Frank's Butcher Shop
"I can't believe it, Tony. You whacked Frank. You just up and shot him right here. What the hell were you thinking?"
Joey’s ears were ringing, he could barely hear himself talking. This guy, Tony, he was a real piece of work, all right. Arrogant as a peacock with three dicks in a chicken coop. Still, Joey wasn't about to speak too harshly to Tony Spirochete the boss, Mr. Spirochete's, son. Joey's voice suddenly took on a much more conciliatory tone. After all, this half-bright brute standing in front of him was still holding the still-smoking .38 — it wasn't wise to scold a man who had just committed his first murder. Especially when he's the boss' son.
"Sure, maybe you were a little out of line here, but you did a good job, Tony,” Joey added.
"My dad said the guy had to go. So that's what I did, Joey. I sent him on a first-class trip to Timbuktu. I wish I could have sent him there twice, Joey."
Joey was really straining his ears to make out what Tony, the psychopath, the nepotistic little brat, was saying.
"Yeah, I wish you could too, Tony. Your old man he's gonna be real proud of you."
Joey looked down at Frank the Butcher — or of what was left of him. He lay on the floor still wearing his butcher's gown, animal blood intermixing with his own blood, staining into his apron, a huge butcher knife still clasped in his right hand. Frank the Butcher, he was a tough old kraut, you had to give him that, Joey thought. The guy had been refusing to pay Mr. Spirochete his protection money — everybody paid the old man protection money, except this chesty German, who was now no more. In Joey Spinoza's mind it was not Tony who had killed Frank the Butcher, but Frank's own pride. Joey was just sore that day in the butcher shop, that Tony had decided to rub the Butcher out in such a careless manner — inside the butcher shop, in broad daylight.
The kid was careless. The kid was no good. Spoiled rotten. He never had to work for anything a day in his life. What he wanted, his father had delivered to his son on a silver-platter.
Gently, but sternly, Joey instructed for Tony to go over to the door, and lock it, and flip the “closed — lunchtime” sign over to the other side.
Tony, the brutal halfwit, nodded his head a few times, and dutifully made his way for the door.
"Sure thing, Joey,” he said, whistling all the while.
But right before Tony reached the door, Pete the Mailman sauntered inside the butcher shop, carrying the sack of mail behind his back, whistling jovially, merrily all the while, his hands inside his pants pockets.
"Good morning, Joey," he said. Joey, standing behind the counter, nodded his head nonchalantly.
"Where's Frank? I have got a package for him," Pete the Mailman said.
Joey had to think, and he had to think fast. Saying the wrong thing would arouse suspicion — after all, Pete knew Joey and his reputation. If he suspected anything was amiss, he might just hightail it out of Frank’s Butcher Shop all the way over to the Bridgewater, New Jersey Police Department, and file a complaint. As long as Pete didn't decide to come any closer, and peek over the counter, then everything was going to be all right. It was imperative that he not see Frank the Butcher's body.
Joey put on his best happy face. "Frank had some business to attend to. He had to take his wife to the doctor. So he calls me up, and asks me to watch over his joint here. I says, 'No problem, Frankie.' So here we are. Give me the letter, Pete. And I promise I'll hand it over to Frank as soon as he comes back."
Pete had a calm expression on his face. "Sure, why not." Pete, a good-sized man, removed the mailbag from his back and began to rummage through it. As he was reaching around inside for the letter, Tony crept up behind Pete the Mailman, shoved the thirty-eight into his right-side temple, and pumped one into it. Pete flew over, horizontally, to the floor, blood leaking out from the side of his noggin.
Joey exploded. "Goddamn it, Tony. That was totally unnecessary. I had the guy under control."
Tony was unfazed. "He was gonna be trouble, Joey. He was coming over to the counter. He would have seen the body. I swear."
Joey was about to scold Tony further but then, once again, something about the image of Tony Spirochete brandishing that smoking-barreled thirty-eight pistol sent shivers down Joey's spine.
"All right, Tony. Never mind. You had good intentions. You meant well. Now come on, help me move Pete the Mailman behind the counter, so we can wrap him and Joe the Butcher up in carpet, and then hightail it the hell out of this place.”
"Sure thing, Joey."
Tony and Joey grabbed Frank the Butcher by the feet and shoulders, respectively.
"Fucking guy weighs a ton."
"Hell of a big guy," Joey added. "You can tell he gets his three square meals a day."
They dropped Pete the Mailman on the hard-surfaced and checkered linoleum floor. Joe was about to instruct Tony to walk over across the street to Jack and Jill's Furniture Barn, and buy two rugs to roll up the two deceased specimens, crumpled up in awkward positions before them on the floor — but just then, someone else opened the door to Frank's Butcher Shop. In that instant, Joey could have smacked himself in the face. After all, had he just remembered to lock the door, then they wouldn't have to worry about anymore unwelcome visitors. However, in his excitement — his ringing ears, and his shock over seeing Tony waste two guys inside the butcher shop in broad daylight — Joey had clearly forgotten to instruct Tony, his underling in Mafia hierarchy, to lock the door.
This time, Sister Mary, an older nun of about fifty-five breezed inside the butcher shop, her penguin gown still on. Joey remembered Sister Mary. She had been at Father O'Malley's parish on Twenty-Second street since Joey was fresh-faced alterboy, of sixteen.
Immediately, Joey looked over at Tony and he shook his head. Don't do it. Don't even think about it, you sick bastard, Joey thought.
"Well hello, Sister Mary. What brings you here today?" Joey said, smiling pleasantly from behind the counter.
"Hi ya, Sister Mary," Tony said politely.
Sister Mary grinned. "Hello, Tony. Hello, Joey." Clearly, she had remembered them. Tony had been an alterboy too.
"What can I help you with today, sister?" Joey said, sweat dripping off his forehead. He hoped — he prayed silently to himself — that nothing bad would happen this time around. He could deal with rubbing out an obstinate butcher and a pesky Mailman. However, a nun — a nun was sacrosanct. There's no way that, at the end of the ride, Joey could envision Saint Peter letting him in through those pearly gates, knowing he had been an accomplice in whacking a nun. If this were to happen, a lifetime in Hell would surely await Joey, and Tony Spirochete — the boss' dimwitted and trigger-happy son.
Anyway, back to Sister Mary. She told Joey she was there because she needed a full pound of turkey. "We must feed the homeless this Thanksgiving. Remember, Christ feed his listeners on the Sermon at the Mount. Likewise, we must feed the homeless — the children, the middle-aged, the disabled and the elderly." Sister Mary had a sweet smile — Joey had remembered it after all these years.
Joey looked over at Tony, who was standing inconspicuously on the other side of the butcher shop — humming along innocently to himself. Well, Joey thought. The guy's crazy, but he ain't that demented. He ain't fucking deranged enough to clip a nun.
"One pound of turkey. You got it, Sister Mary." Joey knelt down and reached for the turkey, tore it from the package, and dropped it on the scale. Just then, Joey recoiled — a huge bang sound once again engulfed the entire butcher shop.
As he popped his head up, he saw Sister Mary, lying on the floor, a pool of blood surrounding her body. Enraged, he began yelling at Tony. "You sick bastard! Now you've really done it. You've killed a nun. A fucking nun, Tony!"
"Joey, I can explain," Tony said, sheepishly.
Once again, Joey noticed Tony holding the smoking 38; the deranged look in Tony's eyes. The man was a ticking time bomb. And Joey was damned sure he didn't want to be the one to set him off. Not with that Goddamn peacekeeper in his hand.
"I'm listening, Tony," Joey said.
"She was coming for the counter Joey, I swear. She was. She'd have found the bodies. Then what, huh? We'd have had to kill her anyway."
Joey looked down at Sister Mary — at what was left of her, anyway. He shook his head, sadly.
"All right, Tony. I believe you." Joey was about to add, Now help me move Sister Mary over with the others. But then he had an idea. You could literally see the gigantic light-bulb flicking on over Joey's head.
"You know what? Before you help me move Sister Mary, why don't you go over there and lock the Goddamn door this time, will ya?" Joey said, crossing himself all the while.
