He’s being friendly, but I can tell that he’s scared.
“Good to meet you,” I return the sentiment.
The manager looks at me strangely, as if I’m a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He expects me to be rough, like Gio, but I’m not. Or at least I don’t appear that way. I’m going to have to affect some kind of rough guy exterior if my father expects me to run these rounds myself. There’s no way I can bully anyone into anything by just being myself.
Gio slaps the guy on the back, and we part ways. I get back into the car, feeling like I’ve learned a ton already. “This is what you do all day?” I ask.
“Pretty much,” he replies. “Every day is different. Different shops, different people, but mostly collecting money. That’s what we do on Tuesdays, anyway.”
“What do you do on Wednesdays?” I wonder.
“I guess you’ll see,” he promises, and not nicely.
Around eleven o’clock, we hit up our first restaurant. Gio throws his paper coffee cup in the trash before entering through the front door. It’s a large chain restaurant, the kind that my father wouldn’t be caught dead in.
“We’re here to meet someone,” Gio fills me in.
I keep my mouth shut, knowing that there’s a time and a place for questions, and this isn’t it. I’m half expecting the manager to come out and speak with us, but he doesn’t. Instead, a guy I’ve never seen before walks in and signals to Gio.
“Table for three,” Gio instructs the hostess.
“Right this way, sir,” she says, showing us to a seat.
“This is Frankie, Cisco’s son,” Gio says to the guy.
“Frankie,” the guy responds.
“This is Norm Hollings, he’s the representative from local 506,” Gio informs me.
I go back through my internal catalog of job titles, reminding myself that local 506 is a union. Therefore, Norm Hollings must be in charge of organized labor. He’s not there to slip Gio money. Instead, they talk about the labor situation down on the docks.
“I’ve got twenty new men,” Norm says. “They’re all looking for overtime, if you know what I mean.”
“Twenty?” Gio confirms.
“That’s right,” Norm says.
“Alright,” Gio responds. “I’ll talk to Cisco.”
“Much appreciated,” Norm replies.
The waitress arrives, and we place our orders. I’m not sure if we’re going to have another chance to eat, so I order a hamburger. I don’t have to worry though, by the time the day is over, we’ve eaten at four different restaurants.
The first one, we were there to confer with Norm. The second one is a meeting with a banker. The third is a meeting with a bookmaker, and the fourth is a meeting with two policemen.
I’m surprised to see our city’s finest sitting down with a known mafioso. But I shouldn’t be. Of course, my father has contacts in the force. How else could he continue his operations without getting caught?
Gio introduces me, and I try not to look nervous. I’m going to be a lawyer, for God’s sake, I shouldn’t be breaking bread with two corrupt cops. But this is the life I lead, so I might as well get used to it.
“How did you get started with my father?” I ask the police officers politely.
Gio shoots me a look that says, ‘shut up.’ But the police officer is more forgiving. “Your father helped me out of a jam once, and I’m grateful,” he explains.
I don’t ask what the jam was or how my father helped. My imagination is filling in the details, supposing that maybe the officer killed someone, and my father helped bury the body. Ihope that’s not what happened, but I can’t be sure. The more I learn about my father’s operation, the more I realize I had no clue what was going on in our home.
He’s got connections with unions, bankers, politicians, and the police. He’s got people handing him money or allowing him to walk into their premises and help himself to their cash. All of this must be predicated on the threat of violence, and that doesn’t sit well with me. It’s a legacy I’ve been born into, but not one I want to continue. Gio glances at me sympathetically, returning to his agenda once it’s clear that I’m finished interrupting.
We end that meeting by sliding some of the cash we’ve collected that day across the table. The two cops pick it up and put it discreetly in their pockets. I feel nauseous. I shouldn’t be witnessing this kind of thing. No wonder Uncle Gio didn’t want to bring a driver.
