Fallen Angel, Part II

by Tracie Podger

  However, he did take my phone and programmed in a number.

  “If ever you are questioned by anyone, you say nothing and call this number,” he said. I closed my eyes, hoping that would never happen.

  ****

  The following day I went to the home, I just couldn’t sit around doing nothing anymore. I helped tidy up, fix a couple of goal posts and I got to have a good chat with Ted.

  “How good a boxer was Robert?” I asked.

  “One of the best I’ve ever seen. If he’d gone professional, he could have been very successful.”

  “Why didn’t he, go professional?”

  “I don’t know really, he was given the opportunity but I guess he felt too loyal to Joe.”

  “How long had you known Joe?”

  “Many years, I was one of his fighters, won a fair few myself you know,” he said with pride.

  “But your Robert, he was in a different class. He was probably too dangerous to fight professionally if I’m honest.”

  “What do you mean, too dangerous?” I asked.

  “He didn’t feel, Brooke. Not one punch, not about the bloodied man on the floor in front of him, he just didn’t care. Come with me, I want to show you something,” he said as we made our way back in the house.

  He pulled down a box of old photos from the top of his closet and knowing exactly what he was looking for, he pulled one out of Robert. One hand was held aloft by the referee in victory and there was a guy on the floor, behind him. Yet there was not a hint of a smile on his face, no celebration of his win.

  “Who took the photo?” I asked flicking it over.

  “Can’t remember but I think that was his last fight, he was unbeaten you know.”

  “So why did he quit, if he was that good?”

  “He never really enjoyed it, he did it for the money. I remember after his first fight, he told me, and I quote ‘I took no pleasure from that, just the money,’ he spoke like a man twenty years older, Brooke,” he said with a chuckle.

  “Can I have this, Ted, just to make a copy?” I asked.

  “Sure, keep it, although I don’t know if he would like to remember those times,” he said, a word of caution.

  I hadn’t thought about that, I had planned this wall of memories, but I really needed to consider what memories he would be happy to recall.

  With Gary driving, I headed home. I was meeting Sam and Scott at the hotel that night, to go over the final arrangements for their blessing. I texted Robert and told him I was on my way home. He had meetings all day and a dinner at night. He had invited me, but as I told him, we couldn’t go everywhere together, he had to get back to some form of the social life he had before me.

  Taylor had called, left me a message, although the actual dress was not finished they wanted me for a first fitting. I called her back and arranged for the following day, we were then to head off after for some Christmas shopping. I sent a text to Gina, so she could update my diary, that way both Robert and Gary got to know. At the end of the week we were to head to New York and I realised I was looking forward to it, despite my earlier reservations. I was looking forward to meeting Lucia again.

  Gary and I collected Sam and Scott and headed to the hotel. I was pleased that unlike Travis, Gary was at least polite to the boys. We were greeted by the Hotel Manager and I think it was the first time I was really aware of how people treated me. The Manager approached me first, shook my hand before the boys. The Events Planner spoke mainly to me, which I found uncomfortable and I deflected her questions to the boys at every opportunity.

  We sat for a meal, a sample of what we would be served. We had chosen a fairly straightforward menu, something most people would enjoy. The chef was preparing a tasty chicken soup with homemade breads to start, a fillet of beef with honey glazed vegetables for the main and a selection of mini deserts to finish. Sam had wanted a gold and white theme, hence the colour of my dress. The table cloth and linen were white, the cutlery gold, the flowers in the centre a mixture, the white china plates had a gold band around the rim. It was just perfect.

  We went through the numbers, agreeing a final would be given three days before. We talked about the music, a band would play, one the hotel regularly used. After dinner we met with the photographer and planned where photographs were to be taken. I pulled him to one side and explained that there were people that may not want to be photographed, and I didn’t want them to be badgered. If they declined it was to be left at that. Travis I knew, avoided being photographed at all costs. He still had living family, he didn’t want a brother showing up, he had said once.

  It was a pleasant, if somewhat exhausting, evening. Sam was like a jumping bean, bouncing around with excitement. Finally we met the Minister. He had arrived in a fluster, still not entirely happy about the whole thing. A small anti room would be used for the ceremony and he went through his procedure. He was a decent enough guy and as he left he clasped my hands.

  “Give my regards to Robert, perhaps I will see both of you in church soon.”

  That I doubted very much, but I thanked him for the invitation anyway. It was late by the time I had got home. Because I was coming home to an empty house, Gary was to walk in with me, a quick check all was okay before leaving himself.

  “Gary, do you have a partner, a wife?” I asked.

  “Yes, I have a partner,” he said.

  “She must feel a bit neglected you spending all your time working.”

  He smiled, “No he doesn’t, and he knows what I do.”

  Oh Travis would love that, one of his own, gay and I laughed, thankfully he wasn’t offended and he got the joke.

  “I know, I have to listen to Travis sometimes, especially when you all met with Sam and Scott.”

  “Well, Gary, between us we’ll have to educate him, won’t we,” I replied as I said goodnight.

  Now, I’ve known Sam all my life, I know plenty of gay men, but not one as butch, as muscular and a trained fighter as Gary, I’d seen him work out with Travis in the gym. I was still chuckling to myself as I undressed and headed for the shower.

  I felt Robert climb into bed, long after I had and my eyes flickered open.

  “Hey, did I wake you?” he said, kissing my forehead and pulling me into his arms.

  “No, I was just dozing, did you have a good time?” I asked drowsily.

  “It was okay, business that’s all, lots of old men talking shop, how about you?”

  “It was good, we got a lot done and the Minister hopes to see us soon.”

  “Yeah, right, he can hope all he likes.”

  “How did you get him to agree to the blessing?”

  “A large donation to the roof fund,” he said.

  “I thought you didn’t do bribes, but thank you,” and I settled back down listening to him chuckle.

  “Oh, I get a kick out of bribing a man of God,” he said.

  ****

  I was excited about my shopping trip with the girls and we headed just outside the City to Bloomingdales. It seemed strange, four women shadowed by four guys but at least we had people to carry the bags. I managed to pick up quite a few bits and we settled in a bistro for lunch.

  “I met Luca Gioletti and his wife last night,” I told the girls.

  “Isn’t she just stunning?” Susie said.

  “Yes, Robert had told me most of the wives were old fat Italians with sour faces,” I laughed.

  “She comes from a serious family in Naples, the Casalesi I think, but didn’t she live in Rome?” Patricia asked.

  “Yes, she told me she came from Rome to marry Luca, Robert said it brought two families together,” I said.

  “Patricia, you seem knowledgeable with all this stuff, how does it work?” I asked her.

  She smiled, “I only know what I’ve learnt over the years from Jonathan but from what I understand, there is no Mafia in America. Mafia is an Italian thing, it was the press that coined the phrase. I think here, they prefer to call themselves Cosa Nostra
, it literally translates to our thing. Obviously the organisations started with Italians moving here and setting up.”

  She paused while the waiter took our orders and filled our glasses with wine.

  “Many of the families here are now legitimate, to a degree I guess. They would have perhaps laundered their crime money by buying into existing business. Some are still involved in drugs, counterfeit goods and they have a very strict code, based on the original Mafia ideals. Omerta, for example. No-one will speak out about them, if they did, and I am talking now back in the day, they would have been killed. But back to Lucia, her family joined others to form the Camorra, it’s the oldest organisation in Italy, I think dates back to the eighteenth century in Naples but the Casalesi clan were the most powerful, specialising in construction and keeping a low profile,” she chuckled.

  “So, Vassago has dealings with the Casalesi through construction in New York,” I said.

  She nodded, “Well, the Giolettis, they would have to know before Vassago would get the go ahead.”

  “Robert told me he met with Massimo Gioletti, years ago, he said that he wasn’t asking permission just wanted to know there wouldn’t be any problems with a development.”

  “Sounds like Robert,” she laughed.

  “So how does a family work? I take it Luca is the head.”

  “Yes, he would have been referred to as the boss, he would have an under boss, then managers for want of a better word, then the workers and associates.”

  “How did Joe’s family work then?”

  “Joe broke the mould really. First he and Carmine Gioletti were part of the Chicago Outfit, then Joe moved to Washington. Because there was no real organised crime here, I guess he thought he would have a go. He worked on his own to start, then had Jonathan as his advisor and accountant, in Italian he would have been a Consigliere, he had an Under Boss, his name was Rocco, then the Caporegime, the Managers, which were the rest of the guys.”

  “What happened to Rocco?”

  “Unfortunately he was killed, a long time ago and normally he would have been replaced but Joe waited to find the right man, years went by, then he moulded Robert for that role.”

  “So all the time, he knew Robert would take over Rocco’s position,” I asked.

  “I guess so, I can’t be sure obviously, but that’s how it looks.”

  “Why not your guys?” I asked Taylor and Susie.

  “Honey, Mack’s a fighter, not a thinker,” she laughed.

  “Richard wouldn’t have wanted that either,” Susie said.

  “Robert is a seriously intelligent human being, despite his lack of schooling. His understanding of business is greater than the others, it’s what makes the company work. However, there is one thing that set the guys apart from any of the other families, the one that made ours unique,” she said.

  I leant forward in my chair, totally fascinated by what I was learning.

  “There is a thing called Made Men. Now, Made Men are the ones in the upper circle if you like, they are the untouchables and every made man would be of Italian descent. Robert, is not Italian, looks it though, Jonathan, Mack and Travis are not however Paul, or Paulo and Richard, Ricardo are. So, what made us unique was that there were three made men of other blood. I think old Joe got a lot of stick for that.”

  “Remember, honey, all this is a long time ago, like Patricia said,” Taylor added.

  “I know, but it's fascinating don’t you think? To have these organisations, still around today, unbelievable really.”

  “Many of the old bosses are in prison now, as recent as I think 2010 there was a round up by the FBI, but they’ll always be around. As long as there are Italian communities, as long as there is Italy, there will always be the Mafia,” Susie added.

  “Everyone told me there was no Mafia in Washington,” I stated.

  “Okay, we have to confess to a play on words, until we knew you were staying. We all had to be careful what we said. Technically there is no Mafia, like I said, that was a word the press used. Joe was part of the Chicago Outfit, yes, part of the Cosa Nostra, but a crime organisation of its own. He left that, started his own little empire. I don’t know if that could be classed as being the Mafia, although they do associate at a business level and maybe the odd dinner,” Patricia laughed.

  I understood what she said, of course they had to be careful about what I knew to start with.

  “The FBI was there, outside the restaurant,” I said.

  “I imagine they would be, Luca’s father is in prison, the family is still strong in New York. Anyway, enough of your lessons for today, let’s order, I could eat a horse,” Taylor said.

  “Or a horse's head, at least,” I joked. Taylor got it, Susie got it but Patricia looked blank, guess she’d never seen the film.

  We shopped late into the day and with weary feet, we each headed home. I must have dozed off in the car because I was woken to a kiss after Robert had opened the door for me.

  “Don’t look in my bags,” I said in a panic.

  “I’m not going to look in your bags. Gary, take them over to Evelyn’s, save me from the temptation,” he said as he helped me from the car.

  “Did you have a good day?” he asked.

  “It was great, I think I probably spent a little too much though.”

  “Good. If this is going to be our first Christmas, I want you to spend whatever you want, to make you happy,” he said.

  “So, my made man, pour me a glass of wine while I get these shoes off.”

  “Your what?” he said, laughing.

  “Oh, I learnt a lot today. You’re the Boss, Jonathan your Consi something or the other, the guys are your Capor what’s its and then there are the workers and associates” I smiled, impressed with myself. “And, guess what, I’m going to be the Under Boss,” I said.

  “You, baby, can be under the boss anytime you want,” he replied, his hands catching my face, lifting it up for a deep kiss.

  “Patricia I take it, she’s a walking encyclopedia,” he said as he poured me a wine.

  I sat at the breakfast bar while Evelyn prepared dinner for us.

  “Patricia has been enlightening Brooke here to the hierarchy of the Mafia. She now knows the words, Boss, Under Boss, Consigliere, Caporegime, except they were not workers, they were Soldiers, then Associates” he said, correcting me.

  Evelyn rolled her eyes and laughed. “Good God, Brooke. I haven’t heard those words for years,” she said.

  “You had a perfect accent when you said that,” I told him.

  “I can speak a bit. When Joe didn’t want the other guys to know what we were saying, he would talk to me in Italian.”

  “How did you get away with the made man thing?” I asked.

  “Look at me, I hardly look English, do I?”

  No, he didn’t. With his black hair, black eyes, olive skin, he would pass for an Italian any day.

  “Sit, la cena é pronta,” Evelyn said

  “Sit, dinner is ready,” he translated.

  Evelyn left and we ate our meal.

  “Brooke, in all seriousness, you do know we’re not the Mafia, not anymore, don’t you?” he asked.

  “Of course I do. I get what it was and what it is now, I’m just understanding your past, the history of it all,” I said.

  It concerned him a lot, me thinking he was still some gangland boss. I knew that was not the case but I did find the whole thing interesting, another world really.

  “What will happen when we get to New York?” I asked, we were leaving in a couple of days.

  “I’ll meet with Luca, we go to the site, talk buildings and you get to shop with Lucia.”

  “Can’t I come with you?”

  “I’ll take you to see the development the second day, if that’s what you want. You have to understand, it’s not the norm to do business with your wife on your arm.”

  “I’m not your wife.”

  “Not yet,” he said with a wink.

&nbs
p; “I might never be. You might change your mind, I might decline your proposal, if or when it happens.”

  “Then I shall have to do what the old Italians would have done. Force you, lock you in the house for the rest of your life with no purpose but to cook, clean and please me.”

  He laughed at my shocked face.

  “Come one, bring that bottle, start behaving like you should and pour me another glass,” he said making his way over to the sofa, laughing.

  “It’s funny, I don’t miss sitting in front of the TV night after night,” I said as we listened to some music.

  “Never really watched it. There wasn’t one in Pittsburgh and I don’t recall one behind the Chinese, next to the dumpster Travis and I called home,” he said.

  “You’ve never told me about that time, not much anyway,” I said.

  “I guess there’s not really a lot to tell, every day was much the same. We found a doorway, usually in an alley somewhere and slept there. Well, I say slept, I don’t think we ever really slept, always had to keep our ears open.”

  “For what?” I asked.

  “Cops, perverts,” he saw my startled look.

  “Plenty of old men looking to pick up kids off the street, Brooke. Give them some food, drug them and before you know it, your shipped off somewhere.”

  “You’re kidding me?”

  “No, trafficking it’s called. Young kids, girls and boys get picked up all the time, promises of work, food or shelter and before they know it, they are either hooked on drugs and pimped out or sent abroad. Happens all over the world sadly.”

  “That’s terrible, I still can’t get over how a country like America can have so many homeless kids. I mean, I would see homeless people in London, but they looked more like adults, not kids.”

  “Most of them dress to look older, less attractive to the pimps and less likely to get picked up by the cops and put in a home. Being on the street ages you.”

  “But a home is better than the streets, isn’t it?”

  “Not for some. They’ve been there for so long, a lot have mental issues, education problems, they become so used to being outdoors that to then shut them up in a house or a room, can be a real problem.”