Dinner With The Mafia

At first, caution made them slow down, then it backfired, egging them happily along.

“Thanks for the advice, honey. We're gonna use that contraption on and in your little friend.”

“I'm warning you! Don't make me…” Grabbing the mic like a baseball bat, she lassoed it by its cord, where it wrapped around one of the twins' ankle, tripping him over. The other guy tumbled and fell on the stage, flying into one of the tables, knocking over three drunken sailors. Furious over their wasted beers, the inebriated sailors tried to stand, rocking back and forth on their feet.

Then the microphone started whistling with ear-piercing feedback and everyone covered their ears in a desperate attempt to muffle the loud screeching, trying to mute the noise as Bill had picked up the mic and started bashing it.

The tension in the club gained more and more momentum every minute until an inevitable no-holds-barred brawl broke out. In all the confusion, it became obvious that any object was a potential weapon: bottles, chairs, tables, people, coins, ashtrays. During the hurricane that followed, an enormous bearded man with a patch over his left eye started yelping and crying. Someone had stepped on his ingrown toenail. His reaction was like a bull in a rodeo, ramming the cowboy wearing the Stetson, launching him across the room. The unlucky cowboy was a failing dwarf actor who had spiraled into big screen anonymity, but was still famous enough to land a guest spot in an occasional TV series. Both were lifted from the ground and flung right onto the stage where they collided with Bill, who saw the little man's landing just a second before the impact.

Ben saw a way out and decided to go for it. “Susan, we have to throw ourselves off the stage!”

She looked uneasy at Ben's idea. “What? Are you crazy? It's too high, we'll break our necks!”

But Ben knew that they had to seize the moment, otherwise it would be too late. “This is our only chance. I've got an idea. Trust me!”

He grabbed her by the waist and leaped, leaving her no choice but to jump with him.

They both ended up right on top of the potbellied drunkard who had passed out and relocated to the floor before the show had started. Even though Ben and Susan's crash landing didn't seem to disturb the catatonic conditions of the man, at least it absorbed the shock of the fall.

Ben recovered first and turned to Susan. “Are you ok? Are you hurt?”

She groaned about the sudden and inconsiderate action, but when she looked at where she was sitting, she jumped up, startled. “Oh my god! We've killed him!”

But the unconscious man responded to Susan's fear with a loud fart. While attempting to wave away the foul odor, Ben calmed Susan down. “Nah, don't worry about him. He's alive and kicking, but we've gotta get outta here if we don't want to be Bill's lunch!”

He pointed to one of the twins who was still trying to disentangle the microphone from his ankle, grabbed her by the arm and both ran out of the nightclub. The last thing they saw before they escaped outside into the commotion of humans, was their follower's risky imitation of their jump from the stage. The noise following their frenemies's leap sounded like bones cracking and loud screaming and cursing that confirmed that their pursuer had missed his mark.

Running and zig-zagging around several obstacles, this is how the fugitives were able to safely get away.

Chapter 2

731 Lexington Avenue: Bloomberg Tower

The backrest of the big, black, leather armchair was facing the entrance to the thirtieth-floor studio, offering a legendary and marvelous view. The highly technological glassed wall was remote controlled to allow the light to dim or shine as desired. Joe Santini’s favorite pastime was to fiddle with this gadget while tossing one of his customary mints around in his mouth, especially while his mind was occupied with his nephew, Benito. Or Ben, as he preferred to be called.

“You have to admit, he managed a pretty good escape, grabbing the girl and taking off like a jackrabbit right out the front door.”

The man speaking about Ben’s adventure was called Valerio Esposito. From a recently immigrated Italian family, he was part of the group called the “Observers”, who looked after the young man’s physical well-being, unbeknownst to him. Esposito, like a doctor, was available when necessary to administer the proper “therapy”.

“We need to take some cautionary act against that guy, just to make sure he won’t be interfering again. What did you say his name was? Jerkoff?”

“Jerkov. Bill Jercov. And I’ve already taken the liberty to prescribe a tranquilizer.”

Coincidentally, whenever Ben got involved in some kind of annoying trouble, Joe could feel a strange pain in his gut, a burning in his stomach like he was breathing embers of fire. He figured it was only frustration, attributing the cause to his addiction to the mints that he couldn’t get enough of. From a wood box on his desk, he took a cigar and lit it up in hopes that it would calm the unpleasant feeling.

Colombia Presbyterian Medical Center

Dr. Newman was looking over the new patient’s medical chart.

“Nasal septum, mouth, both legs and your right arm broken. Well, for a simple fall, you’re sure a mess.”

The patient, in a state of confusion, partly due to the painkillers, was desperately attempting to open his mouth to show the empty spaces between his teeth.

“Ah, I see. Also missing an upper molar and an incisor. All right, we’ll get you fixed up in no time, Mr… Jerkoff?!”

The doctor walked off with a smug smile on his face, followed by two gorgeous nurses while Bill whispered, “Je… rko… v!”

Clearly, Bill’s feeble attempt at correcting his last name was useless. The patient’s file had already been completed with the insulting wrong name.

Bloomberg Tower

Joe appeared satisfied, rotating his armchair back around, deeming to look his visitors straight in the eye.

“Well done, good job. Now, where is my nephew? Is he still with the girl?”

Esposito answered confidently, pleased with a job well done, “Yes. They’re together right now. Near 6

Avenue at that restaurant called The Italian Affair.”

The Italian Affair Restaurant

Ben and Susan were still a little rattled from their experience; they caught their breaths while sipping their wine at an elegantly set table. Between the two, Ben was the one most shaken up by the events of the evening.

“I still can’t believe what happened! It was absurd, incredible. I had a funny feeling about that job. I should have listened to my sixth sense…something wasn’t right about it. I should have turned around and run the other way as soon as I set foot in that place.”

Susan looked at him with a puzzled expression. “Well, I’ve got to say, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what kind of club it is! I only took the job because if I don’t have the money by the end of the month, I won’t be able to pay my rent and I’ll be on the street. But you? Why the hell did you accept? You don’t look you fit in with those kind of people. Or like you’re hard up for money, seeing as the way you’re dressed.”

Ben, embarrassed, looked down at his clothes, awkwardly trying to hide the Emporio Armani signature.

“Oh ya. I mean no! I’m not a loser or a convict or anything like that, but I’m not a millionaire either. My uncle got me a great deal for the suit from some relatives from Italy. But gee, now that you mention it, you’re out of a job because of me.”

“No, don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault. I don’t think I could have stood it much longer there, anyway. Tonight was the perfect occasion to get away from those perverts who kept trying to feel me up.”

Ben felt lucky to have always had a family who was there for him no matter what, helping him out in every way.

“But now how are you going to pay the rent? I mean, have you got someone to help you? Your mom or dad, a relative, a boyfriend…?”

He casually threw the question out there, just to ascertain her status, while he swigged his wine to hide the fact.

“I’ve never had a real family, and regarding men…ugh, forget it!”

Red flags were waving in Ben’s mind, which made him curious to find out more. “In what way…do you mean you, and men…you don’t like…?”

He had always thought of himself as open-minded to the idea of a lesbian friend, but in all honesty, if it were true, it would have shattered a few of his fantasies he’d already had about Susan.

“Are you asking me if I like women? Well, what would be wrong with that? You like women, don’t you?”

He blushed for even bringing up the subject. Pushing his chair back, he sat up straight and tried to wipe the look of a predator off his face.