Read Online Wiseguys In Love by C. Clark Criscuolo - Free Book Online

the windowless walls covered in brownish red velvet. A red light bulb placed behind the open casket kept your eyes stuck to it.
    They’d been staring at this thing that had begun to look like a bizarre table decoration. Michael had stood over it again and again, trying to reconcile the man in the casket with his father.
    It didn’t look like his father. Pop never had had red, red lips. And he’d never had skin that color. He didn’t like cut flowers, either. He’d told Michael once that they reminded him of funerals, and here he was, bathed in them. Among the baskets and bouquets of flowers, a huge cross of snapdragons and white mums stood at the head of the coffin. At the foot, white carnations formed a large horseshoe, onto which was tied a big black satin bow. Michael had first thought that one was a mistake until he looked at the card.
    It was from a bookie who’d owed Pop.
    People had filed past them each day from eight in the morning till nine at night, with a special private showing for Solly and his family. Mass cards were everywhere on the black stands on either side of the box. And since that had filled up fast, they had begun tossing them inside and on top of the coffin. The red light reflected off the plastic-coated ones lying on his father’s chest, giving him the eerie impression of breathing. There were so many by the end of the thing that Michael figured every church in the metropolitan area was going to be busy blessing Vincent Bonello for the next year.
    Why not? Pop was popular in the neighborhood. He’d been a good man. There was always an extra place to be made at his table, always an extra buck if one was needed. Yeah, he was known for being a bit of a pushover on money. But that was part of having a good heart.
    He never wanted Michael, his only child, to grow up doing what he did. He wanted him to be main-line American—a lawyer or doctor, something with dignity. He sent him to private schools, made sure he kept his grades up, and kept spoken Italian to a minimum in the house.
    The morning of the third day, his mother, puffy-eyed and wearing the black uniform she’d be in for the rest of her life, looked over at Michael and finally spoke English.
    â€œYou gonna get in trouble with your school for being out like this?”
    â€œNo,” he replied flatly.
    He took his mother’s hands and they both sat in silence as Father D’Amico made the sign of the cross as the mortician’s assistants sealed the coffin.
    It was all so final, Michael thought. What had happened to the second chances of his childhood? And why was it that when a terrible thing happened in life, it took such an unfeeling split second instead of the long time it should merit because of its importance and ramifications?
    Tony silently drove them to the burial site and stayed by the car during the brief ceremony. Mourners returned to their cars, leaving Sophia and Michael holding on to each other’s hands in silence.
    â€œCome on, Ma, let’s go,” he said finally, choking on the words.
    She looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears, and silently he dropped her hands and made his way back to the car, giving her time to say her last good-bye to her husband in privacy.
    He was weeping when he got to the car, and Tony gave him his handkerchief. They stood leaning against the car as Michael tried to pull himself together.
    â€œI don’t know what I’m going to do,” he murmured, and glanced at Tony.
    A big smile moved across Tony’s face, and that was when the third thing happened.
    â€œDon’t worry, Mikey, I got you taken care of. Solly says take some days, then come in when you’re ready.”
    â€œWhat?” he asked, not following.
    â€œYou said you needed a job in the bar.… I had to pull a lot of strings, but I got it okayed.” Tony put an arm around Michael’s back and gave a quick hug that nearly dislocated his shoulder.