by Tony Farraj
Anthony didn’t like having all that cash at his apartment, but there wasn’t much he could do. He began to look for a place to hide the money. Last Christmas, his mother bought him a large portable radio. He began to remove the batteries from the back and stuff the cash in the empty slots.
The following morning, Anthony was making his way down to the club. The hot sun pounded the cement. It was the hottest day of summer. A group of birds where splashing around in standing water, trying to find some kind of relief from the blistering heat. When Anthony made the corner, he spotted Sonny and Chris standing outside. They seemed nervously waiting for his arrival. Sonny had a look on his face that made Anthony stop inches from the door.
“Where have you been?” He asked.
“I over slept, why?” Anthony asked puzzled.
Sonny stared directly in Anthony’s eyes. “You do know that my father runs this neighborhood, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And that he protects all the shop owners?”
Anthony’s body went numb. The old man of the store didn’t go to the police. He did better. He went to the one person that was supposed to protect him from crooks, shoplifters and idle threats. Threats from two little punks, who thought they where untouchable. Moreover, Anthony was struck with a worse thought. What if Michael told his dad that he had nothing to do with the robbery? That Anthony forced him to hold up the shopkeeper? And to add to the insult, the money was at his house.
“Anthony, you’re in deep shit! Whatever happens, try to stay calm. My dad can be a real bastard when he wants to be!”
“Sonny, you got to believe me! I had nothing to do with this! I’m going to clear this up, if it’s the last thing I do!” Anthony said, as he swallowed hard before opening the door.
“It just might be…” Sonny said, as the both stepped inside. “It just might be.”
The social club was just like it was when he first walked in, his eyes had to adjust to the dark and smoke filled atmosphere. But, this time around, the walk to the back was a lonely one. His mind raced back and forth. What was he going to say? Would he walk out of here alive or was this the end? The end of his friendship with Mr. Mazellie or his life or the end of everything. As he approached Mr. Mazellie, the lump in his throat made it hard for him to swallow. Anthony gasped for air.
When Mr. Mazellie’s eyes met with Anthony’s, he stood frozen. His body tightened like a noose around an outlaw’s neck.
“Sit down, you have some explaining to do.” Mr. Mazellie’s voice was filled with anger and venom.
Just as Anthony sled into the booth, out of nowhere Mr. Mazellie struck Anthony in the left cheek. The sound echoed throughout the club. Anthony could feel the force of the slap against his olive color skin. His eyes felled with tears.
“You son of a bitch! I should have your hands severed from the rest of your worthless body and shoved up your ass!” Mr. Mazellie’s voice cut through Anthony like a hot knife through butter.
“Mr. Mazellie, I know I dishonored you, but if you just let me explain…” Once again, a second slap came, harder than the first. Anthony could feel the blood rise to the surface of his face. The large ring that Anthony admired so much left a three-inch gash on his face.
“Stop your crying and face your punishment like a man!” Mr. Mazellie's voice was loud and infuriated.
“But, Mr. Mazellie, if I could just tell…!”
“I trusted you. I really believed in you and this is how you repay me? Do you know what this does to my creditability? You made me look bad, Anthony!” Mr. Mazellie pounded the table with his fist. “Did you find the money?”
Anthony’s bad dream turned into a nightmare when he saw Michael walking in carrying the radio.
“Dad, I did as you asked; I went to Anthony’s apartment and found it stuffed in this thing.” Michael held up the radio for the entire world to see.
Anthony couldn’t take it anymore. He had to stand up for himself or die trying. “Mr. Mazellie, I know I made a mistake, but it’s time you heard the truth…”
“What, from you?” Michael interrupted. “Are you going to sit there and lie to my father? Face it, you fucked up!” Michael handed the radio to his dad.
“No, not from me Michael or from you. Mr. Mazellie, you need to hear the truth from the shopkeeper. Let him tell you who did what to whom.”
Michael’s face turned red with anger. “I sure hope your not buying this load of crap. He probably stopped off at the store and threatened the old man. You got a set of balls on you, I’ll give you that!”
“Why don’t you shot the fuck up and let your dad decide what to do.” Anthony braced himself and waited for Mr. Mazellie to make a decision.
“That’s not a bad idea.” He finally said, after a few minutes. Mr. Mazellie gathered up all the money that was stuffed inside the portable radio and led both young men out the back door to his car.
The ride to the store seemed to take forever. Anthony had his face buried in his hands. The small cut on his cheek had finally stopped bleeding. Michael was glaring at Anthony. Anthony could feel Michael’s eyes tearing away at his flesh; a cold chill ran up his spine. The thought that he might have played right into Michael’s hands angered and frightened him. He wanted to reach out and rip Michael’s head off.
When they finally arrived at the store parking lot, Anthony began to notice small beads of sweat forming on Michaels’ fore head. His upper lip began to quiver. Michael had under estimated the new guy. He was counting on Anthony to fold like a poor poker player, with a great hand.
“Please, Anthony, take the fall and say you where the one that held up this store.” Michael begged.
“No way in hell! You fucked up, now it’s time to pay the piper!” Anthony called his bluff and won.
“You motherfucker! I’ll get you for this, I promise you! I will make you pay with your life!” Michael whispered angrily.
Anthony was prepared to respond, but then the door swung open. Mr. Mazellie was standing there with the shopkeeper. All he wanted to know was; who stuck the gun in his face? Anthony couldn’t believe his life hung in the balance on one finger pointing toward him or Michael. The shopkeeper stuck his head in the car. Anthony held his breath. The shopkeeper took a few minutes, and then pointed to Michael. Mr. Mazellie looked at his son, but said nothing. He thanked the storeowner and returned twice what Michael had stolen and promised him that this sort of thing would never happen again.
The ride back to the club was a quiet one. Nobody looked at one another. Michael stared out his window; Mr. Mazellie stared at his son in disappointment and Anthony, he stared at Michael with a vengeance. When they reached the club, Mr. Mazellie told Anthony to go home. Anthony got out of the car and began to make his way back to his apartment.
“Anthony…” Mr. Mazellie called out to him. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I had to look out for my family first, you understand.”
“Yeah, I understand.” Anthony replied, but he still wanted a piece of Michael. That night he couldn’t sleep. The anger ate at him. Michael had to pay for what he did. He knew he had to talk to Mr. Mazellie.
The following morning, Anthony walked into the club and went straight to the back booth to straighten out his problem. “I need to talk to you.” He said determinedly.
“Sit down, what’s on your mind?” Mr. Mazellie asked.
Anthony slid into the booth. “I understand Michael is your son, but he tried to set me up and made me look bad in front of you and everyone else here, I can’t let that happen. I must have a chance to clear my name, my way. I’m asking your permission for the opportunity to do so.”
Mr. Mazellie sat and listened to Anthony, without saying a word.
“You know you can’t let him get away with this; even if he is your own son.” Anthony said fuming.
“I understand your beef with Michael and I will not choose sides. However, if Michael comes to me and asks for my forgiveness, I must grant him that forgiveness and side
with him. Please don’t take it personal. It’s strictly business. You understand?” Mr. Mazellie said sternly.
“I can accept that decision.” Anthony replied. He knew Michael’s pride would never allow him to go to his father for forgiveness.
“Good. I want you to go home and come back tomorrow. This will give you time think this over and time for me to talk to Michael.”
The next morning, Anthony awoke to a dark and stormy day. He knew Mr. Mazellie must have given Michael the news. It was now up to Michael. When Anthony arrived at the club, Mr. Mazellie told him to wait for Michael’s arrival. He had one of his men search Anthony. If there was going to be a fight, it was going to be a clean one. As the afternoon turned into evening, Anthony’s heart raced each time the doors of the club swung open. He had been sitting there for five hours, when Michael finally opened the doors and walked in with two large men. The three of them were laughing it up. That made Anthony nervous. His beef was with Michael, and Michael only.
“Well, I’m here! Are you ready for the beating of your life!” Michael laughed.
The laughter rang in Anthony’s ears like a siren. “You think you’re tough in the company of your friends, just wait until I get you alone! I’m going to make you eat those words!” Anthony could feel the fire inside him rage. His muscles tightened, his teeth and fists clinched like the Jaws of Life.
Michael had been waiting for this day ever since Anthony showed his face in the neighborhood. He wanted to show him that no one messes with a Mazellie and lived to talk about it. It was time to show Anthony what real pain was. Suddenly, they both lunged at each other like two wild dogs. But, before any punches where thrown, the two guys that walked in with Michael, grabbed Anthony by the collar.
“Who the fuck do you think you are? You’re nobody, you hear me! Nobody!” Michael screamed at the top of his voice.
Mr. Mazellie heard all the yelling and made his way to the front of the club. “Hey, what the fuck is going on up here? If you two want to settle this, you do it in the back!”
Anthony and Michael where led to a back room, clear out of sight to the public. Anthony had been working at the social club for a year now and never ever noticed the door that Mr. Mazellie shoved them through. The room was dark and musky, reeking of smoke. There was a low hanging light that was positioned over a poker table. There where chairs lined up against the wall. Mr. Mazellie sat in the middle of the line. He ordered one of the guys to move the poker table, while the other man was given strict orders not to let anyone through the door.
“Michael,” His father said softly. “I know you want me to take your side on this matter, but you did make a grave error and now you must pay the consequence. Anthony has a legitimate beef with you and he feels this is the only way to settle the score. Now unless you wish to apologize to Anthony and me, I can’t help you. Do you understand?”
Michael stood there with the same smirk on his face as he did when he walked into the club. “Apologize to this piece of shit, never! I’ll take my chances!” He never took his eyes off Anthony, while he spoke to his father.
“Anthony, are you sure this is the only way to settle this problem?” Mr. Mazellie asked.
Anthony turned and looked at Mr. Mazellie in the eyes. “This is the way it has to be and you know it!”
“So be it!”
Anthony didn’t wait any longer; he rushed Michael and wrestled him to the ground. Fists began to fly in all directions. Michael landed one across Anthony’s face. The sharp pain ran down Anthony’s whole body. He felt his jaw explode from the impact of Michael’s fury. What Anthony thought was an abundance of saliva, in fact was blood. The site of the blood made him wild! He began his own retaliation; hitting, biting, scratching, anything he could do, he did. He could feel the flesh of Michael’s face and body wrap around his fists. With every punch, Anthony was rewarded with Michael’s blood splattering back into his face. Michael’s blood began to flow freely. Anthony could hear the sound of bones breaking, but he wasn’t sure if it was his or Michaels.
The fight was over as quickly as it began. Michael lay motionless, his face covered with blood. Anthony rolled over next to him, his face pounding with pain. His fists heavy, his knuckles torn from the punishment he had inflicted on rival’s body. But he wasn’t done yet; he grabbed Michael by his blood soaked shirt and slammed his head on the cold concrete. “You listen and listen good! If you ever pull another stunt like that again, so help me god, I will rip your fucken arms off and beat you with them!”
Michael lay there motionless; he couldn’t do or say anything. He could barely see Anthony.
“Johnny, pick him up and clean him off, I can’t take him home looking like this.” Mr. Mazellie said. After Anthony and Michael where patched up, Mr. Mazellie sat them both down. “This is it, you two have settled the score, and this should be the last I hear of this. Let the past die, it’s over understood?”
“Thank you Mr. Mazellie for the chance to clear my name. All the places I have lived, no one has treated me with the respect that you have shown me. I’m honored to be in your company.”
“Thank you for not totally wrecking Michael’s face.”
The moving around from one place to another made Anthony feel like he never really belonged. But now, this place Anthony could be himself. Here he felt like he could be with people like him, all bound by love, bound by honor and bound by blood.
CHAPTER 3
OUT OF THE GOPHER HOLE AND INTO THE LIGHT.
The news of the fight between Anthony and Michael spread through the neighborhood like a wild fire. Anthony’s reputation as an enforcer spread quickly. He began to see a difference in people; even the shopkeeper gave Anthony’s mom free groceries. Mr. Mazellie even looked at him in a different light. He wasn’t having Anthony running around getting coffee for everyone, instead, he would have Anthony go around and pick up loans that where owed from gambling ventures. Anthony began to carry around a collapsible baton, which was given to him personally by Mr. Mazellie. Anthony used it on people that didn’t pay on time. He never hesitated to use it, when someone would give a lame excuse why they couldn’t pay. Anthony would crack them in the knees or across the chest. He always found a way to make them pay. One morning, Anthony arrived at the club for his daily routine. He found Mr. Mazellie sitting in his booth with another man, whom he had seen, but never met. He was an elderly gentleman in his late sixties. He had whitish hair and wore black- rimmed glasses. The elderly gentleman was thin and lean, with a large scar on his chin.
“Anthony, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. This is an old friend of my, Carlo Sabbetini.” Mr. Mazellie said, as he called him over.
“Nice to meet you, sir.” Anthony said softly.
“Nice to meet you, kid. Victor tells me you’re an alright kind of guy.” Mr. Sabbetini didn’t have the heavy Brooklyn ascent that Mr. Mazellie had and he didn’t wear the same flashy suits. But, he did possess the same large diamond pinky ring on his right hand, just like Mr. Mazellie.
“Anthony, why don’t you go and sit at the bar and let Carlo and I talk.”
“Nice to have met you Mr. Sabbetini, hope to see you around.” Anthony said as he walked back toward the front of the club.
When Anthony was clearly out of earshot, Carlo turned back toward Victor. “Are you sure you can trust this kid?”
“Carlo, this guy has more balls than we did at his age, and yes I trust him.” Mr. Mazellie said.
Carlo removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. The smoke from his expensive cigar irritated his eyes. “If you say the kid’s ok by you, then he’s ok by me.”
Every now and then, Anthony would look back and make eye contact with Mr. Mazellie and smile. As he sat there talking to the bartender, Anthony’s attention was drawn to the front door. Two large muscled men walked in and sat next to Anthony. For a moment, Anthony thought Michael had sent them to teach him a lesson. He slowly reached behind his back and under his shirt for his trusty baton.
“Well… I play a little, but…” Anthony slowly removed his hand from his shirt.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever! So, you want to play or what?”
Anthony was introduced to the game, while he was in juvenile hall. He spent hours beating anyone that dared to play him. The guy he was playing wasn’t bad, but Anthony had played better and won. The first game was no contest. Anthony got up from his bar stool once.
“Hey, kid? I thought you said you knew how to play?” The two men laughed at Anthony, again.
“Whatta ya say we play for some money?” Anthony asked.
“You want to play me for money? Whatta ya nuts?” The two men stopped laughing and glared at Anthony.
Anthony glared back. “So, are we going to play or are you just going to stare at me?” He wanted to teach this guy a lesson, but most of all, he wanted his money.
“It’s your money, punk. How about ten bucks a game, ten games. That’s not to steep for you, is it?”
“That’s fine.” Anthony reached into his pocket and placed a crumbled up hundred dollar bill on the table.
“Rack’um chump!”
Anthony planned to let the first two games slip away. The third game started like the first two, but Anthony wasn’t going to let this one slip away. “Well, would you look at that? I actually won.” Anthony had a smile from ear to ear.
“Big fucken deal, one game. You better get that smile off your face or I’ll remove it for you!”
That was the last straw; Anthony had enough. He was going to beat this guy no matter what it took. The fourth, fifth and sixth game belonged to Anthony. The guy never got off his bar stool, except to crack. The seventh game, Anthony won with one ball remaining. The last three games were close, but Anthony managed to win. That didn’t sit well with his opponent.