Free PART 35 by John Nicholas Iannuzzi

about my own life, Uncle Jim.”
    Don Vincenzo smiled. “You’re a good boy, Sandro. When you get angry, you’re beautiful. You’re gonna be dynamite. But you’re not so smart yet in street ways, Sandro. I been around, and I know the street, and I know a lot of fancy people who are degenerate bastards. They lie, they cheat; they come in here and want us to bust somebody’s head. Why couldn’t they have some disease, too? You think them fancy-looking girls can’t have disease?
    â€œListen,” Don Vincenzo said, continuing to eat, “she’s a nice girl. Now everything is okay. And who was hurt? Buy her something nice, a jewelry, something, anything you say. Whatever it costs, I pay. Tell her you got a silly old man for a father, and he apologizes, and give her the present. If it shines enough, she’ll be quiet real soon. Now come on, have something to eat, something to drink.”
    â€œI’ll have a light Scotch and water,” Sandro said to Joey.
    â€œHow’s school?” Don Vincenzo asked. “That’s more important. Your exams’ll be coming soon. You ready?”
    â€œSure. Sure.”
    â€œSure, you’re ready. You’ll pass them eyes closed. And then law school. Sandro, I pray only that I live long enough to see you a lawyer.”
    â€œYou won’t die. Who’d want you? Not even the devil.” Sandro smiled.
    So did Don Vincenzo. He squeezed Sandro’s cheek affectionately.
    â€œI been in court a lot, Sandro. I never got a conviction, but I got arrested enough times. I seen a lot of lawyers. I would have liked to be a lawyer, but I couldn’t go to law school, cause I had no education. I was too busy hustling to stay alive. I would have been some lawyer. I’d wipe up the courtroom with the D.A. I’d destroy him, and when he was down, I’d kick him. That’s what you’re going to do. And you’ll have respect. Me, I have respect, but it’s because of this”—he raised his solid fist—“and because of them”—he pointed his chin at the men at the front table—“But you, just with your mouth, your words, you’ll do more things, have more respect. If you can do that with just words, you’ll be more powerful than me. Understand?”
    â€œI understand.”
    â€œIf only I live that long, Sandro. I want to sec you wipe up the district attorney. You’re going to be a beautiful lawyer.”
    â€œI’ll try, Uncle Jim.”
    â€œWhat try? You’re my family, you got the same blood in you I have. You got guts, and you got brains. You think I’m going to let some little girl you want to go out with this week mess all that up?”
    â€œLet’s not go into that again, Uncle Jim.”
    Joey set the drink on Sandro’s table, a twelve-year-old Scotch on the rocks, more potent than the drink of that early evening years ago, when he was a student and Don Vincenzo was alive. “You want something to eat, Counselor?”
    â€œNo, Joey.” He looked over to Don Vincenzo’s chair and watched Sal finish his business. As Sandro lifted the glass to his lips, he could almost hear Don Vincenzo say, “Drink hearty.”
    â€œSandro, how are you?” Sal said, smiling, standing in his place as the two men left his table. Sal was tall and thin, stooped now and gray. He was about seventy-three years old, a couple of years younger than Don Vincenzo would have been.
    He took the cigar from his mouth with his left hand, shaking Sandro’s hand with the right. He studied Sandro for a moment. “Jesus, you lookin’ like a million bucks, Sandro, real class.”
    â€œThanks, Sal, how’ve you been?” They sat at the table.
    Sal stuck his cigar back in one side of his mouth. “Ah, what’s the use of kickin’? Vecchiai ena carogna, ma non ciarriva, ena vergogna. You understand?—it’s a bitch to