I am not normally this prolific

But the wife is making me watch the ice skating.

I might finish both books before the fuckin Olympics are over.

Joey Gallo's Lament

We walked upstairs to the detective room. Cousin Mick sat behind the desk. Joe the plumber made a beeline to the chair like he was royalty or something and copped a  squat looking pissed off. My Da leaned against a filing cabinet and looked at his cousin. I stood next to him and looked scared.

“So what is it all about boyo” asked Cousin Mick. He looked at me Da not at Joe. But Joe thought it was all about him so he had to spout off.

“That fuckin' sylph Jew cunt had my kid pinched. She claimed that he was looking at her in the tub. There is no way he was doing that. He is a good lookin' kid. He don’t need to fool around with a skinny ugly Jew cunt. Let alone look at her dusty twat.”

“I see” mused Cousin Mick. “That would be the dragon lady on your block Michael. The law professor from Brooklyn Law no?”

“Yeah that’s her” Da said. “She made quite the scene. Threatened to sue everyone and to get Flynn’s badge. She is a professor. That means she doesn’t know how it works. Plus the kid didn’t do it. He was up on the roof looking for a spaldeen that the kids launched up there playing stick ball. Like we used to do back on Hoyt Street Mickey.”

“So I suppose that that little Mikey is here to swear to that? Isn’t that right son?”

I swallowed and nodded. I didn’t trust myself to speak. But me Da nudged me and I had to speak. “That’s right Cousin Mick. He went up there because we asked him too. We couldn’t afford a new ball and it was Saturday and everything and well we asked him and we are really sorry he got in all this trouble…..” I just trailed off when I couldn’t think of any more lies.

“Funny that. I heard the kids couldn’t play stickball on Tompkins because of some wop scumbag who had a fancy car and threatened them with a beating if they hit his car. Or was that story I heard at Christmas just a tale to amuse an old man?”

Joe the Plumber was fuming but he was smart enough to say the right thing. “How much Kelly?”

“Not in front of the boy” said me Da. “Oh I don’t agree Michael” chuckled Cousin Mickey. “The boy has to learn how the world works now doesn’t he. We did when he was about his age. It’s time for his education to begin.”

“Listen you wop scum. It won’t be easy to clean this up. I know your precious Junior is half a wiseguy. He has been hanging around with the Gallo’s and that is not going to end well. So this is gonna cost you. Two grand. Take it or leave it. I would be happy to put you good lookin lad in a cell with a couple of monkeys we just jugged from down Red Hook projects. Somehow I don’t think he would enjoy the experience.”

Joe the Plumber vibrated like a tuning fork. His face was red and he was shaking like Louie Nerve when he couldn’t get a curse word out. He reached into his green khaki work pants and pulled out a wad of dirty bills. Put them on the table. “When do I get my son” he said.

“Ah I like it when it all works out. Like a fairy tale with a happy ending. I will have the young fella released right now. FLLLYYYNNNN!” Patrolman Paddy Flynn came bounding into the room. “Yeah Kelly?” “You can release the dago peeper to his daddy. Any longer and he will grease up the cell till we won’t be able to use it anymore.” “Ok you cleared it with the Sarge right?” “Don’t question me you simple fuck or  pounding your pud in Red Hook Projects will be your fate toot suit. Just do it and do it now.”

Flynn walked out of the room and Joe the Plumber got up and left without a second glance. Me Da turned to go and I followed him as close as I could. “Michael” murmured Cousin Mick. “You have to be careful if you get mixed up with the dagos. No good is going to come of it lad.” I had to pipe up. “Me Ma is a Dago” I said. “Ah the exception that proves the rule young Michael. Your Ma is an Angel and that’s the truth. I hope you will have me over for a nice Eyetalian meal again soon.” “Sure Mick. I will set it up. I will get my Ma and your Ma and we will have ourselves a party.” “Good I look forward to it.”

We walked outside. Joe the plumber was already gone. I guess that’s what gratitude gets you. Joey and Bobby B were still across the street. “Looks like we have to walk home son. Don’t take this to heart. Sometimes you have to do bad things to help bad people to get a good result.” “What was the good result?” “We get to keep our apartment. Sometimes you have to eat shit to survive. It’s a hard lesson. But Mick is right. It’s time you learn it.”

Eat shit to survive. I was afraid that is all too true.

Joey Gallo's Lament

The two cops had brought out Little Joe in handcuffs and went to put him in the patrol car. Joe the plumber came tearing out of the door in his stained wifebeater and work pants. Barefoot and grimy he was the picture of surprised indignation.

“What the fuck are you doing Flynn? Get your fuckin hands offa my kid. Who the fuck do you think you are you stoopid Mick Fuck?” My Da stepped between them. “Calm down Joe. You don’t want to get locked up too. Let’s find out what it is all about.” He positioned him between Joe and the cops.

“So Paddy what’s the story here?” “I don’t have a choice here Mike. The kid was peeping in the window of this lady here. He was on the roof and she claims she was taking a bath and heard someone walking around.  We caught him on the fire escape. So she called in and we found the kid on the roof. Caught him red handed so to speak.”

“Is that true Joey” my Da asked. He was still struggling to hold back Joe the Plumber who was wrapped in the arms of Nicky’s Dad who was keeping him from a felony charge.

“No it’s a lie. I just went on the roof to get the ball that went up there. I swear. Besides why would I want to look at a scrawny ugly cunt like this who-a” sputtered the Junior jerkoff. He had all the humility of his Dad and none of his charm. His father had no charm at all.

That brought a shriek from Mrs. Golden who was standing in the doorway. She looked wet and fresh from the bath. No matter how much she scrubbed she still seemed to be a dirty girl. She was a tiny scrawny woman with bad skin that looked like it had been abused by both sunlight and drink. A soiled bathrobe enveloped her as she shouted at the crowd.

“Fuck you……you miserable fucking shit. Your pervert son was looking at me in the bathtub and I am pressing charges. I demand you take him to jail or I will sue you and the city and every other one of you useless loser men.” Her face was red and a cord stood out in her neck as she flecked spittle at the cops. "I am a fuckin law professor and I know every fuckin judge in this city. Don't fuck with me. Take this fucker into custody or I will have your fuckin badges." Her son Jacob hid behind me. Fear and embarrassment warred for pride of place. We all closed around him in an instinctive unarticulated gesture of support. Everybody hated his Mom. Everybody. Even him.

“WHAT THE FUCK! YOU ARE LISTENING TO THIS DIPPY CUNT!” Joe the Plumber was losing it. “She had to be drunk. Look at that skinny fuckin who-a. Who the fuck would want to look at her? You might as well look at a fuckin broomstick for fucks sake.”

Flynn shook his head. “You see what I am dealing with here Mike. I have to take the kid into the house.” He lowered his voice and whispered. “I won’t process him until you have a chance to come down to talk with your cousin. He will have to sign off on it anyway.” “Fair enough Paddy I will cool this down.” My Da leaned in and spoke in a low voice "I will see tonight at the Knights and I will straighten you out." "Thanks Mike."

My Da turned around and grabbed Joe the Plumber by one arm and Nicky’s Dad took the other. They picked him up and half carried him in a bums rush away from the ruckus.

“Hold on Joe." They walked a little bit down the block as we followed listening. " Paddy is not going to book him right off the back. We can go down and talk to my cousin. We might be able to straighten all this out.” Joe stopped struggling for a second. He went rigid and then calmed right down. “So the fix is in. Thanks Mikey. I will owe you one. You fix this and no rent this month.” “Ah well we will see about that Joe. Let’s just try to keep your kid out of the hoosegow if we can. No go upstairs and get changed. You can come with me to the cop shop. Oh and bring some cash. I have a feeling we might need it.” “Like that is it. Fuck. You Mick bastards are all greedy fucks. Forget about what I said about the free rent.” “I forgot about it as soon as you said it Joe. Just go and get changed. Let me tell my wife where we are going and then we will walk down to Union St.” “Fuck that. We will take the car.”

“Holy shit” said Frankie Bags. “He is going to move the Country Squire from the spot in front of building. This is fucking serious.” We watched as the cops put Little Joe in the squad car and drove away down the street. “Of course it is serious numbnuts” lisped Bonnie. She had recently lost a tooth and all her “s” were overly sibilant if you please. “They are taking him to the pokey for fooks sake.”

“Jacoooob” shouted Mrs. Golden from the top of her stoop. “Get away from those little bastards and come inside. NOW!” “Sorry guys” said little Jake as he walked warily into his area gate and into his house. His mother pushed him when he got to the top of the steps and slammed the door behind her. It brought a burst of indignation from the mothers who were watching the show.  She was called a whore in several different dialects.

“Shut up One-ball when I want a coozes opinion I would ask you” said Frankie. Bonnie saw red. I thought she was going to haul off and sock him one. Joey Bags and I interposed ourselves betweeen them. As usual we had to make peace. “I wonder what my Da is going to do.” “You know what he is going to do” said Joey Bags in his quiet serious way. He was the opposite of his brother in just about every way. “He is gonna get your cousin the detective to fix it. That’s how it works. You know that.” 

My Da and Joe the plumber came out of the house. Da looked around and saw me. He beckoned me over and said “Get in the car Mikey. You are going to come with us.”

Holy shit on a shingle. I get to ride in the Country Squire. And go to the precinct. My friends all looked at me in disbelief. Not a little awe. I just looked at them with an Aw shit expression. What was this all about?

 

I got in the back seat of the station wagon and me Da shut the door very gently. He got in the shotgun seat and Joe pulled away from the curb in a rush scattering on lookers and passerby’s alike. Da turned around and looked at me over the vinyl bench seat. “Listen Mikey this is important. When we get to the cops we are going to talk to Cousin Mick. You are going to tell him that you asked Joey to go on the roof to get the ball. Do you understand?” “I understand but that would be a lie. He never talks to us. In fact he is always beating us up and chasing us.” “I’ll fix the little shit” growled Joe the Plumber from behind the wheel. “He will never do any shit like that again if I have to break his fuckin head. Doncha worry kid. I owe you one.” “Listen Mikey your Cousin Mick will believe you. Or at least use it as an excuse to spring Little Joe so he doesn’t get a record. A sex rap will dog him for the rest of his life. So a little white lie will be just enough to make it look good.” “That miserable shit. Wait until I get my fuckin hands on him. He won’t be fuckin peeping the fuck.” Joe was squeezing the steering wheel so hard it was a wonder that it didn’t break off. “Wait till you get home Joe” Da said. “Let’s get him out of jug first.” 

Joe pulled up Union and found a spot right across the street.  We got out of the car and walked toward the precinct. Cousin Mick was standing on the stoop talking to his partner Ryan. They turned and looked at us as we trooped up the four short steps to the doorway. 

“Well look at what we have her. The family has come to visit. Michael. And young Michael. To what do I owe this honor” said Cousin Mick.  He smiled a smile that did not reach his eyes. His partner didn’t say anything. He just stood there. Short fat and foreboding. He cracked his scarred knuckles. He scared me.

 

“Need to converse a bit Mick. This is my landlord Joe Grimaldi. I think you have his son inside. I would like to talk to you about it.” “I see” said Cousin Mick. “I would imagine so. Well come on let’s go inside and stop making a spectacle of ourselves here on the street. Ryan you stay here and keep an eye on those boyo’s across the street.” 

I looked across the street. Oh shit. Joey Gallo and Bobby B were standing there. Fuck. This is bad. He saw me with my cousin going into the cop shop. I am in a lot of trouble.

Doc Holliday Must Die

Doc stood out on the wooden boardwalk and watched as the bar swamper and another patron carried the limp body of Lew McCall down the street toward the undertakers. He straightened his cravat and touched his hide out gun in the pocket of his vest. He walked along the boardwalk until he crossed the line. The line was the imaginary border between the upper and lower classes. 

As a dentist Doc had an entrée to the “better” side of town. The further away from the heart of the district the less you heard the revelry of the underemployed. Hickok stood across the street and looked up and down the thoroughfare from the front of the jail house that was smack dab on the line. He followed the group walking down the street with baby steps as they hefted the dead weight of the knucklehead he had just shot. Hickok was illuminated it the gas light that hung from the top of the porch in front of the jail. That seemed a chancy thing to do. Hickok was a bold man. Perhaps it is true that fortune favors the bold. Perhaps it even had a sneaking affection for the stupid. Standing in full view like an illuminated sign seemed stupid instead of bold. It wasn’t Doc’s problem so it was none of his nevermind.

Doc nodded at the dozing desk clerk who jumped up at the sound of the opened door. He slowly trudged up the stairs to his room and unlocked the door. He put his hat on the peg and hung up his jacket. He glanced over at his dental tools that he had put out and polished in anticipation of his new practice.

He sat at the padded chair that was placed against the wall. He picked up his pencil and his notebook and started to pen another letter.

My Dearest Mattie,

I have found my feet at my next destination of Abilene. It is a bustling town with a vigorous population. A perfect place to resume my practice.

I have met the Marshal. A Mr. James Butler Hickok. Yes the famous gunfighter and scout from the penny dreadfulls. I doubt that you can peruse such in the solemnity of your convent but I trust you know of whom I speak. He is a dandy of a man. In fact I think you could legitimately term him a fop. Hickok is a very strong and forceful personality. I think that it will not serve him well in the long run.

 

Please do not be concerned. I remember how you would often chide me about my temper. I recall how you chastised me for whipping that darkie that had given you offense. You should know that age and illness has tempered my disposition to a degree that will allow me to avoid conflict with the great Hickok. In fact I venture to surmise that he will be in conflict with a young gunman called Hardin who is being pushed into a fight he does not want and might not win. 

I have noticed two things in abundance in this town. Cow droppings and bad teeth. So I am hopeful of starting up a practice that will support me in a manner that will preclude me for relying on games of chance as anything other than a pleasant pastime.

Speaking of which I believe I have run into an old friend who we both knew back in Missouri. Kate Melvin who was the young foreign bride of my friend and fellow dental student Silas Melvin who had joined us on those wonderful picnics that we had along the river in the springtime of our youth. I am sorry to say she is in reduced circumstances that I would not trouble you with. I will endeavor to converse with her to see if I might help.

 

Please remember that I am always at your service. If you ever call be assured that I will come and let nothing stand in my way. Not the disapproval of your parents. Not the wrath of your God. I am always your obedient servant and seek to only to do what will make you happy. Even if it means being these many miles away from you.

With fondest regards,

Your Dearest Cousin,

John

 

I need a phone booth to don my mantle of self-rightousness again.

I got accused of being self-righteous and aggressive in the thread that Michael Haz put up at  Lem's place. I guess I realize that I have tendencies in that regard. You know the same way Palladian has tendencies to chase after Peruvian busboys and ricpic has tendencies to throw nickels around like they are manhole covers. We are all who we are after all. A product of both nature and nuture.

When I was a kid in the days talked about in "Joey Gallo's Lament" I used to go with my entire class to the nine o'clock Mass. 150 strong we would sit through a Latin Mass where the only thing you would understand was the homily. So you waited for that and looked forward to it.

The priests were always straightforward about sin and punishment. You did bad things and you would burn in hell. You could go to ask for forgiveness and absolution but you had to change your evil ways. There was no forgiveness and no redemption if you stood by or continued in evil practices. You had to exercise your free will to change the wrongs that you might have committed. If you didn't you would be punished in the firey pits of Hell.

Everyone has to determine what level of sins they can live with. Cheating on your taxes. Cheating on your spouse. Sexually abusing your adopted daughter in the attic. Fingering borrowed dogs in the park until they whimper in shame. What you can't do is expect to make an excuse and be forgiven like nothing happened. That there is no consequence for what you do.  I think we have lost that. The theme of guilt and punishment has been leached out of modern society. Wait I take that back. You will be excoriated and destroyed if you are not sufficiently subservient to liberal shibboleths such as racism or gay rights or feminism. Then the villagers gather the torches and pitchforks. But if you speak against unfettered abortion and the murder of the unborn as a sin or that you will face consequences for supporting such you are branded as out of step. As being a soldier in the "War on Women." As being aggressive and divisive and wrong.

Revenant made a big stink a while ago that abortion critics should murder abortion doctors and raze the clinics if they were serious that it is murder. He was just being a dick but I can see his logic. I always think I am not doing enough. When I met that girl who was the product of a botched "legal" abortion I wanted to bust out crying like a big old faggot. I thought about how little I do to effect change. But what can you do? There is evil in this world. I don't understand how some people can not see it. The most I can do is pray about it and contribute to charities that help young women make a different choice.

I guess it takes all kinds to make a world. Even Catholics like Andrew Cuomo who would kill a baby that could live and breath on it's own as if it wasn't a child of Gob but just a lump of protoplasm.

I am just glad that Father Delvechio and Mother Assunta and the people that taught me are not alive to see what we have come too.

Doc Holliday Must Die

 

The play continued into the night. Lady Luck ladled her charms from one player to the next. Which was not unusual as it seemed that they were evenly matched. In time quality will tell and the drover busted on a pair of sixes.  Mike Williams was the next to drop out as he had to walk the town  for the final patrol of the night. Since he had lost a fair amount nobody protested. That left the gunmen at the table. Hickok, Hardin, Doc and Ben Thompson made for a deadly game. Polite and soft spoken but deadly none the less. The only rub was the Thompson continually tried to goad Hardin into a conflict with the Marshal. He was subtle. Maybe too subtle because Hardin while a being a hot head did not bite at any of his provocations.

“Take two please” said Doc as he tried to match up a pair of deuces. He drew an Ace and a Queen. He looked up and saw a new girl walk down the stairs with a customer. She looked very familiar. Tall and pleasingly plump she had two proud breasts prominently displayed in low cut frock. As big and proud as they were they were nothing as compared to her regal proboscis. Her Regal Roman Nose gave her a strong and bold countenance. She seemed to him to be someone he knew from long ago. Where did he know her from?

He turned back to the table the play was to him and he had been raised five dollars so he folded. Thompson took the hand. Again. If he kept that up he might be the one to have a problem with Hardin. Men plan and God laughs.

While Hickok was shuffling the deck the girl came up to stand behind Thompson and put her hand on his shoulder. She looked over at Doc and smiled demurely. Well as demure as a woman with cum stains on her dress might be. “Helloooo sir” she purred in a strange accent. Suddenly Doc remembered. That was Russian. No Hungarian. “Hello Mrs. Melvin. Fancy meeting you here.”

“Mrs. Melvin? Who the hell is that?” Marshall Hickok chuckled. “This here is Big Nose Kate that Ben was telling you about young Mr. Hardin.” “Pleased to make your acquaintance Ma’am” Hardin murmured politely as he stared at his cards. The game required his concentration and he wasn’t going to get sidetracked. There was time to fuck. Time to play cards. He liked to do them one at a time.

Doc looked at the young woman’s face and saw the plea in her eyes. “I must be mistaken Ma’am pardon me for my clumsiness. You remind me of someone I knew back in Missouri. I beg your pardon for my confusion.” “Yes I am sorry but I do not know you sir” she said in a soft Hungarian accent. “But I would like to.” She smiled at him and walked away.

“Looks like she likes you Holliday” said Thompson. “Course she likes most anybody with a dollar and a dick but still she seems to taken a fancy to you. Maybe she has a bad tooth.”

Doc looked up from his cards and squinted at Thompson. The free flowing tension  in the air had seemed to turn its attention to him. He would play it smooth. No need from trouble. He couldn’t shoot his landlord before he even moved in.

“That‘s possible Ben. Once I set up my office I will be able to accommodate her. In whatever her needs may be.” “Can we play cards” snapped Hardin. He had lost the last four hands and was getting increasingly out of sorts. “The deal is to you Holliday.” “Yes it seems that it is” said Doc. He smoothly gathered up the cards and started his shuffle. It might be a good idea to stack the deck so the young gunman could win a hand or two. Otherwise it might come to a cartridge affair when it need not.

There was a commotion at the bar. Two disreputable patrons pushed each other. One of them reached out and grabbed Big Nose Kate's breast and pulled it out of her dress. She hauled off and slugged him. Right in the eye. He slugged her right back and knocked her to the floor and drew back his leg to kick her. The other miscreant grabbed him to stop him and they struggled against the bar.

 

All the players had risen from their seats. Thompson started to walk over but Hickok put out his hand to stop him. “This is my play Ben” he said. He hustled over to interpose himself between the two drunks and the girl. Doc was right behind him and helped the soiled dove to her feet. She was beside herself. So much so that she didn’t notice that her teat was still outstanding. Although most of the men in the bar noticed. They all thought it was outstanding.

“I told you before McCall that I wasn’t going to put up with your shit. Abusing the whores is no way for a man to act. Let’s go I am taken’ you in.” “Fuck you Hickok she deserved it. She’s just a fuckin’ whore and whores deserve what they get.” “McCall I can’t believe you would talk such. What would your mother say?” “Why would she care?” “Why she would be upset that you were denigrating her profession.”

McCall was dumb so it took him a minute to understand the insult. Being as he was also stupid he decided to go for his gun. Unfortunately for him his piece was a dog leg pistol as big as a horses cock. He kept it in his belt because it made him feel like a big man. He took the gigantic single action gat out and brought it up so slowly you could time it with a sundial. When he had it half way up Hickok palmed his left hand Colt and shot him dead.

“Damn it Hickok why did you have to kill the dummy” said Phil Coe who had rushed out of the office when he heard the shot. "You can't go shooting my custom." “He had it coming Phil” said Thompson. “He was abusing the whores and he drew first. The Marshal saved me the trouble.” “No trouble Ben. Stepping on a bug. That’s my job.”

Deputy Williams burst in through the doors leveling a shotgun at the crowd. “Calm down Mike all the festivities are over. Get a couple of these fellas and take McCall down to corpse tenders. Gentlemen I guess we will call it a night. I reckon a killing always puts a damper on an evening.”

The players all agreed and took their money from the table. Hickok nodded at them and walked away. Hardin and Holliday watched him as he strode away.

“Damn he was fast” said Hardin. He shook his head with a sense of admiration and not a little envy. “He did that right slick. Couldn’t have done any better my ownself.” “Something to think about John Wesley” said Doc. “Something to consider when somebody is pushing you into something you might not be planning to do.” Hardin gave Doc the side eye. “You caught that too. Ben seems to think he can get me to draw on Hickok. It ain’t gonna happen. Not in this life. Why look for trouble when there is no need. Besides it looks like Coe is first in line.” “He might be at that” said Hickok. “Goodnight John Wesley.” “Same to you John. I think I will have a last drink and make the acquaintance of one these fine ladies. The night is young.”

As Doc walked toward the door he glanced over to Kate. She had repaired her dress and looked at him. She nodded. Barely. Doc winked at her and headed out into the night. Tomorrow would be a busy day.

 

He might even have to pull a tooth.

Lovely .....Don't you ever change

Some time you can't listen to the fools....Just turn the beat around....

You just got to get out there and dance. Leave the rat-tat-tat of the drums call the tune. Turn it upside down.

Love to hear it baby!

Choices

There is always a choice. A book you can choose to read. A TV show you can choose to watch. A thread you can choose to comment on. You are known by your choices.

There was a kid on American Idol who played a George Jones tune in his solo test to make the cut.
"He Stopped Loving Her Today." A pure tone on a great tune. I think it will be a good season this year.

Have a little faith.....It will get better

We all need to have a little faith. Most of the people who post here are people of faith of one sort or another. But if you are not that is fine too. You have to find what helps you get through the night.

Faith is so very important to so many of us. That's what makes it so disgusting when manipulators who have none try to take the words of your faith to use against you. To say that you fall short of the doctrine and dictates of your faith. What they don't realize is that we know we fall short. Man is born of original sin. We try our best to over come but the ocean is so big and our boat is so small.

When haters throw your religion in your face you have to take a breath. Try not to just beat them down the way you want to do with your first impulse. You know that they don't believe. They just want to use clever debaters tricks. I just ask what Delbart askes.

Have a little faith in me. It will see you though.

My favorites baby!

After Chickie shared his favorites at Lem's  I have to give my "Top Ten on my I-pod this month"

10. In the Garden- Van Morrison

9.   Have a Little Faith in Me- Delbert McClinton

8.   Black Coffee- Julie London

7.   Kick in the Head- Dean Martin

6.   Oh What a Night- Frankie Vallie and Four Seasons

5.   The Way You Look Tonight- Frank Sinatra

4.   Choices- George Jones

3.   Turn the Beat Around-Vicki Sue Robinson
2.   Take Me to the River- Al Green

1.   I Feel Good- James Brown

I find it hard to enjoy Lem's when Crack is stinking up every thread. He is in a frenzy lately and it is getting very boring and repetitive.

I almost never say this about a Met

But Ralph Kiner was a good man. Maybe because he was basically a Pittsburgh Pirate at heart. I remember many a night that I had to listen to Kiner's Korner while the old man was sipping his Reingold and Ralph was interviewing Ed Kranepool or Jerry Koosman or something.

Ralph was an all around good guy. Here he is with two other good guys Yogi and Stan the Man. Ralph had done it as a home run hitter in the big leagues and he knew what was what. He was kind but he didn't sugar coat it. When the Mets screwed up on the field he let you know it. They did that a lot.

His Kiner's Korner interviews were classics. His malapropos and non sequiturs were very entertaining.

They don't make announcers like Ralph Kiner and Phil Rizzutto and Harry Carey anymore. It is all blow dried douchenozzles like Bob Costas and Joe Buck.

Rest in peace Ralph.

Rave On John Donne

When we are subjected to the inarticulate ravings of a lunatic in every thread I thought it best that we listen to John Donne raving on and on and on...........

Joey Gallo's Lament

Joey Gallo pushed open the door to Gussie’s bar on the corner of Smith and President St. It was almost the other side of the world for him. The main headquarters of the gang was President down past Columbia near the docks. Once you got past Court St you were verging into other territory.  Back in Prohibition time it was controlled by the Irish. The remnants of Owney Madden’s West Side gang. He was the head of the Irish Mob and the Micks from Smith St called on those Gaelic guns when they had to go up against the Wops. The big breakthrough was when Al Capone married Mae Couglin from Dead End at St. Mary’s Star of the Sea. The big man actually served as a peacemaker and beat on the Micks and Wops so that they could all get along. Of course it helped that Charley Lucky and Meyer signed on after Maranzano bought it. When Albert Anastasia got control of the Longshoreman’s Union in Brooklyn Al brokered it so the Micks ceded it to him without a fight. A wary peace prevailed. Now the Micks weren’t a factor anymore. Unless they were on the cops. Those were the biggest crooks of all.

The Park Slope Crew headed by the Snake were starting to infiltrate down this way. Everything below Court belonged to the Gallo’s. Everything above Third Avenue belonged to the Snake. The in-between area was more or less up for grabs. Everybody could earn. Which meant that nobody was safe. You could pay off one guy and then the other would brace you. It made for a complicated life.

Gus Papalokis looked up from the sink full of glasses that he was washing. Well not really washing. Dipping in a sink of tepid water and wiping with a filthy rag until he up them upside down on the wood shelves to make another water ring on the abused mahogany.  Everybody called Gussie’s by what shoulda been the real name. It was universally known as “Scuzzies.” Just because it was generally a disgusting bucket of blood saloon. Weak tap beer and cheap whiskey and rye served in dirty glasses. There was a jukebox full of old Irish tunes like “Danny Boy” and “The Wild Colonial Boy.” In the back room there were a couple of old school slot machines that were relics of another time. People still played them but they weren’t as popular as they used to be. The one thing they had that made them different was a full blown pizza oven. It was a gas oven and it was Gussie’s pride and joy. The pizza’s they made there were sloppy and disgusting. But man did they taste good. Gus had a cousin who never said a word but just made pizza nonstop from eight at night until two in the morning. The drunks who congregated there just kept getting pizza and getting soused. Of course a pizza was way cheap in those days. One dollar. So it was no big deal. Half the time Gus gave it away to keep people drinking.

When Joey walked in with Bobby B and Slappy it had to be bad news. The Gallo’s were never good news. Gus could take care of himself. He was a former welterweight prizefighter who had a decent run. Made enough to buy the building and open the bar. Just not enough to get out of the life altogether. Sometimes it walked in the door and bit him right in the ass.

The three gangsters walked up to Gussie and sat down on the other side of the bar opposite the sink. Gussie knew Joey by sight and had no idea who the kid with the mop of hair was. The trouble was gonna be with Slappy Aielllo. Another ex-pug. They had always hated each other. Slappy was a middleweight so they never had a bout. Plus Slappy was a Frankie Carbo guy so he had protection as he was coming up. Until he blew out his knee and had to switch to being a leg breaker. He hated the fact the Gussie got a title shot even though he had to throw the fight. Gussie hated it too. He was so pissed that when he took the dive they heard the splash in the last row of the Garden. It was so bad that the Boxing Commission actually took a look at it. Not a long look to be sure but still a look. That was the last fight Gus was able to book. So he decided discretion is the better part of getting plugged. Retired. Opened a bar.

“Hi fella’s what can I get ya” asked Gussie. He looked them straight in the eye. If he was going down he was going down swinging. “You got any espresso pop” asked the long haired kid. “No sorry no coffee. Just booze and beer. And pizza. Want a slice.”

“Yeah pizza” said Slappy. He got off his stool and walked over to the oven. Pushed Mikos aside and opened the oven. He looked close like he was trying to figure something out. “Yeah pizza. That looks really hot. Ya think it’s hot in that over Bobby?” “Yeah I bet it is Frank. Real hot. A person could get burned and shit” said the kid. “Yeah he could. Ya gotta be careful” said Slappy. “Ya know what I mean Guzzie?”

Gus kept his eyes on Joey. That was where the decision be. “What can I do for you Joe?” “You can pay your dues to the union Gus.” “What union?” “The bartenders union.” “I never heard of the bartenders union.” “Maybe not but that might be because we just started it. Five bucks a week. Payable now.” “You know I am with the Snake.” “I don’t care if you are with Jesus Christ. Or his fuckin father. You gonna pay me five bucks a week. That’s the deal. If the Snake has a problem with that he can come talk with me.”

Slappy banged down the door of the pizza oven and then slammed it shut again. Smiled. And looked at Joe.

“Well when you put it that way Joe waddayagonnado?” Gussie went to the register and banged down the No Sale key. He took picked up the tray at the bottom of the drawer and took a  twenty out of the register. Slid it across the bar. Joey nodded and Bobby B took it and put it in his pocket.

“I will be sending Bobby around once a month. Same time every month. I hope I don’t have to come see you again.” Joe got up off the bar stool and walked to the door. Bobby B winked at him and followed to open the door. Slappy stood there for a minute and shook his head.

“Next time Gussie. Next time.” He put his hands in the pocket of his leather jacket and walked to the door that Bobby B was holding. Slappy turned back to look at Gussie who was wringing his bar towel. He make a gun shape with his thumb and forefinger and pointed at him. “Bang.” Walked out the door.

Gus sighed. Mikos looked at him. “What was that about uncle?” “That was trouble Mikos. Worse part of it that it is just starting. Fuck. I have to figure this one out. Start cleaning out the oven and get ready for the night.” “Ok Uncle.”

Joey Gallo's Lament

We quickly decided to choose up a game of fist ball. There was me, Joey Bags, Sally Shitpants, Louie Nerve and Jacob Golden. Frankie Bags was the captain of the other team. He had Nicky Squirrel, Bobby Big Ass, Johnnie Snot-rocket and Bonnie One Ball. The usual teams.  We split up in groups. Nancy was hanging around as always and we told her to be the scorekeeper. Even though she was slow she was very proud that she could count. So we gave her a piece of chalk and she was busy chalking out a scoreboard with the innings and everything. Just like at the Stadium.

When you choose up sides you did the odd and even finger choose and it always ended up more a less the same. Frankie would never choose his brother Joey because they hated each other. Almost as much as they hated their father who had them working for him all summer. Their old man owned a garbage company and sometimes they would have to fill in on a truck when one of the moolies wouldn’t show up for work which happened all the time. I mean they were kids but they were doing it since they were nine years old. Their old man was a bastard and beat the shit out of them all the time. He only knew garbage so I guess that is what why he treated them like that. Garbage.

You always had to have Louie Nerve and the Johnnie Snot-rocket on separate teams. Louie was always cursing and spitting cause he had the Tourette’s. Johnnie was always eating his snot. I mean the guy was unbelievable. You can see a kid digging out a nugget here and there and chewing on it when you are a baby. You know a little kid. But Johnnie was always up his nostril almost to the elbow. He would pull it out. Inspect it. And chomp down on it like it was his mother’s meatballs. Both of them were so freaking disgusting that you couldn’t keep them on the same side. It upset the balance of the universe or something.

Louie Nerve piped up first as always. “Fuck, shit, piss in your mother’s twat I call leadoff asshole!” “Relax yourself pally” I said. “You can lead off. Joey you are up next than Sally. I will be cleanup and Jake you take up the rear.” “He takes it up the rear, Fuck, ass, tits, cocksucker” Louie shouted. “Piss pants cocksucker.” “Enough already go up Louie before I give you a smack” said Joey Bags in his quiet manner. Joey and Frankie were both big on not letting people be bullies. They got smacked around a lot by people bigger than them so they didn’t like people doing that on the block. In fact most of us did.  We always took the side of the underdogs. Even the underdogs that wore piss stained underwear.

Louie stepped up the manhole cover that was home plate. He bounced the pimple ball a couple of times and threw it up in the air and slugged it down the third base line. It shot passed the Chrysler Newport that was third base on a bounce and rolled onto the sidewalk. Bounced off the stone area gate wall and rolled back on to the street. Nicky Squirrel was playing the outfield and chased it down eventually. He wore these coke bottle glasses that were attached to his head with a strap so they wouldn’t fall off as he was as blind as a bat. The Squirrel finally corralled it and pegged it to Bonnie One Ball at Second Base but Louie Nerve slid under the tag.

“Fuckity fuck you twaty piss cunt fuck I’m safe” Louie spewed curses and salvia indiscriminately. Bonnie just shook her head and her hand to get off the spit. “Fuck you douchebag” said Bonnie. She always gave as good as she got. She was the last of the tomboys who still wanted to play ball in the street. Now that most of us had turned thirteen a lot of stuff had changed. Gina and Angie and Josephine had all stopped playing street games a year or so ago. They dressed different too. No more jeans and t-shirts. Now they wore girlie clothes. But not Bonnie. She still wanted to hang with the boys. She had auburn hair and creamy skin and a shit pot of freckles. Which you couldn’t tell under the boy’s clothes and the thin layer of grime from running around the streets with the rest of us knuckleheads. Bonnie just wandered around with the map of Ireland on her mug. She was another half breed smart mouth like me. Half guinea and half mick. So tough that we called her one ball because it was like she was half a guy. Not for nuthin she didn’t take no shit. Certainly not from the likes of Louie Nerve.

Joey wound up and punched the ball with all his considerable might but popped up to short. Sally hit a grounder that Bobbie Big Ass fielded clean. He tried to tag Louie Nerve but the Nerve swerved and avoided the tag so Bobbie threw to Frankie at first for the second out. So I was up.

Suddenly I heard Nancy calling in her deep retard voice. “Mikey, Mikey why are the policemans here? What’s going on Mikey?” I turned to look and said “I don’t know Nancy let’s go see.” We hadn’t been paying attention as usual when we had a game going so we didn’t see that a cop car had pulled up in from of Jacob’s house. Two patrolmen were walking in the door. It had suddenly become the focus of the block. The old ladies were hanging out the window with a pillow under their arms as they craned their necks to see what was going on. A bunch of little kids on their bikes were in front of the gate as a couple of Moms still wearing their Betty Crocker aprons with flour on their hands were gossiping while they tried to see what was going on. Most of the men had just started to come home from work since it was around five o’clock. In those days everybody worked on Saturday. We were all on thin ice and every nickel counted.

My Da had just turned the corner and he was talking with Nicky’s father as the trudged home from the subway. They were good friends from the Knights of Columbus. My Da still worked at the Irving Trust but he picked up side accounting jobs on the weekend. Nicky’s Dad worked the elevator at A&S downtown cause in those days they had somebody running the elevators none of this push button bullshit. They came up to us as all the kids from the game had clumped up in front of Jacob’s house.

“What’s going on son” asked my Da. “Why is everyone standing around? Is something wrong?” “I don’t know Da but the cops are here and they went into the Golden house. Maybe Jakey should go in to see what is happening?” “I don’t want to do that Mikey” he said “do I have to?” “No you don’t have to do that Jacob. You stay here with us till we get it all sorted out” Da said. “Thanks Mr. K.” My Da looked at Nicky’s Da and he shook his head. It was like they knew something. That something bad had happened and we would find out soon enough. No reason to rush it.

The door finally opened and Patrolman Flynn walked out holding somebody by the arm. Holy shit! It was Little Joe Grimaldi! Joe the Plumber’s son who lived in my building. He was in bracelets and the cops were arresting him! Holy shit on a shingle. What was he doing in the Golden house? Why was he in cuffs? What the fuck?

This shit was going to be good.

Joey Gallo's Lament

Saturday was always the best day. No school.  No worries. You would get up and gobble down breakfast. Maybe some Super Sugar Crisp. Man that was rocket fuel. It had to be 100% sugar. Top it off with a couple of white powdered donuts and a big glass of orange juice. You wiped the white sugar off of your shirt. Or you didn’t. It flew off anyway as you went out to run around with your friends. The gang would meet up in front of the gynie pump in middle of the block. That was the focus of the block. There was a big gang of kids. Different ages but all pretty close in age. We were the baby boomers. Born in the 50’s and we were together all the time. Went to the same Catholic schools. Same church. Same streets. We all knew the same stuff. And that was all we knew. That and no more.

Everybody was Italian. Or least your Ma was Italian. My Da was Irish as was two of the other kids. There was a Greek. And one who was an Americana since his pops came from Kentucky. We were pretty homogenous if you look at it that way. Since we were all the same we sort of all got along. I mean there were fights all the time and we ranked each other out and busted balls unmercifully. We duked it out with other blocks and other neighborhoods. But the guys on Tompkins Place stuck together. Even when you were a weirdo.

We had a couple of kids we considered weirdo’s. There was Louie Nerve. He was always shouting out curse words and spitting and acting like a dick. Now we would say he had Tourette’s syndrome. Back then we just said he was all fucked up.

There was Nancy the Retard. Which she was by the way. I mean she was an actual retard. A Mongoloid kid who lived in the middle of the block. She was exactly my age and the age of my closet buddies. She always tried to hang around with us. You would think that the kids would be mean to her. But we weren’t. I mean we knew her all our life. And our parents would kick our asses if we were mean. Plus she was fucking strong. I mean Hercules strong. She could beat the shit out of most of us when we were little kids. Not so much anymore as we were just hitting puberty and some of us were getting our growth. That wasn’t an issue anymore. We just made sure to include her when she came out. She couldn’t play fistball or stickball but she was a pretty good stoop ball player and hell on wheels at Sckelly.  Her pudgy fingers would send that bottle cap flying across the board like a rocket and knock your cap right up onto the sidewalk. Things has started to change in the last couple of years. Most of the girls stopped with the street games. Even the tomboys. That summer were into combing their hair into long straight hairdo’s like Joni Mitchell and Marianne Faithful. The girls were all about make-up and giggling and fighting amongst themselves about some bullshit we didn’t understand. Except for Nancy the Retard. She just stuck with her Pete Rose haircut and tried to hang out with the gang.

The weirdest of the kids was Jacob. Jacob Golden. He was the only Jew on the block. Maybe even in the neighborhood. His Mom had bought old man Russo’s house after he died. She was some sort of big shot professor at Brooklyn Law and all the ladies on the block hated her. Not because she was Jewish. Well not “just” because she was Jewish. She was divorced! And she worked. Short and skinny and mean. Smelled like cheap wine and cigarettes. And weed. Left her kid alone all day and night. He was the original latch key kid. It was even worse than that. She had taken up with a never-do-well type guy that she had met at the college. He was the janitor or something. They weren’t even married. They drank and fought all night long. I mean that wasn’t unusual in the neighborhood. Everybody’s parents fought. Sometimes the wives got smacked around. But Jacob’s Mom was the Smackor not the Smackee. That’s lawyer talk. Which she was quick to throw out whenever she dealt with normal people. So most of us kinda felt sorry for Jacob. I mean we still busted his balls all the time. He was a skinny fuck and too quick to run his mouth. But we included him in our games because we felt sorry that his Mom was such a nasty cunt.

This particular Saturday we started out playing stoopball. That’s where you take your spaldeen and bounce it off the bottom step of a stoop. You scored based on where the ball went. If the team on the field caught it you made an out. Usually we said if you hit six foul balls you made an out. But if you hit it right and it went right across the street to the opposite side you got a hit. If it hit the side walk it was a single. If it went into the area gate it was a double. If it hit the building across the street it was a home run. You almost never did that. Which was good because if you hit a window you had a good chance to break it.

Stoop ball was good because you could have any number of players as long as you had two. So you started out and as more guys showed up you added them to the teams. Once we had enough guys we would choose up a game of fist ball. Then you would switch to a pimple ball. That was easier to hit with your fist and didn’t hurt so much. You saved the spaldeen’s for stoop ball and stick ball because they would really fly. Plus the pimple was cheaper and we were always losing them. You played fistball like baseball in the middle of the street. You just didn’t have a bat or even a stick like in stickball. You just threw the ball up and punched it as hard as you could and ran the bases. Which were always a car for 1^st and 3^rd and a sewer cover for second. I was a pretty good player. Not the best but not the worst. That was Jacob. He was even worse than the Retard.

It wasn’t good for his self-esteem. I guess it was a good thing that we didn’t know what the fuck self-esteem meant back in those days. Otherwise more of us would have been depressed.

Another Bullshit de Blasio Move

Now Mayor Sandinista has announced that he is boycotting the St. Patrick Day's parade because they parade doesn't let gays march. That is to say they can't march as gays. They can march as cops or fireman or band members or even members of the Knights of Columbus.  I mean look at this fuckin' guy. He has to be a sword swallower.

They just can't march as gays. That is what the gay parades are for. Of course if they marched as gays they would have to push the envelope. Soon you would have floats with dancing mo's with butt plugs. This is a Catholic parade that celebrates Catholic traditional values. Not that it matters to de Blasio and his ilk. They will never respect anyone else. In the guise of inclusion they will destroy anyone who does not think exactly like them.

Even gay mayors like Koch marched without a fuss. It is only a matter of time until de Blasio tries to ban the parade all together. It is gonna happen. This is just the first step. The economic benefit and tradition and joy that the parade brings mean nothing in the face of political correctness. So I would predict that the parade will not get a permit soon unless they knuckle under. I hope they cancel the parade if they try that.

Winter is here.

Joey Gallo's Lament

Joey walked into the Luna and scanned the crowd. In the back he saw his brothers with Joe Jelly and couple of the boys. He strutted in and took a chair from an adjoining table.

“Well the Snake is out. It is just us. So we better get moving. I think we have to go to the mattresses because once the shit hits they well be up our ass. Especially that mick fuck Kelly. He has a hard on for me and he is going to roust us at every opportunity. We can yank him back a little by threatening to pull the pad but if the Snake makes up the diff then we are fucked big time.” Joey grabbed a piece of  scungilli off of Joey’s plate and scarfed it down.

Larry Gallo was the brains of the outfit and he looked very troubled. His long sad basset hound face got even sadder. “Joey are you sure that we are gonna do this. I mean this is gonna be a shit storm. Maybe we can do it off the books without showing our hand and letting them know what we are doing.”

“Look they ain’t dummies. At least not old man Profaci. That miserable fuck survived every fuckin war since Joe the Boss. He knows where every nickel is and he will know if we are holding back. So we might as well go balls to the wall. I want to snatch up Profaci and couple of capo’s. Bug Eye and Joe Colombo at the least.”

“And then what? You think he is gonna keep his word when we let him go? You know he is gonna promise the world and not do shit once he is back in his fortress in Jersey. He is just gonna put us out there and there will blood in the streets. We got what…twenty maybe twenty five guys? He’s got a hundred who will be running to put a bullet in your face to get straightened out. Plus the little man and Three Fingers will take his side. They don’t want to see no boss get whacked. Unless they did it like the Hatter. I mean if we are gonna do it we need to finish it. How many times do I have to tell ya. Don’t ask for permission. Cause they are just gonna say no. Just do it. Then you can apologize. But you did it and they can’t undo it.”

“That’s fuckin nuts” said Joe Jelly. “I mean I’m ready. I don’t give a shit. I will put a couple in his greasy guinea head. But why kidnap him. Just whack him and his sons when they come out of the Olive Oil Company. What the fuck? Why make it complicated?”

“Why…because I said so” growled Joey. “If we drop a bunch of bodies in the street we will have the cops up the ass. And the other Dons are not likely to let it lay. This ain’t fuckin Chicago and you ain’t fuckin Al Capone even if you got the sylph. Capise you fuckin chooch?”

Joe Jelly ground his teeth. He was a tough guy. Nobody talked to him like that. Nobody. He had twenty two bodies. But he didn’t fuck with Joey. “Whatever you say boss. Whatever you say.”

Larry just shrugged. “Ok I just thought we should talk about it. What happened at the cops Joe? I haven’t heard you say what was going on?”

Joey snorted and gulped a shot of anisette and a sip of espresso. “It was that stroonze Kelly. He just likes to fuck with me. He had that pig partner of his tune me up and asked about Tringale. He knows it was up. Even knew he owed the vig. Somebody is fuckin’ blabbing. Bobby you better find out. It’s your ass if this goes any further. Kelly is like a freakin dog with a bone. He ain’t gonna let it go. So we gotta make sure nobody drops a dime.”

Bobby B was the youngest member of the crew. Still a kid basically. But his uncle had been in the can with Larry before he caught the cancer so they were bringing him along. He woulda been graduating high school if he hadn’t been kicked out for makin’ book. He had longish hair like one of those Beatle faggots but they overlooked it because they used him to sell babina and weed to the kids. So he had to fit in. Him and his running buddy Little Joe the Plumbers son were out every night working the younger crowd. I mean they were out there looking for trim but Bobby was always looking to peddle shit. It was a great way to score some bacala.

“Don’t worry Joe. I will find out what’s what and let you know. Those mooks will keep their mouths shut. I promise” said Bobby. “You better you simple fuck” said Joey. “It’s your ass. If you ever want to get straightened out you have to do a clean job without the cops coming around to roust us every minute. That shit don’t work for me. So figure it out before I have to get involved.”

“I don’t know Joe” Larry said sadly. “I mean if we can’t handle shit like this how the fuck are we gonna take on all of the family? You sure?”

“I’m sure Larry. There ain’t no turning back now. So stop with the questions and help me win this? Ok?”

“I guess so Joe. Waddagonnado?”

Joey Gallo's Lament

When my shows were over it was time to go home. I had to walk home down Degraw St. to Tompkins Place where we had our apartment. In those days they didn’t panic if you were a kid and you had to walk home. Once you were old enough to cross the street on your own you could go to the stores and shop for your Mom. Now my Mom would usually take the other kids to visit at her  and we would all go home together. But my sister was sick that day and they stayed home so I had to walk home by myself.

Grandma packed up a big pot of sausage and peppers to take home. She always made enough to feed an army. My Da loved her cooking. He met my Mom when they worked together in the cable Department at the Irving Trust. He was a handsome Irishman with the gift of gab and she was the cute little Italian girl who was so serious about her Job. He would always tease her “When are you going to invite me home for a home cooked Italian meal?” She played hard to get but finally she said “How about tonight?” So he came to my Grandma’s house.  Grandma cooked but my Mom was the host and served him a nice Italian dinner. They ate dinner together every night until the day my Da died.

As I passed Clinton St I started to see some of the kids from the block fucking around. They were lighting a cherry bomb in front of old man Sanzone’s house. He was one of the nasty old fucks who always chased us away when where playing stickball or fistball or even Skelly. So we loved to screw with him. Frankie Bags had set up a Cherry Bomb in his mail box. He lit it and we all ran like hell. Which sucked for me because I was toting a pot full of sausage and peppers.

Anyway when it blew it blew the front plate of the mailbox right off and it flew up and broke his window. Holey Shit! There was going to be hell to pay.

We had a prime gang of Knuckleheads on Tompkins Place. Tompkins was a great block to grow up on. It was two-way street but there wasn’t all that much traffic. Like Cheever Place and Strong Place it was an afterthought for the traffic . We could play ball all day without always having to stop to let cars go by. Sometimes it would be a whole hour before a car would turn down the block. We would play endless games of stick ball or fist ball or even Skelly with a board we would chalk out right in the middle of the street. The street didn’t even seem that dirty in those days. We would set up the Skelly board and lay down right in the street and flick our bottle caps with our fingers like we were Minnesota Fats or the Cincinnati Kid or some shit like that there. Of course just when you were about to win the pile of pennies that were the stakes some car would turn down the block and run over the game and crush the bottle caps into the tar. The rule was you had to use the same cap so you ended up losing. It was a life lesson that all kids should have. You don’t get that fondling your freaking X-box or whatever shit they do now.

I hurried home because I didn’t want to get caught up in the backlash of the latest bullshit that Frankie had come up with. I walked up to my house and I saw the landlord outside washing his Ford Country Squire Station Wagon. Man he loved that car. He would shine it and polish it and make love to it like it was a hoo-ah or something. Of all the nasty old men in the neighborhood Joe the Plumber was the worst. He  beat the living shit out of so many guys that he was a legend. Joe the plumber was a skinny little weasel but he was quick. Always seemed to have a wrench or a pipe in his hand. He wasn’t connected or anything but even the wise guys stepped lightly around him because when he went off he would kill you as easy as not. With his three hulking sons he was not somebody you fucked with.  There was Paulie and Vinnie and Little Joe.  It was like Bonanza. Only with shitheads.

We rented an apartment in the plumbers house. In those days everybody lived in an apartment. Even the people that owned the brownstone lived in one floor.  I was always walking on eggshells around the landlord. Didn’t want to get us thrown out for hitting his car with a spaldeen or something. The only reason we had an apartment was because he liked my Da. They were drinking buddies. He respected my Dad because he could actually read above a fifth grade level. And he did his taxes.

“Hey what you got there kid” asked Joe in his raspy voice “something from your Grandma.” “Yeah it’s sausages.” “Gimme here” he said. He put down his rag and came over. Took the loaf of bread I had in the bag and broke off the ass end. Split the bread and took off the cover of the pot and speared a sausage and some peppers and onions like one of those claws at John Bargin Store where you would fish out prizes for a nickel. “Thanks Kid . Your Grandma is a great cook.”

When you were the King you took what you wanted. Until somebody cut off your head. I read that in a history book.

On top of Spaghettti

Smile when you say that partner.

Just sayn'

Sorry Peyton

I know it was terrible. It will haunt you dreams. But it will pass. You will forget someday. Just put back on your dress and concentrate on your job.

Joey Gallo's Lament

Joey stood on the corner of Union and Bond. He looked around to see who was out. Not a soul to be seen. He scanned the windows of all the houses in sight. No old women hanging out the window watching the world go by. All the blinds were down. Except for one window covered with the Daily News. Junkies. Or Beatniks. No one was in sight.

He took the cylinder of the thirty eight and threw it down the sewer. It fit easily down the drain. He walked down Nevins to the Carroll St Bridge over the Canal. It was just as deserted. He looked both ways but there was no action. He took the rest of the piece and put it in a burlap sack. Picked up a rock from the side of the road. Broken piece of pavement. It was all fucked up down here. The city never did any maintenance. Why would they. They thought South Brooklyn was a slum. Full of guineas and micks and now they were getting spics from the PR. Not what the classy people thought of as humans even. Joey took the rock and put it in the sack with the guts of the gat and tied the end in a knot. He tossed it off the bridge into the Canal. It bounced twice on the water. Then it sunk down. That was how filthy the water was down there. It wasn’t only Jesus that could walk on water on the Gowanus Canal.

Joey walked briskly over the bridge till he got to Montes. He nodded to the mook sitting on a kitchen chair at the small parking lot. He was the half a retard cousin of the owner.  Kid was sitting with his hand down his pants playing with pepino. Thank God he wasn’t driving. He had to remember to not take his caddy here.

Inside the restaurant it was dark with the lights turned low and candles flicking on the table. It was a classy joint. Red checkered tablecloths with candles in Chianti bottles on every four top. He saw them sitting in the booth and walked over.

“Hey how you doing” he said. The Snake and Apples looked up from the plates of mussels they were devouring. “Hey Ubatz what the fuck you doing here?” said the Snake. He was named right for fucks sake. He was lean but very muscular. He didn’t look like a Snake. He was called that because he was as treacherous as one. Apples was a big beefy Irishman who would beat you to death as soon as look at you. Both hard men. Both of them were wary of Joey. You never knew what a Crazy man would do.

“I wanted to talk to you” said Joey. “I know we been talking about old man Profaci kicking back more dough. We been working our ass off and he is taking all the cream. He is never on the streets. When was the last time you saw him. He doesn’t even go to his olive oil company anymore. I mean who knows if the fuck is even alive. We could be kicking up to a corpse and his bug eyed fuckin’ cousin is spending our money and laughing up his sleeve.”

“So what do want to do about it” asked the Snake. He looked at Apples. “The man wants to talk to the boss when he knows the boss hates his balls so much that if he could get away with he would cut them off and feed them to his fucking dog. Sometimes it’s best to stay out of it. Until you get the call. Like they did with the Mad Hatter.”

“Yeah well who the fuck wants to wait for that. It might not happen. The little man ain’t going against one of the originals. We are on our fucking own here.”

“No cuszine you are on your own. We ain’t doing shit without putting it on the books. That is just the way it is. Right Apples?” The beefy Irishman just grunted and kept eating.

“Well at least I know where you stand. Just stay out of my way. I telling ya. Stay on this side of the Canal and mind your business, capice piasan?”

“Sure whateva you say Joey. Whateva you say. Want some food?”

“No thanks. See you around. Oh and Apples.” The big man looked up. “You are one fat fucking Mick. You don’t stop eating like a fuckin pig you gonna catch a heart attack.” Hate blazed in the big boys eyes. He put his hands on the table to brace himself and push the table away from the booth. Crazy Joe picked up a fork and plunged it through his hand and pinned them to the table.

“WHAT THE FUCK YOU CRAZY FUCKIN FUCK” 

Joey slowly backed out of the restaurant with his hand in his jacket. It was chaos. Apples was cursing and prying his hand off the table and the Snake was staring at Crazy Joe and shaking his head. The waiters were running over with a towel and some ice.

“Fuckin Ubatz” said the Snake. “FUCKIN UBATZ!”