dumb small time bookies/aka 'the gang that couldn't THINK straight'...
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Chapter 1. "HE'S WHAT?", Paretti (aka Big Sonny) yelled, forgetting that he was on the phone and tripping over himself as he stood and stared at his oldest son and, er, business partner. "Uh, dead." Paretti, Jr. (aka Sonny the Kid) answered, shuffling his feet and backing away from his father. "Uh, yeah, uh ..." Paretti,Sr. just stared at him and whispered (well what for him was a whisper, was more like an off key sreech from a clarinet), "Dead...you sure? 'Cuz if this is some kinda joke..." "Uh, no joke, Pop, uh...Marroni told me, I swears to the bible, Pop, uh...you mad at me?" Pop just stood there, then smacked himself in the head a few times and sat back down in his chair. "Okay, okay...Marroni's good for his word, but Geez Sonny, it..." "HEY! HEY! WHAT'S GOIN' ON..." a voice came out of nowhere. Paretti,Sr. jumped and fell over backwards to the floor, still in the chair. "Uh, Pop, it's the phone. You Okay? Want me to get it?", he asked, stepping over his father and picking the phone off the table. "Yeah, uh, who's this" he said. "Uh, oh, Yo, Angelo, what can I, uh, do for ya?" "Where the hell is your father you Cavonne, you guys want my action or not, eh? " "GIVE IT TO ME!", his father yelled, still in his chair on the floor. "Yeah, Angelo, sorry 'bout that, uh, had a little accident. What was it again? Sixty on "SingsLikeCaruso" in the Seventh at Belmont? Right?" He gestured frantically to Jr. to get a pen and get this down. It wasn't like they had much business, and Angelo was, at least, well, loyal. Plus, he was about the worst horseplayer that ever roamed the streets of Providence. "No, Sonny, what the hell's the matter with you, I been hangin' here on the phone and, ah, never mind. I want Sixty on 'SingsLikeCaruso' in the Seventh at Belmont! Geez, you forgot or somethin'?" "Angelo, that's what I just said." "You did, geez, sorry, just wanna be sure, hey, what's the matter over there anyway?" "I'll tell you later, Ange...So, this is all you want? Sixty on ..." "'SingsLikeCaruso' in the Seventh at, uh, Belmont!" Jr. yelled. "I got it, Pop!" "Yeah, that's it!" Angelo replied, also yelling. "Hey, kid, when'd you get so smart?" Paretti banged his head with his hand a few more times, then calmly said, "Okay, Angelo, we got it. You sure that's all?" "Yeah, yeah, it's all. I got a feelin' about this one, Sonny, you should ought to play it, yourself. Okay, I'll be around when this baby cleans up tomorrow. Arrivederci, Paisan." Paretti looked up at his son, handing him the phone. "You want I should hang this up, Pop?" "No, YEAH I WANT YOU SHOULD HANG IT UP!" Sonny the Kid hung up. "Uh, Pop, why you still on the floor?" Paretti glared at him, was about to say something to this idiot kid of his; but then just banged his head with his hand again and closed his eyes. A few moments passed, father and son frozen in this bizarre fresco. Then Big Sonny sighed, and whispered, a real whisper this time, quiet and drawn out, "Dead". "Uh, that's what Marroni..." "Shut up, Sonny, I heard ya before. Just answer the phones. And, being that you never bothered to help me up, I think I'll just lay here. I gotta think." Big Sonny settled back in his semi-prone position and sighed, "Dead ..." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ |