Mobs and Memories

Prologue

It was a lovely New York morning, the sky a cloudy blue, cars honking and rushing in the crowded streets below. The shrill, flowery teapot began to whistle as I was frying some bacon when I heard a familiar knock at the window.

"Hootie-hoooo," I heard from the window near the fire escape.

"Harvey? What are you doing here? You should be at work by now," I scolded to the broad-shouldered dark-haired dreamboat that entered presently.

"Dahl, you seem to forget the fact that it's only 9 AM, and I don't start until 11."

"Oh yeah, you got that schedule adjustment last week...Well," I sighed, "you might as well come and get some breakfast while you're here, since I highly doubt you and the other dimwit ate upstairs. Bacon and hen fruit alright?"

"Just dandy, sweetheart", he said, pecking my cheek as he settled in.

Newly engaged, Harvey lived on the apartment two floors above mine in Brooklyn. Father actually paid for my apartment from back home in Twickone, since women weren't "supposed" to pay the rent on their own. My parents sent me from Kentucky to live up here with my aunt in 9th grade. I'd known Harvey and Joey since that year, and Harvey and I eventually started dating junior year.

While waiting for the coffee to brew, we briefly discussed the goings on in the news, what with the Second War sounding as if it was coming to an end. I notified him about the recent robberies around the city that were linked a few people we knew through mutual friends.

As if on cue, the seldom-quiet Joey Moscatelli came bounding in from across the hall, looking for Harvey. Apart from being best friends with each other and roomates, they also happened to work at the same place. (The dynamic duo had been like two peas in a pod since grade school. Inseparable.)

Joey also happened to be the grandson of the most feared mobster in Brooklyn, but he wasn't like his grandfather or any of his other mob-obsessed relatives. He was truly trying to escape their ever-looming shadow, and had just just won a small victory by when he started working for the federal system of New York.

"Mornin', Dahl. Mornin', Harv."

"What's shakin', bacon?" I asked.

"Nothing much, just the usual. Oh, Harv? You want to hang at Gib's tonight after we get off and play some blackjack? Some of the bozos from Manhattan will be there and I need someone with a good poker face that knows how to play. You in?"

"Yeah, why not?" Joey loved blackjack, and his grandfather had close ties with the owner of a club that he frequented. As for the Manhattan comment, Joey's family had a long-running feud with some crooks in Manhattan and he always needed back-up in case he ran into one of 'em on a rainy day.

Joey sat down and the three of us listened to the radio and chatted for a while. Time got away from us and it was soon time for the boys to hit the daily grind downtown. Waving goodbye, I watched from my window as they got in the taxi and rode off.

I never saw either of them again for the next 2 weeks. They both mysteriously disappeared after the poker game. Seeing as how there was a possibility of shady deals being made, I contacted Joey's grandfather who said that he might have some information on their whereabouts, but, like a true mobster, wanted something out of the deal for himself.

"I am not giving you my necklace, no matter what price you put up." The necklace in question was one that I'd inherited from my great-grandmother that was encrusted with diamonds, a few rubies, and a beautiful centerpiece pearl. He always wanted to sell that necklace for some big bucks on the black market, but I frequently had to rebuff his advances.

"How about selling a little moonshine (or whatever you Kentuckians call it) for me, eh?" He always made fun of the fact that I came from a small town, even though he knew my parents through his daughter-in-law.

"Isn't that illegal?"

Pause. "Not exactly. I consider it rule-bending."

Another pause. Then: "Is that a deal? I can always find someone else around the city to get the job done."

"It's a deal", I reluctantly blurted. I was too desperate to find my friends to think logically.

I sold some booze around town to a few stores over the next few days, always looking over my shoulder and making sure the coppers never saw me. It was quite stressful, but I finally sold the amount that Joey's grandfather wanted ($500). I had a meeting with one of his contacts, who said that he wanted more moolah after I already gave him the money I owed, which infuriated me. How could you put a price on the experience of finding lost loved ones (especially your own grandson)? I decided that that Friday night, I would pay a visit to him and settle this "disagreement".