Chapter Thirteen: Harry, this is when the Battle began...
How
soon WE forget: Like the pain that appears to warn of injury, once removed by cure, we soon forget the cause as well as the injury. Joe did not remain in HIS grace for more than several weeks. Though his heroin habit was gone, the fact of his environment, full of evil intent, drove him once again into the clenches of sin...For the next month "home" returned to normal--that is if you can call living with "Aunt Connie" normal.
Connie was overjoyed to have him once more under her wing: She demonstrated her joy by encouraging him to rebel with the hope that he would. Angela had begun her odyssey into the world of hair spray and curlers. Carmine was rapidly gaining weight as he ate his way out of the miserable conditions which surrounded them--he took "eat all of the pastabazool" literally. Eddy was walking and talking. Jeanette was her old self: trying hard to show she loved them by sacrificing everything for them, while that sacrifice in turn produced a hatred of her circumstance. To Joe, Jeanette acted as if she vilifyed the mob and what it stood for, yet she continued to play both sides of the fence. So, though Joe displayed emotions which went with the program--he received Holy Confirmation at St. Joseph’s and worked in Uncle Franks Cleaners--he had this tugging sensation telling him to leave; the streets were calling--but he had not the time nor desire to rejoin the crew. Joe had become a cog in a wheel of misfortune; but the road was about to get bumpy....
Harry, though Joe was determined to stick it out and await opportunity, the catalyst for change revealed itself sooner than expected: Joseph "Joe-Pag" Pagerello, insisted that Jeanette allow a book making operation out of her place... Jeanette agreed because of her situation-- she needed her job, and the extra fifty dollars a week promised a small but real elevation in their lives.
"Mom, why is that guy always here using the phone?" Joe asked.
"He’s just working."
"What kind of work..."
For eight weeks, this "working" continued until that night...
"Open the damn door... It’s the police... Rip! Crunch! Bang!"
Ten police officers--including one Federal Agent whose position and attendance caused a temporary lapse of the protection Joe Pag enjoyed-- busted the door down. Jeanette was watching TV, it was her night off, she had had barely arisen before they grabbed and handcuffed her... in front of her children. The police ransacked the house and took everyone--well almost everyone--to the 114th precinct. What a scene: Angela crying; Eddy and Carmine crying; Jeanette screaming epitaphs; police foully threatening and speaking out of turn towards all of them... and Joe?...well ...He got away!
Joe managed to escape in the confusion and went down to the corner...
Joe’s old buddies had moved up the ladder and replaced the addicts whom were now as lepers to the mob associates whom controlled their "action" by throwing "jobs" and cash their way. They were now hanging in front of Bernies demanding tribute! As he approached the corner the entire group encircled him and began patting his back and hugging him.
"Wow. We heard about the raid!" Donny exclaimed.
"Who got busted?" Pete cried.
"Ow uch bred id hey git!" Crazy Eddy squaked.
"We heard you guys had a shoot out?!" Danny questioned.
"How many guys went down?!" Jimmy Lendahan inquired as if to join in what was truly an apology of the crew’s accusations months previous.
To all, he was once again a "cause de celebrity".
Nicky had gotten a job at Bernie's--they figured the windows would stay within their frames longer. The crew were now hanging inside, using it as their headquarters.
A long lunch counter ran along the right side of the store, on the left were the tables, juke box, and a new glass display refrigerator which Yetta had recently installed. Their favorite beverage, Chocolate Yoo Hoo, was kept there: they would buy one, sit near the cooler and drink it down, then reach into the cooler for a new one replacing it with the empty can. At first it became a great thing to hang on the corner all day... it would soon became boring. They say the grass looks greener on the other side -- but allow me to assure you, to Joe, it did not feel any better!
Joe longed for the family which had sprouted several weeks previous. He hated returning to the streets. The streets brought memories of his father back.. and his murder?! Despite Aggie’s love and support, a furious rage boiled beneath the facade he erected in defiance of his perceived inequity: What was happiness? Was it the love of a girl friend? Was it lots of money? Was it freedom from the confines of his predictament? Was it truely his family? Now that was a question! Could a new and "normal" family truely change his life and views? And if it could, what of his real family? Could he forget the love which simmered beneath the trepidation his mother faced each and every day? And the question of God and the Devil as living entities loomed on his horizen: were they "really real"? Can you imagine if fate was the cause and not God! Blasphemy!...would the priest shout loud! Yet, if God was truely real, his life could easily be viewed as a petty masquerade! A theatrical drama were the enlightened could turn the lights off and change the script! Oh! God! Why must I have to journey again and again back into this foreboding place, a place of question after question!? HAPPINESS IS ALL I DESIRE!
You see Harry, Joe’s situation caused him to despise the kids whom came by Bernies everyday from school or their homes to buy candy or "Egg Creams" from the soda fountain while laughing and horsing around. It was this jealousy which caused many of "the punks" -- as Joe once called them -- to react in anger to anyone whom demonstrated their happiness! Some of those same kids desired to hang with the crew: A few tried and were sorely disillusioned-- they had seen a group of kids, though tougher looking and street smart, hanging all day and acting as if they had not a care in the world, when in reality they were a group of hungry, lonely, emotionally troubled children whom had grown up too fast. It did not take long to grow tired of sitting in a candy store thinking of ways to get some money for your next meal. A breeding ground for future wiseguys, those whom lasted through the drugs, violence, arrests, purges, and other hazards of the streets, would one day make it to the next level...and so on. Like a football program, each level was kin to the next; related in the basic study-- only more intense as one moved up. Though thirteen and a half, Joe had reached the Senior High level like most of his "buddies" whom were now fifteen and sixteen; he was set to be inducted in the draft for college, the pros would be calling soon thereafter...
The driver of the Dannon Yogurt truck made his first stop of the day. Pushing his hand cart stacked to it’s top bar with fresh Yogurt, he casually entered the store like he had a zillion times before... leaving the keyes in the running truck!
Pete was in the truck and zooming down the road before the driver could even turn around...
They had hijacked twenty seven trucks in two weeks and still could not keep up with the demand. No matter the product, a buyer could be found--in fact, even two hundred cases of pigs feet discovered in a truck purported to carry cigarettes sold for twenty five cents on the dollar! Money flowed and Joe was living in a motel by the airport. He even had a phone! Though Joe was not the leader of the pack, he operated as the "captain" of his crew. Good old Feranzi had opened many doors and the older guys knew it was due to Joe’s unique friendship with this "retired wiseguy". Though some flack had been generated by those whom desired a piece of the action, this new group of "punks" were holding their own until the appearance of Ball and Jolley...
"Where did you get the bananas to pay for this room? WE KNOW! Listen, you little punk, you don’t even $%^% with out paying twenty per cent! And I don’t care about Feranzi or anyone else! This is our territory and everyone pays! You will pay just like your father did. And you can take that which ever way you want!..."
"And you can take that which ever way you want!..." "And you can take that which ever way you want!..." "And you can take that which ever way you want!..." "And you can take that which ever way you want!..." "And you can take that which ever way you want!..." "And you can take that which ever way you want!..." "And you can take that which ever way you want!..." "And you can take that which ever way you want!..." "And you can take that which ever way you want!..." "And you can take that which ever way you want!..." And you can take that which ever way you want!..." "And you can take that which ever way you want!..."
Joe awoke in a sweat. Over and over the dream kept coming. He could hear the words: "And you can take that which ever way you want!..." He called Feranzi to ask him a few questions and only got more of the same: "Listen, just like the big guys do, you have to do. Those guys will give you protection from arrest. You made a lot of money so far. There is plenty to go around. How many teenagers make two hundred a week? And remember, the big guys always gotta get their share. As far as your father goes, I do not really know what happened. Do you think I would be helping you if I did not care? None of your father’s friends would have hurt him! Anyway, that’s a league your not in yet. You gotta be groomed while you grow up! This is the way it is..."
A week had gone by when Joe’s Uncle Frank stopped by the corner, cigar clenched between his teeth.
"Listen, forget this stuff about your father. Yes he passed away, but it was an accident. An accident, Joe! And what’s this stuff about you hanging around these punks? Do you realize your mother’s worried sick? If I catch you on this corner again, I’ll break your butt! You get your but home!"
"But..."
"THERE’S NO BUT ABOUT IT! I’M TAKING YOU HOME!"
"Oh Joe! Are you hungry? Come here and give me a kiss..."
Joe was not home twenty four hours when Joe Pag walked in after Jeanette had left for work...
"Who da hell do youse dink you are?" BANG! "Snatchin’ trucks on my turf!" BOOM! "Ya oughta gotten da %$%^ beatin outa youse a long time ago!" WHAM! "DON’T YOUSE EVER RAISE YA HANS TA ME! YOUSE HEAR ME!" SMACK! BOOM! BANG! "An rememba, dose guz are my friends! Been my friends for ten years!" CRASH! "An stop bringing dat stuff up about ya old man! He’s dead, got dat? He ain’t eva done nuttin for your mother or youse guz!" BANG! "He deserved what he got!" CRASH! SMACK! BOOM! "Ya just like im an I ain’t gonna put up wid it! I call da shots! You $%$#$% little punk.. !" BOOMBOOMBOOM! "Da word iz on da streets, youse guz don move nuttin! NUTTIN!" BOOM! "An jus like youse father, an example haz gotta be made!" CRASH!
Other than the TV and an occasional sound of a beer can being opened, the house was quite as Joe lay upon the nicked, terrazzo looking -- and apparently bleeding -- linoleum kitchen floor. Joe’s siblings had remained tucked deep within their beds with pillows over their heads while the horrendous shouting and interrupting dreadful blows reverberated through the apartment.
Wheezing through the mucus and red foamy liquid covering his face, he remained where he was and how he was for two hours; frightened to budge an inch less Joe Pag return with his fists or belt. His attempt to defend himself had come to no avail and he knew there was absolutly no way to even contemplate a plan of action let alone succeed at one. He was about to begin crawling to his brothers room when he heard the knock on the door, he immediatly ceased his endeavor and waited the out come.
"Hows ya guz doin! Come in.. want a beer?"
"No thanks, just wanted to stop by cause someone called the cops.. Ha! Ha! ..I was just telling Fitz how you was gonna kick his butt when it came over the radio!"
"Well, he won’t smart hiz moud off ta anyone for a while! Listen, I wan youse guz ta pick up dat Pauly guy. Do a good numba. Let im knowz whose don it!"
"Sure Mr. Pagerello."
"Oh, an danks for tellin me about hiz action. An if ya seez Franky tell im danks."
"Good night Mr.Pagerello..."