Italian Translations (in order):

Grazie a Dio = Thank God

ragazza = girl

nonna = grandmother

Chapter 2

Ramona

An evening later into that April, Jake drove the winding road headed for the shack, a six-pack of beer and a Godfather's large pepperoni pizza steaming in the backseat. The windshield wipers poorly swept the pounding storm off the glass to provide him with a clear view ahead, but he made do with the incessant droplets' blurring. About four minutes from home, his headlights flashed golden rays on a bedraggled young brunette woman walking up the roadside to his right. Her curly, shoulder-length hair was damp and frizzy, droopy hazel eyes showed her fatigue. The beauty she possessed and her state of solitude was quite sufficient to hook-and-line him in. 'Bingo.' He stomped on the brake, the jeep's screeching halt startling her as she jumped with enlarged eyes.

Rolling his window down, Jake said, "Hey! Ya wanna lift somewhere?"

She eyed him warily but nodded, jogging up.

'Look at those tits bounce...' Jake observed naughtily, then ogling her curvy hips. Her build was not scrawny nor athletic but short and shapely, and for that, he was pleased. There was no checklist to his name for any woman; he liked variety, but this one's physical attributes suited his subconscious preferences to a T.

"Thank you, sir!" she said with a yawn. She got in, all trusting, and Jake was briefly tempted to whack her out cold with the half-empty forty flo. oz. vodka bottle underneath his seat, tie her up back at the shack. Then, with patience, he believed, earn her love and affection through her dependency. However, he brushed this idea off for the moment as another idea bloomed.

"No problem, uh—"

"I'm Ramona," she said sweetly.

"Jake Fra—uh, Jake Fralo."

As an outlaw, Jake had to be discreet when out in public, opting to venture to the seediest regions of Astoria only when seeking out a random whore for a lonely night. As a wholehearted Mama's boy, he left the crotchety woman's side seldom, as did Francis. When Mama needed something, anything, he and Frances would create great mayhem to achieve whatever for her. Another baby Fratelli she wanted, another baby Fratelli she'd have, but first, Jake had to win a heart, and with a participant here and all...

"So what're ya doing out here hitchhiking? There are weirdos out this time of night, even in the rain."

"Well, I wasn't hitchhiking, actually," she said. "I was just walking home from my friend's farewell party. I work at Jones' Diner and she did until today. She's moving out of the city with her fiance. So at this party, there were drinks, and people drank them, including the girl who drove me there...In a nutshell, she passed out on the couch and I was too sleepy to wait around for her to come to. When I left it was only sprinkling." She sighed, her expression telling Jake how funny she felt regaling this tale to him, a complete stranger. "Uh, I don't live too far from here, actually. I can just—"

"It's no problem at all," he curtly assured her. "Where to?"

"624 Bentley Street. Thank you so much."

This would be a piece of cake if she was single, as he'd merely hoped, but if she wasn't, yet another body, the one of her boyfriend, fiance or husband, would be joining four others underground amid the handy woods. Committing senseless murder hadn't ever been one of Jake's favorite pursuits, as Francis got off on it more, but if it was essential to meeting his selfish goals, then so be it.

Backing up and turning around, he broke some ice with, "You have fun at that party?"

"Mm, parties aren't my cup of tea, to be honest. Being among crowds in a single room can make me antsy. I'm a wallflower. I had a good time, though...before Shelly thoroughly intoxicated herself."

"Why didn't ya join in? Alcohol ain't your cup of tea?"

"Nah. I like wine coolers sometimes after a long day at work or running errands. I've gotta be careful, too. Still can't purchase the hard stuff for another eleven months."

Jake then calculated her at twenty. He was fourteen and a half when she was in Pampers.

"I see. I was boozing several years before it was legal for me." And he'd done a fair many misdeeds aside from that, even in his youth.

"Like a few friends of mine," she chuckled. "Were you going home?"

"I'm swinging a pizza by my ma's. I try to have dinner with her a few nights a week. She gets lonely," he said, improvising on the spot. "Eh, feel free to help yourself to some from back there. It's pepperoni."

"Oh, no, thank you. I ate already. Are her and your dad separated?"

"He's dead," he replied without thinking, "...to me. He left us; my brothers, Ma and I when I was nine. Dunno where that bastard went or what happened to 'im."

"Oh, geez. I'm very sorry." She patted his upper right arm. "That was nosy of me. I shouldn't have..."

"Don't worry about it. Ma turned out just fine. She's a strong woman."

He cursed inwardly when the warm, delicate pads of her fingers whisked down the flesh of his arm and rested again in her lap. Nearing her street, the question he had to pop if he were to have those same fingers play in his pants someday was at the tip of his tongue, ready to launch.

She fumbled through the contents of her purse for a minute, finding and opening her wallet. Jake chortled when she tried to hand him a five as he pulled up her driveway.

"I'm sorry; this is all I have on me."

"Whoa, whoa, what're ya doin'? I ain't a cabbie."

"This is my thanks for the trouble."

"Whether you consider these past six minutes troubling or not, I want more of it." He smiled at her slyly. "How about a date?"

He wasn't one for getting permission from people other than Mama, but ordering her attendance would start them off negatively. A restraining order this early on wouldn't appease Mama nor himself. And forget another gal. There was something special about this one. He already couldn't scrape her out from under his skin.

A look of surprise came over her complexion, and with a rosy blush, she murmured, "Um, okay. Let me write down my number for you."

Having applied a fitting amount of suave, self congratulations were due, the smirk forming on his face compensating for a pat on the back or high-five. Using her thigh as a surface, she scrawled away while Jake basked in his fantasized foresight of their future. He'd see to their terms going smoothly, so that her stomach would be swelling with their child by five or six months tops. His plan was absurd, yes, but Mama didn't exactly have a saint's patience, let alone any of one's characteristics. Her boys didn't like to imagine what shrewish chaos she'd unleash for having to put her needs on hold for too long, so they were safest just getting them done with promptly.

Jake wasn't assertive or dull enough to think Ramona would deliberately conceive; she was young and had her whole life on a vast, clean platter and a baby was the kind of hassle she likely couldn't afford. He'd have to catch her off guard. The kid would be a surprise, whether unpleasant or not on her part, he didn't really care.

"Thanks bunches for the ride, Jake." She handed him the freshly inked scrap paper, smiling as she stepped out of the jeep. "You call me. Bye."

"I swear. Night, angel."

"She's not a stripper, goddamn you, Jake! I told ya, she just serves drinks there!"

Jake chuckled at his brother's offended pique. Francis fawned for a babe more than he'd concede, Jake could tell. "Hey, hey, cool it. I'm just messin' with ya. Even if she was one, where would I be rightly concerned?"

Francis shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Lucille's a fucking goddess. Long legs, blue doe eyes, a silky blonde head of hair long enough to jerk when she cuts outta line…"

"Chicken, you haven't even talked to her, have ya?"

"I will! She's got this...that snooty air about her that many of 'em do. She goes for the affluent assholes, I'm sure. The mob...maybe the mayor. I've seen him in there dozens of times."

"The mob round here's a joke. She ever look your way like you have her entranced?"

"Shut the hell up, Jake." Francis parked in the shadiest section of their usual forest's burial grounds. "I may not be the charmer you think you are, but my dominance is surefire to get her to drop to her knees, bend over, and spread those thighs wide for me."

"If you say so—hey, I don't see the shovels. They're back there, right?" Jake patted around the thawing corpse behind their seats.

"Better be," Francis muttered, getting out. He opened the trunk and dragged the stiff until it met the woodsy floor with a dead thud. "There they are. He was laying on top of 'em."

"Grazie a Dio," Jake huffed in his native tongue. He really didn't feel like going back to the shack for the tools.

"Get your ass out here and help, you lummox!"

"Hold your damn horses, France."

Jake wanted to wear his smoke down to a stub before engaging in the arduous task of burying a human body. They never bothered with the 'six feet under' rule of thumb as their backs were too sore by three. They weren't paid grave diggers anyway. They'd kill, and if they were weary, they'd stow the unfortunate sucker in their freezer with all the Swensen's for a day or two. The duo tried to keep their kills at a minimum over the years, but some folk would cross their lines, whether inadvertently or not.

Mr. Prim (who was dubbed that because he was a prim, well-dressed, businessman of the higher class) had done just that, having thrown a snit when the men's jeep scraped against his Ferrari while backing out of a liquor store's parking lot early the other morning. Jake and Francis gave their cheap sorries, but Prim was displeased regardless, demanding insurance involvement. The lot was vacant, so Prim's heart got pierced with a bullet from the jeep's glove compartment and his bleeding form was hauled into the trunk. Mama and they were fairly grateful for the plentiful cash tucked in his wallet along with the credit cards. Prim had ultimately handed his fate over to some of Astoria's dirtiest hands.

"Let's have this shithead be our last for a while," Francis grunted, tugging Prim across soft earth by his ankles. Jake sped up the transport by lugging him by his cold wrists. "This always wears me the fuck out."

"It's great exercise, though, isn't it?" Jake said to lighten the circumstance up.

Setting the corpse down to rest on a grassy bank, they retrieved the shovels and dug up dirt and roots, quitting once their hole was amply spacious. Prim was tossed in and covered up as though he were bile. He certainly was garbage and nothing more in their debauched, hypocritical eyes.

"Hope he didn't have kids," Francis mumbled nonchalantly, stomping the grave's layers of soil flat alongside the other.

"Ah, they're better off without his prissy, Right-wing preachings."

"True."

"We're gonna raise our own to not accept anyone's shit." Jake spat at their fresh bury. "I'll be damned before my son or daughter kisses ass."

That Friday night at eight, Jake retired to the downstairs den to phone Ramona after Sloth was fed his dinner of amateur opera and rotted fruit. Formality had missed the Italian-American felon throughout his life, but he'd force its presence now. He'd be the gentleman he broadly wasn't just for this woman, the eventual mother of his eventual child.

He was putting off his slew of theft and miscellaneous crimes so as to keep out of the news, and he asked Mama and Francis to refrain to their best abilities as well. Francis was cooperative for his personal benefit; Lucille's taste in the bloodlust sort of unlawful fellas was presumably lacking, though he'd yet to confirm that. Mama, however, scathingly refuted she'd do whatever the blistering hell she wanted and needed to do. She hadn't minded mugshots or their notorious name and how it, at times, landed in the Astoria Ledger's front page. Although the headlines made her feel worthy and accomplished, they simultaneously told her to be inconspicuous post-breakout, because if Fratelli grandchildren were to be, each of the clan would do well to clean up and behave.

For the next five minutes, Jake busied his thoughts with who he was pretending to be for Ramona. So little truth about himself could be unveiled. Frustrating as that was, lies would lead him to her heart, plenty of dips into her panties and perhaps even her soul. He would savor her soul, especially since the one he possessed was charred black and could've used some light.

'Bari, Italy-born, two brothers, opera extraordinaire...'

The truths he would preach.

'Repairman, it's generic enough...Francis...he scrubs toilets. My younger brother? He lives way out in Los Angeles. Recently betrothed. Manages a soup kitchen for the homeless. Ma's a retired nurse.'

The fabrications.

He dialed, and four beeps later received her soft, unsure voice.

"Hello, this is the Hersden residence."

"How're ya doin', Ramona?"

"Jake? Oh, um, I've been fine. Nothing momentous has really happened in the last four days."

"Same here. Been helping my ma renovate her place. She's a recently resigned hospice nurse, you see, and-"

"A nurse?!" the hag herself screeched from the nearby freezer, a pint of Rocky Road in her grip. Although she understood he was safer off not boasting on the family 'business', she glared something gruesome her second son's way, not wanting to play an ex-nurse of all possibilities. Her abyss-low sympathy for others would really make even feigning to be one a challenge. Jake gulped for the fire Ma was ready to rain upon him once he hung up.

"...and her arthritis keeps her from completing some of those uh, more tricky chores. I'm a repairman myself, so any household rupture she gets, I'm always happy to intervene."

Mama's fiery glower could've quietened the rowdiest of demons. Arthritis, her ass, despite her actual sufferance of it.

"That's very sweet of you. My dad is beginning to suffer from arthritis. He's fifty-nine and works as a stockbroker and my mom is a homemaker. She does community volunteering. She organized a mini fundraiser for MS research earlier this year. One of her best friends died from it in February...Um, but on some lighter notes, I have a little brother, Dylan, who just turned sixteen. He's a sophomore at Astoria High." The shake in her voice eased. "I graduated from there a couple years ago. I've been a bit unfocused about getting my feet in the right 'adult' direction...but I've been considering going into cosmetology with a friend from work, but it's a booked practice here in the city right now. I started waiting tables at Jones' last year. I put a portion of what I make into a savings account for my brother. He's looking to attend the University of Oregon to study sports medicine, but I'm worried about his debt in student loans, so I'm supporting his ambition. My parents are nagging me to work at something bigger for myself, but right now I'm just going about my business with that five days out of the week."

There was a brief thoughtful pause.

"I'm a photographer; a rookie, though. I make collages of flowers, bugs, animals, sometimes people. I get creative. I paint too, mostly outdoorsy stuff; a sunset over a lake, sunny, midday meadows...oh, one time I tried a nude self-portrait in my bedroom, but I uh, don't like how it turned out...Geez, I've yakked my share, haven't I?" she laughed.

Jake was cool with that. Relieved, actually. The more she had to announce, the less he'd have to fabricate for her. She could talk his eardrums to death for all he cared.

"Not to worry at all. Your schedule sounds more eventful than mine. It's a bit too dull over here. I haven't been up to...reputable shenanigans."

Mama snorted a thick "touche" from the threshold.

"Ah, fixing the same old faucets and leaky holes?" Ramona said.

'Yeah, all those fucks are the same.' The ones that got to meet their demise à la Fratelli handgun.

"Oh yeah."

"Do you have any siblings?"

"My older brother, Francis. He's got two years on me. Bit of a lowlife, really. Does the occasional odd job in town. Cleaning johns in that biker bar on Reed Street at the moment."

Mama's snort almost reached the other end of the line.

"My other brother, Slo—ahem, Lotney, he's living in LA with his newlywed honey. Runs one of those soup kitchens for the needy. He's more respectable than France or I, I'd say. The only charity work I've done is sing opera in joints here and there. Not to boast, but it can soothe the soul."

"Oh? You wanna show me?"

Never shy to show off his flair for the curious bystander, or in this scenario, listener, he obliged quickly, belting the libretti to Madama Butterfly, his favorite and most perfected opera piece. Mama deemed his stunning vocals for what they were, but she could only stand the musical projections for so long. Over a minute into his singing, she trudged from the vicinity with her ice cream, keen on returning to rebuke Jake's choice of former work for her later on.

"Wow! God, that's amazing!" Ramona exclaimed as he slowly wrapped up. "You should do that professionally."

'Would if I could,' he thought grimly. Who'd hire a crook, and a homicidal one at that?

"Nah, I'm not that excelled, peach."

"Oh, don't be so modest! You're phenomenal. Nobody would think otherwise."

By coincidence, the Neanderthal mightily groaned from his chamber next door. Unfortunately, she'd caught it.

"What was-"

"A bear, I'm sure," Jake blurted. "I'm at Ma's. She lives downhill from a wooded area, right along the Pacific Coast. The view is gorgeous at sunrise and sunset."

"I'd like to see it."

"You will...some time. You're gonna love-"

"AAAAAHHH!"

"Son of a bitch—Hey, Ramona, I've, uh, got to take care of something. How about I pick you up tomorrow night for dinner? Talk more in person, eh?"

"Mmhm…Well, goodnight."

"I'll be seeing ya." He slammed their conversation out regretfully, in fear that his boorish younger brother would bellow out again. He stormed for the captive's cell, his cudgel in his clutch.

Sloth flinched in his seat when what disproportional organ propped in his thick, contorted skull registered his bothered brother and neglectful caretaker's intrusion. The dreary room's door exploded open, indicating the usual uh-oh. As to what he'd done inappropriately this time, he couldn't say. He might've hollered at the TV when Frankenstein slaughtered his bride, but he wasn't too loud, was he? He peered at the twisted look on his older, smaller brother's face, realizing he had been.

"What the fuck did I warn you of not ten minutes ago, you baboon? Can't you keep it down for ten, twenty godforsaken minutes?"

"Sorrry, I sorry, Ja—AH! AH! PLEEEASE!"

"I had a beautiful little lady on the phone, and she overheard your caveman bullshit!" Jake cracked the club against the tethered man's shoulder once more. "The hell am I supposed to tell her when it goes on and on and on?!" Another swing. "It's far too clear and close for a bear or wolf, isn't it?"

"SORRY! SORRRRY!"

"Why don't you scream at the top of your lungs some more, huh? You do it so often, why don't you do it now?! Really belt it out like you did so rudely for my ragazza!" Six fat bruises would elongate Sloth's right upper arm so far. "You see, stupido? You cry and wail when in pain, not over a fucking movie! I ought to confiscate that damned thing! Make you sit here in the boring and quiet dark till you croak!"

"NOOOO! IT ALL SLOTH HAVE!" Tears streamed down the clefts of his jagged face.

"You create a din like that again, whether I'm on the telephone in the other room or have the lady here to visit, that television set goes bye-bye for good and I'll be down here even less to feed you, eh? Can you memorize those words?"

Snuffling noisily, he nodded.

"You best. You botch this for me, there'll be hell to pay." Jake dismissed himself by treating Sloth's lopsided head to a final punishing blow before striding out to the hummed melody of Je veux vivre.

Jake held Ramona's interest, but for no solid purpose. She guessed she was attracted to his general looks, that subtly foreign accent, and the dozen plus years he had on her. The several dates she'd ever been on had gone nowhere memorable. A fellow waitress friend Miranda had called her a ditsy dreamer when she went on about this Jake guy's enticing aura, but Ramona just couldn't seem to depict him in any other way. His smile, cocksure as it was, had spurred a flock of butterflies in her stomach. She'd no excuse not to get to know him. An extroverted socialite she hardly was, but if he had a nice pair of ears and a tender heart, she was down for a new friend, or a boyfriend, whichever he'd become.

It was her day off, and she was up at the first sign of dawn. Into the afternoon, she showered, doused every square inch of her body in perfume and rummaged through her closet for her navy-blue sundress, the one that accentuated her breasts and showed off her legs best. The four ounces of schnapps she'd drank managed to lighten her bad case of anxiety. She tamed her unruly curls to some extent with globs of hair gel and slathered her lashes with mascara, opting to go easy on the eyeliner for a desired soft, modest look.

To kill time before Jake was due to arrive, she skimmed that month's issue of Cosmopolitan. Try as she might to rid her lasting apprehension, it persisted through two episodes of Cheers and a counseling from her mother Dana to be careful with this man.

Hearing that this date of hers "looked about thirty-two or so" hadn't quite stricken Dana as appropriate, but her daughter was several years past the starting age of consent. Nevertheless, John Hersden, her father, argued that while she lived under his roof, his rules for her still stood and he didn't want to see her get romantically involved with "some middle-aged pervert". He only came to compose himself, and in trailing hours, once Dana reminded him of their own somewhat thick gap in age.

Ramona skipped out to the driveway when the jeep pulled in twenty-three minutes late. Unbeknownst to her, Jake's mother hadn't hustled while out picking up milk and meat, and her out-of-town gambling session with her old spinster pals oozed over an hour. Seeing how his tardiness gave her extra time to doll herself up, he assumed she wasn't annoyed. Girls fixated on that, he remembered, valued each second they had to load on their excess makeup and hairspray.

"Had a flat tire," he explained anyway.

"No, Jake, you're okay. I've waited out forty minutes for guys before."

'How many guys?' he wondered, the possibility of her innocence belonging to another moron automatically ruffling his feathers. It did, he thought, because she was a bombshell, and better yet, a bubbly one. A real sweetheart. To this point, she hadn't snapped out any stuffy derision for him as his mother did religiously. He'd shielded himself for a hiss, snort or smack when he dared to ask her out, but she'd seen through it, or rather, didn't, to pleasantly surrender a yes.

"Where to, sweet?" Jake asked.

"Oh, surprise me."

"Can do."

He wore curled lips for a wordless three minutes rounding curbs. She shifted in her seat, a sigh of easing tension loosed as she gazed at the passing houses and quaint shops which lined the streets of the Goon Docks. A short while passed, and Ramona turned to Jake, their hushed space too uncomfortable.

"How old are you?"

"Thirty-four." His smirk lived on. "How old did ya think I was?"

"Er, I had a close estimate."

"Am I too old for you?" he laughed.

"Not at all!" she objected in a nervy tone. "Men my age tend to annoy me, though. They're still too immature and committed to their varsity sports and drinking than their work or intimate stuff."

"Aye, so it's those wiser jerks who've some age on 'em that tickles your fancy?"

"Well, I can't get along with any jerk, regardless of his age," she noted with a laugh.

"But in some sense, every man's one. A certain level of vanity runs rampant in our sex. It's what keeps us going, Ramona."

"That is just loving yourself. There's nothing wrong there. I love myself, not as much as I do my family and friends, but...well, God put us here, didn't he? We're supposed to value and provide for ourselves, and more importantly, others, to our full potential. Now, a jerk is somebody who is solely devoted to themself and their wants."

'She's a philosophical one...'

"What's your take on criminals?" Testing the waters. He'd block her inquisitive nose from all the reality he was able to, but alas, the probability she'd find out someday was high.

"They're scum."

Her answer was disheartening, albeit typical, as he'd knowingly selected a Good Samaritan; his polar opposite. Devil and Angel they'd be. Thrills built up, partnered with a heavily scheming frame of mind for how his plans for this woman would roll.

"Thankfully, crime rates aren't too high here in Astoria. It'd suck to have to carry a gun around in my purse, and to have to use it on somebody. Ugh, I wouldn't ever live it down."

"Hey, you're safe and secure with me, but when you're all by yourself and susceptible, you at least have Mace handy, eh?"

"Oh, I do already," she said. "Mom's orders."

"You been here?"

The Indian Grill approached their view. It was a bijou restaurant adjoining a thrift store and a salon on one of the Goon Docks' quieter streets.

"No, but it looks splendid. I don't recall ever trying any Indian dishes."

"Their menu's a bit foreign, but I've gotten the, uh, mung bean dosa and pork vindaloo, and they were both flavorful."

The spicier entrees were to thank for his nasty bout of molten fire-ass that lasted two days after dining there sometime during the spring of '83, but he'd just advise Ramona to veer from those.

"I'll surprise myself, order something random that resembles vomit but smells five-star."

Jake again congratulated his choice in babe. Outspoken, vivacious, ripe for the picking, compliant, not picky or whiny. A real phew. He bid Francis fun with his snubbing, titty bar-employed trollop. Ramona was already promising oodles of potential. Perhaps Ma'd be a nonna sooner than he'd imagined.

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I will probably edit and upload some more chapters soon. Thank you for reading.