Free Fools Rush In by Janice Thompson Page A

Joey was quite a contrast to the other men in the family—his short stature and dark, curly ponytail set him apart. And the tattoos got almost as much attention as his mustache and goatee. Not that D.J. seemed to notice. He quickly engaged my brother in easy conversation about one of his tattoos—two nails overlapping each other to form a cross.
    Flexing his upper arm, Joey explained, “I got this one after I started doing street ministry with our church. It’s a great conversation starter.”
    D.J. gave it another look. “No doubt. It’s great.”
    The chatter must’ve summoned Uncle Laz, who joined us from the kitchen. He nodded in D.J.’s direction. “Glad to see you survived Rosa’s cooking.”
    “Oh?” D.J. looked my way, clearly confused.
    I simply shrugged. “My uncle would like you to think he’s the only one in the family with any culinary skills. But don’t give him an inch on this one, okay? He’ll take a mile.”
    Laz scowled at me, but I knew he meant no harm. We did this sort of harmless bantering all the time.
    “Rosa’s great with pasta and breads, but the boss does make a mean pizza,” Jenna threw in. “Best I’ve ever tasted anyway.”
    Uncle Laz raised his ladle in the air and exclaimed, “ Segreto nella salsa. And I’ve told you not to call me ‘the boss.’”
    D.J. looked at me again.
    “Secret’s in the sauce,” I whispered. “But it’s not much of a secret these days.” I stopped short of explaining that Laz didn’t like to be called “the boss” because it had too many negative connotations.
    “Hush now, Bella.” Laz gave me a warning look, followed by a wink.
    “As for the rest of the family, well, we’re a little, um . . .” Nick shrugged, and I could almost read his mind. Crazy? Nutty?
    “A little what, Nicholas?” Uncle Laz countered, raising his ladle again. “Better watch yourself, boy. God put you in this family, and he can just as easily take you out.”
    “Spoken like a former mobster,” Nick whispered.
    “I heard that.” Laz raised his voice above the pitch of the music, plenty loud enough for everyone on Galveston Island to take note. “And for your information, I was never in the mob.”
    Nick decided this was his cue to do his near-perfect impression of Don Corleone. He quoted a couple of familiar lines from The Godfather , then ended with an over-the-top rendition of Brando’s famous line, “I’m gonna make him an offer he can’t refuse.” I had to give it to him—my brother was a dead ringer for the infamous mob boss. Er, make that a good match.
    D.J. smiled as my brother wrapped up his act. “Right, right. The Godfather . Saw that movie once on cable.”
    “Just once?” We all turned and stared at him. The Godfather movies were a staple in the Rossi home. We owned both the VHS and DVD versions of every one.
    “Nick memorized the first movie in high school,” I explained, “but please, whatever you do, don’t get him started. He’ll quote the whole thing.”
    Nick turned to D.J. and shrugged. “I’ll stop. But talk to me later. There are a few things you might want to know about Laz’s ties to the mob if you plan on sticking around.”
    “So, mob ties?” D.J. turned to me again.
    “Let’s just say he has a connection,” I said.
    “Two connections,” Nick corrected me.
    “Who are they?” D.J. directed his question at anyone who might provide an answer.
    My uncle sighed. “Since you must know, I once sold vacuum cleaners to Salvadore Lucci and Benigno Damiano—two very, um, influential men back in the day.” Laz’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. “I led Benigno to the Lord in ’95 just before he passed.”
    “What about Salvadore?” D.J. asked.
    Laz’s jaw tightened. “We haven’t spoken in over five years. I’ve done all I can to reach out to him, but he wants nothing to do with me or my faith, so I must leave him in the Lord’s hands.” At once, Uncle Lazarro bowed his head and offered up what I knew