Adrian Del Valle - Diego's Brooklyn by Adrian Del Valle

for all of this,” said Diego.
    “What’re friends for, right, Mr. Jackson?” said Louie.
    “Jus’ call me Bill.”
    Louie’s head was already back in the doorway shouting at Anthony. “Ya got anymore o’ dem zepoli’s? Maybe Mr. Jackson and the boys want somethin’ to munch on while they’re waitin’.”
    From the kitchen, in the back of the restaurant, a voice sharply answered him. “Holda backa you horses, I’ll be right outta there. Aspettare uno momento.”
    A short and very round Anthony, wearing an apron spotted with dried tomato sauce, soon weaved around the tables with a large tray of zepolis sprinkled generously with confectioner’s sugar.
    “Ant’ny, these are my friends from the garbage route. That’s Mr. Jackson, he’s the boss of all of them. Ha ha. Hey Larry, you’re still all wet. What happened?”
    “I had to put my clothes on over my bathing suit.”
    “I done that before many times, myself.”
    Anthony, on returning inside, immediately popped his head back out with an afterthought. “I’m a come out witha the pizza right away. You boyza come anytime you like to my pizza store. Anthony maka the besta pizza in a the whole of Brookaleen.”
    Louie grimaced. “Ayyy…Ant’ny! Pu-leeze! Dominic’s always has a line around the block.”
    “So go to Domineek’s. Why you coma over to this a place if a you like thatta one so much?”
    “That’s ‘cause I feel sorry for you Ant’ny.”
    “Yeah, a you sorry lika a the hole inna my head. That Domineek, he’s a from a the mountains. What does he know about how to make a good a pizza. They gotta nothing but sheep uppa they. All they know in a the mountains eeza how to make the cheese, that’s all. So go you selfa to Domineek’s!”
    “Nah! I like the awning. Gets me outta the sun. You know wud I mean, Ant’ny?”
    “Ah, stai zitto. Some a bullshit you are. You know whata you can scratch, huh, Louie?”
    Louie knocked on the table, and snapped, “Hey where’s the soda? Bring the soda! Come on! What kind of a Pizza joint is this, anyway? Where‘s the service around here, huh?”
    “Holda you horses. I’m a go get it righta now.” Anthony’s voiced trailed off as he reentered the pizzeria.
    “That Ant’ny’s a good guy,” Louie said. “I went to school with his son. Tough story, that one. Anyway, he ain’t around no more.”
    “Why’s that?” Bill asked.
    Hold the fort, Bill. I‘ll be write back. I have to see a man about that horse Ant’ny was talkin’ ’bout. I‘ll tell you when I get back.”
    To Bill’s surprise, after Louie went inside to use the bathroom, a black kid of about eighteen and wearing a full apron, bumped his rear into the restaurant door from inside, carrying three aluminum trays of large pizza’s to the table. The boy had about him an air of confidence gained from having served many a table. He laid the first tray down in front of Larry. The other two, wedged between his finger tips and shoulder, were placed side by side in front of Bill and Jerry.
    “Hi, I’m Louis! You guys aren’t from around here are you?”
    “No, and you ain’t naytha, is you?” Bill queried.
    “Well, these days I am. I live right up stairs. Hey, I’m Louis. Eat up, I’ll be right back.” The boy went inside as light footed as he came out.
    Louie returned. “Now that looks good! I can see that you’re enjoyin’ it, too. Who brought it out…Luigi?”
    “Why, no!” said Bill. “A young fella named Louis.”
    “Oh, that’s Luigi. It’s not his real name, but that’s what Ant’ny calls him. He sorta adopted him. The kid has his own apartment upstairs. Used to live in Ant’ny’s house a coupla of years ago, but he wanted his own place. Ant’ny owns the building, so it wasn’t a problem.”
    “He seems like a nice kid,” said Bill.
    “Luigi? A piece o’ cake. They get along priddy good, those two. Ant’ny calls the kid his Siciliano.”
    Just then the door opened. Louis, with two trays of veal