Nearly Extinct

"Familia!"

"Not for nothin', but we should whack'em!" The remnants of cheese ravioli dangled from Jimmy 'The Ox's' lips, making the suggestion even more repulsive.

"What are you, a Shadrude or somethin'? You heard the Boss. Vinnie Dimarco is hands-off!" Of all the soldiers that sat at the large round table, Lou Rossi was the closest thing to reason one would find. Rolling his dark eyes back to their starting spot, he topped off his glass with Chianti, took a long draw on a cheap cigar and waited for the debate to begin. It's a wonder we don't live in the streets, he thought.

"Screw'em," Pauli Patricio blurted to everyone's surprise. "That little wharf rat forgets where he came from!" Since his troubled adolescence, Big Pauli had clawed his way up the ranks until finally becoming a respected lieutenant for the Monarco Crime Family. He'd survived the Mob Wars of the 60's, as well as two close hits intended to remove his head completely from his shoulders. Through it all, he always wore a waist length black leather and pork pie hat. Whether it was due to superstition or reasons known only to him, while other guys adorned Armani suits, Gucci loafers and diamond pinkie rings to match their elevated status, Pauli kept his feet planted firmly.

Tipping the brim of his frumpy hat, he shot Lou his infamous glare. One look was all it took to display the frigid temperature that guaranteed this old warrior's survival. He wasn't about to lose his livelihood, especially during a time of peace between the families.

Lou was taken back a spell. Pauli was always the strong, silent type, prone more toward carrying out orders with a ball peen hammer. Everything he did was in a swift and violent manner, but he was never one to share his thoughts and he'd certainly never questioned the Boss. Lou began to understand the level of anxiety that filled Rosa's back room.

The black beads that separated the 'made men' from the other patrons parted right down the middle. The place went silent, hands instinctively diving into jackets. Gina, Rosa's olive-skinned daughter, bounced in with a tray of steaming Espressos. Within seconds, every sauce-stained plate was cleared, every breadcrumb scraped away - allowing Rosa plenty of room for her famous canolis. "Some Anisette for the coffees, gentlemen?" the sweet woman asked with a wink.

"Cognac," Lou shocked her.

It had been a few years since Monarco's Boys ordered top shelf. "I'll send Gina right in, so you can get back to your business," Rosa confirmed and returned to the whine of dueling violins.

"That's no lie, Lou. That little bastard Vinnie was right there wit me and Jackie-Boy when I took Carmine "Da Rat" down wit one swing!" 'The Ox' could barely push the sentence past the canoli lodged in his throat. "Those was the days," he snorted. "Me and my Louisville Slugger could'a played for the Yanks back then! Vinnie witnessed a couple of my home runs!"

Joey Bianco nodded his slick black head. "It's the truth, Louie. How do you figure Vinnie's getting' ready to draw blood and burn some rosary beads one day, and the next he's out, off to some fancy school. Then, the son-of-a-bitch has the balls to come back to the neighborhood and start up his own game? They say he's runnin' the best show in town; takin' in five to ten thou a week. I say he forgot about our code of honor. I say he needs to spread some of it out like the rest of the fish in the city!"

"Protection money," Pauli interceded, pulling the linen cloth from the table. The weekly card game was about to get under way.

Lou turned from the oil paintings of Venice and Rome that hung on crushed red velvet wallpaper and barked, "Forget about it! First off, I think we all know Vinnie's got plenty of protection as it is. Second, the Boss says…"

"The Boss ain't out here. He don't see what we see," Joey roared. "It ain't like years ago when we just had to worry about the Micks or the Chinks tryin' to muscle in on our action. Today, every asshole's a player and some are legit. The State's got the Lottery, AIDS took the money outta runnin' whores, every greasy drug dealer from here to Federal Hill is keepin' pockets empty and the frigin' Indians control the casinos. Shit, if we had any real brains, we'd be tradin' in the Uzi's for pearl-handle six-shooters."

Everyone laughed, everyone but Lou.

Joey pounded his fist, "We can't even grab five G's to pull off a decent contract."

Lou stood up. "I think you forgot where you came from, Bianco! What are you, a Spakone now? Callin' the shots for the Boss. Where's your loyalty?" Shaking his head, he finished with a roar, "You're a frigin' dead man!"

Slowly, Joey placed his manicured hands on the table and rose to his feet, causing the rest of the table to do the same. "Easy. Easy," 'The Ox' called out, "we're all feelin' it lately, but dat don't mean we gotta turn on each other like dogs, does it?"

Lou stared hard into Joey's bloodshot eyes. He knew. Behind the silk tie and gold chain, Bianco's heart was working a little harder than usual. Nobody disrespected the Boss. And, as long as Lou was drawing breath, he'd see to it.

The tension was so thick that Pauli spoke more than he had in two decades. "Christ Lou, Joey's right. Not one of us drives anything better than a '85 Cadi. We ain't had smooth brandy in years and this table used to be piled with C notes. Now look at our high stakes game!"

Lou glanced down. They were right. They were all right. There wasn't anything higher than a sawbuck on the table. For the most part, there were singles and fives scattered everywhere. Vinnie Dimarco, in his signature black attire, was living in some huge stone house at the end of Elms St., while Lou and the boys were one extortion ring away from welfare. With a sigh, Lou sat and ended the quarrel, "I'll go see the Boss tomorrow!"

Don Monarco was sitting out in front of Pop's Candy Store, as he had for the past thirty years, sunning himself with a reflective aluminum shade. His pants were pulled up to the knees, revealing a bleached white pair of socks and the scrawniest set of legs Lou had ever seen. I've seen better legs hangin' out of a nest, Lou thought and approached Bobby Monarco, the feared Under boss. After a kiss for both cheeks, out of respect, Lou inquired, "How's Marie and the kids?"

"Marie's still bitchin' about everything that moves and the kids have gotten to the age they bleed me for every frigin' nickel I make. They must think it grows on trees, the little bastards."

Lou managed a grin, but was sorry he ever asked. Bobby Monarco was a miserable soul; always had been. As for the money, Lou knew it didn't grow on trees. Then again, to Bobby Monarco, it just as well could have. That land shark never earned a red penny for himself. He'd just made a career out of collecting from the collectors.

Lou pulled up a chair next to Don. A sign reading "Pop" hung over the old man's head, turning Lou's smile sincere. The entire store was the saddest front ever devised. Still, not one kid had been in the place for three decades and the same went for the cops. Instead, everything from guns to hijacked cigarettes was stacked to the ceiling, with just enough room left for Don's safe. Lou couldn't imagine how much must have been salted away over the years.

Lou received the old man's blessing and got right down to business. "Don, some of the boys are startin' to squirm. Things are gettin' real tight in the trenches. It's not like it used to be when we wore fedoras and kept the ladies in jewels and fur wraps…"

"Ronnie. Ronnie. You worry too much… always have!"

Lou started to correct him, but stopped when he caught Bobby's murderous stare.

The old man went on, "What are you - still worried about that job in Providence? I told you boys already. Everything went clean. Benny O's not gonna bother anyone anymore." There was a pause. "He's gone to sleep." At 75 years old, Don's laugh could still be heard all the way back to Sicily.

Lou felt an unfamiliar shiver travel the length of his spine. Don Monarco was talking about a hit that took place 23 years before; a big hit that changed the controlling forces in organized crime throughout New England. Catching Bobby's devious chuckle, Lou looked up for some answer to this babbling nonsense. The Under boss just shrugged and went on laughing. That same shiver returned down Lou's strong back. It was clear. The old man was getting worse. He was now as loony as the many men he'd ordered to be killed, leaving Bobby with a full safe and no one in his way to stop him. For the first time, the term Organized Crime seemed no more than an oxymoron.

"What is it?" the senile man demanded, yanking Lou from his thoughts.

"It's Vinnie Dimarco, Don" Lou replied, without thinking, "he's makin' money hand over fist out there on Elms, actin' like he's better than any one of us. The boys want…"

"You boys leave Vinnie Dimarco alone," the notorious crime boss screamed. "He's like a son to me, God bless his soul!" Stopping to catch his breath, he finished, "Anyone lays a hand on Vinnie, they'll be nappin' with Benny O! Got it?"

Lou nodded his head and watched as a string of drool, crawling from Don's lower lip to his heaving chest, began waving in the wind. Don Monarco opened his mouth to say something, but wasn't quick enough. From his eyes, Lou could see that the thought had eluded him long before it could reach his sharp tongue. The old man shook his white head and laughed again. He then closed his eyes and placed the tanning shade back under his chin.

That was it. Don Monarco was knocking on Satan's door and from the look of his pale skin and sunken eyes, he already had one foot in hell. Evidently, he didn't want any more talk of extortion, bribery, racketeering or any of the other magical words that had made him both powerful and rich. The discussion was over and in many ways so was the future of the Monarco Family. Lou could still hear Bobby laughing from three blocks away.

They'd filled their paunch bellies with a pan of Rosa's lasagna and their minds were abuzz from a barrel of wine when Lou dropped the hammer. To their disbelief, he repeated every incredible detail until the look of suspicion was replaced by fear. "And why not," Lou concluded sadly, "rearranging body parts and burning down houses are not great prerequisites for a job in the real world." By the end of the gluttonous dinner, the alcohol ruled the majority, "If we can't beat'em, let's join'em!" The next thing Lou knew, Joey, Pauli, 'The Ox' and he were parked out in front of Vinnie's place on Elms.

Lou couldn't believe his eyes. Vinnie's business was as good as the days Joey ran the book on the East Side. The place was packed. Most of the gamblers were up there in years, but they still came with pockets of money to blow. After peering down the row at the dangerous Italian faction, Lou looked up to find Vinnie staring right at him. The retired thug was smiling from ear-to-ear. He was the picture of perfect sainthood; his past behind him, his conscience clear and a ton of cash being made. In spite of himself, Lou had to laugh. Just then, Vinnie, as if speaking in the old code of the underworld, yelled out, "I-17."

Instantly, Pauli leapt to his feet. With fire in his eyes, the hit man roared, "BINGO! I got BINGO!"

Lou checked his card. Nothing! Maybe Father Vinnie Dimarco would help him find a new job on Monday.