The Legend of Joey Trucks: The Accidental Mobster

by Craig Daliessio

  “Well, listen, Paisan,” I said, finally breaking the silence. I have an idea that you might like. Tomorrow, on the drive to the airport to pick up everyone else, we’ll discuss it. But we’d better get inside and get some rest. The plane arrives in Roanoke at 10 AM. We need to leave here at 8:45.” Tommy stood up and without a hint of warning, gave me a big hug. “It feels like Christmas again, Cuz.” He said.

  And it did.

  Ala Familia!

  The next morning, Tommy and I were up early and getting ready for the drive in to Roanoke to pick up my cousins. We were sitting in the kitchen, me, Angie, and Tommy, drinking coffee when my father came downstairs.

  “You’re up early, Pop.” I said, “Momma snoring again?” The Old Man laughed and reached for a coffee cup. “Naah.” he said. “Just felt like getting an early jump on the day. There’s lots to see around here. We got in so late last night I really didn’t get the walking tour.”

  I filled his cup and handed him some of Angie’s homemade biscotti. “Well Tommy and I are driving out to Roanoke to pick up everyone else at the airport. Once we get back, we’ll give you the tour, Pop.” My dad was already giving Anj a hug and a peck on the cheek and he smiled, “I’m sure my beautiful daughter in law can show us around, son.” My dad, the ladies’ man. “Just the same,” I said, “We’ll take a ride out to the hunting lodge this afternoon after every one is here and settled in. I want to show you around out there, Pop. It’s the most beautiful place you ever saw.”

  Tommy and I grabbed refills and headed for the door. “The plane lands at ten A.M.” I called back to the Old Man, “We should be back here by around one, Pop. Then we’ll have lunch and go for a ride.” We climbed into the Suburban and headed out for Roanoke. From my house in Forest, it’s about an hour to the Roanoke airport. Tommy and I would have time to discuss his future.

  We rode along in silence for a few minutes until we reached the interstate, and headed for Roanoke. Then I gave Tommy the thumbnail on my idea about the construction business. “Listen, Tommy...I wanna run something by you.” I began. Tommy turned toward me and was listening intently from the beginning. “I know you aren’t particularly thrilled working for Skip. And I know you became quite a carpenter when you were inside.” Tommy smiled shyly. It must have been awkward for him to be receiving a compliment after all he’d done and seen. “Well, here’s my idea.” I started to lay out the plan for him. “Angie and I were thinking about buying some rental properties up in Lynchburg, by the school. It would be a good opportunity for me to help out some students by keeping the rent low, and I thought you could manage them for me. Do the renovations, take care of them once they’re rented. You know.” Tommy was quiet and attentive. This instantly struck a chord in him. “I also want to maybe buy a few properties to flip. Angie needs a creative outlet, you know how talented she is in interior design, and I thought we’d make you a partner on the properties.” Tommy shifted in his seat. “Joe, that takes money. I don’t have anything, you know that.” I smiled at Tommy. “I know, Cuz. Anj and I figured you could invest some sweat equity into the properties. We figured you give us a price on the work, and maybe we knock ten percent off each job and you hold ten percent interest instead. It wouldn’t take more than a few before you’re a full partner, Tommy. And no handouts. It’s something you really earn yourself. I know that matters to you.”

  Tommy’s voice broke a little. “You’d do that for me Cuz? I mean, you and Anj don’t need the extra money that investment properties would bring you. Essentially you’re staking me to a business. Why would you do that, Joe?” I knew I couldn’t fool Tommy. What he lacked in business acumen or common sense, he made up for in transparency. “You’re right, Tommy,” I said. “I don’t really need to do this...but I want to. It helps you, but it’s not a handout. It helps some college students, and it gives Anj a chance to get creative again. This isn’t a freebie, Cuz. This is business.” Tommy blew out a breath. “Man. I’d love to have my own truck and my own tools and a real crew. I’ve been reading home improvement magazines every night since I’ve been home. There’s a thousand ideas I have.” He paused, “Yeah Joey...I’d love this chance.”

  I smiled at Tommy as we turned off 460 onto the airport access road. “I already talked to Skip. He’s all for the idea if you want to do it. I think the first thing we need to do is get you set up down here in a place of your own and then we can go looking for property. The apartment over our garage is huge, Cuz, and it’s empty. I don’t want you down here alone. You can move in there right away.”

  We pulled up to the arriving passenger gates and my Cousin Toni and her husband and my cousin George were there. Uncle Franny and Uncle Tony came along. I wondered until the very minute they walked out the doors if they’d actually make the trip. Various other cousins were in tow and a few more were driving down today as well. We piled them all in the big Suburban and headed for home. The trip home was loud with laughter and jokes. We arrived back at the house with my favorite Sinatra Christmas record playing and my family singing along. Angie and the kids came out and met everyone on the porch while Tommy and Nick and I carried the luggage inside. I was walking in with the last suitcase when I looked across the street and saw Phil Lowery standing in his garage, back in the shadows where he always stands, watching my family coming for a visit. I’d had about enough of this guy.

  I walked in the front door and called out to Angie, “Anj! Yo Anj, did the Lowery’s ever get with you? Are they coming for Christmas Eve?” Anj could tell I was upset. “Yeah Babe, why, what’s wrong?” she asked. “I’m just tired of looking across the street and seeing Phil Lowery peeping and thinking nobody sees him peeping. It’s moved from annoying to downright obnoxious and I’ve had about enough.” Of course my cousin George only needed to hear that someone was messing with our family and he was ready to go knock on his door. “Yo, Joe!” He said, “Let’s go see this guy right now...” I had to stop him from putting his jacket back on and marching across the street. George is probably my closest male cousin, and more like a brother to me than anything else. He is the most fearsome defender of our family and it’s something I love him for dearly.

  “No, Cuz, I can’t do down here like we would do back home,” I said, “It’s different.” I decided to find a better way to send my message to Phil Lowery. But I had to think of something that would do the job, but still be innocent enough to not harm anyone. I didn’t want to make an enemy, just lose a peeper. That would come later. I decided that the best thing I could do was watch him closely at the Christmas party. See what his likes and dislikes were. Maybe I could find something in there to make my point about his incessant peeping. I had to make sure he came to the party.

  The rest of the day was spent hanging out with my family, showing them the house, and taking the men to the hunting camp. That turned into a friendly shooting contest between my father, his brothers, (both of whom had military experience) and me and my cousins. We had a blast. Literally. I hadn’t spent that sort of time with my uncles and my dad maybe in my whole life. Turns out George is a heck of a shot. We got caught up in the moment and started a little campfire and spent time just talking and reminiscing. Before long, it was dinner time and we headed for home. My dad was riding along in the back and I heard him bragging to my uncles about the hunting land and the house, and how well I’d done for them all in business. It was the first time I’d ever heard him brag to his brothers about me. I knew he’d done it before, but I’d never heard it.

  I caught his eye in my rear view mirror and he winked at me. A big show of emotion for the Old Man.

  We pulled into the driveway at 6PM. Emily came outside with Nonna in tow, covered in flour, and telling us about how they were making cookies. We walked inside and the house smelled great. Angie had been making sausage and peppers and meatballs and the house smelled like Nonna’s house always did. I imagine it was because the old girl had lent plenty of her influence to the evening’s meal.

  We had a b
ig feast and then we sat around by the fireplace and told my children and their cousin Nicky great stories about how it was when we were growing up in Philly. We told them all about the nicknames we’d given each other, and the funny games we’d invented. We told them embarrassing stories about their grandparents and their great uncles. Toward the end of the night, I broke out the Anisette and Uncle Tony picked up one of my guitars and started playing old Italian songs very quietly. Then, Nonna did something I hadn’t heard her do since I was a little boy. She sang.

  She sang in Italian to my daughter. It was a song I remember her singing when I was very little. Younger than Emmy is now. It was about her hometown and the smell of the flowers in the springtime. Uncle Tony had tears in his eyes when she was done. So did Nonna. It was a very special night and I was really glad we’d made arranged for her to be there with us for Christmas.

  Phil Lowery Saves Christmas

  “Gladys if you don’t hurry up, we’ll be late for the party!” I said. I say this all the time, except it’s not usually a party we’re late for. Usually its church, or dinner, or going to a Hillcats game. We don’t go to parties much, Gladys and me. We stay put most of the time, but whenever we do go someplace, well, you can count on us being late.

  Most time I just deal with it. I sit in the car and honk every ten minutes or so while I listen to Rush Limbaugh, but tonight…tonight we just can’t be late. Not when there’s lives depending on it. We had to be over at the Mezilli’s house promptly at 7PM when the party started. Every minute we were late was a chance for that ruthless killer and his prison buddy to do their evil deeds and make them seven folks sleep with the fishes. I still can’t even bring myself to think about it. How can a man kill his own kin…on Christmas Eve? But then I seen enough of The Sopranos to know how cold blooded them mafias really are. Plenty cold blooded.

  Gladys was finally ready at 7PM. “Dear God in heaven, woman, can’t you ever be on time?” I barked. Gladys looked like she’d hit me if she hadn’t known her place in the home. I’m the man, and when I say we’re gonna be someplace at a certain time, Gladys knows she needs to hop to it. It’s just that she forgets sometimes. Anyways, we finally made it across the street and to the Mezilli’s. The front door was open and there was a note on the glass storm door. “Come on in!” it said. We rang the doorbell dutifully. “Phil,” Gladys whispered, “The note says to just go on in, and I…” “Gladys!” I snapped, “We knock. We ain’t a friendly basis with these folks yet and I don’t walk into a man’s house uninvited under any circumstances. I was raised right!” “But Phil,” Gladys whispered, “We…were invited.”

  Joe Mezilli opened the door with a smile. “Phil!” he said, “You didn’t have to ring that bell! Come on in. Buon Natale!” “Bone who?” I asked him. “Buon Natale, it means Merry Christmas in Italian.” Mezilli explained. “Oh, well Buon Natale, to you too.” I was trying to be cordial and pleasant so he wouldn’t suspect I was really here to thwart his evil plot. Joe took our coats and escorted us into the dining room.

  He made his way around the room, introducing us to his family. “Phil and Gladys Lowery live across the street,” he said. “He’s the guy who reminds me of Mrs. Begnetti.” I don’t know who Mrs. Begnetti is, but it must be good to be compared to her because all of Joe’s family laughed and smiled and shook their heads. Whoever she is, they must really think she’s a hoot. That’s good, I thought, I put them at ease. Joe continued; “Phil, Gladys, this is my Mom and Dad, Giuseppe and Annalisa Mezilli.” I shook hands with the soon-to-be-deceased parents of my neighbor, Al Nitti Jr. “And this,” Joe said, walking me over to an old lady sitting in a chair, with Joe’s little daughter on her knee, “Is my Nonna…Sussana Marie Mezilli, the matriarch of our familia.” The way he said it, acting like he loved her and all, it just broke my heart. Here she was, holding his daughter on her lap and before the clock struck midnight she’d be sleeping with the fishes. Feet first. Her and six other poor bastards. She seemed like such a sweet old lady, why would he want to whack her. Well she’s the matriarch, I thought, he even said so. Maybe he can’t rise to power in his family until she’s dead. I was caught up in these thoughts while Joe introduced us to the rest of his family and guests. His family, Angie’s family. There was a whole lot of mobster types in that living room on Christmas Eve. It always baffled me how they could be such religious, family oriented people and be killers at the same time. Well your cover ain’t foolin’ me, Mezilli, I thought to myself. I’m here to make sure your family lives to see another day. I spent the next few hours practically standing next to Joe’s mother and father and grandmother. I didn’t let them out of my sight for a minute, just in case Joe was trying to lure them away and do the whackin’. I stood vigil next to them like the palace guard. Old Man Mezilli is actually a nice fella, and it troubled me that I knew his fate and he didn’t. This poor man is gonna be dead in a few hours, unless I can stop it, I thought. How am I going to do that? The evening actually went pretty well. The neighbors all came at various points in the night. Larry Erickson brought that hideous lutefisk he always tries pawning off on us every Christmas. I don’t know how anyone can eat that stuff. I reckon you gotta get a little drunk first and then close your eyes and just swallow it down. Joe was telling me about the different dishes they had and what it meant to eat baccala. “You ever had baccala, Phil?” He asked me. “Baccala…ain’t he that feller on The Sopranos? The one who played with the trains and married Tony’s sister?” It seems nobody else in the room thought that was a fair question, because they seemed to go silent and look at me funny.

  “The Sopranos was a TV show, Phil,” Mezilli said, “Baccala is salted Cod. We eat a lot of it but especially on Christmas Eve. It’s essential to Seven Fishes.” There it was. That code again. I can’t believe he just says it out loud like nobody would know. This fella has some nerve, I’ll tell you. It’s bad enough to plan on killing your family on Christmas Eve but to say it right in front of them…that takes some brass nuggets. Funny, I thought, nobody seemed to notice, and if they did, they don’t seem to care.

  Then it hit me…they’re all in on it! Oh Lord!’ I thought, they all know about the killin! All of them except the victims obviously. They’re all in on it! Now I had to watch them all. Where the hell is Peppers? I thought, Peppers can watch a few of them, and Hank Milledge. I need Hank. Joe handed me a plate and we walked through the food line as he told me what each dish was. Spaghetti, spaghetti, spaghetti! Spaghetti and shrimp, spaghetti and crab, spaghetti and calamari. They had three different kinds of cod, and they had a huge bowl of shrimp cooling on the table with a big ice sculpture in the middle. They had crabs too, but they weren’t them Deadliest Catch kind. They was different. They was smaller and they had blue to them. Joe asked me if I had ever had Blue-claw crabs before.

  “Well, no, Joe…no I haven’t. I’ve had me some of them big old crab legs at Red Lobster though. Are they the same?” A couple of his guests snickered, which I thought was rude, but I let it go. Mezilli teased me a bit; “Now Phil how can you have lived your whole life an hour and a half from the Chesapeake Bay and never had blue-claw crabs?” he asked me, “Here, try these. They get messy but they’re worth it.” Joe peeled a crab for me and gave me something he called special sauce. His cousin, the one they introduced as “George” asked him, “Hey Cuz, is that the special sauce?” Joe smiled real big, “Yep, Billy DiNardo made it himself. He said it was the first time he ever made it for anyone outside of his restaurant. I paid him $100 for a gallon and he still won’t tell me what’s in it!” The room laughed at a joke I obviously didn’t understand. “Here, Phil,” Mezilli explained, “Get a big chunk of crab meat from the claw here and dip it in this sauce. It’s the best thing you’ve ever had.”

  I was hesitant at first but I seen old Joe eating some so I figured it wasn’t poison. I tasted it and by God, it was about the best thing I’d ever put in my mouth!

  Before I knew it, I’d pulled up a chair next to Joe’s daddy at th
e big table and we were hammering crab claws and eating spaghetti four different ways from Sunday. I’d forgotten all about the evil in Joe Mezilli’s heart. Suddenly I remember what this “Seven Fishes” business really was all about. I looked around the room and everyone seemed to be safe for the time being. Joe’s daddy and momma were right there by me and his grandmother hadn’t let go of the little girl all night. Surely he wasn’t going to kill the old lady while his daughter was sitting right on her lap.

  We was having a high old time, and I nearly dropped my guard. But at one point I cornered Hank and Timmy Peppers and I reminded them of my suspicions and told them to keep an eye out. “Suppose you’re right, Phil,” Milledge asked me. “How do you plan on stopping it? If these guys are professionals as you say.” “I don’t know,” I replied, “You two just keep your eyes on them poor old folks and I’ll come up with something.

  About thirty minutes later I was enjoying some shrimp with my crabs and Joe walked up to me looking concerned. I bet he’s on to me, me being on to him and all… I thought. “Phil, are you feeling okay?” I heard him say it, but it sounded funny. It sounded like one of them laughing boxes when the battery runs low. “I feel grapes,” I said. “Just grapes. How about some more of that Bobby Baccala.” Suddenly the room was spinning and I felt my face swell. My lips felt like I was sucking an air hose down at the Gulf station. My heart started to race. Oh my God…he’s poisoning me! I thought. I felt my chest tighten and my skin got really cold. The last thing I heard clearly was Gladys saying “Phil…oh Lord…Phil are you okay?” Then I heard Mezilli say “It’s anaphylaxes, he’s going into shock. Anaphylaxes, I thought to myself. He poisoned me with anaphylaxes! What the hell is anaphylaxes? Right then, the room went black and I fell down face-first in a bowl of mussels.