Joey Gallo's Lament

Vito, Nunzio and Sal just backed up and left. They went across the street for pizza. But I was a hard headed half an Irisher. I wanted my panele’s and rice ball and I was gonna get them. No matter what.

I told Gimpy behind the counter my order. “Gimmee a potato panele special and rice ball Gimpy please.” I was a polite little prick. I stood my ground while he tossed the paneles and potato croquets into the deep fryer pot and put the rolls on the counter to spoon in the ricotta. I stood there leaning from one foot to another as I tried to be quiet and inconspicuous. I didn’t wanted to piss off Joey. I mean the guy’s nickname was “Crazy Joe.” You don’t want to fuck with that. 

There was the sound of car pealing up Union Street. It stopped short in front of the store and bounced back on it’s springs like one of those freaking dogs on the back window of a Puerto Rican’s ride. Two Irish detectives were maneuvering their massive guts out of the car. I thought it was time to make a move.

“Hey kid come over here” Joey said.  I sped over to his table. He handed me a brown paper bag. “Take this shit and run out the back. I hear you can run. Run you’re fucking ass over to the club and give this to Albert. Nobody else. And don’t get caught. Move you little fuck.”

I grabbed the bag and ran out the back as fast as I could. It opened to back yard and I sped up to the wall and jumped up and over. I was nimble back in the day.

I ran as fast as I could around the corner to Sackett Street to get away from the cops. As soon as I turned the corner I slowed down and walked normal. Didn’t want to attract any attention. From a busy body old grandma as much as the cops.

Now you know I had to look in the bag. Waddayagonnado?  It was pretty heavy. The top all scrunched and greasy and wrinkled like an old lady’s neck in the sun.

There was a couple of rolls of bills. Some betting slips. And a gun. That looked like it was just fired.

I had to get rid of that shit as fast as possible.