Sons of the Pope by Daniel O'Connor & Blood Bound Books

Author:Daniel O'Connor & Blood Bound Books [O'Connor, Daniel & Books, Blood Bound]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blood Bound Books
Published: 2012-12-08T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Today, Biaggio Falcone would be hearing requests from the denizens of his community.

Two blocks down from the barbershop, Sal and Vito emerged from the salumeria carrying loaded brown paper bags. The darkly tanned ends of freshly baked Italian bread jutted teasingly from the top of the sacks. One of them brushed repeatedly against the small gold crucifix that swayed from Vito’s neck. Storm clouds brewed above them as Vito, his head level with his tall cousin’s shoulders, rambled on about his latest young girlfriend.

“So I says to her, ‘How come in the furniture store you keep callin’ it a sofa, but once I pay for it and you get it home it becomes a freakin’ couch?’”

“Leave that poor girl alone, will ya?”

“Hey, Pope,” came a yell from behind them.

They turned to see a scruffy, curly-haired fellow rolling up behind them. The double amputee sat not in a wheelchair, but atop a flat wooden dolly with a piece of mildewed carpet serving as its seat. His hands were tucked into a pair of withered, leather driving gloves.

“Hey, J.J.,” said Sal with a smile.

“What’s cookin’?” added Vito.

“Just wanna get my number, Pope. I got a good feeling today.”

“Sure thing.”

Sal handed his grocery bag to Vito, who was now practically hidden behind the sacks of cold cuts and breads. As Sal went about the business of recording the man’s three digit lottery pick, Vito’s nose was almost touching the soft, toasty loaves.

“Listen,” said the legless man as he finished his transaction, “tell Joey that he owes me a shoeshine, okay?”

Sal almost said “sure thing” again, but he caught himself.

“Get outta here, J.J.” He laughed. “You better get inside before it pours over here.”

Vito handed a bag back to his cousin as J.J. wheeled away. The top of the bread had been gnawed off.

“Who told you to eat the bread?”

“I like plain bread. You get everything with seeds. Bread, bagels, sausage . . . ”

“Seeds are good, Vito. Almost everything starts with a seed. Even you, you jackass.”

Vito spotted a lanky man slipping a bag over the top of a parking meter rather than dropping a coin into its slot. The fellow turned—rather nervously—revealing two colossal, protruding eyes. They locked with Vito’s.

“Whoa! Long time, no see, Sally Eyeballs,” yelled Vito as crumbs dropped from his lips.

“Oh, yeah. How’s it hangin’, Vito?” Sally twitched.

“You remember my cousin, right?”

“Yeah. The Pope. The numbers guy. Good to see you again, Pope.”

“Doing well. How’s life treating you?”

“Why don’t you come down to the barbershop and see the fellas?” interrupted Vito.

“No time. No time today. I’m running some errands for . . . ” Sally Eyeballs finished his sentence by merely touching the tip of his nose.

“Oh,” nodded Vito. “How’s he doing?”

“Fair. But he’s been feeling some heat, y’know? What do you hear from Nicky the Zipper?”

“Eh. He’s still got some time to do. I got to see him a few weeks ago. He ain’t the same.”

“That’s a shame. Well, next time you see him, give him my regards.

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