by Lizz Lund
“Isn’t that illegal?” Trixie asked.
“Nope. Online gambling is legal if you’re over twenty-one. And his mom was willingly paying off his debt.” Mrs. Phang sighed. “But he’s all grown up, with a great paying sales job. He lives on the Mainline in Philly,” she said. “So I had a down and out with him, and told him he’d have to help us out of this mess. And then I cut up his credit cards.”
“You did?” Ethel asked, with a nervous glance at Ike. I opened my mouth, then closed it. I didn’t want to know.
“Excuse me, but what exactly has all this got to do with shooting me? Accidentally, I mean,” Norman asked.
“I thought you knew the redhead. I’ve been tailing her for a few days. I saw you bring out a silver squash to her, so I figured you were friends.”
K. jumped in and explained about the leftover brownies and cheesecakes and the superiority of foil swans vs. doggie bags. Mrs. Phang agreed and helped herself to a cheesecake. Then we shushed him.
“She pretended to be some good Samaritan looking for part-time work to my sister-in-law, on the one day I went out,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting any pick-ups or deliveries, so I figured I was in the clear.”
“Oh dear. An entire day without one customer dropping off dry cleaning,” K. tsked.
“No, not dry cleaning. Prescriptions,” Mrs. Phang said. We all looked at her with a collective question mark. She rolled her eyes. “My gambling-prone nephew, Fa, is a pharmaceutical sales rep.”
“So?” Ike asked.
“Look, Fa got pulled out of debt, but with my retirement money. I explained to Fa that he had to repay me, and his mother.”
Ethel frowned. “I don’t understand.” Clearly, her head was spinning too. And it wasn’t just because of the late night beverages or sugar overload.
“Fa gets tons of free samples. Most of which just sit in the extra bedrooms in his condo, because a lot of the meds need to be kept in climate controlled spaces. He had so much stored there, he got bonked on his noggin when a box of steroid inhalers fell on his head. And that’s what gave him the idea.”
We stared blankly at Mrs. Phang in unison. Except for Trixie, who shouted, “Oh!!” and clapped her hand to her mouth and hopped up and down. “You’re selling prescription samples!” Mrs. Phang touched the side of her nose with her finger.
“But how the… who the… where… huh?” I asked, none too coherently.
“Of course you know, prescription medicines, especially for retired seniors, are so very, very expensive,” Mrs. Phang began.
“YOU’RE SELLING STOLEN SAMPLES?” I screamed not too nicely.
“They’re not stolen. They’re… redistributed,” Mrs. Phang replied.
“BUT YOU’RE TRAFFICKING PRESCRIPTIONS?” I asked.
“Umm… no dear. You are,” Aunt Muriel explained.
“You know, I’d like to hear more about this, but maybe we could talk about it in the morning. Late morning. Don’t you think we should go home?” Ike asked as he stood up. Ethel glared. Ike sunk back onto the sofa and sulked. Both Ratties scurried up to offer some slobber and sympathy.
“So how long has Mina been a mule?” Bauser asked.
“Well, it didn’t start out that way,” Aunt Muriel began. “We all used to take turns. But then there were the mix-ups…”
“WHO IS WE?” I yelped.
“Well, the church choir; the Brethren Breakfast crews; some of my neighbors; some of your neighbors; some of their relatives – and our online teams of course – and sometimes your mother…” Aunt Muriel trailed off.
“I’m the Jersey connection,” Ma added. I hung my head.
“I got concerned that the laundromat was being watched,” Mrs. Phang said. “And then, if a real customer was around, my sister-in-law would get flustered and mix things up – she’s such a goodie-goodie. So someone expecting high blood pressure medicine sometimes wound up with decongestants, and that wasn’t good. After all, we’re trying to help these people, not kill them.”
“Excuse me, but, at the risk of again regretting asking this, what does this have to do with shooting me?” Norman asked again, bandaged head held in his hands.
“I wanted to scare you, not shoot you,” Mrs. Phang answered. “Besides, it’s only a BB gun. For the life of me I can’t figure out how you got hurt.” Trixie heaved a huge sigh of relief. I guess she was glad Norman’s gunshot wound wasn’t really a gunshot wound. “I figured you could tell me who the redhead is since you were bringing her a doggie bag,” Mrs. Phang said matter-of-factly.
K. mumbled something about, “Swan. It was a foil S-W-A-N. Not something you bring home to feed Ratties…”
“Well, anyway, the stupid thing went off in my hand by accident and scared the crap out of me.”
“Oh. Sorry,” Norman said.
“No problem,” Mrs. Phang replied. Norman sighed.
“The redhead poking around the shop, especially at the end of the month, clued us in,” Mrs. Phang said. “Her posing as cheapo help was pretty cheeky.”
“You see, we used to have a little problem with everyone’s re-order dates winding up on the end of the month,” Aunt Muriel explained. Oh, yes. Of course. It was a clear as mud to me now.
“Anyway, one day while Muriel and I were trying to improve deliveries, in walked Vito with a gym bag full of dry cleaning, and a bottle of Lipitor. It was supposed to go to Eric Glassbaum, but wound up with Vito’s shirts by accident.”
My curiosity bit. So did I. “So?”
“Well, luckily I recognized Vito from the Bagels ‘n’ Borscht.” Mrs. Phang smiled nostalgically. I wondered whether happier times were ahead, or far, far behind us.
“Yeah, that was some coincidence,” Vito said. He grinned. “I used to be a regular.”
“Anyway, we got to feeling each other out, and we found out that actually Vito is very simpatico about deep discount prescriptions for retired seniors. And he’s been a great help,” Aunt Muriel said. “We charge a fee, of course, but not nearly the mark-up the drug companies do. And we’re not cheating them; after all, if these companies can afford to give it away for free, it’s not missed income.”
“So you’re reselling samples. For profit?” Bauser asked. Aunt Muriel and Vito and Mrs. Phang nodded. Bauser blew out a long, soft whistle. “Umm, you know, this is kind of a very illegal thing to do.”
“I know, I know,” Mrs. Phang said unhappily. “But we were really in a jam. And it’s not forever; just until we put the money back that Fa and Fu bled from the business.”
“How’s Vito helping?” I asked warily. All of a sudden I sensed the end of the world.
“He matches the requests with the orders. He’s Logistics. Vito makes sure the right prescription gets delivered to the right person.”
“So how does Logistics deliver?” I asked, rubbing my forehead. I had a feeling I already knew the answer.
“Well, dear, you do. You deliver the prescription orders in the pocket of a shirt in some dry cleaning in Vito’s gym bag,” Aunt Muriel answered. “Mrs. Phang exchanges that for a box chock full of prescriptions, along with a clean shirt or two, to muffle any rattling sounds the pills might make. And you bring it all back to Vito. Then he makes his delivery rounds.”
“And this was working great, too, until that stupid redhead started hanging around,” Mrs. Phang grimaced. “And we were so close, too. I figured by next month Vito would be delivering ‘Thank You’ promotions to all our customers, to let them know the dry cleaning business was really going into the dry cleaning business. We even printed out $10 dry cleaning gift cards to distribute.” She smiled proudly.
“Well, Vito should have been able to tell you who the redhead is,” I said. “She’s his niece, and her boss is a U.S. Marshal. I guess she’s his assistant or something.”
Vito clapped his collective hands to his forehead. The rest of us looked at each other. All except for Ike; he snored.
“Uh, mayb
e I better explain. Geez, this is awkward. I think I might have kind of have a confession to make,” Vito said to Mrs. Phang and Aunt Muriel. They both suddenly resembled gargoyles. “But ya know, it is pretty late.” He glanced uneasily over at Ike and his chorus of ZZZs. Ethel walked over and flicked Ike’s nose. He stopped snoring. Vinnie started.
“Maybe what we need is some coffee,” Ethel said.
“Okay,” I said, automatically digging out my party percolator to brew coffee for thirty people. Bauser talked with Norman, who nodded. Norman phoned home, and after a lot of Mhming said he was going to stay over at Bauser’s because of working late. “It’d be hard to explain the gunshot wound this late at night, anyway,” he said limply after he’d hung up.
The coffee was brewed and passed around. We pulled some chairs into the dining room – away from Ike’s and Vinnie’s snoring – and sat around Vito. He began.
“You see, the reason I was a regular at the Bagels ‘n’ Borscht was on account of my late wife, Marie,” Vito said, then started to sniff. Ma rolled her eyes, went into the kitchen and came back with the roll of paper towels. Vito took a hunk and blew. “You see, my sainted Marie got poisoned by what we think was some bad pierogies. We got her to the hospital, but not soon enough. The poisoned pierogies really did a number on her system, so she was in the hospital on IV’s and stuff for a couple months. Then, just when I thought she was gonna get discharged and come home, she dies.”
We all offered our condolences and sympathies, but really there was very little we could say or do. Marie was gone, and I now lived in the ‘Hers’ portion of their townhouses. This we knew. But a little birdie fluttered through my head. Apparently Marie must have died before she picked out the His ‘n’ Her townhouse. Or purchased it.
“Vito, I thought I bought Marie’s half of the His ‘n’ Her townhouses?” I asked.
“Yeah, I know.”
“So?”
“I lied.”
“Oh.”
Vito sighed. “You see, I couldn’t tell yous the truth. And I’m not so sure I can now. Look, it’s like this,” he said, leaning in. We all leaned in too. “I’m kind of in a witness protection program,” he said.
“Oh, that’s so nice, Vito. I didn’t know you protect Jehovah’s Witnesses. These days they probably need all the help they can get,” Aunt Muriel said sleepily. Ma pinched Aunt Muriel and hissed in her ear. The penny dropped. “Oh!” Though I wondered about any remaining spare change.
“You see, Toots,” Vito said, looking at me and nervously licking his lips. “My name’s not exactly Vito. I mean, it is now. But before it wasn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
Vito took a big breath, and exhaled. Then he took another and exhaled again.
“Do you think he’s hyperventilating?” Trixie whispered at me. I politely shushed her by waving my hand in her face.
“My real name is Vladimir Pryzchntchynzski,” he exhaled, and looked around expectantly.
“God bless you,” Ethel said sleepily.
The rest of us looked at each other. Crickets chirped. Someone shuffled their feet. Vito stared at the floor. Nothing. Then we looked over at Ma, Aunt Muriel and Mrs. Phang, and their literal open mouths.
“Oh my gosh – oh my gosh – oh my gosh,” Mrs. Phang spluttered. “Of course! That’s why you looked so familiar when I met you at the Bagels ‘n’ Borscht – it was all the pictures in the paper!”
Pictures? Paper? Huh?
“Oh dear, yes, yes,” Aunt Muriel tsked. Ma shook her head. “Well, who’d have thought? It’s not everyday we have dinner with a genuine Mafia Don.”
Don Mafia? Who’s he? Huh?
“Ummm, pardon me, Vito. I mean, uh, Vladimir,” Norman began.
“No, no – it’s Vito now. Really. No problemo.”
“Of course. I don’t mean any, erm… disrespect… but, ermm… should we know you?”
Vito smiled. “Not if I was doing my job right. Which I was, mostly. But some operations, which didn’t go exactly as planned, got picked up in the local news.”
“Oh,” Norman said, nodding like he understood.
“You see, I’m third generation. I wasn’t exactly planning on this as a career. But then Tatuś – my dad – got whacked. And I loved my Grandfather, who took us in, and I didn’t want to disappoint him. Besides which, I couldn’t.” Vito cringed. “Just before Marie got sick, I found out some young Turks were trying to merge our family with some Italian New York family – and drugs. I got mad. I said I’d rather rat them out than see drugs come in through the Family. For chrissakes,” he sighed, “that kind of garbage was what Pop said the Family kept out of our neighborhood. Back in the day, it was about protection. These days, it’s all about money. It’s all gone down the drain.”
“So, umm… who’s your Family?” Bauser asked. He took out the pain pill I’d given him earlier and swallowed it.
Mrs. Phang looked at Bauser like he’d just crawled out of a cave. “Why, Vladimir Pryzchntchynzski ran the Moils, the Jewish Polish Mafia, out of Bumville,” she answered.
Jewish Polish Mafia? So that explains all the kielbasa. I wondered if kielbasa was kosher.
“Oh,” the PA contingency said.
“Oh!” Aunt Muriel exclaimed, thrusting out of her chair and up onto her feet. “You’re Jewish?”
“Uh, yeah, Toots. It kind of goes hand-in-hand with the Jewish Polish Mafia thing.”
“Oh, well then that explains everything,” Aunt Muriel said, smoothing her headband back over her charred bangs and sitting down. Vito stared at her.
“Oh!” Vito exclaimed. “You mean about the wine and cookies at St. Bart’s?”
“We call it the Eucharist, Vito,” Aunt Muriel corrected. “After all, if you’re going to pretend to be an Episcopalian, you’ll have to know these things.”
Ma and I exchanged looks. Aunt Muriel was on her way to garnering yet another Episcopalian for St. Bart’s. Even if he was Jewish and in a witness protection program.
“Well, I didn’t want to be impolite,” Vito explained sheepishly. “I thought I was supposed to drink the whole thing, lest I offend. I never been somewhere where everyone passed the same glass. Hey, you think that’s sanitary?
Aunt Muriel assured him it was.
Bauser asked, “Where is Bumville?”
“It’s kind of lodged between Lodi and Carlstadt,” said Ma. “It’s a pretty small town.”
“With a bar on every corner,” Vito beamed. Somewhere, far, far away, I thought I heard a ka-ching from a remote corner that housed a barstool in Bumville.
“Anyway,” Vito said. “After I ratted these punks out, I was offered witness protection. They said I had to pick between Tampa or Lancaster. I really don’t like the heat. So I came here.”
I recalled Vito’s orange neck. Yup. Florida would definitely not work out for him or his fake hair.
“And everything was going great too, until Red started hanging around Mrs. Phang’s. But then we came up with another system, and I thought we were fine. But since I found out she’s with Mike it makes things a little awkward.”
“But why would your niece visiting you be awkward?” Aunt Muriel asked. Ma picked up Auntie’s coffee mug, sniffed it, and put it down.
“Oh. Well, uh… Mike’s kind of like my U.S. Marshal godfather. He said he stopped by because it turns out that the Young Squirts I got put in the pokey have been talking about getting even. I guess they stood to lose a bundle with those deals not going through. It was heard they paid someone on the outside to make an impression on me.”
Gack. Didn’t Vito have to go home? Wasn’t my townhouse up for sale any minute now?
“So Mike’s probably going to be hanging around for awhile, off and on. Which is kind of stupid. So long as it’s obvious he’s hanging around, no one’s gonna really make a move. But I had no idea Red – Annie – was with Mike. Until today,” Vito finished and gulped some coffee.
“But, now that we know who you are, doesn’t this blow your cover?” Norman asked.
“Yeah, it probably will. That is if Mike and Annie think it’s blown,” he said.
“How do you mean?” Bauser asked.
“Look, yous alls are my friends. Heck, Mina’s like family.” Vito shrugged. I silently wondered if I’d become kosher by osmosis with all the cooking Vito – Vladimir – had burnt in my kitchen. And as fake-family, I also wondered if I was destined to be marked for fish food. “Unless any one of you is going to put me in the news, or write a book or something, I can’t see it being that big of a deal. Unless, of course, you blab to a cop or something,” Vito said, looking pointedly at Trixie. “Which would not exactly be in your best interests,” he added.
“Nope, nope, nope… what happens in Mina’s kitchen stays in Mina’s kitchen, ha ha,” Trixie stammered. Well, whaddaya know. So much for impersonating a cop’s girlfriend. Huh.
Aunt Muriel furrowed her brows. “Well, what are we going to do now?” she asked.
Ma yawned. “I suggest we all go nighty-night.” She yawned again. Which was catching. Because then we were all yawning.
The coffee mugs got collected and stacked in the sink. Ike lay passed out on my sofa with the Ratties. Trixie checked Norman’s noggin again and gave him a cleanish bill of health. Then she checked mine, got out a package of frozen peas and thumped them on my forehead. “You better hold this on there for awhile. You’re gonna have quite a lump.” Great. I hoped it wouldn’t clash with the other lumps.
Trixie started telling Bauser about waking Norman up every couple hours. Bauser said that wouldn’t be a problem, since they would probably be up in a couple of hours, anyway. We all shuffled to the door to say our final goodbyes, and took turns patting the various pets goodnight.
I opened the front door and saw a large object sail through the air, land on Vito’s front porch and explode into flames. A car skidded away.
Vito’s porch was on fire.
Honestly, if it wasn’t for bad luck I wouldn’t have any. I sighed in resignation: there would be no sleep for me tonight. Except for Ike and Vinnie. And the damn Ratties. I felt like pinching them all.