fucking jump in my way ever again. If I’m kicking the shit out of some stronzo for being late on his taxes, I don’t care if he’s been dead for twenty fucking minutes, you don’t get in my way. Ever. You understand?”
“Yeah,” I reply, afraid to look up at him now. “Sorry, Dad.”
“Number two; when you hit that guy, you splattered blood everywhere and got some on your shoes. Now, I’m gonna have to explain to your mother why you got blood on your fucking shoes. So, get a rag out of the glove compartment and wipe that shit off before it stains permanently. If you’re gonna keep coming with me, you’re gonna have to learn to protect yourself from shit like this. Always clean up your messes.”
I reach into the glove compartment and pull out the rag while he keeps talking.
“And three; what you did in there was a thing of beauty,” I stop wiping the blood from my shoes and look at him. He’s smiling from ear to ear. “That guy could’ve hurt you real bad with that meat cleaver, but you did what you had to do. That’s it, Dominic, you have to act. You didn’t let your thoughts get in the way of what you needed to do. And the way you told him your name . . . fucking genius. I wish I would’ve thought of that. That asshole is gonna remember that for the rest of his life, and that’s exactly how it should be. I’m proud of you, Dominic. You made your old man proud in there.”
Now it’s my turn to smile. I know it seems odd for my father to tell me he’s proud I hit a guy in the face with a meat cleaver, but my dad isn’t like other dads. My dad’s a gangster. He knows I know it, too, and he doesn’t care because he knows it doesn’t bother me. No matter how many people I’ve seen him beat up over the years, he’s still my dad, and he’s the only hero I’ve ever had. My dad’s a gangster, and I’m proud of him. I’m proud to be his son.
“Thanks, Dad,” I reply, still grinning as I lean forward and get back to work on my shoes.
My father opens the envelope and counts the cash right there in the parking lot. I hear him let out a sigh of frustration.
“Fucking peanuts,” he snips, grinding his teeth together as he counts the money. “Look at this shit. How am I supposed to earn on little shit like this? How am I supposed to get upped like this? I’ve gotta show that I’m an earner, and this ain’t gonna cut it!” He stuffs the money back in the envelope and shoves it into the glove compartment. “I’ve gotta get with the guys and work on a bigger score, because I’m just not doing it big enough with these little shops and delis. I’ll never be a capo this way.”
After all the time I’ve spent with my father over the years, I know what it is he’s trying to achieve. He wants to be promoted to a more powerful position in the family he’s a part of. It means more to him than anything, and I know the only way he’s going to be promoted is if he makes a lot of money and proves to the bosses he’s a good earner.
“Sorry, Dad,” I say to him. “I know how bad you wanna get upped, and I know you’ve been working on it a long time. It’d be different if you could make the casinos downtown pay a tax. Ten percent on them would be way more than ten percent from Lorenzo.”
My dad slowly turns his head and looks at me with eyes bigger than saucers.
“What did you just say?” he asks, and I’m instantly scared to answer.
“What? Nothing, I was just talking.”
“Casinos. Tax the casinos.”
He doesn’t say anything else for another thirty seconds, but I’m too scared to break the silence, so I wait for him to do it.
“You’re a fucking genius,” he says, but he still has the big eyes. “All those expensive casinos and hotels in downtown St. Louis. That’d be the biggest racket the Giordano Family has ever seen, especially if we can reel in two or three of them. That’d take a big fucking crew, and we’d have to be extremely organized, but if we pulled that off, it’d be huge. Holy shit, Dominic, you’re on a