Joey Gallo's Lament

Joey Gallo squinted at me as he held his Lucky Strike in two fingers. He flicked it into the street. “Hey kid come over here for a minute” he said. Joe Jelly just kept sucking on his cig and rubbing his stomach. He rubbed himself more than most pregnant women. Of course his belly was bigger and full of jelly.

I had no choice so I went to stand over by them. The strangest things go through your mind when you're scared shitless. I could smell Mrs. Catrupie’s sauce bubbling away on the stove from the window above our heads. In those days on your way home you would smell the Sunday sauce cooking as you walked along the street. If you had an educated sniffer you even knew what they put in it. If it was Sicilian or Neapolitan or Barresi. Did she use basil or fresh oregano? Pork or just beef? The sauce you were seeking was blowing in the wind.

That wouldn’t help me. If Joey wanted to throw me a beating I had to take it. And not say shit. I couldn’t have my family go after him. They wouldn’t go to the cops. My uncles might try to get even. I know they worked with some of the Genovese guys over on Pier Seven. Or even worse me Da. Or worst of all my Grand Uncle Liam on my father’s side of the family. Jeez. That would be bad. I would just have to take my beating like a man. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Don’t worry kid I ain’t pissed at you” Joey said. “Am I Joe” he asked Joe Jelly. “Nah the kid is alright for half a mick. It’s his fucking cousin that is a pain in the balls.” “Listen I know you were in the cops covering for that little shit Little Joe whacking his bag looking at some skank. So no sweat offa my balls. Just remember to keep your mouth shut about our thing capicé?” “Sure thing Mr. Gallo. I didn’t say anything. I just brought it to the club just like you said.” “Did you look in the bag kid” asked Joe Jelly with what he thought was a menacing look on his face. It would be almost comical if you didn’t know that this mook was a stone cold killer.  Like a constipated beardless Santa Klaus. “Of course he looked you dick” Joey laughed. “He’s a smart kid. I would expect him to look. Just not to say shit. Right kid.” “Right Mr. Gallo” I said. “Call me Joey kid. You’re allright. I hear you run that gang of kids on Tompkins Place and Degraw and Kane. I used to run a gang of kids too when I was your age. It’s good to be King eh?” “Yes sir” I said and thought better of it. “Yeah Joey you are right. But I ain’t a King. More of a Joker.” “Ha you’re a fucking ball buster. I like that” Joey said. “Listen you ever have a problem you come see me at the club. I’ll help you out. I owe you one. No go to your Grandma before those pastries get fucked up. Say hello to your Uncles for me. Or not. Whatever you think best.” “Thanks Joey” I said. I walked away down the street.

Holy Shit on a Shamrock! Fuckin’ Joey Gallo owed me one. Not that I would ever try to collect on it. I would leave it in the bank. Like a fuckin Christmas club for a Christmas that would never come. I was just glad I didn’t catch a beating