Mob Shmob!

He was tired. Bone tired to be exact. It wasn’t from the midnight truck heist either. He was tired of the business. He wanted out. Washing the blood off his hands in the sink of his East Side New York apartment, Jack Vicci contemplated his removal. Don Guissepe would not be happy with him, but it had to be done. He was worn out, tired of killing, tired of terrorizing citizens of New York, always having to carry a gun. It did not suit him well, though he had been doing it for…Il Mia Dio, 12 years!

He looked up into his own eyes in the mirror and could hardly recognize himself. It had been 10 years since he could look himself in the face with a good conscience. The first six years of being involved in the mob had made him feel like a hot rod. But a cold day in February 1924 had changed all that.

* * *

It had been a heist, not unlike the one tonight, and he had been driving, a Tommy nestled in his lap. Slipping into a shadow, he turned off the ignition of the LeSalle, and stepped out of the car. Slipping the machine gun into the crook of his elbow, he stood in the high beams of the delivery truck. The old truck screeched to a halt, its wooden bed rattling, the contents jingling.

Vinny and Reggio had slipped out the suicide doors of the LaSalle and were headed for the bed of the truck as the driver poked his head out the window. “What da hell’s ‘a madda wich you?! Yous cant go jumpin’ out in front of people’s trucks like dat! Don’t ya know nuttin!? I coulda killed yous!” Jack leisurely strolled around to the side, Tommy gun held loosely in his hands, a calm, confident, and yes, cocky air about him.

“Nah, you wouldn’t want to do a thing like that,” He slung the barrel of the gun up, towards the driver’s now pale, pudgy face. “Wouldja Slick?” Tthe driver shook his head rapidly, causing his jowls to jiggle comically. Jack couldn’t help but smirk. “Good. Now how about you climb out of that jalopy.” The large man opened the door and began to slink out of the delivery truck.

With the machine gun still trained on the driver, he called back to his two compatriots. “Is it all there?” The flap of the canvas being thrown back and a hoot of triumphant laughter was his reply.

“S’all here boss! Seven cases of bootleg! Ours for the takin’!” Vin yelled back, still hooting with laughter, his pinched face gleeful in the glow of the headlights. Reggio also peered over the side of the truck.

“A lot of Green River over here!” Reggio exclaimed, “It’ll take the paint off your deck if you got a boat!”

Jack laughed, “That good?”

“Hell yes!” In his distraction, Jack didn’t see the ham-like fist hurtling towards his face. Caught off guard, he fell. Hitting the ground, he fired off a round into the driver. The man’s face went slack and he too fell. Unfortunately for Jack, he fell forward, onto him.

“Get. Him. Off. Me.” Jack sputtered, the large man crushing the air from his lungs. Reggio and Vin immediately jumped down and hauled the dead man off of their boss. He sat up and slowly stood, dusting off his pinstripes and straightening his jacket. “Lets beat it.” He suggested, “Someone will have heard that.” He finished, tossing the tommy gun to Vin. The sound of a trashcan being knocked over sent him spinning, firing in the direction of the noise with his freshly drawn pistol. A woman’s shriek was heard and more bins falling.

Jack trotted over to the knocked over rubbish bins and found a flapper lying face down in the trash bags. Shocked to silence, he backed away. Vinny and Reggio stopped their unloading of the bootleg into the LaSalle to watch their boss. “Boss?” Vin called. Jack had walked forward and knelt, spreading his overcoat on the ground and rolling the woman onto the garment. He stood, lifting the dead woman’s body. Looking down into her face, he noticed that beneath all of that face paint, she was not a woman. She was still a girl, really. His face grim he turned back towards the truck.

“Pick up the driver. Put him in the back of the truck.” He said, shouldering past the two lackeys and reverently placing the girl in the bed of the truck. Vin and Reggio shrugged and picked up the body and tossed it into the truck. Jack winced and removed the girl from the bed of the truck. He instead carried her to the LaSalle and eased her onto the back seat, his coat still beneath her. He then walked around to the other side of the car. “Vin, you drive the truck. Follow Reg to the bridge over the East river.” He then climbed into the passenger seat.

They both went shortly to their tasks. Vin to the truck, Reg to the LaSalle. As Reg slid into the driver’s seat, Jack tossed him the keys and reached into his jacket pocket for a cigarette. Finding a single, bent one he gestured to Reggio for him to hand one over. Reggie started the car and pulled out onto the street, Vinni on his tail. To Jacks outstretched hand, he entrusted a crisp, white linen handkerchief. “Hey bimbo, your nose is leakin’.”

Jack wiped his face, and glancing at the white square, did notice quite a bit of blood had left his nasal cavity. It was now adorning his favorite silk tie and white shirt. He sighed and mopped the rest of it up. His hand twitched to give it back to Reg, but he decided better to wait and give it back to him after about half a dozen washings.

“Butt me.” He ordered transferring the hanky to his other hand and holding his other out for a cigarette. Reggie rolled his eyes and slid one of the slim white tubes out and handed it over. Jack struck a match on the dashboard and placed the cigarette precariously in the corner of his mouth and lit it.

On the bridge over the river, Jack signaled for Reggie to stop and climbed out of the car. He opened the suicide door and pulled the girl’s body out and slid his coat out from under it. He stood by the railing and heard the garbage freight passing under the bridge. When the bags of rubbish were visible, he dropped the girl over the railing into the barge and signaled for Vin and Reggie to do the same with the driver. After doing so, the operator hadn’t noticed and continued to steer his way to the dump.

After wards, he shook out his over coat and folded it neatly and tossed it into the back seat. “Back to the warehouse.” He climbed into the driver’s seat and waited for the other two to climb into the truck. Ever compliant they did so, and followed him down the bridge and towards little Italy.

* * *

Once again he examined his face in the cracked bathroom mirror. His soft brown hair was graying a little at the temples, even though he was only 31. His bright blue eyes were still the same color, though the lines around them and his mouth belied his age. His thick eyebrows seemed to be drawn into a permanent scowl. He smirked a little at the irony of what his mother had always said. “If you keep making that face it’s gonna stay that way!” He chuckled a little and dried his hands with the ragged bath towel from the towel rack behind the toilet.

Sighing, he walked out into his living room, dropped onto the couch with a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of Green River. It was the only thing strong enough for him. He didn’t care that it could strip wallpaper. It got rid of bad memories, simple as that. Taking a swig, he reached over and clicked off the light.

* * *

By the time they had finished unloading the liquor at the warehouse, dawn had broken and Little Italy was filling with the weak morning light. The truck had been dumped, and Jack had driven himself, Vin, and Reggio to the Don’s estate. He pulled into the driveway to the back door, where he tiredly raised his fist to knock on the back door. The door opened and the smiling Italian face of Don Guissepe’s wife greeted them, spatula in hand and perogies in the oven.

“Well aren’t you a set of rag-a-muffins!” She laughed and ushered them in the door. She signaled for the girls to come forward and take their coats and hats. The shy 17-year-old Antonetta stepped forward and took his overcoat. She stared at the inside of it wide eyed. Then she cast those honey peepers up at him in shock.

“Il Mia Dio! Sangue? Blood? Is it yours?! Are you hurt!?” she blurted, mixing up her languages in her distress. The 22-year-old Jack smiled down at her, blue eyes meeting honeyed ones.

“Non miniera. Not mine, someone else’s.” The relief was evident in the girls eyes as she smiled and hung up his jacket and glided away to accompany her sisters in the solar. Jack was left smiling dumbly to himself in the kitchen. The looks did not miss her mother’s perceptive sight and she ushered him and the other two men towards the library.

“Barchello is in the study. Don’t dawdle, he hates it when you are late.” She huffed, swatting at them with the towel. They laughed and strolled down the hall. Once out of the Don’s wife’s earshot, the three of them let out their breaths in a whoosh.

“How do ya like the chassis on that baby vamp!” Vin exclaimed, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Reggio laughed and nodded.

“Definitely a choice bit of calico!” He laughed, “Even the flat tire here noticed the gams on that one!” he laughed, pushing Jack slightly. “I do declare, he’s gone goofy!” Jack just smiled and continued walking.

* * *

Jack was dozing on the couch, the only light from the street lamp outside, and the smoldering cigarette in the ashtray. His liquor spent, he lay silent as the door of his apartment opened and closed with a click. Gripping the pistol buried in the couch cushions, he opened his eyes into slits and listened to the intruder slip about the room. The click, click, click of her high heels echoed on the hardwood floor as she dropped her purse and hat onto the coffee table.

At the light touch of a gloved hand on his shoulder, he grumbled, “Tony, its 3 o’clock AM for Crissakes. Where you been doll?” Antonetta Guissepe giggled and turned on the light. Jack winced and squeezed his eyes shut. She sniffed him.

“You been drinking?” She asked in a scolding manner. “You better watch it with that stuff, or you’ll have a bull knocking down your front door!”

Jack groaned, “Why are you late?” He asked, sitting up and patting the seat next to him. Antonetta sat, and cuddled up to the disheveled gangster.

“You think its easy bein’ your Moll and a Don’s daughter?” She asked incredulously, her eyebrows shooting up. “Why were you drinking?”

He shrugged, “You know how I get to thinkin’, then I get to drinkin’.” He chuckled slightly at the rhyme. She snuggled closer as he leaned back and propped his feet up on the coffee table, next to her dainty, stylish hat.

“What were you thinking about?” She asked, nestling her face in his chest.

“Stuff…Do you remember that one night you took my coat when you were 17?” He asked carefully, monitoring her breathing to check for confusion or trepidation.
“Yes, when I asked if it was yours? I was so worried!” She laughed. “What about it?”

Jack cleared his throat and rubbed his stubble-covered cheeks. “I killed a woman…Girl really, that night.” He felt Antonetta stiffen. “It was her blood on the coat. I was on a truck heist and had just riddled a man full of lead…and I heard a noise and I turned and fired…” He rubbed his eyes, “and it was a girl…” He felt soft lips brush his cheek in a display of comfort.

“It couldn’t be helped.” Antonetta sniffed, stroking his hair back. “You didn’t know it wasn’t one of the Bragadicios.”

“She couldn’t have been more than a year older than you were then.”

She shifted the position so that it was her doing the holding. “It’s fine. My father has probably paid off whoever was heading up the investigation and nobody will ever know—” Jack cut her off.

“But I know, that’s the problem!” He grumbled loudly. He stood, angrily swiping his hand through his longer hair. “I want out.” He turned, gesturing wildly with his hands.

Antonetta frowned and peered at him skeptically. “What do you mean out.” She asked saucily. “Out of what? Out of us?” Jack shook his head and stuffed his hands in his pocket.

“Out of the family. Out of the business.”

Antonetta’s jaw dropped. “They’ll kill you.” He lifted sad blue eyes up to hers.

“I know. It’s a risk worth taking.”

Antonetta sighed, “I’m disappointed in you.” She stood and snatched up her gloves and hat. Jack followed her with his eyes as she simpered to the door. Reaching for the doorknob, she turned back at him with a dangerous look in her eyes. “Very disappointed.” She quietly shut the door behind her and he fell to the couch, his face in his hands. Reaching out for the empty bottle of Green River, he knocked over the lamp. The light and the bottle shattered and Jack collapsed into the corner of the couch with a groan, rubbing his eyes.

* * *


The door to the Don’s office creaked familiarly upon opening. Even the brass knob squeaked as the three men turned it. “Bonjourno fellas.” The jolly old man greeted them, smoking cigar wedged between his fingers. The blue smoke curled around his hand as he waved them in. “Sit, sit.” He said, gesturing to the leather upholstered chairs before the desk.

They sat, Reggio and Vinny on each side of Jack. “How are you?” Jack asked socially, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. The other two men were far less relaxed in the company of their boss’s boss.

“Very well, thank you.” Don Guissepe said, putting out his cigar and folding his hands over his considerable belly. “How did the heist go?” He asked, tapping out a random cadence on his vest, his fingertips occasionally hitting his gold pocket watch.

Jack nodded to him, a casual smirk playing across his face. “As planned,” He lied, steepling his fingers. “All bottles accounted for.”

Barchello Guissepe nodded, pouring himself a glass of bourbon. “Good, good.” He said taking a sip. “I have another job for you boys. There’s a little weasel on 45th and 10th I want you to take care of. He owes me a tidy sum from a crap game a few weeks ago.” Jack nodded and sighed inwardly.

* * *

The morning sun filtered through Jack’s dirty cracked blinds. He groaned and rolled off the couch. Glass from the bottle and lamp dug into his hand as he hit the floor. With a growled curse, he pushed himself off of the floor and staggered to the bathroom. The pipes clunked and sputtered as he turned on the hot water to the shower. He quickly drew the curtain back, keeping the water in the tub.

After his shower and shave, he dressed in his plain black suit and tie and headed out the door. Ten o’clock rolled around as Jack’s Le Salle rolled into the driveway at the Don’s. He trudged through the richly adorned patio, fashioned to look like the family’s villa in Tuscany. Lightly knocking on the door, he heard the constant sounds of the Don’s wife baking inside. The knob turned and a much more aged Senora Guissepe smiled at him. “Jack! Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” She said. More like bellowing to Jack’s ears, she noticed, because as soon as she greeted him he winced.

Taking notice of his bloodshot eyes, she sighed and ushered him into the kitchen. “Sit.” She ordered, pointing at a chair at the breakfast table. Busying herself at the counter, she plunked a mug of coffee down in front of him. She sat in the chair opposite of him and eyed him critically. “What’s the matter kid?” She asked him.

Jack took a sip of the hot coffee and sighed behind the rim. “I have to talk to Barchello, Rose.” He sighed, taking a longer drink of the scalding liquid. She nodded and fetched him a sticky roll.

“Eat a bit and sober up before you go in. I’ll tell him you’ve got somethin’ to say.”

* * *

The trio stumbled into Club 103 after the job at 45th and 10th. The speakeasy was bustling as usual, flappers, gangsters and their molls littered the place, lounged at the bar or in booths. They stumbled to the bar and slapped the counter. “Barkeep! Some sweet moonshine for me and my friends here!” Vin called out.

Dark eyes watched them from the dance floor. The flapper charlestoned her way to him, snatching up a little shot-glass of brandy. “Lookin’ pretty rough there tough guy.” She said, dipping her finger into the alcohol and pressing it to a deep scratch on Jack’s cheek. Jack hissed and jerked his head away.

The job with the weasel hadn’t turned out as planned. The little nit had plans of his own, and had hired a few thugs to beat the Guissepe boys down. They’d roughed them up pretty bad, but they forgot two crucial things. Firstly, the Guissepe’s were the Mafia. Secondly, never bring knives and lead pipes to a gunfight.

When he looked over at the woman, all he could see was the girl. He whipped his head away from her and took a strong swig of the moonshine. The liquid burned on the way down. Reggio peeked over Jack’s stooped shoulders. “Hey there sugar, care for a dance?” He leered at the flapper.

Her painted red lips stretched into a smile. “Sure do!”

* * *

Jack was placing his coffee cup into the sink when Rose came back. “He’ll see you now.” She said, seating herself in her chair and rolling out the strudel dough. He nodded and strode purposely to the office door. As he raised his hand to knock, the Don called him in. Shrugging he opened the door. Sitting in one of the upholstered chairs was Antonetta. He nodded to Don Guissepe, then her.

“Please, sit.” The Don pointed out the unoccupied chairs. “You wanted a word?” Barchello asked, his hands folded over his stomach, as per usual. Jack nodded, his gaze on the boss, his attention on the angry woman next to him. He could feel her scathing gaze on him and he tried to focus on what he would say.

How do you tell a Mafia boss that you want to quit? He sat up straighter and sat forward. “I want out.” Guissepe’s eyebrows shot skyward. Once they had settled back to their usual altitude, the Don nodded.

“Ok.”

It was Jack’s turn to be surprised. “Ok?” He asked, astounded.

Guissepe nodded. “Ok, you can retire. If you’ll excuse me, though, I have some shipments to organize.” He returned to the papers strewn across the desk. Jack nodded awkwardly and rose. Nodding to Antonetta, he walked out of the room. The door’s latch bounced. He turned and strode back to it. Preparing to grab the doorknob and pull the door shut, he heard the Don and his daughter exchanging words.

“You’re just going to let him walk?” She hissed at her father angrily.

“Do you think I’m stupid, girl? Of course not, I was going to send Andrew Verchelli after him.”

“Let me do it. I’ll go to his apartment tonight and do it.”

Jack swallowed hard and stalked quickly from the house. “Thanks for the breakfast.” He called over his shoulder, kissing Rose on the cheek as he left. He threw open the cars door and slid inside. The engine roared to life as he backed out of the driveway and into the avenue. But he wasn’t headed to his apartment, the newsstand, or even the bar. He was headed directly to the Precinct.

* * *

Jack watched the flappers dance around with the men of Club 103 through the mirror behind the bar. Not interested, but passing time, he took a long drag on his cigarette and listened to the upbeat swing music. Tiring of watching, he turned in his seat to observe the other patrons of the speakeasy.

In the corner, a few off-duty cops sat romancing, or trying to romance, a pair of girls. At the far right of the bar sat Andy Verchelli. He was new to the Guissepe family, having just arrived from Italia herself. He was a rough looking creep, his face all pockmarked. His lips were too thin, and he seemed to have a constant smirk on his face. Not his fault, but the feature always bugged Jack. He didn’t like to be mocked, and it just came natural to this bum.

He raised his glass to him regardless, and took a long drink. “Not worth my time.” He grumbled to himself. The door to the underground pub busted open suddenly. The bulls in blue rushed in, pistols at the ready. Jack groaned and rolled his eyes.

“This is an illegal establishment and is being shut down!” A young sergeant called out from among them.

“You don’t think we know that junior?” A gangster in the corner called out. The room burst into laughter.

“Why don’t you go home to you’re ma, I think it’s your bedtime!” Another called out over the din.

Jack glanced at Vinny and Reggio. They were staring at him too. He nodded and together they made their way to the storeroom exit behind the bar.

* * *

“I’m telling you! They’re going to try and kill me tonight, and I’d like a bit of protection.” He fumed at the officer. The cop eyed him blandly.

“You’re Jack Vicci, why should we help a notorious gangster?”

“Because I’m out of the business! And now I’m just a normal, low rent citizen in need of protection.”

“Can’t help you fella.”

Jack growled and shot out of his chair, knocking it over onto the ground. “See you in the papers then.” He said, stalking out of the stuffy police station and down the steps. A sharply dressed detective leaned against the doorframe. He’d heard the entire thing.

“I’ll stake out the place, see if anything happens.” He said to the younger officer behind the desk.

* * *

Jack slid his key into the lock of his apartment. Upon turning it, he realized he hadn’t locked it in the first place and just shoved the door open. Tossing his keys on the crates that served for a coffee table, he dropped onto his couch. A muffled cry reached his ears and he leapt from the sofa.

Flicking on the light, he found the young Antonetta laying on his sofa, her school uniform rumpled, one sock bunched up at her ankle. “I wanted to see you!” She giggled, running and jumping into his arms.

Jack stood stock still, not knowing what he should do. The Don’s daughter was in his apartment. The Don didn’t know. The Don would KILL him. “I don’t think you should be here.” He said tentatively, patting the girl on the head. She pouted at him prettily.

Jack sat in his apartment, every light in the joint was on. He was nervous, and it showed. His hands were shaking. Rising to his feet he walked to the bathroom and shut the door. Nervously answering natures call, he heard a click outside the door and then the lights in his bathroom went off. Gripping the pistol in his arm holster, he opened the door and peered out. After having all the lights on all night, and now only having a dim streetlight to see by, he was totally blind.

He stood in front of the coffee table and cocked the pistol. A chime-like laugh sounded from just inside the doorway, and he spun to face it. A zippo lighter sparked to life and Antonetta stood in front of him, dressed in her younger brother’s clothing.

“Hey baby.” She leered at him, pointing her own pistol at him.

“Why is that?” Antonetta asked innocently, peering up at him with puppy eyes.

“Because your father will kill me.”

Antonetta grinned and made a shadow puppet gun with her hand. “I’ll kill you if you don’t let me stay.” She said, pressing her ‘hand gun’ to his chest.

“Tony.” He nodded to her, the gun in his hands slipping around due to his sweaty palms.

“I gotta kill you baby, no one ever quits the family.” She said, faking sympathy.

Jack stepped closer to her, dropping his gun on the couch. It was a gutsy move, but he hoped it would work. “You don’t wanna kill me, baby.” He said, inching towards her till the point of the gun was on his chest.

Antonetta glared up at him, her golden brown eyes laced with anger.

Antonetta smiled up at him batting her eyelashes.

“You’re so sure of that?” She asked him coldly, cocking the gun.

“Your father will literally kill me.” He assured her, grasping the fingers forming the barrel of the gun.

“Are you so sure of everything?”

“Let me be clearer. You won’t kill me.” He said, glancing over her shoulder and seeing a figure in a raincoat stalking up the stairs opposite the door. So the cops had actually sent someone. Thank God.

“Die.” Antonetta growled preparing to squeeze the trigger.

“Die.” Antonetta simpered, mouthing the word ‘pow’.

The detective fired on Antonetta, the three bullets hitting her body twice in the shoulder, once in the middle left side of her back. She crumpled to the floor, dead before she hit the ground.

Jack snatched her hand from his chest and kissed her softly. “I win.” He whispered, turning her by her elbow and marching her out the door. “Go home, and be careful.”

Jack sighed in relief and dropped to his knees next to her. He placed his hand over her eyes and drew it towards her mouth, closing her peepers for the last time. “Nice shot detective.” He muttered, falling onto his rear and leaning on the couch.

“You’re Jack Vicci, one of the top members of the mob?” The detective asked, shining his flashlight on Jack’s face.

Jack snorted. “Mob? Mob Shmob. I’m out of the business.” He chuckled, letting his head fall to the cushion of the couch. The chuckle turned to a semi-maniacal laugh, the short barking laughs making tears slip out the corners of his eyes.