Michael

“You wanna talk to me about ambition, eh? Well, I got a story for you, pal; oh you better believe do I got a story for you. Let me tell you about this kid, Michael Capogliani. He’s one of them quiet types, y’know? Never said a word he didn’t need to, but my god you could see the fire in his eyes. That spark, y’know. A real goombah in the making.

“So this kid Michael, he’s waiting the bar for his pop at that nice place down on Third Street, just going on about his business, y’know? You wouldn’t give him a second glance; right? Nor would I, believe me. Yeah, so anyway, he’s at the bar when who should waltz in? That’s right, big fuckin’ Frank Coppa and his clan of goons. Real stunads, they are, y’know? Real fuckin’ morons, but what’re you gonna do, he’s practically fuckin’ royalty now.

“One of his goons, brain like a skulabast, he goes up to Mikey and says to him; ‘Kid, you know who we are?’ Real impolite, y’know? ‘That’s big Frank Coppa right over there, ya see him? Get off your bambino ass and get him a fuckin’ drink, y’hear me?’ I know, real fuckin’ douchebag.

“So Mikey just looks at him and nods his fuckin’ head. Not even a fuckin’ word, just nods his head and grabs a glass from under the counter. I tell ya, if I was him I’d have slapped the shine off of that ciuccio’s face, but then again if I was him I’d probably be dead. So he grabs a glass, pours a measure of bourbon and slides it over, smooth as balls.

“Few hours later, Coppa and his boys are drunk as hell and shoutin’ like it too, y’know? But Mikey’s pop, the guy who owns the joint, he calls up Don Solano and, well, he makes him aware of Coppa’s presence, if you catch my drift.

“Now the Don himself couldn’t make it, but lemme tell you one thing; he wants Coppa dead, real bad. I won’t get into the details with ya, but there is some real bad blood between the two of ‘em. Now back to Mikey; he might have the manners of a saint but he knows he’s better than waitin’ the bar, y’know? So he volunteers, ya hear me, he fuckin’ volunteers to get the job done. He’s got balls, I tell ya, a real Sicilian.

“So Mikey’s standin’ at the bar, just cleaning glasses or something, quiet at per, and then he walks over to that gaguzz’s table and asks if they need any more drinks. I’ll tell you now, they didn’t need any fuckin’ more drinks, but how can you call a man a man if he says no to a refill, right? So they all start yelling their orders, real loud and obnoxious, and Mikey just stands there, writing it all down before going back to the bar.

“Few minutes later, he yells over to the table; ‘I’m gonna need you to pay your tab, gentlemen.’ So Big Frank gets up, and Mikey pours his drink for him, saying something about giving him his drink first, out of respect. Frank starts nodding and grinning and laughing, he’s got this real loud fuckin’ laugh, but remember by now he’s real s’bronzo, y’know? Slurrin’ his words all over the fuckin’ floor.

“So then, Frank starts talkin’ ‘bout Don Solano, givin’ it the big one, y’know? Mikey just stands there, nodding and smiling. His goons are gettin’ impatient now, and a few of them start walking to the bar, but just then, Mikey pulls a little glock outta nowhere, y’know, skadoosh! He pops Frank right in the kisser with the barrel, and fires at each of the goons. Perfect shots, too; beats me where he learned to shoot like that; probably from his old man.

“So now it’s just Frank, standing there with that same stupid fuckin’ grin on his face, and Mikey walks up to him, pushes him to the floor and bam! His brains’re on the floor. It was beautiful, I tell ya.”