TEEN DREAMERS PART ONE:
THE MALT SHOP MOB
The year was 1971. Mario Puzo's "The Godfather" was playing to packed audiences across the country, Frank Sinatra announced his retirement in 'Time' magazine, and a group of young boys were sat in a malt shop in New Jersey. The youngest was 9, the oldest was 13. None of them were old enough to see that year's top movie, but they were fascinated by it.
Like boys did, they acted out what they thought happened. Their shouts of childish innocence echoed round the streets. It was all make-believe, just a bit of fun. The malt shop was their gang hideout, the tree on the street corner was the jail, the old park bench was alternatively the morgue where bodies ended up or the electric chair.
On this particular day, they boys were sat in the malt shop after a particularly energetic game. Mike Spionza - the oldest in the group - had planned and carried out the biggest "breakout" since the game was started. All of them were tired out and in need of refreshment. Julia - the attractive drama-student waitress - came to take their orders. She supplied them with their shakes and left.
They discussed the recent victory, and other important matters. One of the boys - a chubby, squeaky-voiced runt - said "Hey Ant, I hear your dad's one of them."
The boy so addressed was 12-year-old Anthony Soprano, who had no idea what his friend was talking about. "One of who? What do you mean?"
"You know, Mafia."
Before Anthony could react, another boy cut in with:" Talking of Mafia, check out the goons coming in right now." The boys swivelled as one towards the door.
Two men entered. The elder one couldn't have been much more than thirty - in fact, he was twenty-eight - but he already wore the look of a weathered con. Tattoos snaked down biceps hardened by prison life and a four-year Army stint. His young companion couldn't have been out of his teens yet - he still had a handful of acne pimples on his jaw and cheek. His face was young but sour from a lifetime of disillusionment.
Julia went across to greet them. "Hi honeys."
"Hi babe, Your boss here?"
"I think he's out back, I'll check." She walked off, swaying her peachy ass very sensuously. It wasn't just the men at the bar who gazed after her with lustful eyes.
While she was gone, the older man noticed the table of giggling boys, and stared at them with some distaste. The giggling did stop, but still he wasn't satisfied. "Silvio", he said to the younger man, "go sort out those kids. I don't want them fucking up this operation."
"OK Paulie." The younger man walked to the booth and knelt down beside Anthony, who was sat on the end. "Hey kid, " he said, "whadda they call you?"
"I'm.I'm Anthony Soprano, sir." Silvio's eyes flashed recognition.
"Soprano? You Johnny's kid?"
"Yes sir." This was a rather delicate situation. Johnny didn't want his boy involved in this life - not yet anyway. He had to choose his words very carefully here.
"Your dad's crazy about you. It's Anthony this, Anthony that.you mean a lot to him." Silvio looked like he was going to continue, but his older associate called him.
"Come on Sil, the old man's waiting for us."
Silvio stood up and brushed the dirt from his knees, said, "We gotta take care of this, see you guys later" and left.
The "old man" was Fredrick Domingo, who owned the shop. He was a hopeless gambler. Hopeless in that he hadn't won a game for over a year and yet he still pitted his hopes on the roll of a dice or the spin of a clinking wheel. Paulie and Silvio took him into the store cupboard, where they beat him shitless.
Out front, Anthony was going over what just happened. His friend had said they looked like Mafia types, and they - they knew his father. Was it possible that.Nah. It couldn't be. He shook his head, trying to put those thoughts out of his mind.
The door behind the counter opened again, and Paulie and Silvio walked out. Paulie had a very firm "Don't fuck about with me" expression on his face. Sil just looked disaffected. You wouldn't have been able to tell that they had just pounded a man for $15,000 worth of unpaid roulette debts.
Paulie walked over to the table and knelt beside Anthony. "Kid, you don't know me, and it's probably best that you don't. But send your father our best wishes for his upcoming anniversary."
"Ok. Who are you?"
"Just say it's from a couple of well-wishing.eh.drivers, right?" Paulie dug Anthony in the ribs and smiled briefly. Young Anthony was unsure what to make of this, so he half-smiled for a brief second. Paulie stood up and walked out, followed closely by Silvio.
Drivers? Anthony had never known his dad employ drivers. Boys on bikes delivered any meat products. Larger orders were picked up by the person who ordered them. Saltieri's had never delivered in vans. There just wasn't enough demand to justify the expense. Yes, there was something very fishy about those two. He would ask his dad when he saw him.
THE MALT SHOP MOB
The year was 1971. Mario Puzo's "The Godfather" was playing to packed audiences across the country, Frank Sinatra announced his retirement in 'Time' magazine, and a group of young boys were sat in a malt shop in New Jersey. The youngest was 9, the oldest was 13. None of them were old enough to see that year's top movie, but they were fascinated by it.
Like boys did, they acted out what they thought happened. Their shouts of childish innocence echoed round the streets. It was all make-believe, just a bit of fun. The malt shop was their gang hideout, the tree on the street corner was the jail, the old park bench was alternatively the morgue where bodies ended up or the electric chair.
On this particular day, they boys were sat in the malt shop after a particularly energetic game. Mike Spionza - the oldest in the group - had planned and carried out the biggest "breakout" since the game was started. All of them were tired out and in need of refreshment. Julia - the attractive drama-student waitress - came to take their orders. She supplied them with their shakes and left.
They discussed the recent victory, and other important matters. One of the boys - a chubby, squeaky-voiced runt - said "Hey Ant, I hear your dad's one of them."
The boy so addressed was 12-year-old Anthony Soprano, who had no idea what his friend was talking about. "One of who? What do you mean?"
"You know, Mafia."
Before Anthony could react, another boy cut in with:" Talking of Mafia, check out the goons coming in right now." The boys swivelled as one towards the door.
Two men entered. The elder one couldn't have been much more than thirty - in fact, he was twenty-eight - but he already wore the look of a weathered con. Tattoos snaked down biceps hardened by prison life and a four-year Army stint. His young companion couldn't have been out of his teens yet - he still had a handful of acne pimples on his jaw and cheek. His face was young but sour from a lifetime of disillusionment.
Julia went across to greet them. "Hi honeys."
"Hi babe, Your boss here?"
"I think he's out back, I'll check." She walked off, swaying her peachy ass very sensuously. It wasn't just the men at the bar who gazed after her with lustful eyes.
While she was gone, the older man noticed the table of giggling boys, and stared at them with some distaste. The giggling did stop, but still he wasn't satisfied. "Silvio", he said to the younger man, "go sort out those kids. I don't want them fucking up this operation."
"OK Paulie." The younger man walked to the booth and knelt down beside Anthony, who was sat on the end. "Hey kid, " he said, "whadda they call you?"
"I'm.I'm Anthony Soprano, sir." Silvio's eyes flashed recognition.
"Soprano? You Johnny's kid?"
"Yes sir." This was a rather delicate situation. Johnny didn't want his boy involved in this life - not yet anyway. He had to choose his words very carefully here.
"Your dad's crazy about you. It's Anthony this, Anthony that.you mean a lot to him." Silvio looked like he was going to continue, but his older associate called him.
"Come on Sil, the old man's waiting for us."
Silvio stood up and brushed the dirt from his knees, said, "We gotta take care of this, see you guys later" and left.
The "old man" was Fredrick Domingo, who owned the shop. He was a hopeless gambler. Hopeless in that he hadn't won a game for over a year and yet he still pitted his hopes on the roll of a dice or the spin of a clinking wheel. Paulie and Silvio took him into the store cupboard, where they beat him shitless.
Out front, Anthony was going over what just happened. His friend had said they looked like Mafia types, and they - they knew his father. Was it possible that.Nah. It couldn't be. He shook his head, trying to put those thoughts out of his mind.
The door behind the counter opened again, and Paulie and Silvio walked out. Paulie had a very firm "Don't fuck about with me" expression on his face. Sil just looked disaffected. You wouldn't have been able to tell that they had just pounded a man for $15,000 worth of unpaid roulette debts.
Paulie walked over to the table and knelt beside Anthony. "Kid, you don't know me, and it's probably best that you don't. But send your father our best wishes for his upcoming anniversary."
"Ok. Who are you?"
"Just say it's from a couple of well-wishing.eh.drivers, right?" Paulie dug Anthony in the ribs and smiled briefly. Young Anthony was unsure what to make of this, so he half-smiled for a brief second. Paulie stood up and walked out, followed closely by Silvio.
Drivers? Anthony had never known his dad employ drivers. Boys on bikes delivered any meat products. Larger orders were picked up by the person who ordered them. Saltieri's had never delivered in vans. There just wasn't enough demand to justify the expense. Yes, there was something very fishy about those two. He would ask his dad when he saw him.