Diamonds and Dogs
“Pull over,” he barked, “I
gotta crap.” I pulled over his Cadillac to the curb. It could be
just about any street in any town within the city and when Uncle Joe
told me to pull over because he had to crap - I did. And I’d find
some little diner or bar/restaurant for him to crap in and I’d sit
and have a Coca-Cola while he poured over the sports page in some
rest room that I wouldn’t even feel comfortable pissing in let alone
going #2.
Yet, again, just Uncle Joe’s
demeanor in general was different than mine – different than my
father’s. My father had completed two years of university, joined
the U.S. Navy around WWII and then when he had successfully served
his country took advantage of the G.I. Bill and a loop hole he had
found for law school that went something like if you completed two
years of college with high marks and served your country you would
be eligible for law school. So, my father, always doing things in a
certain distinct fashion completed college and law school in just
four years.
Uncle Joe did not serve his
country nor attend any college. Though he did graduate high school.
Uncle Joe came out from under the men’s room sign at the back of the
diner and walked by the counter where I sat and he had the usually
greetings and goodbyes toward him, “Oh, Guiseppe, you ah’hell-of-ay-guy
you! When you gonna settle down, huh?! How’s your brother? You
tell’em I said hello, alright? Ciao. Ciao. You be good!” I left my
Coke on the counter and followed Uncle Joe to the car. “Now, let’s
go get this done, alright? I want to make it to the ball game on
time for the 12:35 p.m. start.
I didn’t really know where we
were going or why but Uncle Joe needed my help and I needed some
extra cash as I didn’t go the route of law school and wasn’t going
to take over the firm as everyone in the neighborhood and county, as
a matter of fact, expected me to do. They all thought I’d take over
and live in a huge house by myself and have lots of girlfriends and
go bald. Well, I wasn’t bald or balding – I lived in a nice home
that was always kept respectably but was on the average side of size
and I was married to a great girl that I loved madly. She was okay
with me not being a big time attorney like my father however it was
a priority that I do my job of bringing home good money. That’s why
I helped Uncle Joe on-the-side with odd things.
“This, is it – right here, JR!
Try and park as close to those double yellow doors as you can get.
We want to get this stuff on a dolly and put it in the car quickly
and get the hell out of here. I wanna get to that ball game to meet
the boys.” Sometimes I wasn’t certain what we were picking-up or
dropping off. Everyone assumed because we were Italian and had money
that we were in the Mafia. I just blew all that off. For what the
heck was the Mafia anyway, anyhow? These were the people I knew and
grew up with – that’s all. Besides everyone knew and loved my father
– he had a far far reach that always blew me away. As my great
grandmother, Rose, would say, “Your father is the best lawyer in the
United States of America!” People always treated him with respect
and, in turn, aside from the white trash that used to call me “rich
boy” and try and get money from me or threaten to beat me up –
(though there was always someone there to come out of the wood work
to help – Thank God sometime) - In general, I was safe.
We loaded the dolly with five
thick and heavy cardboard boxes that were all the same size and
weight and look. The elevator was slow – One of those old time
service elevators that had a double set of wooden gates you had to
lift up to get out and pull down to go anywhere. I read the writing
on the wall inbetween floors. It amused me.
Heading down to the ground
floor my stomach had an uneasy feeling and my throat started to
constrict a bit and get dry as my chest tightened.
Before we even got level with
the ground I saw the black shoes and pants on three men. “Oh,
Madonna, Mi,” this isn’t good I thought. I knew. It was useless to
try and stop the old elevator and go back up as it seemed to stand
still and slowly go in the way of what was to come. “Bang! Bang!
Bang! Bang Bang!” They shot uncle Joe five times. The men wore black
jackets and masks. “Get the shit!,” one demanded of the others. “The
kid’s alright – don’t worry about him! Just get the shit and let’s
get the fuck out of here!”
And they did. They left me
alone without even a word or scratch and were gone. Uncle Joe lay
against the elevator wall slumped over – awkwardly breathing. I felt
like crap. I was calm though. I was calm like the summer day it was.
“JR, one favor,” he still
managed to bark but with this time with compassion. Take my money
belt and give to Bianca –tell her it’s for her and the kid. Don’t
tell her anything else but I love her. And tell my wife that, bitch,
that she can now have the diamonds and the dogs all to herself
without any kind of fight. There’s no need to fight anymore. It’s
hers.”
John French
June 29, 2006
Mystrawhat.com
