Some Men Need Killing: A Hard Coal Country Saga

By Art Marsicano

A brilliant young man, Anthony Martino learned the ways of violence and Italian criminals early in life. Always deeply loving with friends and family and brutal with enemies, Martino hates his enemies with a white hot passion. In his part of the world, justice can be found only with a gun, knife, or a bomb.

When Martino is asked to give a presentation about organized crime to a college class in the anthracite region of Pennsylvania, he is happy to accept. A former professor, Tony enjoys provoking thoughts and emotions in students. The same day he receives the professors request, he receives an e-mail message from a member of New York City's most powerful crime family requesting to see him. He also accepts this invitation.

When Ernie Valadi, Martinos nemesis from high school, taunts him and accuses him of being a con man, Martino challenges him to a fight. Will this fight be any different from their past entanglements? To what extent will Martino extract his revenge? A deeply religious man, will Martino be forgiven for his sins? Is he correct in his assumption that Some Men Need Killing?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Dec 16, 2008
• ISBN: 9781440109140

Art Marsicano

Art Marsicano is an independent thinker about most things, especially politics, religion and history. He enjoys all things Italian and has studied their criminal organizations for many years. He has degrees from PENN STATE, Saint Francis College, and Lehigh University and is the author of five other books. He lives with his wife, Elizabeth Mary, in Pottsville, Pennsylvania.

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Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1: Old Friends

Chapter 2: The Martino Family

Chapter 3: Violence Enters Anthony’s World

Chapter 4: The Capilanos

Chapter 5: Enrico Scarpati

Chapter 6: Ernie Valadi Must Die

Chapter 7: A Chance Meeting

Chapter 8: To Be a Writer

Chapter 9: God Speaks on the Wind

Chapter 10: Moose

Chapter 11: Melissa and Wilma

Chapter 12: The Killing Zone

Chapter 13: The Party

Chapter 14: Friends and Lovers

Chapter 15: Peace Be With You

Chapter 16: Gabriel

Chapter 17: Sad Partings

Chapter 18: Will Comets Collide

Chapter 19: The Voice of God

From the Desk of Anthony Martino

Comments

Acknowledgments

About the Author

For Jean

who fights cancer

inspires many

and loves her family

Prologue

I was born in 1943, and except for four years as an undergraduate student at Penn State and another three years working as an engineer, I spent my entire life living in the anthracite region of Pennsylvania, an area also known as hard coal country. Events in this novel take place from 1957 to 1972, a period during which religion and ethnicity were significant factors in the lives of most people living there. From the vantage point of today, many readers may find it difficult to believe that religious and ethnic differences were the fault lines that determined the directions of the lives of many people in the region. Indeed, there are times even I find it difficult to believe, and yet I can recall numerous instances in my life and the lives of many people I knew when religion and ethnicity had a profound effect on what we did and what we became. Even within ethnic and religious groups there were divisions. My Greek Catholic mother and Roman Catholic father discovered this when they tried to marry because the Greeks and Romans did not care for each other. They married in spite of opposition from both families. However, to satisfy all parties they were forced by circumstances and families to marry three times: civil, Roman Catholic, and Greek Catholic ceremonies. In 1965 this mentality within the Catholic faith had not disappeared. That year my fiancée and I approached a priest at the church she attended near her home to schedule our wedding. We were told we could not be married there, in a Roman Catholic Church, because I had been baptized Greek Catholic. Defiantly, I told the priest we would change our religion and marry in a church of our new faith. We left and returned to my fiancée's home. Within minutes we received a telephone call from the priest asking us to return. As we had requested, later that year the same priest married us in the church my wife had attended. There was, however, an irony to our marriage. My father had reservations about me marrying an Irish woman. It should be noted that my wife and I have been married for more than forty years and my father and wife had a close relationship from the time of our marriage until his death in March 2006.

In hard coal country the great majority of Italians and Irish are Roman Catholics. Nevertheless, during my youth they tended to remain within their own group. One day this became clear to me as a group of my friends and I played a game of basketball against a team composed entirely of young men I had known for years. Both teams played good, tough basketball, so it wasn't surprising that the game attracted a fairly large crowd. However, I was shocked to discover that people watching the game referred to it as a contest between the Cops and the Wops. All the players on the opposing team were Irish, so they were the Cops, reflecting a common stereotype of tough Irish police officers, and most of the players on my team were Italians who were given the far less flattering label of Wops.

As a young man the three Bs—booze, broads, and basketball—were important to me and I spent considerable time with each although basketball did more to define me than the other two. I worked long hours to improve my skills and soon learned that playing against older, stronger, better players was the surest way to gain ability in the game I loved. One day two of my Italian friends asked why I was spending so much time with Earl. "Don't you know he's a left-footer? I knew and liked Earl and later learned that left-footer was the way some Catholics referred to Protestants. It's now more than forty years later and Earl and I are still good friends. Four years ago I told him of the incident and then added a surprise. I am now a Lutheran—I converted a year ago. What do you think those bastards would say to that?"

The anthracite region of Pennsylvania has a long history of violence that has been explained by some as class warfare: the rich using violence and dishonesty to destroy the hopes and dreams of the working class in their never ending efforts to increase their wealth and power. Still, the religious and ethnic differences between the rich and poor were dramatic and played a major role in determining the behavior of all parties. A culture of violence in the past, which occurred along religious and ethnic lines, influenced the people of the anthracite region for decades and in my opinion made the emergence of an Italian criminal organization there inevitable. It began in the 1920s, and there is solid evidence it continued until at least 1980. As a young man I learned of the many injustices that had been done to the poor, largely Catholic working class of the anthracite region over the previous century, and I was delighted that my group, the Italians, had not and would not allow those injustices to be visited upon us. Italians, with their crime family organizations, would succeed in protecting themselves far better than the oppressed Irish Catholics who came before them.

During my youth and for many years after, I had occasional contact with Italians who were associated with organized crime. I would estimate this took place over a period of thirty years. In fact, I had a chance meeting with a significant member of the anthracite region's Italian mob after I completed writing this novel. It's interesting that I never heard the word Mafia spoken during my youth; it was not until movies and books about Italian crime families became part of the popular culture that I was exposed to that word. Similarly, I never heard the word Godfather used to identify a crime family boss until after the same sources made its use a common occurrence. Popular culture and the news media present an incredibly misleading and narrow view of Italian criminals in which the great majority are bloodthirsty murderers from Sicily. I will acknowledge, however, that there are made men, a title with associated privileges received for committing a good killing. Yet I am certain that most Italians, who murder as part of their responsibilities to a crime family, never become made men!

To understand the differences in Italian criminal organizations one must first realize that Italy was organized much later than all the major countries of Europe and most of the major countries of the world. Prior to 1861, Italy was a collection of powerful city-states such as Rome, Naples, and Venice, and well defined regions such as Sicily. Each had their own customs, traditions, history, and identity. Major cities and regions of Italy have histories spanning hundreds of years, and Sicily and Rome, the eternal city, have remarkable histories that span more than two thousand years!

Italians and Italian Americans have enormous pride in their ancestry, for they along with the Greeks established the very foundations upon which Western Culture was built. Yet Italians and many Italian Americans identify as much with the Italian city or region of their origin as they do with the nation of Italy. Failure to understand this adds greatly to the confusion about Italian crime families and their organizations, and helps to explain decades of incompetence by the federal government in dealing with them. For example, a Sicilian-Mafia mind-set makes it difficult to understand the emergence of Al Capone, one of the most significant criminals in American history, who was of Neapolitan ancestry, not Sicilian.

I had several friends whose fathers were rumored to be connected to organized crime. Events described in public sources of information in combination with information I received from other non-criminal sources convinced me the rumors were true. I have not seen most of these friends in many years and I continue to love, respect, and remain loyal to all of them. I would still describe them as Good Guys, just as I did when I saw them on a regular basis. It is noteworthy that their families did not deal in illegal drugs, and during my youth they did their best to keep them out of the area where I was raised.

Everything I know about murders comes from legal, public sources, and convinces me that those who were murdered by Italian criminal organizations in the anthracite region were other criminals—and were men who needed killing. There is a good deal of truth to the widely held view that Italian criminal organizations kill their own and go to great lengths not to kill innocent civilians. This is true today as it was during the period covered in this book. It should be stressed that non Italian criminal organizations are far more likely to intentionally target and murder civilians, including women and children!

Surprisingly, my most memorable interaction with an Italian organized crime figure took place after an article appeared in a hard coal region newspaper describing a promotion I had received at The Pennsylvania State University. I had achieved the rank of Professor of Engineering, and no one in my family or circle of friends appreciated that this was the most important event in my entire professional career. Shortly after the article appeared, I received a call from the most influential and powerful Italian in the region. With a thick Italian accent he referred to me as Professor Marsicano while he congratulated me and invited me to visit him so that he could express his admiration for what I had accomplished.

A few days later I visited him at his home and though he was bed ridden, he kissed me on both cheeks and again congratulated me. I rarely consume alcohol, but I was happy to share several glasses of cognac with him as we discussed my youth and my career at Penn State. He also expressed admiration for members of my family and told me he was proud of me, an Italian American, for having done so much with my life.

I saw him several times after that and I was saddened by his passing. In the weeks prior to his death he received Holy Communion every day and as his time approached, he received the last rites of the Roman Catholic Church. He was a good and faithful Catholic to the very end, and today he is buried in the same cemetery as my mother and father. My mother died long before him and would have been furious had she known they would be in the same cemetery. My father, on the other hand, died after him and he couldn't have cared less. In fact, on a few occasions my father attended church with him.

Immediately after his death, a local newspaper ran a story with the headline: Alleged area mobster dead. The article that followed indicated that he was described by the Pennsylvania Crime Commission and a U.S. Senate Investigator as a triggerman for Murder Inc. The same article indicated that he was arrested in 1949 in connection with two murders that had taken place in New York in the 1930s. He had been hiding out in plain sight for ten years prior to his arrest. It should be noted that the case was dismissed! In many quarters, his stature grew to heroic proportions as a result of having outsmarted the law enforcement agencies that couldn't find him during that time and were unable to convict him after they did. There were also many rumors about what happened to the witnesses against him while he was in hiding for those ten years.

I expected local newspapers to run stories about him after his death, but I was surprised when a national magazine also noted his passing. I laughed at a quotation in the article attributed to a prosecutor who said this about him: If you hung him up by his thumbs for eight weeks, he might tell you his first name. I know he would have loved that because he was proud, loyal to those around him—and he was certainly one tough Italian!

During my youth, there was a healthy disregard for laws that dealt with non-violent behavior. I can best illustrate this by describing a bachelor party I attended as a nineteen-year old, the summer after my sophomore year at Penn State. The party was held at a bar and grill in the anthracite region, less than ten miles from my home. The bar was selected because the food was good, booze was cheap, women were fast, and there was gambling. As soon as we arrived I decided to focus my attention on the dice game going on in the back room. The house didn't own or operate the game, so it was possible to win by making side bets on the point thrown by the person with the dice. Because I remained sober and had a good background in math, I had a significant advantage over the other gamblers, including the owner of the bar who decided to join the game. By 4 AM my winnings exceeded five hundred dollars, an enormous amount of money in 1962, especially for someone my age. Still, my success produced a serious problem. The winner, especially a big winner, was required to stay until the game ended, which meant all other players quit. If I attempted to leave with my winnings, I would have been severely beaten. It didn't take long to determine a safe exit plan so that I could attend the wedding scheduled for 9 AM. I offered to leave my winnings and depart with only the amount of money I arrived with. The group remaining at the dice game accepted my proposal and I left.

I'm not sure how many laws were broken at the bar that evening, but I'll identify a few. Gambling was illegal and still is although some casinos have been recently authorized by the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. Nevertheless, gambling took place throughout the area and police officers and elected officials routinely participated. Bars were required to close at 2 AM, yet I never heard any complaints when they remained open around the clock or on Sundays, which was also illegal. The legal age for drinking in Pennsylvania was and still is twenty-one, so like most of the customers in the bar I was underage. The bar was located on the main street of the town and literally operated with its doors open, so it would have been impossible for the police not to know what was taking place there. However, taking legal action against that particular bar would have been ludicrous because there were so many others doing the same things and doing them openly!

When reading this novel or any others I may write, God will always be there in the hearts and souls of the characters. This may offend some readers because several of the characters in this novel are vulgar and violent. And like most of the people I have known, during times of great pain or unbridled joy, they reach out to God, even if they had earlier denied the very existence of God. The powerful and the weak, the rich and poor, the violent and the gentle; they may for long periods of their existence deny or ignore God, but during the times that define them, most of them seek God.

Anthony Martino is the central character in this novel and he believes in God with an enormous passion even though he is troubled by organized religions and their descriptions of the spiritual world. He is proud of his Italian heritage, as are all members of his family, and yet he has deep concerns about the violence some Italians engage in for material gain. Anthony accepts violence as a necessary evil to protect family, his church, his friends, and those who are unable to defend themselves. More than accepting violence, he practices it with such uncontrolled rage when responding to injustice, especially violence against women, that even his friends and family have great difficulty restraining him.

Anthony is also enraged by the lack of clarity and justice in the world around him. Injustice is everywhere and yet government, educational institutions, and even clergy of all religions seem to ignore it and go to great lengths to protect practices of the past—for it is the status quo they find sacred—not truth, not God, and certainly not justice for the poor or the working class.

In the real world I have known several men like Anthony: good, talented men with interesting lives who were conflicted about many things central to their very being. I have also seen people around these men who knew and in some cases loved them, and thought they had answers to the questions that were tormenting them and in some ways destroying them. Their solutions were seldom correct and in presenting them—they were frequently drawn too close to the fire.

Chapter 1: Old Friends

After a day of consulting, Tony Martino was tired when he returned to his apartment. He only worked two or three days a week and earned far more money than he ever did as an engineering professor. He didn't need the money; he simply loved doing things few other engineers were capable of. Yet there were times when he missed the easy life of a professor. As much as he loved his students and teaching, he left the University when he could no longer tolerate the endless meetings and the enormous quantity of paperwork. The continuous waste of time and resources made him furious, and on more than one occasion he had serious conflicts with administrators who seemed to think that attending meetings and writing memos had some intrinsic social and intellectual value. It wasn't the quality of a faculty member's teaching, writing, and research that mattered. It was the number of meetings they attended and how nice they were that counted. That attitude became so prevalent that there were times Tony simply wanted to vomit.

After entering his apartment, he went to the office to check telephone and e-mail messages. There were no telephone messages and only two e-mail messages that caught his attention. God, I haven't heard from Linda for a couple of years—I'll read hers first.

Dear Tony

I hope this message finds you healthy, wealthy, and wise. I haven't seen or heard from you in three years, so I came up with an idea that might convince you to return to the University for a short visit.

I am currently teaching The Crime Novel, a literature course dealing with several topics, one of which is organized crime. I know you grew up in an area where there was an Italian crime family; and you once told me you worked for them. The students are fascinated with the topic, so I'd like you to visit the class and share your insights with them. It would also be nice to see you again.

Your friend

Linda Llewellyn

Linda Llewellyn and Tony Martino received their bachelor degrees from Central Pennsylvania University. She graduated one year after Tony and at that time knew him only by reputation. A few years later they became faculty colleagues at the same university and discovered they had much in common. They shared a revulsion for rules and regulations that the administration seemed to enjoy creating. Tony was a tenured professor of engineering and he knew he could always leave the University and earn more money consulting than the University could ever pay him. So he had no qualms about challenging the administration at every opportunity. Linda was not nearly as aggressive, but she supplied him with moral support and enjoyed watching the endless conflicts between Tony and an ever widening array of administrators.

It didn't take Tony long to make up his mind about returning to the University as a guest lecturer. It would be an interesting change for him and a bit of a challenge. He still did work for the boys, but it was so well concealed that even his family didn't know it. Jack Capilano was his close friend since ninth grade, and his father was once a boss in the anthracite region crime family. Yet he didn't know. However, Jack and his wife once asked Tony to murder a young man who was corrupting their daughter. They knew Tony had killed in the past, so what difference would it make to kill once more—for the sake of family. Jack challenged him, Aren't you the one who said some men need killing and that killing could be morally acceptable, as long as it wasn't done for money or material gain? When they asked that he kill to protect their daughter, his godchild, Tony said nothing and solved the problem another way. The young man they were concerned about was a drug user and easily set up with the willing assistance of several police officers. The young man went to prison and served twelve years of a twenty year sentence; and their daughter became all they hoped for. She married a doctor and had four beautiful children.

Tony found the idea of lecturing to a group of college kids about organized crime while working for several crime families, absolutely irresistible! He was still looking at Linda's e-mail when he clicked on reply.

Dear Linda

Yes, I'm healthy and pray that you are as well. Wealthy? I don't know if I am or not. What does it matter, money doesn't buy happiness. As far as being wise, I don't know about that either. But I am still a wise ass. I'm sure you know the difference.

It was great hearing from you and I look forward to talking to your class. I'll be on vacation in Canada next week and I'll be consulting every Thursday and Friday after that. So schedule the lecture for any Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday after my vacation and I'll be there. Any time of day is fine. If you schedule it so we end around 2 or 3 PM, we'll have time to talk before going out to a nice restaurant for dinner.

all the best to you

tony martino

Linda was happy with Tony's response and smiled when she noticed he still didn't capitalize his name. She recalled how it irritated an administrator who made the mistake of complaining to him about it. She was there when Tony responded, It's my goddamn name and I'll write it my way! If you don't like it, then go fuck yourself! Linda assumed Tony did it merely to annoy administrators, yet he no longer worked for the University and he was still doing it.

There was one other e-mail that interested Tony.

Hello Tony

How the hell are you? Don't forget, I'll see you Monday afternoon in Montreal at our usual place. I'm looking forward to seeing Natalie again and I'm sure you feel the same way. By the way, will you need any special supplies for our fishing trip?

I'd be glad to pick them up for you.

Neil DeGalanti

Tony smiled after reading the e-mail from his friend and thought, What a crazy world! The same day I receive a request to give a lecture about Italian criminal organizations, I get an e-mail from a member of New York City's most powerful crime family.

It took a few years to get Neil to pay attention to security issues, so I'm glad to see him asking if I need fishing supplies. When I first started working with him, he'd ask if I needed a gun with a silencer on a telephone line that could have easily been tapped. He'd say something stupid like that on the telephone or even at a restaurant with other people around. If it weren't for my constant attention to how incriminating information was communicated, both of us would have probably done long stretches in prison. Today we have so many layers of secrecy and isolation built into everything we do, it would be virtually impossible for anyone in law enforcement to uncover evidence against us, unless they catch us in the act of committing the crime. In fact, even Neil won't know how I plan to handle this guy that's giving Natalie a hard time until after I do it. Well, I guess I should reply to Neil's e-mail.

Neil

I'll be there Monday and I won't need any supplies for our fishing trip. I always enjoy seeing Natalie and she's still one of my favorite singers. You probably don't know this—years ago she wrote a beautiful song for a friend and me. I wonder if she'll sing it for me.

It will be good seeing you old friend. Since our wives died, I look forward to opportunities to talk with long-time friends about the good old days.

tony martino

Over the years, Tony had traveled to Montreal many times and he thought of her as a beautiful woman whose charms were always on display. Time and again, he visited the historic district on the Saint Lawrence River, with its cobblestone streets, sidewalk cafes, and impressive churches. Known as Our Lady of Good Help, the Chapelle de Notre-Dame-Bonsecours on Paul Street was a church for the ages and he frequently prayed there. It was built in 1771.

Tony was sitting by the hotel's swimming pool when Neil arrived. The old friends hugged and kissed on the cheek, the way Italian Americans of their age still greeted each other, in spite of the soft laughter such male displays of affection occasionally produced, even in an upscale hotel in Montreal where most residents and visitors considered themselves sophisticated. However, any temptation to ridicule their behavior was tempered by the realization that they could handle themselves in difficult situations. Neil was tall, trim, tan, and in his mid sixties. And in spite of his expensive clothing and perfect grooming, he looked like a man to be feared. Perhaps it was his air of confidence. More likely his appearance simply reflected the reality that he had murdered nine men, three of them with his bare hands. Tony, on the other hand, was always friendly, smiling, and joking around—the perfect disguise for a man who was a living legend among those who killed with intent and did it repeatedly. His true identity was known only to Neil. All others knew him as Lupo Solitario although many people, including those in law enforcement, doubted that such a person even existed.

They were the only ones at the pool and yet Tony insisted they move next to the water fountain and face the cement wall of the hotel's exterior before talking business, making it impossible for any electronic technology to gather even one word of their discussion.

You know I love you like a brother, Neil, and I can't wait to see Natalie. But what are we doing here? You said Natalie was having trouble with a businessman and I'll do everything I can to help her. But it sounds like something you could take care of with bribe money, not a killing. So give me more information so I can deliver an appropriate response.

Eh, Martino, I knew you back when you were a piss-poor college kid, so stop talking like you're still a professor. The appropriate response is to kill this prick because he's trying to force Natalie into selling her nightclub to him! He won't take no for an answer and he's using police, building inspectors, and public health guys to harass her. He pays them to make her life miserable.

Why? Her club and apartment aren't that big; there's not much he could do with them.

True, but he wants to buy nearly fifty properties and tear the buildings down so he can put up a twenty story office building. The city is backing him, but Natalie won't take shit from anyone, and the other property owners have rallied around her. So she's drawing a lot of heat.

Tony took a deep breath and released it slowly. Okay, I got it. If I take care of this guy it will buy Natalie some time, maybe even put an end to the project.

Right. Here's the file.

Tony picked up the file and laughed softly, it was little more than a smile. Over the last thirty or forty years, how many times have you given me a file like this?

Oh, I don't know—sixty, maybe seventy times. And not all had to do with killing. Some were even legit! And another thing, some were for our government, so they were sort of legal.

Sort of legal! Mother of God, they were the most illegal of all. And since they were in Canada, we were breaking the laws of two countries. Now laughing loudly, Tony added, And the worst part was that I could never tell if we were working for the good guys or the Devil in disguise.

Ah, you think too much. They were good, exciting jobs, and you did them with such panache. That's why I can't wait to see what you do with this businessman.

Panache! Where the hell did that come from?

Fuck you, Martino! Do you think you're the only one who hangs out with classy people?

Tony laughed and shook his head. Okay, I'm just screwing around. So I'll see you tonight around 10 PM at Natalie's club. I'll have some ideas by then.

There wasn't much in the file although it was enough for Tony to move ahead. He finished reviewing it quickly and thought, I might as well drive to this guy's place of business and get to know the area where he works.

His company was on the edge of the city in an area with moderate traffic, strip malls, and some mixed-use commercial buildings. Tony parked at the rear of the one-story building which was entirely devoted to the businessman's development company, and later watched the entrance as he shopped at the stores across the street. Trying his best to blend in, he made small purchases at the book, toy, and men's clothing stores. Very few people had entered the building and at 5 PM one person after another left—seventeen in all, within five minutes. Tony didn't see the businessman leave and there were still a few lights on inside the building. Oh, what the hell. Maybe I can nail this prick right now.

Tony returned to his car and put on his lightweight, black ski mask that he pulled down to his ears, giving the appearance of a cheap, cotton hat. Once he found his black gloves, he returned to the front of the building carrying a white plastic bag from one of the stores where he had shopped. He put on the gloves before touching the handle of the door. As soon as he stepped inside he locked it behind him, took a few steps forward and paused. The office was quiet and only the room at the end of the hall was fully illuminated. The boss always works late, that's why he's the boss, Tony reasoned.

The ski mask was pulled down covering his face; and he walked slowly and quietly while holding a pistol in his right hand. The businessman was working at his oversized desk. Keep your mouth shut and you might live to see tomorrow. The businessman was more than silent—he remained motionless, struck by fear.

Very good, Tony said, as he handed him a plastic bag. Put your wallet, rings, and wristwatch in the bag. I like your glasses, throw them in, too.

Tony looked around. There must be some valuables around here. If this is all you got, it doesn't look good for your chances.

Wait! I have some things in my desk. The businessman quickly showed Tony two small boxes—one with diamond earrings, the other with a gold necklace.

These weren't for your wife.

No, they were for two friends. Now you have everything.

Don't you have a safe?

Well, yes. I forgot about that. He removed a picture from the wall revealing a small safe, which he quickly opened.

Empty it—everything on the desk.

There's not much here—just this envelope with about five hundred dollars in it.

Okay, not a bad haul. You've been good about this, so turn around and I'll give you a rap on the head. Then I can get out of here.

The businessman turned his back and said, Please don't kill me—I gave you everything and I didn't see your…

A large brass statue of a mountain lion, which his wife gave him for his last birthday, struck the businessman's head with such force that his skull was cracked along four lines and the brass reached into his brain. Tony didn't like taking chances, so he cut the businessman's throat with a knife he first used in a killing his senior year in high school. He washed it in the businessman's bathroom and placed it back into the sheath attached to his left leg. After returning to the office he looked around. Looks good. The police will think it was a robbery. Now I need to get out of here and junk this stuff I took from him. I'd love to take that brass mountain lion, but it's too unique and could connect me to this.

That evening Natalie was in the middle of a song when Tony arrived at her club. He stood at the rear not wanting to interfere with her performance. As soon as she finished, they embraced and kissed, and he murmured, I missed you, Sweetheart.

Me too. I'll join you and Neil when I finish, Baby. Nice to see you still move like a lion stalking its prey.

Tony laughed at her comment and walked to the table where Neil was waiting for him. Suddenly his mood changed. God, I love that woman. What the fuck's wrong with you, Neil? You should at least try to marry Natalie!

Mind your own goddamn business, Martino!

Tony glared at Neil for a few seconds. Then he sat down and said, Listen you cheap bastard, this job is going to take some real money. And since it's to help a woman you're in love with, you pay all of it. Capeesh?

Neil was shocked. In all the years he knew Tony they never had a disagreement about money. He stammered as he replied. All right, I'll pay you. When you're finished, give me a bill.

All right then, here! Tony snapped, as he handed Neil a receipt.

What the fuck is this! A dollar and seventy-six cents for a goddamn toy gun!

Tony was smiling ear to ear as he slid the plastic gun across the table. That's right, and you better pay up!

Is the job done?

Damn straight. I don't bill for my services until the job is finished.

Neil laughed a little and shook his head. You're such a ball buster, can't you ever be serious? And now you're using toy guns.

Yeah, the real ones cost too much money. Besides, I do my best work with a knife.



On the assigned day, Tony met Linda outside the room that had been reserved for the lecture. After exchanging greetings, they walked into the classroom and Linda called the class to order. Hello everyone. As I promised, we have a guest speaker who will give a presentation about organized crime in the anthracite region of Pennsylvania. I have known Dr. Martino for many years and he is outspoken and entertaining—and I pray he doesn't get me into trouble with the administration. Linda was smiling as she continued, Dr. Martino, here is my class—try not to curse or offend anyone.

Giving the lecture brought back fond memories of the many years he taught at the University. He loved provoking students, as he did when he said, "Any ethnic, racial, or religious group can create a criminal organization and throughout history it has happened hundreds of times. So why the fascination with the Mafia and other Italian criminal organizations? And now I'll answer my own question. It's because we are better at it than any other group in the entire world—and we take pride in that fact. In addition, we do it with style and class. And yes, I did say we. I included myself."

At the end of the presentation, Tony left the students with a moral dilemma he had lived with his entire adult life. I'd like to describe a friendly difference of opinion my wife and I had for many years—one we never resolved! Here it is: If a repeat killer confessed his sins, receives the last rites of the Roman Catholic Church, and Holy Communion before his death, does he go to heaven? My wife's opinion: 'No, because he was a murderer!' My opinion: 'Yes, because God forgave all of his sins before he died!' What do you think?

Tony and Linda returned to her office where they continued to renew their friendship. Only a few minutes had passed when Linda made an unusual request. When we were in college I knew you to see and by your reputation. Linda sighed and paused for a short time. I envied you and all your friends. There was this air of excitement around your group. And you were so arrogant, even defiant. I also recall the disappearance of a businessman. There were even rumors that one of you murdered him. I would love to know more about you and the group you traveled with when you were an undergraduate student.

Be honest, you heard I murdered that bastard.

Linda had forgotten how direct Tony could be. Oh… well… you weren't the only one who was rumored to have been involved in the disappearance of the businessman.

So after all these years, why the interest?

When you were with the University, you told me you'd like to write a novel. Do you remember?

Yeah, I remember, Tony replied. I still think about doing it, but it would be difficult for me… Okay Linda, what's the real reason you want to know about me and my friends?

"Your group was so damn interesting. There were the parties that were legendary—oh, how I wanted to go to them. And there was the murder, and then all that happened during that snow storm—the blizzard. And there