna from the car and she gave me a kiss on the cheek. The kids came over and hugged her dutifully...all except Emily, who hugged her like she was a long lost puppy. Emmy loved Nonna, and had a different relationship with her than the boys did.
Emmy walked her into the house and I helped Tommy with the bags. “You look good in that suit, Tommy.” I said, punching him in the arm. “Yeah, well it’s okay I guess,” He said. “But this trip...Maddonn this trip!” I laughed and asked him, “What happened, the old girl’s dam break?” “No, no water damage.” he said, “But somewhere around Harper’s Ferry, she remembered who I am.” Tommy told me how it went down. “Oh you’re Rose Fallone’s boy Thomas, aren’t you?’ she said, “the one who went to Holmesburg for robbing a bank.” Tommy was trying not to laugh at himself. He does a great impersonation of my grandmother.
“I swear, from that moment on, she was calling the shots, Joe.” Tommy shook his head. “Stop here, Thomas. Stop there Thomas. Thomas I’m hungry, do they have wedding soup here, Thomas? I want some wedding soup.” When I tried telling her that we needed to hurry and get here, she’d start with the guilt-trip. ‘Oh!’ she’d say, ‘Oh how your momma cried when you went away, Thomas. Every day she’d go to mass and say prayers for you. The other people in the neighborhood would mutter under their breath when she walked in, but I stayed with her. She was a wonderful mother, Thomas.’ Maddonn, Joey...I wanted to slit my wrists!” Tommy was laughing about it now, but I imagined it was very awkward for him at the time.
I put an arm around his shoulder. “Tommy...you’re a champ. C’mon inside, Anj made Osso Buco for you, special.” This made Tommy smile. He loved Osso, and Anj made it better than anyone. We carried the luggage to the guest rooms and sat down to dinner.
Tommy was having his first Christmas with anything like a family since he was 31. It was a time for celebrating. Christmas Eve was only a couple of days away now and with it would come Dei Festa, de Sette Pesci. The Holy Feast of Seven Fishes. My family was either here already, or on their way.
All was right with the world.
The Christmas Eve Massacre
(Joey Trucks Makes His Move)
“Gladys, get over here!” I whispered. Gladys came from the kitchen. As she entered the living room, where I was standing, she turned on the light. “Why are you sitting in the dark, Phil?” She said. “And why are you whispering?” I tried not to punch myself in the face. “Gladys!” I whispered loudly, “Turn off that infernal light, and lower for voice, for the love of God!” Gladys stood there, like a deer in the headlights for about 3 seconds. Then she turned off the light and walked over to where I was standing near the sofa in our living room, looking between the blinds at my murderous, mobster, neighbor.
“Phil,” she asked again, “Why are you whispering?” “Why am I whispering? Because I don’t want Mezilli to know I’m watching him, that’s why!” How can this woman be so thick? “Phil, he’s across the street and it’s December 21. The windows are closed. You think he can hear us?” She made a good point. “Gladys listen to me...I just saw him deliver three of the seven victims.” Gladys cocked here head like a Labrador again. “What victims, Phil?” She was sounding sarcastic. “The victims, Gladys. The victims. The seven people who are going to sleep with the fishes on Christmas Eve. I saw them. Here have a look.” Gladys looked through the slit in the blinds.
“You see that young fella there in the suit? He drove the Suburban, so I’m guessing that’s his paisano.” Gladys said, “What’s a paisano?” I shook my head. “Gladys, did you not pay attention to Goodfellas or The Sopranos or The Godfather, at all?” Paisano is what them mafias call their friends.” I explained. “That one wearing the suit is the guy our murderin’ neighbor arranged to kill his parents and his grandmother. His grandmother.” I hissed. “That heartless, ruthless animal has four more coming, I ‘spect. And they’re gonna all get whacked on Christmas Eve.”
“He’s going to hit them? Like a pinata?” Gladys questioned. “What on earth are you talking about, Gladys?” I said, trying hard not to start smacking my head against the wall. “Well, you said he was going to ‘whack’ them. Like whacking a baseball? Or playing ‘Whack-a-Mole?” How our kids survived childhood with th
is woman is amazing. “Gladys, how did you ever figure out how to boil water? When them mafias are gonna kill somebody they use a code word. They say “whack.” He’s gonna whack seven people on Christmas Eve and make them sleep with the fishes.” I explained. Then –because I knew it was coming anyway- I explained what “sleep with the fishes” means. “So he’s gonna kill these people on Christmas Eve? Gladys asked. “Yes,” I said, exhausted from the amount of thought power I had to expend here. Gladys was quiet for a minute. Then she asked me, “But he’s having an open house Christmas party that night. Their house will be full of people from about 7PM until midnight. When’s he gonna kill them all?” “I don’t know, Gladys!” How the heck am I supposed to know? I’m doing my best to expose this killer as it is, I can’t think of everything! Maybe the party will be his alibi somehow.”
Then it hit me. The party. We’ll go to that party –as much as I don’t want to go- and I’ll keep real close to them poor souls he plans on whacking. I’ll saved their durned lives, that’s what I’ll do. That’s just what I’ll do! “Gladys!” I said emphatically, “Tomorrow, you call Mrs. Mezilli and you inform her that we’ll be coming to that ‘Christmas Party’ they’re going to be throwing. You tell her we’ll be there. I’ll get my proof at the party, that’s for sure!”
Gladys told me she would tell Angie Mezilli the next morning that we were coming to the party. “Heck,” I said, “I should just walk over there right now and tell him myself” Gladys looked at the clock and said “Phil you can’t go over there now...it’s ten-thirty!” I know that Gladys, but heck, Joe and his hitman friend from Philadelphia are still standing out there on the porch. In fact their they’re looking right over here at us. Good thing I’m so good at this or he’d see me. Look at them over there...drinking coffee and smoking big cigars like Tony Soprano himself. Nobody but them mafias do that” “Nobody but mobsters smoke cigars and drink coffee Phil?” I heard in a whisper over my shoulder. I turned to look at Gladys, “You tell her we’ll be there. I’m gonna get my proof at that party.”
The Redemption of Tommy Felonious
“You had one of these since you’ve been out?” I asked Tommy as I lit the Presidente. We were sitting on my front porch, catching up after Tommy feasted on his absolute favorite dish in the world. “No, Skip doesn’t smoke ‘em. And I haven’t felt right about spending the money on something for myself since...you know.” I felt Tommy’s embarrassment. I needed to put his mind at rest. “Tommy...listen. Nobody who loves you holds that stuff against you. You got that, Cuz? That was a one-time mistake. It was a big stupid one, I’ll give you that. But that was over twenty years ago. You more than paid your debt. Everyone else has let it go. So it’s okay for you to do the same.”
Tommy was quiet. His voice broke as he turned to look at me. “Thanks Joey. Thanks a lot. That means the world to me. It’s hard...ya know? I mean I was gone during the best times of a man’s life. The years when you become something.” Tommy paused, took a deep breath, and stared at the glowing ash of his cigar. “Look at me, Joe. I’m forty-four years old. I’m a convicted felon. I’ve been in a federal pen a third of my life. What the heck am I going to become?”
I wanted to handle this delicately. I didn’t want Tommy to think I was giving him charity. That would suck whatever remained of his pride right out of him. “You aren’t happy working for Caviar?” I asked. Tommy took a pull on the Presidente, paused, blew it out slowly and said. “Skip? I love Skip. He’s one of us, ya know? But c’mon...there’s no future for me on the docks and in his warehouse. Skip has kids. He’s gonna set up a dynasty with his boys. He keeps his Uncle around but other than that, his goal is to have all four of the boys running the show by the time he turns sixty.
“Squatch still works with Skip?” I said, a little surprised.
“I didn’t know that. I figured him to be retired in Avalon NJ, by now.” “No, he still works with Skip.” Tommy answered, “Skip says the Squatch knows shellfish better than anyone alive. So he lets him do the purchasing for that. Plus the old guys who buy from Skip remember him from the Italian Market days. He’s an icon in that industry.” I chuckled. “Still hairy as Chewbacca?” I said, smiling around my cigar. “Oh yeah,” Tommy replied. “And he’s taken to wearing those tank-tees in the summer. He gets sweaty and the shirt sticks to him and he looks like a beaver pelt wrapped in a shower curtain.” We both had a long laugh at that.
After a minute of laughter, and another of silence. I looked over at Tommy and nudged him a little. “This is nice, eh Cuz?” Tommy smiled sweetly. He always had a sweet smile. “Yeah...yeah it is.” I was really enjoying the moment when I glanced across the street and saw the kitchen light playing Phil Lowery’s silhouette against his living room blinds, again. “Son of a...I swear I am going to really start to hate that guy!” Tommy look startled. “You don’t hate anybody, Cuz. What the heck are you talking about?” “Tommy,” I said. “Real slow and natural, take a look across the street, diagonal to my house. You see the guy peeping?”
Tommy casually looked over at Phil’s house. “Ha!” he laughed, “You brought Mrs. Begnetti down with you?” I smiled at that. “No, paisan. This guy’s worse than old Mrs. B ever was. His name is Phil Lowery, and for whatever reason, he has seen to it that I don’t do anything over here without him peeping. If he’s not peeping, he’s snooping around in my garage when I’m back there.” “You mean he hides and spies on you?” Tommy asked. “No, not quite.” I answered. “But he’ll return a piece of lawn equipment or a tool and then linger around, listening to conversations. He drives me nuts. I’ve reached out to the guy as much as I can figure out how to. I think he just thinks he’s some sort of private eye.”
Tommy smiled wistfully. “You gonna cover the windows with newspaper?” “You remember that, huh?” I said. Tommy nodded. “Yeah, that was the summer that...you know. Nicky and me.” I felt a wave of sadness roll over me. I knew what Tommy meant. The summer we decided to teach Mrs. B. her lesson about peeping was the same summer Tommy and Nicky tried knocking off the ATM. That was the last summer he was on the block until he got out. In fact, the whole newspaper affair happened only about a week before his arrest. That was Tommy’s last freedom and he was only thirty-one at the time. Now here he was, fifteen years later, smoking a cigar with me on my front porch in Virginia.
“That was a long time ago, Tommy.” Tommy stared at his feet, and he was slow to answer. “Yeah. It was. Half a lifetime. The good half, ya know?” I thought for a few seconds before asking him the next question. “Tommy,” I began, “One thing I never asked you. Not in all this time.” Tommy knew what was coming. “Why?” he said, “hell I don’t know, Cuz. Seriously. I thought about it a million times while I was inside. Why the hell did I let Nicky Bowties talk me into this? Why did I have to try the endaround and hit an ATM?” I let Tommy talk this out. I think he was still trying to reason it within himself.
“I guess,” Tommy continued, “I guess it was just watching you guys all become successful. Becoming grownups and all. Something inside me felt like I was never going to get anywhere. I mean, you had the trash trucks. And even thought you really didn’t want to join in the business with Giuseppe and your dad, it was obvious that you were going to do really well for yourself. Plus you had Angie and, to be honest...god damn Cuz! You hit the lottery with that girl.” Tommy blushed immediately. But he knew I wouldn’t be offended.
Tommy went on, “Skip was already brokering with his uncle Squatch and he’d gone to college. Mikey had gotten his insurance license, Dominucce had his job as a teacher. My crew was growing up and moving on. I guess I felt like youse were all gonna grow up without me.” I didn’t know whether to speak or not. I sat there silently for a few long minutes while Tommy turned this stuff over in his head. “I guess I just wanted to do something big. I don’t remember if I ever even considered whether I’d get away with it. I guess maybe just the thought of trying...you know?”
Tommy took a sip of his coffee. He star
ed down at the ground and poked the concrete on my front steps with a little piece of a stick. “I don’t know, Joey,” he said, “I was scared. I was scared I was never going to be anything more than Tommy Fallone Jr. Some mook from the neighborhood that everyone called ‘Tommy Felonious’, who never amounted to what his friends did. Maybe get a job driving a delivery truck like the old man, or work down at the Navy yard like everyone else’s father did. I was thirty-one, I’d never done anything at all with my life, and Nicky Bowties made it sound like a good idea.”
I let a few long minutes pass. Tommy seemed to be sorting this out in his own soul for the first time. Finally I asked him, “Tommy, why did you not speak up to the D.A? Why did you just let Nicky roll over on you like that and not give your side of things? Didn’t they offer you a deal too?” Tommy looked at the ash on the end of his cigar for a long time. Then he looked at me. “You remember when they booked us and you and Anj came to the Roundhouse to see me and check on making bail for me?” I told him I did. “Well,” he said, “I was so embarrassed when I saw you and your wife coming in to sign papers to bail me out. Angie was pregnant with Petey and came to the jail anyway. I knew what they set bond at and how much that cost you. I was pretty low at that point. I guess I felt like I deserved prison. So I got silent and took my lumps.”
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t understand Tommy’s reasoning for that, except that, to be honest, I’d never felt like a failure to that degree in my whole life. I’d swung and missed more than a few times – we all have. But I have never been humiliated at my own reflection. Tommy had been, by that point. While I didn’t comprehend it or understand it, I somehow grasped the pain it made him feel.
The Legend of Joey Trucks: The Accidental Mobster Page 21
