Chapter Two
"Smiles, Sunshine, and Turi Guliano"
Julie Grim, bank teller, smiled her broad, happy smile, and handed her latest customer a freshly printed certificate of deposit.
"Thank your for choosing This-State-Only Bank!"
"Eh," Arthur Adams grumbled. What was with these new bank tellers? They were all smiles and sunshine. For some reason, Arthur did not think that smiles and sunshine meshed well with his current financial situation.
"Why are you people so damn happy all the time?" Arthur asked.
Julie Grim's perfect smile twitched a bit, but didn't fail her.
"Well, sir, here at This-State-Only-Bank we like to put on a happy face, in hope that we will spread our happiness on to our customers. This-State-Only-Bank is dedicated not only to our customer's financial security but to their happiness as well."
"I don't like people who want to mess with my emotions. I'll be happy if I feel like being happy. Going to the bank doesn't make me happy. I don't care how much the bank tellers smile, I'm still not gonna be happy. Dammit, I'm not happy here!"
"That's obvious, sir."
"You're damn right it's obvious! Ever since my daughter left the rich fellow she was married to we've been dirt poor! Do you hear me, dirt poor! I was gonna retire in Florida! I was gonna have my own little strip of beach! Dammit, I was gonna have a yacht! Now look at me, I don't have Florida, I don't have my beach, and I don't have yacht! All I have is this miserable little town with its smiling bank tellers! On top of that my good-for-nothing daughter has moved back in with us so my wife can only afford to make pot roast once a week, and I like pot roast! I want my pot roast! Dammit, I want my pot roast!"
Everyone in the bank, tellers and fellow residents of Arthur's 'miserable town', were staring. Two old women who were waiting patiently for their penny collections to be counted remarked that the Adamses had always been a strange people and that they had only gotten stranger since their daughter had married into that foreign family from New York. People from New York were strange enough, but foreign people from New York were to be avoided at all costs.
"Sir," Julie Grim whispered. "I'm afraid that I'm going to have to ask you to leave. You're making a scene."
Arthur Adams wadded up the deposit receipt and jammed it into the pocket of his brown pants. As much as he wanted to tell Julie Grim that this was his town and his bank and that he had the right to make any damn kind of scene he wanted to, Mr. Adams knew that the bank employed a couple of very large, very scary guards who were quick to throw out anyone who dared cause a disturbance. He had been thrown out on several previous occasions.
Leaving the bank Arthur returned to his car, a dented blue Packard, and spent a few minutes starting it. He drove downtown to the local VFW Post. That was where he always ate breakfast in the mornings. Arthur hated the other old men. They always wanted to bore him with stories about their problems. Mr. Adams had too many problems of his own to talk about to bother listening to other people talk about theirs. The only real reason he was fond of having breakfast at the VFW was because it was free, and because Martha was such a late sleeper that by the time she got around to fixing breakfast it was well past lunch time.
The local VFW Post was little more than a large multi-purpose room with a small stage that often featured local musical talent, most often Dr. Bill's Barbershop Boys. Arthur had been a member of the group for a couple of days before Dr. Bill had realized that he had no singing talent. In the mornings this room was littered with small folding tables, around which would gather all of the town's men who fit into the category of age sixty-five and above.
There was another table set with a buffet of various sorts of common breakfast foods prepared by the local widows, sausage, bacon, waffles, toast, and that mysterious southern staple, grits, prepared by the widow who had moved to town from Georgia. Coffee was plentiful.
Arthur filled his plate and took a seat with the four men in town that he considered his friends; Fred, the drugstore owner who was in charge of the Fourth of July Fireworks; Carl, a lineman for the county; George, the local NRA advocate; and the mayor's drunken brother, Vinny. These four men stood out from the other seniors enjoying breakfast due to the fact that they were all wearing heavy black coats and gangster-style hats pulled down over their eyes.
"Here, Arthur," Carl whispered handing this friend a battered gray hat. "You left this at my house after last week's meeting."
"Thanks." Arthur took that had and put it on.
Fred looked up from his breakfast and checked his watch. "You're late. Where have you been, Arthur?"
"The bank."
George laughed. "Get thrown out again?"
"Not this time."
"What'd ya think of that new teller, Julie Grim. She's somethin' else, eh?" Vinny slurred.
"She's too damn happy," Arthur grumbled. He took a sip of lukewarm black coffee.
"Well, now that everyone is here, I suppose we can begin the daily breakfast meeting of the Mafia Lovers of America Society," Fred announced. "Now, as usual, our distinguished secretary, George, will read the minutes from the last meeting."
George spent several seconds shuffling through the contents of his pockets before producing a very crumpled piece of lined paper. He smoothed it out as best he could before reading. "Meeting was called to order at 9:39 a.m. We ate breakfast and talked about how great the Mafia is for a bout fifteen minutes. Arthur rambled on about how great it is that his daughter is married to a real Mafia guy. The meeting was adjourned at 10:00 a.m., after which everybody went either home, to work, or to the bar."
"I was at the bar," Vinny remarked.
"Not bad," Fred concluded. "Now, onto new business. Does anyone have any new business?"
Arthur didn't say anything, he just chewed his powdered eggs and prayed that none of the other members would mention the little 'situation' involving his daughter.
"I think Arthur's got some new business," Carl announced.
"No, I don't have any new business," Arthur said defensively.
"Are you sure? Isn't there the little matter of your daughter?"
There was a collective gasp from Fred, Vinny, and George.
"What's happened to your daughter?" Fred asked quickly.
"She… she…," Arthur scrambled for a word that would make the situation sound a little better than it really was, but he only ended up as scrambled as his eggs. "Dammit, she's my daughter and what happened to her is my business! I shouldn't have to discuss that with you! Who here is her father? That's right! I am! And what my daughter does is between me and my daughter."
"She divorced the mob guy, didn't she?" Fred guessed.
"Yes, dammit!" Arthur exploded.
There were several minutes of confused silence. It occurred to the five old men that the very backbone of the Mafia Lovers of America Society was that one of their members had an actual connection to the Mafia. The minutes stretched into half an hour. Coffee grew cold, eggs hardened. It is highly likely that this awkward pause could have lasted nearly the entire morning had it not been interrupted by the appearance of a strange young man. He had tanned skin, thick black hair, and muscles that bulged beneath a tight, white t-shirt. The widows, who were busy clearing away dishes pointed and giggled as girlishly as seventy year-old women could.
"Uh… excuse me, sir," the young man said to Arthur Adams. "I am new to this country and I was wondering if you could help me."
"What… uh… oh yeah… sure, what is it?" Arthur asked, the silence finally broken. "Who the hell are you anyway? I've never seen you around here before? Wait!" A sudden realization dawned on Arthur. "You're Italian!"
"Well… I'm a Sicilian actually…"
Unable to grasp the difference, Arthur continued. "You must have been sent here to bring my daughter back. Well, you're welcome to her. Come with me, I start up the car and we'll be on our way!"
The young man blinked several times. "I don't know anything about your daughter, sir. I just arrived in this country today. My name is Turi Guliano, and I am looking for an Arthur Adams."
"I'm Arthur Adams," Arthur barked. "And I don't know any damn Guliano. Are you with the international coalition of Mafia fan clubs?"
Turi was thoroughly confused. "No… I'm looking for Michael Corleone. I was hoping that you might have some idea as to where I might find him, Mr. Adams."
"Corleone? You mean my son-in-law! Yeah, I know where you can find him. He lives out in Nevada, Lake Tahoe, Nevada… I think."