Charley and Meyer

Giuseppe Morello limped into his parlor floor apartment on Pleasant Avenue. It had been a hard day. In a long string of hard days. He hung his old fashioned hat on the coat rack and his worn jacket as well. He did not dress in the style of the new style Mafiosi. They were all flash. Expensive pin striped suits. Loud ties. Big white fedoras. They looked more like pimps than men of respect. But then they were a different generation. Sons are expected to reject their fathers. Unless sense was beaten into them. You could do that back home in Sicily. Not so much here in this Golden Land. That was the root of so much of their problems.

Giuseppe sat in his favorite overstuffed chair. He rearranged the doily that he had disturbed with his withered limb. His wife Lena came in with a large cold glass of water and his pills. She set them on a coaster on the side table and looked at her husband. They had been married for fifty five years.  She had been his one true partner.

He picked up the water and gulped down his pills. The helped with the pain. A least a little. It was all he had since he would never get any better. His wife stood next to him. That was unusual. He looked up at her. “What is it?” “I am sorry to bother you but Ciro is here. He is in the kitchen. Can he come in and speak to you.” “Of course, of course he is my brother after all. Tell him to come in. Make some espresso. We will talk.”

Ciro Terranova came in from the kitchen to sit on the plastic slip covered couch across from the Don’s chair. He was dressed in the new racketeer style. Wide pinstripes and two toned shoes. Giuseppe thought him a clown. But he was his idiot half-brother that he had protected all his life. Now he was a big man in the rackets. He was working on controlling the artichoke market. It was fitting he based his life on a vegetable.

“Piddu we need to talk” lisped Ciro. He has a speech impediment that was a source of amusement to many of his contemporaries. They mocked him. Just not to his face. “Things are heating up. This new cafone in Brooklyn is flexing his muscles. Joe the Boss has to make a move soon. We can sit quiet and let things lie. Bodies will be hitting the street soon.”

“Bodies? What bodies are you talking about? Joe has not said anything to me. Why do you bring this to me. Is that why those two stunards came to see me today?”

“Who Albert and Frank? I don’t know. I heard that they were uptown. Frankie Rao told me. They are tight with Charley Lucky though so you never know. I just want to know what you want to do. Right now. Because things are going to move fast.”

“I am not worried brother. Things will move as they will move. This strunz in Brooklyn should not be a problem. I hear that he likes to make speeches. That he thinks he is Julius Caesar. Perhaps he should have picked a hero who came to a better end. Augustus for one. He died in bed.”

“I don’t know Piddu. He has all of Brooklyn. Frankie Yale's old crew. The Navy Yard boys. Even some of the finnoches who are lined up with that fat shit Capone. He is building something. You know Joe. He is sitting at the table and shoveling it down his snout. He doesn't keep his boys happy. He is greedy. A pig. As you have always said. It is not a good combination. We need to protect ourselves. This wouldn't be the first time we switched sides.”

The Don looked at his half-brother and sighed. Not that he wasn't right. But he was too old for this game. He had been at it for more than fifty years and he was tired. He could not start again with a new boss.

“We stay as we are Ciro. Don’t do anything or say anything different unless you hear from me. Capisce?”

“Sure Piddu sure. I just want to know what to do. I have a bad feeling.”

“So do I. Perhaps it is gas. It will pass in time. Now let’s go in and eat. I want to hear about your children.”