Accidental Mobster (6 page)

Tommy glares at the man, his nose wrinkling. “Hey, Joe. What is that I smell? Grease?

Must be a car salesman nearby.”

I gape at Tommy in shock. How can he be so disrespectful to an adult, and such a large one at that? Portia is also shocked by Tommy's comment, and, having obviously forgotten her previous anti-fighting stance, she takes a few steps toward Tommy, grabs him by the shoulders, and knees him in the crotch. Tommy doubles over with a howl of pain, brings his arm up, and swings it at Portia, smacking her across the face. I reactively move toward Tommy, but Joe has Tommy by the neck of his shirt before I can take two steps. Joe shoves him roughly up against a nearby car and holds Tommy inches from his face.

“How dare you!” Joe roars, enraged. “How dare you touch her! The only reason you're still alive is because of your father!”

Tommy glares fiercely at Joe, although he looks a little less confident than he did a few minutes before. “Sorry,” he mutters, although he doesn't sound even close to meaning it. Although Vince has backed away from the action, as has the other teenager, I am amazed at my own confidence as I walk over to Portia and put my hand on her shoulder, and I feel a small surge of excitement when she doesn't move away. I stand with her, glaring at the battered Tommy. What is this kid thinking? Joe is three times his size and obviously protective of his daughter.

But Joe does nothing more. He holds Tommy up against the car for a few seconds longer, his face impassive as he stares down at Tommy. Then he lets the teen go, turns around, and walks away. Joe nudges Portia away from me and guides her gently by her elbow from all of us. Joe doesn't even turn his head when he says, “Don't any of you come back here unless you've got enough cash in your dirty little hands to buy a car.”

Tommy motions to his friend. “Come on, we'll be back soon. I've got a Camaro waiting for me.” He makes a face at Vince, who, to my surprise, merely watches the other teenagers as they walk in the opposite direction.

“What was that?” I ask, shocked by the bizarre events.

Vince curses and kicks at the dirt with a dusty sneaker. His clothes, which were spotless and ironed this morning, are now grimy and wrinkled. I know I don't look much better. Between Vince's bloody lip and my reopened gash, I expect that the trouble is far from over.

“Well, you definitely hold your own in a fight,” I say, unable to hide my exhilaration.

“Let's go,” Vince says crossly. “What a total waste of time.”

All hell breaks loose at the Vigliotti house. Ronnie is already fuming about Vince's generous use of her credit card for his own purposes (she apparently has a very close relationship with one of the credit card customer service representatives), and our battered appearance only stokes her temper further. I experience the full volume of her irritation and am again amazed at the strength of the voice coming from this tiny woman. She is displeased with Vince's rumpled clothing and split lip, but when she sees my bleeding forehead, she goes ballistic.

“Vince!” she howls. “I can't trust you with anything! Anything at all! First the credit card, and now you're getting Danny involved in your fights!”

Vince slumps into a chair at the kitchen table. He seems tired and angry, but he shows little concern for his mother's rage. He shoots me an evil smile. “Actually, Danny started fighting before I did.”

“What? That's ridiculous!” Ronnie spins to face me. “Tell me he's lying!”

I glare at Vince, who shrugs, as though this is a game. I feel like punching Vince in his split lip. Getting in trouble like this is a quick way to earn a ticket right back to Ridley, or worse, into the hands of Barb Kluwer.

“I'm sorry, Missus Vigliotti. I don't know if it makes any difference, but the other kid made the first move,” I offer weakly. “I was just defending myself.”

Ronnie turns to Vince, who has taken the box of Cocoa Nuggets from the table and is using his grimy hand to scoop dry cereal into his mouth. I make a mental note to bypass the Cocoa Nuggets tomorrow morning. That is, if there is a tomorrow morning at the Vigliotti house for me.

“Yeah, the other kid moved first,” Vince answers, grinning at me. “Danny actually made a weak attempt to stop the fight before it started, but I'm pretty sure his only motivation for that was the hottie standing next to him.”

Ronnie shakes her head in frustration, but I keep my eyes on Vince, trying to gauge his motivation. Vince's tendency to joke is obvious. The problem is, I don't know whether Vince is teasing his mother or trying to get me to take the blame. Vince and I certainly aren't friends, but we fought on the same team today, and I guess I expect a degree of loyalty for facing off with strangers.

“Well, that's great—that's just great!” Ronnie is still furious. “And the other kids, they look like you two?”

“Worse.” Vince smirks. “Danny's a champ. Although the beating he gave Tommy didn't seem to keep that butt-head from being a snot-nosed brat to Joe Saviano.”

Ronnie puts her hand immediately to her chest. “Tommy? Tommy Gallo?”

Vince glares at her defiantly. “Yeah, Tommy was the one who started everything.”

Ronnie is staring at him, but she no longer seems angry. She looks frightened.

“Vince, I told you not to provoke that boy. I told you to leave him alone! You know why!”

I can't help but feel I am missing information that would make Ronnie's behavior make sense. Vince is no longer smirking; he angrily slams the Cocoa Nuggets on the table, causing crispy chocolate pieces to come flying out of the box.

“I don't care who he is—or who his father is!” Vince says loudly. “If he's going to rush at me, fists flying, then I'm going to reply with some fist flying of my own. And Danny's no different. He's not going to sit there and allow Tommy to give him a bloody head for no reason. And I'm glad to have him on my side. It's about time Tommy had some competition. The whole school is tired of his bullying.”

Vince meets my eyes with a look of respect, and I can't help but feel a little proud. Ronnie, however, is not as touched by Vince's words. She steps forward and puts her hands on his shoulders, her eyes pleading as they look into his. “It's not about being brave or even about self-defense, Vince. It's about keeping you safe—keeping this family safe. Making sure your father doesn't suffer for what happens among boys on the playground.”

Vince shakes her off. “Playground? Seriously, Mom! Don't say crap like that. And I don't care! You hear me, I don't care!”

He flies from the room, and several seconds later the stairs are again treated to his pounding feet.

Ronnie turns to me, her face pale. “Well,” she says, “I guess it's back to the hospital for you.”

* * * *

I gingerly touch the new set of stitches in my forehead and realize that my gash will probably take longer to heal now that I have hit my head twice. But at the moment, I don't care. I am on the phone at the Vigliotti house and am sitting in the office chatting with Reggie, trying to update my friend on the strange turn of events without being too specific concerning what happened to me in Ridley. No one needs to know that my dad crossed the line; I feel that any information might make its way back to Barb Kluwer, who is certainly still working on getting hold of me, if I have judged her correctly.

“Okay, so your parents got in a fight, decided to split for a while, and now you're staying with your godfather in New Jersey? Man, I don't know, Danny, that sounds a little crazy!”

I can understand Reggie's disbelief. The whole thing is somewhat absurd. “I know it's weird. But it gets better—I'm staying in one of the most fantastic houses I've ever seen, and today they bought me all these nice new clothes.
And
I've got a great big bedroom and bathroom!”

“Wow, with all that, you'll never come back to Ridley!” Reggie is joking, but I can hear the slight strain in his voice.

“Oh, I'll be coming back. Ronnie hinted that I might go to school here for a while, though.”

“Really? That's no good! We were going to be starters on the wrestling team this year!”

I can sense Reggie's disappointment. How would I feel if my best friend abandoned me?

Yet, I am having a difficult time feeling the same disappointment. Reggie and I have a great friendship, but today has been an eye-opening experience in what living in a wealthy, happy home might be like. Well, perhaps they are not one hundred percent happy, but every family has their problems, right? I keep having this nagging feeling that I should not get too attached to these people or this lifestyle. But for the moment, I am going to let myself enjoy the feeling of being a teenager who, for once, is not forced to worry about buying groceries, paying bills, or playing peacemaker to fighting parents.

“So, who are these people?” Reggie asks. “What's a godfather?”

“Ronnie said a godfather is supposed to look out for his godchild's spiritual upbringing. I think it's a Catholic thing, which I don't quite understand because I don't remember my parents going to a Catholic church. Or any church for that matter.”

“Yeah, that's kind of strange. We don't have that in my church. You said the last name was Vigliotti? That sounds Italian.”

“I guess,” I answer.

Reggie sucks in a deep breath of air. “Hey! You don't think they're in the mob or something, do you?” He sounds excited.

“Oh, come on, Reggie! Seriously? You need to cut down on watching so much TV.”

“I don't watch much. But just think about it—they're Italian, they live in New Jersey, and he's your godfather!”

I roll my eyes, knowing Reggie cannot see my frustration, but I can hear the edge in my voice as I reply. “Knock it off. I told you godfathers were a Catholic thing. And not every Italian is a mobster!”

“Yeah, but some of them are!”

Gino steps into the office doorway, an odd expression on his face, and I smile in silent greeting. “Reggie, I've got to go now. I'll call you again soon.”

Reggie sighs. “Fine. I'll talk to you later.”

“Talk to ya later.” I hang up the phone and swivel my chair to face Gino.

“So,” Gino begins, his voice gruff, “I heard that you made another trip to the hospital today. And that you met some new friends at Joe Saviano's lot.”

My body goes rigid. I have no idea how to answer Gino. Does he know I was at the diner? Should I apologize? Is Gino thinking twice about bringing me to stay at the Vigliotti house? “Uh, Vince and I, we had, um, what you might call a disagreement with some other teenagers.” Geez! Is that the best I can come up with? Now
I
sound like a mobster!

“Just be careful, okay.” Gino's tone is strict, but surprisingly, not angry. “Ronnie and I don't always agree about fighting—I don't think you should always back down—but just be smart about it. Tommy Gallo is not a kid you want to tangle with unless it's absolutely unavoidable. You may be able to kick his butt—good for you. But that kid has a very powerful father, and it's not smart to provoke him.”

“I didn't provoke—”

“I know.” Gino cuts in. “Vince told me. But nevertheless, you are grounded for one week. We've got to make Ronnie happy. Vince is grounded for three—he lied about bringing you to the diner.”

I feel my face flush. One day at the Vigliotti's and I'm already causing trouble. At home, I'm usually so responsible, and now I feel like I'm behaving like a poster boy for troubled teens. I want to make a good impression on the Vigliottis, but now they might send me away.

“I'm very sorry, Gino. I'll understand if you want to send me back to Ridley. Just don't send me to Barb Kluwer.” I hate the pleading tone in my voice.

Gino smiles and shakes his head. “Danny, you are not going back to Ridley until Penny is ready for you to come home. You've got a really screwed up idea about family. Just because you make a mistake doesn't mean we give up on you. Heck, if that were true, Julia and Vince would have been given away a long time ago! You're a good kid—I know that. So don't worry about it.”

A brief silence follows. If Gino considers me part of the family, I know I could never come up with the right words to thank him for that kind of acceptance. Gino motions to me. “Let's go grab some dinner. And your stuff from home has arrived.”

* * * *

Being grounded at the Vigliotti house is like a fun-packed snow day. The first day of our punishment, Vince and I play video games all morning in the game room (I catch on quickly, even though I can count on one hand the number of times I've played a video game). The game room is equipped with an enormous TV and a state-of-the-art stereo system, which means that every game is an audiovisual thrill. Then we order pizza (on Ronnie's credit card, of course), watch
Goodfellas
(which isn't quite as dumb as I remembered), and go online to debate which Hollywood actress is most “talented.”

Despite Vince's sketchy loyalty during the fight yesterday, I feel we are forming some sort of friendship. I have started to realize that Vince is a bit of a loner, but that he is enjoying my company, despite my freshman status. I wonder if this is what having a sibling is like. In addition to watching
Goodfellas
, Vince and I consume an assortment of mob movies, every one of which Vince seems to have seen before. I have to sit through several seasons of
Sopranos
(the “good ones,” as Vince observes), and by the end of my exposure to various Mafia stories, I know that a
wiseguy
, a
made man
, or a
button man
is a guy who dedicates his life to the Mafia, that a
gumata
is a mobster's girlfriend, and that getting whacked or “hit” means you're not long for the earth.

After overdosing on video games the first day, on day two Vince introduces me to FaceSpace, a website where Vince chats with other kids his age. Well, “kids” means mostly girls; despite Vince's loner personality, he obviously has plenty of time to flirt. And he appears to have quite a few fans. Between texting on his cell phone (I'm envious because I've never had a phone) and e-mailing, he has a large network of friends. The rest of the week rushes by in what seems like minutes, and I find myself easily becoming accustomed to the Vigliotti lifestyle. Ronnie cooks amazing meals every night, and I am already packing on a few pounds—I'll have to be a little more careful if I am going to try out for wrestling. Going to Mass on Sunday is quite a new experience for me, and not completely unpleasant. My only church experience so far has been at Reggie's Baptist church in Ridley, which is extremely different from this one.