favors for some guys around town."
Corrado narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Favors?"
"Yeah, you know, delivering things, running errands, sending messages. Nothing big, yet, but soon… my day's coming soon." Charlie stared at him. "Especially if I get you on board."
"Me?" Corrado was taken aback. "Why?"
"Don't act like you don't know," he responded, slipping the money back in his pocket. "We all know who your dad is."
So that was it.
"With Vito Moretti's kid involved, we'd be unstoppable. Wouldn't nobody mess with us."
Corrado's appetite faded. He set the slice of pizza down. "I'm not interested."
"Oh, come on," Charlie said. "You can't tell me the idea of making your own money isn't tempting."
Tempting, definitely. As much as Corrado tried to deny it, that was true. Having money… his own money… and a means to survive without depending on his mother. Against his better judgment, Corrado nodded. "What do I have to do?"
Charlie's smile grew. "Stick with me, and I'll show you."
The Fillmore Crew, they called themselves. Every day for the next week Corrado slipped out of his house before dawn and made the journey to town on foot, meeting up with the three boys in the park.
It started out innocently enough. They did exactly what Charlie had said: passed notes between men, delivered packages, picked up dry-cleaning, and even ordered dinner. Corrado felt like a messenger boy as he shadowed Charlie, saying nothing, mostly watching. Some tossed Charlie as little as a few coins, while others stealthily slipped him a few dollars. It was nothing substantial—a far cry from the big bills Charlie had touted, but it was something.
And it was the easiest job in the world.
Michael and Shawn did most of the brunt work, while Charlie dealt with the people face-to-face. Corrado stayed in the shadows, nodding whenever he was introduced as Vito Moretti's kid, and collected his share before heading home.
He wasn't sure if his mother even noticed his absences, considering he always made it home before dinner.
The following Friday morning, Corrado sat on the park bench when Charlie rode up alone. Corrado eyed him curiously. "Where are the others?"
Charlie climbed off his bike and secured it to a tree. "Not coming. It's payday."
Payday? Hands in his pockets, Corrado clutched onto the handful of change and scraggly bills he'd accumulated. "Isn't that every day?"
Charlie laughed as if something he'd said were funny. "You're a trip, Moretti." He nudged Corrado's arm. "Come on, let me introduce you to the boss."
Boss?
Corrado's mind ran rampant as they walked through town, toward a middle-class neighborhood. Charlie led him to a small white house on the corner, a golden colored Cadillac in the driveway.
"Be cool, okay?" Charlie said. "Mr. Barzetti's kinda paranoid."
Corrado hung back as Charlie stepped up on the porch and knocked. Some locks jingled before the door opened, a vaguely familiar man appearing. Corrado stared at him, trying to place his face.
"Mr. Barzetti , sir," Charlie said, whipping out a Manila envelope uncannily like the ones Vito collected at the casino.
Mr. Barzetti opened the envelope and pulled out a stack of cash.
Definitely like the envelopes his father collected.
Mr. Barzetti counted it before slipping a few bills to Charlie. "Here you go, shorty."
Shorty. The moment he said it, Corrado recognized the man. He'd seen him at The Flamingo, the first one he'd witnessed carried out through the back door.
Mr. Barzetti's gaze drifted off the porch toward Corrado. He narrowed his eyes briefly.
"This is my friend," Charlie said, grinning broadly. "He's—"
"Vito's kid." Mr. Barzetti's face paled as he finished Charlie's sentence. Wordlessly, he reached into the envelope again and pulled out even more bills, this stack larger than the first. He passed them to Charlie, his eyes never leaving Corrado. "Send my regards to your father. Tell him I took care of you, okay?"
Corrado nodded.
Mr. Barzetti
Corrado narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Favors?"
"Yeah, you know, delivering things, running errands, sending messages. Nothing big, yet, but soon… my day's coming soon." Charlie stared at him. "Especially if I get you on board."
"Me?" Corrado was taken aback. "Why?"
"Don't act like you don't know," he responded, slipping the money back in his pocket. "We all know who your dad is."
So that was it.
"With Vito Moretti's kid involved, we'd be unstoppable. Wouldn't nobody mess with us."
Corrado's appetite faded. He set the slice of pizza down. "I'm not interested."
"Oh, come on," Charlie said. "You can't tell me the idea of making your own money isn't tempting."
Tempting, definitely. As much as Corrado tried to deny it, that was true. Having money… his own money… and a means to survive without depending on his mother. Against his better judgment, Corrado nodded. "What do I have to do?"
Charlie's smile grew. "Stick with me, and I'll show you."
The Fillmore Crew, they called themselves. Every day for the next week Corrado slipped out of his house before dawn and made the journey to town on foot, meeting up with the three boys in the park.
It started out innocently enough. They did exactly what Charlie had said: passed notes between men, delivered packages, picked up dry-cleaning, and even ordered dinner. Corrado felt like a messenger boy as he shadowed Charlie, saying nothing, mostly watching. Some tossed Charlie as little as a few coins, while others stealthily slipped him a few dollars. It was nothing substantial—a far cry from the big bills Charlie had touted, but it was something.
And it was the easiest job in the world.
Michael and Shawn did most of the brunt work, while Charlie dealt with the people face-to-face. Corrado stayed in the shadows, nodding whenever he was introduced as Vito Moretti's kid, and collected his share before heading home.
He wasn't sure if his mother even noticed his absences, considering he always made it home before dinner.
The following Friday morning, Corrado sat on the park bench when Charlie rode up alone. Corrado eyed him curiously. "Where are the others?"
Charlie climbed off his bike and secured it to a tree. "Not coming. It's payday."
Payday? Hands in his pockets, Corrado clutched onto the handful of change and scraggly bills he'd accumulated. "Isn't that every day?"
Charlie laughed as if something he'd said were funny. "You're a trip, Moretti." He nudged Corrado's arm. "Come on, let me introduce you to the boss."
Boss?
Corrado's mind ran rampant as they walked through town, toward a middle-class neighborhood. Charlie led him to a small white house on the corner, a golden colored Cadillac in the driveway.
"Be cool, okay?" Charlie said. "Mr. Barzetti's kinda paranoid."
Corrado hung back as Charlie stepped up on the porch and knocked. Some locks jingled before the door opened, a vaguely familiar man appearing. Corrado stared at him, trying to place his face.
"Mr. Barzetti , sir," Charlie said, whipping out a Manila envelope uncannily like the ones Vito collected at the casino.
Mr. Barzetti opened the envelope and pulled out a stack of cash.
Definitely like the envelopes his father collected.
Mr. Barzetti counted it before slipping a few bills to Charlie. "Here you go, shorty."
Shorty. The moment he said it, Corrado recognized the man. He'd seen him at The Flamingo, the first one he'd witnessed carried out through the back door.
Mr. Barzetti's gaze drifted off the porch toward Corrado. He narrowed his eyes briefly.
"This is my friend," Charlie said, grinning broadly. "He's—"
"Vito's kid." Mr. Barzetti's face paled as he finished Charlie's sentence. Wordlessly, he reached into the envelope again and pulled out even more bills, this stack larger than the first. He passed them to Charlie, his eyes never leaving Corrado. "Send my regards to your father. Tell him I took care of you, okay?"
Corrado nodded.
Mr. Barzetti
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