The Family

Untitled Part 17

Ok, Frankie," said the President opening the conversation, "Tell me what caused those men to leave in such a hurry? "Where do I begin," answered Frankie, "Those men in that room are not your typical Americans. They are privileged, wealthy, arrogant and, enough is never enough, is their byword for success. They are fifteen percent of the population and the crime and corruption within dwarfs the other eighty-five. Then we have the so-called middle class, suburbia, nice house nice cars, nice wife and kids. But once again their lives are ruled by the dollar. If you are introduced to a middle classer he is not interested in your name, where you come from or your family status. He will ask you how much you earn and if the person to his right is a doctor and the person on his left works cleaning then the one with the highest earnings in his tiny brain must be the smartest and he will focus his attention on him or her. It is a case of you have I want, making up thirty-five percent of the population. And the final fifty percent are the worker ants who keep the whole thing going. They don't crunch numbers, they don't bet stocks and shares, they work and produce twelve hours per day for mostly a living wage. But my point is Mr President is that they couldn't care less about Politics. The words they hear on the TV from Politicians is like a soap. Millions of dollars flying through the air on promises made, never seem to land on them, yet they are the real Americans." The President went into one of his Presidential pauses designed to cause a nervousness in a room and Frankie was feeling it. "You see Frankie," he said, "I was born and raised in the small town of Missoula, Idaho. My father worked in a local Brewery from a boy till the day he died two years ago. Therefore you are correct, me and people like me don's completely understand the workings of a city like New York, but I want to and with your help I will. Can you come up with some way to show me your world? "No problem George," Frankie replied, "How are the make-up artists at the White House? "I have many disguises, you would be surprised," answered the President. "Now I am off to Europe for eight days, I will call you when I return. And by the way how is your son after his accident? Frankie looked shocked, "You know about that? he asked. "I know all about you Frankie Lazaro and you seem like a good man, I think we will be friends."
Mario was out of Hospital and being spoiled by his overpowering wife and mother. Physio sessions every day were slowly but surely bringing movement back to his limbs. On the outside the sign's were good, on the inside he was traumatised, he had never in his whole life been inactive and watching the comings and goings of normal life from a wheelchair was like a blade cutting through his heart. On his limited day's away from Yonkers he would accompany his father on his rounds as he checked on his numerous businesses around New York and gradually if the ground allowed he would transfer from his wheelchair to crutches which allowed him to visit his favourite Kentucky Fried Chicken Stores. This to Mario was happiness. Frankie never discussed his meeting with the President thinking there was still a way's to go, and it could all go wrong. 
Two weeks on and the call came in, the President was good to go. They met up at a Burger joint on the banks of the East River and Frankie was stunned. George Cambers had been transformed into Miguel Martinez, he was unrecognizable. They visited various Factories in total employing around two and a half thousand men and women. At all times, out of sight his men were everywhere. They set no alarm bells ringing as Frankie Lazaro was a frequent visitor and everyone knew his name. "This is the life blood of New York," said Frankie, with a noticeable pride in his words, "No hang-ups, no jealousy just working to survive." That night they would eat in Jimmy McGrory's Bar a favourite haunt of Frankie's. As they walked through the door the shouts of, Frankie did you catch the game, Frankie the drinks are on you, and Frankie how is Mario doing, were coming from everywhere. They sat at a table of four men and two women. "This is my friend Miguel, guy's make him welcome." he said. "I'm Ralphie," said the guy to the right shaking a hand he would never have imagined he would shake, " Any friend of this guy is a friend of mine." Jimmy the Bar owner had joined them and as Frankie looked around he wondered what they would say if he told them that outside there was enough firepower to bring down a small city. The conversation back and fourth was designed to let George Chambers realise how little interest the general public had in Politics. "Ralphie," he said, " who rings the bell at the start of a day in the House of Representative's? "How the fuck should I know, Quasimodo," he answered and everyone including the President laughed. "And this Miguel is Lyla," said Frankie pointing to an attractive thirty-year-old sitting across the table. "Lyla works nights and she always come in with a smile on her face." "Don't listen to him Miguel," she shouted, "I work at a Fast food Joint on the other side of Yonkers, walk there and back I do." "Aren't you afraid Lyla? asked Miguel. "Na," she answered, "Frankie's men are everywhere, no one would dare touch me" "Hay Lyla" said Frankie, "Did you know that the Dow Jones Index lost ten points this morning? "Na," she answered, " but my eighty year old grandmother is blowing a guy in a wheelchair at number 42, go figure,"