**
“Where I am?”
“Huh?”
“Ugh, sorry. Where am I?”
“In the basement of Rollo’s.”
“Oh … uh … Who are you?”
“I’m Rollo.”
“Why am I here.”
“You screwed up, son. Real bad. So we need to talk.”
“Number 1, I’ve never heard of any Rollo. Number 2 …”
“You need to slow down, son. You’ve taken a pretty bad knock on the noggin. All of it’ll come back to you in a moment if you’ll let you’re brain catch up to your mouth.”
“As I was saying, Number 2 …” Davey felt hands like the broad sides of sledgehammers grab his shoulders, shake him twice, hard, and force him into a metal chair. “Hey!”
“Son, you’re in Rollo’s basement. You need to sit there and collect yourself for a moment, quietly. Vic said you talked too much. If you weren’t in the basement, I might be able to overlook it. The problem is, you’re down here. That means I’m down here. Rollo doesn’t like to be in the basement. The basement is dark. The basement smells like dried blood and spit. Sometimes it smells like other stuff. People who are scared and in pain sometimes mess themselves.”
“Mr. Rollo …” Davey started to say something when one of those hands that had helped him to his chair hit him up side the head. He saw white in the dark basement. He decided not to protest or give verbal expression to the pain he was feeling.
“I think Bully Bill has got your attention. He serves as an effective exclamation point. I do not like to raise my voice. Is it coming back to you?”
“I was upstairs in the restaurant with my girlfriend. We were having drinks before dinner. By the way, we had heard some great things about your restaurant.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Any-who, some guy comes up and starts trying to put moves on my lady. Obviously, I wasn’t having it.”
“So you thought you’d insult him.”
“In my opinion, a guy who walks up to a woman who is already with someone ain’t right in the head. I don’t imagine you’d stand for it, if the foo was on the other shuit.”
“Difference is, I have the meat to back up my mouth.”
Davey thought of the man standing behind him and had to admit the logic of Rollo’s statement.
“To tell you the truth, I didn’t think I would have trouble with that guy if things had gotten physical. But, really, this isn’t high school. How many dudes are going to actually get in a fight because a boyfriend took exception to them hitting on his girlfriend.”
“A fair assumption in most circumstances. This, unfortunately, is not most circumstances.”
“OK, so now that we’re caught up on current events, enlighten me as to who that guy upstairs is, who are you, and just for kicks, who’s the linebacker standing behind me?”
“Let’s just say that the man upstairs is the son of someone who does find it necessary to solve problems in a physical manner from time to time, but I assure you, he's no high schooler. Did you know anything about this place before deciding to dine here?”
“Only that my friends said it was a great place for Italian.”
“Would your friends be of the mischievous sort?”
“Sometimes.”
“Birds of a feather and all that?”
“Sure.”
“You watch the news?”
“Yeah, sometimes.”
“Do not say any names after my next sentence. Got it?”
“OK”
“The father of the man upstairs is mentioned on the news with some frequency these days in connection with words like ‘investigation,’ ‘federal,’ and ‘crime.’ You following me?”
Davey, not one given to panic, was feeling queasy. “I am.”
This was rapidly turning into a bad episode of the Sopranos.
“Let me break it dowm for you. The father of said man upstairs has grown impatient with his son’s public indiscretions. He brings unwanted attention.”
“OK.”
“Here’s what’s going to happen. I am going to bring the son down here and you two are going to engage in fisticuffs.”
Davey couldn’t help chuckling.
“Something funny?”
“I haven’t heard fighting called that except in the movies.”
“Gotcha. So, you understand the deal?”
“I do. If you don’t mind too terribly, where’s my girlfriend?”
“We sent her home in a cab with very clear instructions.”
“So, she’s OK?”
“She’s fine.”
"Could you be a bit more specific about the protocol here. I'm not in the habit of engaging in fisticuffs with the sons of ... uh ... the kind of people you represent."
"Understood. No watches, nor rings. I'd recommend taking off your fancy shirt there. Sonny is a dirty fighter because he is not a good fighter. I would strongly recommend protecting your eyes, throat and family jewels. I'd also suggest winning but not doing any kind of permanent damage to the kid. That's all I can think of."
“Well then, let’s get ready to rumble.”
Rollo walked over to a thick door, wrestled it open and called upstairs, "Vic, bring the kid down."
Davey heard someone, presumably a man named Vic, reply, "OK, Rollo."
While he took off his shirt and watch, Davey cocked his head at Bull and said, "I imagine you played college ball for somebody somewhere." Bull glared back and did not respond. Davey thought he might be in a mood due to the fact that he was not getting to pummel anyone. Davey decided to desist from conversation with Bull.
When the son of the dangerous criminal entered the room, he had a ridiculous grin stretched across his face. He was unbuttoning the cuffs on his shiny, red shirt. He handed the shirt to Bull. Bull looked like it was everything he could do not to kill the kid. The kid proceeded to take of his three gold necklaces. He removed a Rolex. He divested himself of two rings on his left hand and two rings on his right hand. Rollo entered the room as he was doing this.
"All the rings." Rollo said impatiently.
The son took off a large, nasty looking gold and diamond job. Davey was glad for Rollo's intolerance for his fellow combatant's shenanigans. That ring could have done some damage.
"I'm gonna pound you," the son said. Davey wondered who he was trying to convince: Davey, the observers in the room or himself.
Rollo stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him. The men circled each other for a moment. The kid took a wild swing at Davey's head. The adrenalin kicked in.
Davey beat the living snot out of the son of the scary man with the dishonest business practices.
What Davey had not shared with Rollo, Bull, the kid or many people, for that matter, was that his father had boxed in college and in the Navy. While Davey never fought himself, he sparred with his father countless times growing up. He did not look like a tough guy but he could throw his fists if necessary. Before now, he had only hit one person outside a boxing ring in his life, other than his big brother.
Bull picked the kid up and sat him in the metal chair. Groans oozed out of him along with his blood. Bull walked over to the heavy door and banged on it twice. Rollo opened the door, surveyed the situation and called upstairs for Vic and another man to come down. Davey put his shirt back on.
The two men came in the room, helped the son out of the chair and led him back upstairs. Rollo looked at Davey. Davey looked back.
Rollo crossed the room and handed an envelope to Davey. Davey knew it had cash inside by the feel of it. He handed it back. Rollo pocketed it without protesting.
“We might be able to use someone like you around here, that is, if you could learn to tame that tongue a bit.”
“As tempting as it is, I think I’ll pass, unless, of course, you’re making me an offer I can’t refuse.”
“Very clever, son.”
"You mind if I get some plates to go?
"Not at all. I'd stay away from the Chef's Special tonight. The veal's a little gamey."
"Thanks."
"No trouble. It's on the house."
"Much appreciated."
Back at his apartment, Davey and his girlfriend enjoyed the best pasta, clams and sauces they had ever eaten. One thing Davey liked about Rhonda was her willingness to settle for minimal explanations at times. This was one of those times.
As good as the meal was, there was an unspoken understanding between the two that they would not be visiting Rollo's again.
Filed in
Stories*I'll pick up "Kate and Buster" next week.*
Related Tags:
Fiction,
Short Stories,
Organized Crime,
Mob,
Mafia,
Sopranos,
Fight Club,
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