The Payoff

“We were all in on it. But at the trial? I got away with it. I was the only one.”

“I know. Not enough evidence. What of it?”

“My father paid off the judge.”

Bruno slapped his nephew hard. He didn’t even look around to see who might be watching. In a controlled voice he said, “If I ever hear you say that again, I’ll kill you.”

Bobby accepted it. He was young and strong. He could easily beat his overweight, middle aged, uncle senseless, but he didn’t move a finger. His Uncle Bruno, his mother’s older brother, was right. Bobby was drinking too much that night. It made him talkative. Luckily, they were sitting at a quiet, corner table in Salvato’s, the neighborhood’s best Italian restaurant.  The waiter came over to the table and picked up their empty plates. "Coffee, Bruno?" He asked.

"Demitasse."   

Very quietly now Bruno said, “Bobby, your father could wind up in prison if he did something like that.” He emphasized the word ‘if.’ He puffed on his cigar and tapped the ashtray to remove some ash. “The judge too.” He shook his head. “And, the other guys who got sent up when you walked, might decide you shouldn’t get off so easy, understand?”

Bobby nodded.  

"Say it.”

“I understand.” Bobby hid his irritation. 

Bruno took a sip of wine and poured what was left of the bottle of red into his glass. “I gotta take a leak,” he said. He walked into the men’s room and stood at the urinal, his mind racing. His nephew, along with four other guys, had been skimming profits from ticket booths at the New York Squares’ stadium.

What made him angry was that Bobby and his friends took such risks for such a small payoff. They were taking home an extra $35 each, tops, every weekend. Over the course of the 1965 season, they made maybe five hundred bucks apiece. The police were called in and they watched them, bought tickets from the five dummies working the scam, using marked bills. They let it go on for a while to make sure it wasn’t part of some larger racket, maybe connected to the mob. As if the mob would ever waste time on penny ante stuff like that.

He washed his hands. The rotating cloth towel dispenser squeaked loudly when he tugged on the towel. His sister’s son was never a bright kid. Not even bright enough to realize how lucky he was. The Squares fired him, of course, but when he was acquitted, he actually said he was going to ask for his job back. Bruno straightened him out on that score quick. The kid liked to drink too. How many other people had he told about the payoff?

Bruno went back to the table and sat down. He took another sip of wine. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Bobby, but it might have been smarter if your father let you go to prison for a while.”

“How can you say that?” Bobby asked.

“At least you’d be safe there. You do a year and you’re out. That way you don’t put powerful people at risk. You got a big mouth, kid. Too big for your own good.”

Bobby was beginning to sober up. “Look, Uncle Bruno, I’m sorry, alright? I wasn’t thinking.”

Bruno nodded, but he wasn’t convinced. “Did it ever occur to you that your father had to know the judge would take the money?”

“Not really.”

“I didn’t think so. Your father, does he know any judges?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Right. That means your father, a guy who works in a factory, probably knows somebody who knows somebody. Got it?”

Bobby shrugged and Bruno grabbed his arm and squeezed it. “The judge, if he only gets charged, isn’t going to be available to people who use him for more important situations. That’s gonna piss some people off, Bobby.”

“I promise, Uncle Bruno, I’ll never mention it again, to anybody.”

Bruno nodded. “This is important. I have to ask you something.” He pointed his index finger at his nephew. “Don’t lie to me. Who else did you tell about this?”

Bobby lit a cigarette, trying to think. “My girlfriend, Stephanie knows.”

“Who else?”

“That’s it. I wouldn’t even have told you if you weren’t my uncle.”

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me the truth, Bobby.”

“I am telling you the truth, swear to God.”

Bruno let out a sigh. “You know how I’m going to know whether you’re telling me the truth or lying?”

“No, how?”

“If you don’t disappear, I’ll know you told the truth.”

Now Bobby had a worried look on his face. “Stephanie wants to move to Florida.”

Bruno smiled. A sad smile. As usual, his instincts were right. His nephew talked too much. He was never a bright kid. Never.