Snippet 5

The park was just down the street from the bar. It was a strange little park in the middle of million dollar brownstones. It had a wire hurricane fence and some benches and a war memorial from I think World War One. The senior citizens often came there to take the sun and the Jamacian nannies would bring the yuppie rug rats out to run around and scream while they gossiped. At dusk it was empty. Except for a man sitting on the bench across from the memorial.

He was of medium height with very nondescript features. Didn't look anything like his old man. He was dressed to the nines as usual in a fancy suit with shoes that probably cost more than my car. He was one guinea looking bastard with olive skin and kinky curly hair that caused him a lot of grief when he wore it in the style of an Afro when were in high school. Of course now he had it styled in a razor cut like all the wise guys did these days. Ever since Gotti glammed it up they all tried to look like the second coming of Amard fucking Assante.

"Hey Mikey. Very dramatic meeting in the park like this. Why couldn't we meet at your mothers house. At the kitchen table."

"Bobby thanks for coming. Sit down, we need to talk."

I sat. "I heard about your dad. Sorry man."

"He's dying Bobby. Got maybe two weeks. And the fucking sharks are circling. You hear about that shemanutz Victor." That was the capo from Park Slope who was the acting street boss of the family. He was the Snakes right hand man while he was in the joint. A real piece of work. Everybody hated him. Everybody was afraid of him. So far the fear was winning out.

"No what's that got to do with anything."

"He's just waiting for the old man to go. Then he's coming after me. Big time. And the rest of the guys in the club. Benny. Short Leg Louie. Bobby Bells. Shit he might even wanna whack Louie Nerve for all I know. He hates 'em enough to do it. It's going to be some sick shit."

"Hey that sucks man, but what can I do about it. I mean really. You made a lot of enemies Mikey and instant karma shit is gonna rain down on you or whatever that stupid song sez, ya know."

"Yeah I know. I can't just sit here and let it happen. I have to make a move. And I need your help."

"My help. That ain't happening. Look I can get jammed up just talking to you. There ain't shit I can do for you so forget about it."

"You do that computer shit down at the cops. I need access to addresses and shit. Even phone numbers and what not. I got somebody in the phone company can help me out I tell where to look. I gotta know whats going on. I gotta make some plans." He took out his gold cigarette case and lit up a Lucky Strike. He looked away at a bird walking along a ledge, "You owe me man."

"Did you talk to the old man. Is he still got his marbles. What does he say?"

"What does he say? What he always says. Blast em. Kill the fuckers. Each and every one. Down to the third generation. He says I have to do it now to set myself up. Otherwise they will take a run at me every fucking month till they get me. I don't know if he ain't right Bobby. I got to do something. And fast. I think that prick is just waiting for the old man to die. He's still shitting yellow at the thought of him. But don't help me in the long run."

I had to agree. But I didn't feature getting involved again in this shit. I had made my peace with it and got out of the line of fire. I couldn't let him pull me back in.

But I couldn't abandon him either. We went back too far. We knew too much. He was right. I did owe. Big time. Shit this sucks.