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HOUSE OF CARDS THE CURSE

Categories: ROCK-TALES
Published on: October 28, 2016

 

edme.jpg (85465 bytes)

ROCK SECOND FROM LEFT NOTE BROTHER TO RIGHT IS 4 YEARS YOUNGER WEARING THE CLOTHING OF THE FAMILY

COPYRIGHT AS

FATHER FIGURE

HOUSE OF CARDS

THE CURSE OF ALPHONSO

1985

 

..  .

While  Jeanette, Little Angela and Nana Lou posed for this picture as three generations of  woman joining together in celebration of Life, God and Dreams of Future Joy at Angela’s Communion, reality waited but a moment.. just long enough for the flash to die…before resuming its count down to perpetuity… and Death Once More Visited.. The First Born: Joe’s father never truly got over the fact that his oldest son had a deformity. But Jesus provided Joe with the power to love his father. He never held his father’s treatment against him, just prayed that they would someday come together. When his father was taken from him, all sorts of thoughts went through his head; did God take him because of his treatment? Had his prayers caused his demise? The questions were overwhelming. How did he die! He felt that he had been privy to his demise. Did he not ask God to convince father that he was “normal? Did he not ask Jesus to come down and be his father?  His father was taken from him just as he was beginning to be his proud son. What were the facts? These questions allowed a powerful, purposeful, planned battle to develop with in his mind… though crippeled at birth, would he rise and save the family? Would he become like those of his ancestors.. and visit death at an early age.. leaving the woman to suffer as all before.. He was now 8 and faced with the responcibility of manhood…

Your father was dead when they found him…..” The need to overcome thoughts of his father lying in a pool of blood: his dying thoughts of his family; his hopes; his dreams — Oh! Had he felt his agony tossed upon his mind with ferocious intensity! The thoughts filled his soul with a mixture of sorrow, revenge, and questions…  Who was responsible, Tony Black, Sally, Uncle Frank, Genovese, Gambino, The Police… All of them? And, how could these individuals go home and play with their children? How did they join their families in celebration that day so long ago? How could they enjoy each succeeding holiday of family solace and warmth when they had destroyed the very essence of an entire family? Vagabonds were left in their wake of cold, hard silence. Lost in nomadic journey upon an endless desert, burdened by a never ending avalanche, each step of hope foundering in a lucid, liquid sand-trap –all truth and succor hidden as soon as it was discovered! Death could not be simplified and dignified, especially when there were others whom were morning that death. He new he had to leave NY or he would join his friends and relations…  DEAD!  …

 

It all began 40 years before these brothers were rubbed out .. Mobsters…a continuity that was written in blood…of the Father

So many thoughts converged within his novice mind. Revenge was the traffic cop… He would get revenge. They had stolen his mothers happiness; thrust them into a world of sorrow and depravity ended their lives before they began! “The Family”,  “This Thing of Ours”, it had become a ravaging beast bent upon total destruction. It left orphans of society in it’s quest for life. For a mere child of the storm, it was he whom was left to pick up the pieces. Would he ever? Would he truly become the man whom revenged the dishonor and sorrow that was placed upon his family with abstract, total disregard to the repercussions of this disastrous act of  continuing greed? The heroes of the theater spoke up as one… You will prevail! But, what of Sparticus? What of all those heroes whom battled injustice only to die a glorious death in the end! Was he ready for that? Like Charleston Heston in Ben Hur, would he return for the ending the hero whom rescued his family with the assistance of GOD? “Oh, God, where art thou now? Come to me and deliver your power to defeat mine enemies — they abound like a plague of locust. Send to them a shower of fire and ice! The death of the first born has occurred! Please, let my people go! This trial and tribulation has desecrated my soul, my Knight in Shining Armor is gone. Will you to take up my cause…”      Was God going

Quotes

 

“It is important for me to know how you feel about the challenges our nation faces today…”   President Clinton

 

“…your message is of importance to our youth of today….’ Pat Robertson – Chairman, Christian Broadcasting Network

 

“Thank you for sharing your story with me. You have a wonderful testimony …” JJan Crouch – Vice President and Co-Founder of Trinity Broadcasting Network

 

“Rocky past turns to gold… …Fatherless since he was eight, Rocky left home at the age of eleven. And, like a Charles Dickens character, he survived through odd jobs and his wits..” Ernest Holsendolf – Atlanta Journal Constitution

 

“Your book is GREAT. I could not stop reading until I had read all of it.” Jay Walton – Old Rugged Cross Press

 

“You have written a fantastic book..” M.L. Jones – Living Faith Literary Agency

 

“Perseverance does pay off…” Shawn P. Evans – The Atlanta Metro

“…your kindness is exceeded only by my appreciation…” Maynard Jackson – Mayor of Atlanta ’93

Nana Lou was more then the matriarch.. she ruled the roost. Her love of the “Night Life” and “Mobsters” allowed her to forget about her only child.. leaving Jeanette to grow up alone; to wonder all her life what happened to Her Father.. who, one day, also, simply vanished… Who bore responcibility to the children.. of four generations?  

  Take the journey and be surprised.. for there is more here then a mob story.. it is a life time’s journey …  

  Take the journey and be surprised.. for there is more here then a mob story.. it is a life time’s journey …  

 

 

“Hopefully this is the beginning of something good…” Robert W. Lee – Pres. International Boxing Federation and USA Boxing Commissioner

“You played an important part in our City Access broadcasting…” Brenda Jackson – City of Atlanta Broadcasting.

“The mind possesses an ability to do amazing things, but rarely do we meet people who encourage us to pursue our goals… “ Meredith Dunn-Atlanta Business Chronicle

“WE present you with the key to the city of boxing for your contribution of education and motivation…” Samuel Floyd – Atlanta Bankhead Boxing Academy

“Balboa is not the only champion named Rocky…” Phylis Furgenson – Southern News

“Fanning the deck . . . Author’s “House of Cards” tells of troubled past . . .” Amy Forester, The Atlanta Journal-Constitution

“Writer touts books as saga of spirituality, tale of good, evil . . ” Sarah Fischer, The Gwinnett Daily Post

 

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FOREWORD

 

Welcome to: The Lore of Father Figure and The Oath of Alfonso.

 

The Lore of Father Figure and The Oath of Alfonso is based on a true story. An his-story encompassing the life and times of a young boy named “Joe”[rock] and his Italian-American family whom were deeply entrenched in the ways of the Black Hand — the Mafia. You are about to journey to a world that will begin with death and end with life. Along this hard, action packed, fast paced road, you will discover, just as Joe did, the powerful truth and devastating results of The Curse Of Alfonso; A Curse that will lead our adventurer through a series of drastic trials and tribulations. His continual quest for love, compassion, and truth will take you through the many roads and by-ways of ultimate understanding: Peace and Happiness are only delivered through the awesome gift of the power and grace of God.

 

Therefore, I have taken the liberty of creating 5 SECTIONS INVOLVING “THE BEAST” placed strategically throughout the book, each a fictional accounting of concerning the existence of evil.

 

I have added the true story of my Mother, who died of Cervical Cancer in her early fifties, though the persons discussing her are fictional.

 

I have added the true story of the mob rubout of my father and his brother, though the events depicted of that brutal murder were created from the fcats as read in the NY Daily News and Times.   

 

I have chosen to compress my story due to book size constraints and detail only the main events that dictate the course of my His-Story. From the death of  Joe-Pep, in 1962, to my Journey across America beginning as a  youth of 11 years of age until I entered the military two months shy of 18 years of age.

 

ALL of the stories of my journey, and there are many within this fist copyrighted DRAFT of my copyrighted book, are true.

 

If you desire a hard copy of the final book, let me know.

 

“Special thanks” to “Tony-Black” of Miami, “Tony-Pep” of Atlanta, “Fat-Freddy” of Hallendale, Florida, “Tony-Thumbs” of Hollywood, Florida, “Joey Tre” of Miami, “Johnny A” of Atlanta, “Angelo” of Atlanta, “Rocky R” of Atlanta, and “Rock Crusher” for providing the opportunity to become an “associate” of the Gambino Crime Family and discover the myths, truths, ways, and life styles that led to my father’s death– and the spirit and inspiration to pen this “self biographical novel”. Also, I would like to thank John of the Atlanta Bureau of the FBI. Don, Joe, Chuck, Bobby, Steve, Shawn, and others of the FBI, Secret Service, and Organized Crime Strike forces whom place their lives at the battle front of the on-going war against the evil legacy of death and destruction wrought through Organized Crime.”

NOTE: ALL THE MOBSTERS ABOVE ARE DEAD OR SERVING LIFE TERMS. TONY PEP FAT FREDDY HAVE PASSED . A GREAT BOOK IS “BONES ON THE BEACH”. INVEST IN IT. EVERYONE IS DETAILED EXCEPT ME. AS YOU WILL LEARN IN THIS STORY, KNOWING WHEN TO JUMP WAS ALWAYS MY GIFT. THE FBI MEMBERS HAVE EITHER PASSED OR RETIRED. MAYBE I WILL WRITE OF THAT TIME SHORTLY.

RJ. “Rocky” Scarfone

 

 

 

OPENING

 

Is There Life After Death….

 

Words of Wisdom

 

“Be careful, I love you!” Mother’s cry. Our cherished authors whom plagiarize those words of wisdom that rectify our thoughts and feelings piper pied…

 

Harry entered the terminal care wing of the hospital in search of his wife. Passing a glass enclosed, five bed ward, he noticed her making rounds and stumbled into the room. The sight of a patient caused him to stop dead in his tracks…

 

She lay directly within his line of vision. Propped upon the bed. Tubes running, like a modern, crowded freeway under construction, in and out of her body. They entered and exited her frail five foot frame with out warning, depositing their cargo of massive amounts of morphine, oxygen, and nutrients. He knew — and he was sure she did also — the numbers were absent from the dice… but he also knew he wouldn’t peep a squeak.

 

As he strolled past the bed, he was determined to force himself to display some sort of candor or irrelevance towards death’s own determination. Though, he was sure, death knew his end: for death towered the dismal hospital room with it’s odors and bleak, pale, white entourage. He was immediately struck by a terrible thought… Like man in his determination for power and wealth, did the devouring beast of cancer reckon it’s own quick death at birth and rush to it’s end in an effort at life? He could not answer himself nor could he comprehend her misery: Who was this woman? Did she ever realize her wishes, her hopes, her dreams? What were her thoughts? She seemed outwardly unconcerned in her pained and drugged state, but a slight trembling of her lips, quivering with untold efforts at persuasive thought, and hands tightly clasped in prayer, seemed to deliver a message of some awesome belief that God could defeat the enemy with in.

 

Harry’s wife, seeing him in such a mesmerized state, called him over with the sound of air expelled through her teeth…. “Psst!”

 

“Honey, who is that woman? She has this sort… sort of… aura. One that freezes you.”

 

“Her name is Jeanette. She has terminal cancer. I spoke of her with her priest yesterday… and her daughter Angela. Today her son Eddy visited and while she rested we spoke some more of her life. It’s a long and terribly sorrowful tale about a curse of continuation which has destroyed her family for five generations. In fact her son, Joe, is one of a long line of family men whom have inherited this legacy; a legacy which has placed him at odds with his mother–she has not seen him in years. Well Harry, he’s coming in today! Now, I have to work a double shift. Why don’t you go home and I’ll tell you the story tomorrow…”

 

Harry turned on his heels and left the room. On his way down to his car he thought of only one thing: Is there life after death?…

 

 

 

The Oath Of alfonso

Binky and the nut “A Pecan nut upon the ground!” Sir. Squirrel excited he had found “Pecan nuts from an Oaken tree, Not Walnut, Chestnut nor Hickory! Yes, a Pecan nut if you please A miracle forged enough for three!” An’ Chirped an’ Chirped Round an’ round So loud Sly Rabbit caught his sound “A Pecan nut you say you’ve found? Tossed upon an oak nut ground? Let me view it for a while Sly Rabbit said with a dainty smile “Though smooth and striped.” Sly rabbit piped “…And even brushed in brown!..” “…A squiggly crease. Could be a feast” Sly Rabbit then did frown… With long tall ears He shook to hear If it made a sound… No rattle tattled Or even prattled Of what Sir. Squirrel found! So, he snatched a rock And gave it a knock And came up with a prize A giant lump So Sweet and plump It made him tell a lie! “Along the crease which held a feast Thus I did divide.” “Old and musty slightly crusty was the meat inside!” Thus revealed He turned on his heel And hopped along his way Surprised he pondered Sir Squirrel wondered “What did Sly Rabbit Say?… …Old and musty Slightly crusty Was the meat inside?!” For in the shell A squirrel could tell With out having to divide… Must be the flavor That caught his disfavor Because he is a Hare. He didn’t have time To show him his find And it made no sense to share… So…Sir Squirrel bent down Where he had found The pecan nut in shell He thought he had plenty After picking up twenty An’ went to the burrow he dwelled….

 

 

 

Intro.. One: Harry, the beast demands…

     

 

FATAL ENDEAVORS

An efficient killing machine, consisting of three, evil, mortal beings and a black, non-descript, ’62 Ford, had become immortal in the eyes of its master, who, upon the slightest whim, would set into motion a chain of events effecting not only the lives of those chosen for death, but the very fabric of their lives. The Boss had made his decision: “Hit Em!” Right or wrong, the two up-and-coming racketeers whom were targeted for death would have no appeal; their sentence was to be carried out with an emphasis on sending a message — rather than revenge or pay-back…

 

On a wet, foggy, dreary night, Guiseppi’s Fine Italian Food And Spirits resembled a wake. The usual laughter and cheerful enthusiasm which greeted each patron in the form of one tall Robert Mitchum look-alike was missing. Always joking and carrying on, he would normally show each customer to the “best table in the house” where his inseparable brother, the ever present “Professor”– slight of build, wearing simple, round spectacles — would complete the magic that kept the till brimming and made it hard to find an empty seat. But, like the fog that tenaciously hugged the cold, wet, city of New York, tension permeated the establishment. As if death were the main entree, a solemn, priestly waiter, dressed in black, seemed to anoint rather then greet each patron…

 

“See youse gize lata…” Tony Black grumbled as he escorted the “Abbot and Costello” looking Donatelli brothers through the mortised oaken doors, “…it’s just the flu or somethin’.” Then, turning on the heels of his “pointy-toed Italian fence climbers”, he grasped the hand-set of the desk phone with his right hand and dialed a number with a diamond-clad-pinkie-ringed left hand.

 

As he waited for the party he called to pick up, Tony toyed with his ring of respect, his pride and joy, polishing it by breathing loudly upon it’s surface and rubbing it against his black tux jacket until a brilliant, blue-white reflection, danced a rhythm of sparkling star bursts against the dark and gloomy interior ceiling.

 

“Yea. Who’s calling…” A distinctive voice inquired.

 

“Tony Black… Listen, tell da guy dat I’m closing da joint early, I’ll see im at three… Oh, and yea, Pauly Ham passed away.”

 

“O.K.” Click…

 

He hung the phone up and sauntered to the bar to count his meager tips.

 

Standing under the wood trellis that draped a newly installed and cluttered bar, Tony turned the tip glass over. The loose change that jingled to the bar was as devoid of substance as the dusty plastic vines that drooped and dripped from the “Italian garden looking contraption” above his head. For Tony, the entire past week was devoid. The only thing that even resembled normalcy were the patrons that had sampled the pasta, and even they showed their dissatisfaction for the absence of ambiance that usually ran rough-shod, trampling all in its intoxicating, invigorating way. The pieces-of-eight that flooded the joint and lined Tony’s pockets were slow in coming. As Tony would say…”Da tips waz as slim as fleas on a goldfish!”

 

A close friend, Tony Black had two jobs: protecting the brothers, Joe-Pep and Carmine, and tending bar. The past two days he had taken on the additional responsibility of maitre’de and was looking forward to a day off. He was supposed to stay until the brothers left, but tonight he had asked for permission to leave early.

 

Preparing to exit the establishment he yelled towards the swinging doors of the kitchen, “Hey, Carm…Yo, I’m leaving…Do ya hear me?” Only silence greeted him. Turning on his heels he headed for the front doors shouting: “I’ll lock da joint on da way out. See youse gize Monday.”

 

Stepping through the doorway and into a realm of pervasive darkness, he turned and closed the massive doors with a hefty thump. Sealing the castle’s keep from the beast of the city rather then the cold and wet misery of the season, Tony placed a heavy steal bar across them and locked it in place with a ponderous padlock. Turning once to scan the streets, he briskly walked to his parked Caddy.

 

As if Tony’s departure provoked demons to suddenly play a loud and boisterous chess game upon the spoiled and sauce stained–as stained as death’s own signature– red and white checkered table cloths, the clamor of a heated argument in the kitchen ricocheted through the dining room, abruptly lifting the eerie cloak of silence…

 

“Let’s just leave town… go to Ohio or something!” The Professor shouted forcefully as he nervously cleaned the sparkling, clear lenses of his gold, wire framed glasses.

 

“It’s still on the table…we’re safe until we get called on the carpet.” Joe-Pep cut in. “Let’s just finish up and get home… It’s eleven thirty, you’re the one that has to drive all the way to Hicksville and back, not me. I’ll see you tomorrow at the house after church. We’ll talk then… Monday I will call Joe Pag — get a sit-down, O.K.?”

 

“O.K., but I just got this feeling… we should just lie low until this thing blows ov…” “Come on, I know what I’m talking about. There’s nothing to worry about!” Joe shouted back with assurance — not showing the fear he felt. “The heck with those jerks… I could give a damn!”

 

Inauspicious, the shadow of death, steady in its stealthy pursuit of game, rounded the bleak, dimly lit corner. It stopped at the curbside in front of the shuttered restaurant — allowing its contents to spill upon the sidewalk. There it remained, engine idling, a man-made carnivore of hopes and dreams, ready to pounce on all unsuspecting quarry…

 

The brothers, unaware of death’s grim reapers lurking just outside their door, continued to argue.

 

“Why don’t you ride with me to Long Island?” The Professor asked, not reassured by his brother’s comments. “We can call Jean, let her kno…”

 

“Listen, I’m tired of this bull…Its been thirty years… We shouldn’t be responsible for what…”

 

Suddenly, a familiar and sinister hit crew, one tall, one short, with finely-tuned precision, smashed in the front door.

 

The brothers pivoted as one to face this sudden intrusion of fate…

 

A hail of deadly hot lead greeted them, each projectile finding more than just flesh and bone in which to bury — deeply, mortally, these bearers of death silenced forever their dreams, hopes and feelings…

 

The diabolical chariot of death, sleek in its shroud of pitch black midnight, with only a thud in the night, disgorged upon the wet, slimy pavement, two cold and silent passengers. Then, with cold and calculated determination, it zoomed off for its next intended victim in a never ending quest to satisfy an acquired taste for blood and power.

The repercussions were immediate — like waves of tides constantly changing a shore’s landscape, the waves of time permanently altered and condemned the families of these two Soldiers of the Hand to uncertainty, sorrow and a life of drifting sands….

 

 

NOW CLICK TO READ THE STORY!

House Of Cards: The Curse Of Alfonso Written by: RJ. Rocky Scarfone: A Biography @1986 all rights reserved. Revised Edition Copyright 1996 International Book Service Number 0-9657066-1-3 M.A.G.I.C. Press is a Division of The Lighthouse Sanctuary For Youth Foundation 1426 Webb Gin House Rd, 30245 Lawrenceville, Georgia

 

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