I Want Mine
by
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f anyone other than Albert Barone were dusting off the Lincoln Towncar parked in front of Charlie’s Sports Bar, in an expensive-looking Italian suit, it might have seemed peculiar. But to those who lived, or just hung out in this part of South Brooklyn, Albert Barone was never seen dressed any other way, no matter what he was doing or whatever the time of day. White shirt, tie, suit, and polished shoes were his hallmark. A group of young men, huddled together out of the sun under the bar’s door canopy, watched silently as Albert went casually about wiping the film of dust from the car. He then went to the trunk and returned with a bottle of window cleaner that he started squirting on the windows. Here one of the men who was watching Albert intently, ran over and reached for the bottle. "Mr. Barone, let me do that for you. You’ll get your sleeve wet reachin’ across the windshield." "It’s okay, Richie. I’ll be careful. I’m just killin’ time waitin’ for dad. He should be comin’ out any minute now. Anyway, how’ve you been doin?" "Not bad...but not so good, either. I get a few days down at the docks." "Maybe Tommy Ryan might have somethin’ for you. Lotta construction goin’ on. Want me to call?" "Look, Mr. Barone...I’d really like to work for you...your father. I always wanted to do that. I could do things for you...see people...make collections... anything. I’ll do anything...whatever you want. Somebody don’t pay up—I pay him a call." Albert smiled at Richie’s last remark. There was no doubt in his mind that the good looking, two hundred pound youth would be very efficient in that capacity. He put his hand on the young man’s shoulder. "Not now, Richie. Maybe someday." Just then Gene Barone came walking briskly to the curb. "I’ll take the Pontiac and follow you. If I lose you here in Brooklyn, wait for me on the Staten Island side." "Why does he have to treat me like this Mom? I’m his son, too. Why can’t he give me a break once in awhile?" Johnnie Barone asked, angrily pacing the kitchen floor. "He’s afraid you’ll get in real bad trouble some day. He loves you as much as he does Carol Ann and Albert. Believe me. But the aggravation and worry you’ve caused him lately have made him a nervous wreck. It’s not just the speeding tickets, Johnnie. And you know what those cost him. It’s everything," Marjory Barone answered, putting an arm around her son. "I gotta get outta this house Mom. I just gotta." Johnnie, a bit calmer now, sat in a chair at the table. "Where will you go? Everything is so expensive. And I can’t start giving you money for rent and things without your father’s approval. I can’t do that, darling. I love you, but you know I can’t do that," Marjory said, looking helplessly at her son. "I don’t want you gettin’ in bad with him, Mom. That’s not what I want at all." "Then try to get yourself straightened out. That’s all he wants to see you do," she said, patting his thick shoulders. "I need for him to talk to somebody. He just has to say the word and I could be doin’ maybe just as good as Albert." He looked imploringly at his mother. "I wouldn’t be counting on that, Johnnie. I haven’t been hearing good things about that possibility. In fact, I wouldn’t even mention it to him anymore." She kissed her son on the cheek and started clearing away the lunch dishes. Johnnie got up and flung his chair under the table. He stomped noisily up the stairs, entered his room and slammed the door shut. The Lincoln Towncar and the white Grand Am pulled into the Hylan-Richmond Motors dealership on Staten Island and stopped in front of the large showroom windows. An eager salesman quickly stepped toward the door to welcome the prospective car buyers. "Don’t bother, Charlie. It’s Gene Barone and his kid. Probably something wrong with the car," Sales Manager, James Gatlin said, putting on his jacket. He went to the door himself, and greeted the two well-dressed men. "Good to see you, gentlemen. Is something wrong with the car?" Gatlin asked. "Yeah, it goes too fast," answered Gene Barone, trying to look serious. When the little smile broke across Gene’s perspiration-streaked face, James Gatlin relaxed and extended his hand. "Really, what can I do for you, Mr. Barone?" "Jim, as far as I know, the car is fine. So let’s not waste time talking about that. But I would like for you to do me a favor. That asshole kid of mine got himself three speeding tickets since I got him the car. That’s barely ninety days. I got the last two taken care of. But that son-of-a-bitch is gonna kill somebody. I took the keys away from him...and I’d like for you to hide that damn car in the back of your lot somewhere, where nobody’ll find it," Gene said, pointing past the far side of the service department lot. Sure, Mr. Barone. We’ll do that for you. No problem." "I’ll pay storage, or whatever. I gotta keep that damn kid away from that car. Maybe for a month. See if he can learn to act responsibly. I’ve got my son, Albert, here doin’ nuthin’ but cleanin’ up after him. So, I can depend on you then, eh, Jimmy?" "Of course. We’ll say it’s waiting for a part. And don’t worry about the charge. Just call a day before you want it and I’ll have the boys’ clean it up. Anytime," Gatlin said, following them to the door. "I’ll send my wife around. She’s been bellyachin’ for a new car. Just don’t let her buy a convertible," Gene said, hurrying for the door. Visibly upset at having to take the time from his busy day to attend to this annoying task, Gene Barone slammed the passenger side door shut behind him and waited for Albert to come around to the driver’s side. "I swear, Albert, he screws up again and I’ll strangle him. I don’t care what your mother says. People are laughin’ at us because of the dumb shit he pulls. And Rick’s gettin’ real pissed, too. You know how he hates to see his people lookin’ stupid. He makes us all look like we ain’t got half an ounce of brains between us," Gene said, dabbing at the beads of sweat on his face and neck. "Maybe you shouldn’t bail him out so much, Dad," Albert said, stealing a look at his father from the corner of his eye. "Sure. How long do you think your mother would let me get away with that? And besides, the justice he faces with me is a lot worse than anything he’ll get from a judge. For chrissakes, I’ve been strippin him of everything but his underwear since he was twelve." "Maybe he shoulda had his ass kicked instead, Dad." "Nah. That’s not my style. You know that." "I wouldda gladly done it for you, Dad," Albert said, only half joking. "He’s gotta learn, dammit! He’s gotta learn...Damn! Stop off at the house before we go back to Brooklyn. I gotta take something for my damn stomach," Gene said, loosening his tie and drying the sweat inside his shirt collar. The Barone house on Staten Island looked no different from the neighboring dozens of other fairly high-priced homes overlooking the bay. If anything differed at all, it was the fact that it did not have a family nameplate dangling from the curbside mailbox. Albert stopped the Lincoln at the curb in front of the driveway close to where Marjory Barone was pulling weeds from her flower beds. "Gene, w
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About the Book
Johnny Barone, the youngest son of a low-echelon organized crime boss, continually runs afoul of the strict family rules of conduct insisted upon by his father. It results in his being deprived of the largesse and privileges that are generously bestowed upon his older siblings who have no problem conforming to the family’s expectations and image.
Johnny’s resentment and jealousy eventually escalate to the point where he plots a despicable crime against his sister. He kidnaps her newborn baby and asks for a million dollars in ransom knowing that it would now involve the big boss, Rick Di Paolo, another person that Johnny holds responsible for his penurious existence.
At first, the high ransom figure is thought to be the work of rival underworld forces since it is known that the Barones do not have that kind of money. When the true abductor of the baby is discovered by the family’s private investigation, Albert Barone, the eldest son, is horrified to learn that he is assigned to bring his brother to face the justice of Rick Di Paolo.
About the Author
For the past twenty years Michael Andreano has been living the life of a retiree in
He was seventeen years old in 1944 when he left his home in
The outbreak of the Korean War again saw Michael answer the call. This time he enlisted in the U.S. Air Force. Upon finishing his four year enlistment, he went to
Mike and his wife, Ann, now enjoy the easy pace of Crystal River, Florida, where he has written five books. I WANT MINE is the fourth novel that he has had published by Authorhouse.