protection.
CHAPTER 12
A STACKED DECK
Wilmington—19 Years Ago
W e were thirteen, and Doggs hired us to work a big game at the smoke shop. I put on my black pants, black socks, and pointed black shoes. I grabbed a pale green shirt from the closet and tucked it in, then tightened the belt till my gut damn near burst. I wore green more since meeting Angie. The guys teased me about it, but I defended my choice. I checked the mirror a few times more than necessary, combed my hair for the third time, then ran downstairs.
“Where you going, Nicky?” Pops was in his chair reading.
“Doggs is having a game. Wants us to work it.”
“Who’s ‘us’?”
“All of us—me, Tony, Frankie. Paulie Perlano, too.”
“Who?”
“You know Paulie. We call him The Suit.”
Pops never looked up from his book. “You boys stay together. And remember your manners. It will earn you more.”
I was halfway up the hill to Tony’s house when Suit called. Paulie’s parents were poor, so poor he only had one white shirt to wear with his school uniform. No matter what time of day you went to Paulie’s house his mom was washing or ironing clothes. She had five boys and six girls, and their uniforms had to be washed every night. They might have been poor but there was no way Mrs. Perlano was going to send her boys to school in a dirty shirt. Paulie swore that when he got older he’d have a closet full of suits. That’s how the name got started.
“Hey, Nicky. Check this out.”
I looked at him and whistled. Suit had a new shirt. “Where’d you steal that?”
“My brother got a raise. Bought three of us new shirts.”
I ran my hand over the material, gave a soft whistle. “Nice shit.”
Suit smacked my hand away. “Let’s get Tony.”
We picked Tony up then walked to the corner to get Frankie.
“What’s up, Frankie? Why so glum?”
“Same old shit. Always one parent that’s a prick.”
“At least you got two parents.”
Frankie looked at me with a sad face, one I’d always remember. “Sometimes two parents aren’t so good.”
“Hey guys, let’s forget the depressing shit. We got a game to work.” Tony tried lighting a match while he walked but it wasn’t working. “Gonna be a big game.”
“Lot of tips,” Suit chimed in. “ Lot of tips.”
I scoffed. “ If you’re lucky enough to get a winner. Get a loser, and they’ll be borrowing from you .”
“You’re just pissed ’cause you always get losers,” Frankie said.
The other guys laughed and I was forced to agree. “Can’t catch a break on that.”
“Who’s playing?” Frankie asked. His mood seemed to be brightening.
“Everybody. Charlie Knuckles, Mikey the Face, The Whale, Jimmy the Gem, Paulie Shoes. Probably more.”
“Who ain’t playing?” Suit asked.
We set a fast pace to the smoke shop, where Nicky the Nose was standing duty for Patsy. He let us into the back room, checking the street first to make sure no one was watching. As soon as we entered, we heard Patsy “The Whale” Moresco’s laughter rolling through the room. If you judged happiness by laughter, Patsy was the happiest man alive. Tony used to say that if you wanted to find Patsy, follow the laughter, and he’d be at the end of it, his big fat palm banging on a bar or a table—something.
“Frankie, get your ass over here.” Patsy sat at the bar, on a stool that looked too frail to support him, his meaty hand clasped around a drink.
Frankie ran over, eager to get an early start on the night. Serving drinks earned good tips, but it was usually a bad omen. The guys who drank typically lost in the game, and that’s where the big tips came in.
Pretty soon, everyone had shown up, and Doggs assigned the players. Tony got Paulie Shoes and Charlie Knuckles, and he couldn’t have been happier. Knuckles almost always won, and he was the best tipper. People would think with a name like “Knuckles” it was because he had big knuckles. It was the opposite. Charlie
CHAPTER 12
A STACKED DECK
Wilmington—19 Years Ago
W e were thirteen, and Doggs hired us to work a big game at the smoke shop. I put on my black pants, black socks, and pointed black shoes. I grabbed a pale green shirt from the closet and tucked it in, then tightened the belt till my gut damn near burst. I wore green more since meeting Angie. The guys teased me about it, but I defended my choice. I checked the mirror a few times more than necessary, combed my hair for the third time, then ran downstairs.
“Where you going, Nicky?” Pops was in his chair reading.
“Doggs is having a game. Wants us to work it.”
“Who’s ‘us’?”
“All of us—me, Tony, Frankie. Paulie Perlano, too.”
“Who?”
“You know Paulie. We call him The Suit.”
Pops never looked up from his book. “You boys stay together. And remember your manners. It will earn you more.”
I was halfway up the hill to Tony’s house when Suit called. Paulie’s parents were poor, so poor he only had one white shirt to wear with his school uniform. No matter what time of day you went to Paulie’s house his mom was washing or ironing clothes. She had five boys and six girls, and their uniforms had to be washed every night. They might have been poor but there was no way Mrs. Perlano was going to send her boys to school in a dirty shirt. Paulie swore that when he got older he’d have a closet full of suits. That’s how the name got started.
“Hey, Nicky. Check this out.”
I looked at him and whistled. Suit had a new shirt. “Where’d you steal that?”
“My brother got a raise. Bought three of us new shirts.”
I ran my hand over the material, gave a soft whistle. “Nice shit.”
Suit smacked my hand away. “Let’s get Tony.”
We picked Tony up then walked to the corner to get Frankie.
“What’s up, Frankie? Why so glum?”
“Same old shit. Always one parent that’s a prick.”
“At least you got two parents.”
Frankie looked at me with a sad face, one I’d always remember. “Sometimes two parents aren’t so good.”
“Hey guys, let’s forget the depressing shit. We got a game to work.” Tony tried lighting a match while he walked but it wasn’t working. “Gonna be a big game.”
“Lot of tips,” Suit chimed in. “ Lot of tips.”
I scoffed. “ If you’re lucky enough to get a winner. Get a loser, and they’ll be borrowing from you .”
“You’re just pissed ’cause you always get losers,” Frankie said.
The other guys laughed and I was forced to agree. “Can’t catch a break on that.”
“Who’s playing?” Frankie asked. His mood seemed to be brightening.
“Everybody. Charlie Knuckles, Mikey the Face, The Whale, Jimmy the Gem, Paulie Shoes. Probably more.”
“Who ain’t playing?” Suit asked.
We set a fast pace to the smoke shop, where Nicky the Nose was standing duty for Patsy. He let us into the back room, checking the street first to make sure no one was watching. As soon as we entered, we heard Patsy “The Whale” Moresco’s laughter rolling through the room. If you judged happiness by laughter, Patsy was the happiest man alive. Tony used to say that if you wanted to find Patsy, follow the laughter, and he’d be at the end of it, his big fat palm banging on a bar or a table—something.
“Frankie, get your ass over here.” Patsy sat at the bar, on a stool that looked too frail to support him, his meaty hand clasped around a drink.
Frankie ran over, eager to get an early start on the night. Serving drinks earned good tips, but it was usually a bad omen. The guys who drank typically lost in the game, and that’s where the big tips came in.
Pretty soon, everyone had shown up, and Doggs assigned the players. Tony got Paulie Shoes and Charlie Knuckles, and he couldn’t have been happier. Knuckles almost always won, and he was the best tipper. People would think with a name like “Knuckles” it was because he had big knuckles. It was the opposite. Charlie
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