Tony Rizzo, an off-duty patrolman in Newark, was standing in front of the Italian bakery on Abington Avenue. The bakery was situated in the middle of a residential block, filled mostly with two-family homes. He was admiring a brand new white 1959 Cadillac, Coupe de Ville that was slowly driving by. He loved those long fins. Just as the car turned onto Fourth Street, he noticed a kid, maybe 12 years old, racing up the avenue. He was carrying a dingy-gray cloth sack. He stepped in front of the boy to stop him. The kid ducked under his arm and kept running.

Rizzo, 25 years old, was a former athlete, having played football and baseball for Barringer High School. The kid was fast, but Rizzo had no trouble catching him. He grabbed his jacket collar and jerked it back toward him, momentarily lifting the boy off his feet. The kid’s ski cap flew off, revealing a crew cut. As soon as Rizzo loosened his grip, the kid took off again, managing to wriggle out of his jacket without losing the sack. The weather that January was especially cold. It was cold enough that you could see your breath.

Now Rizzo was angry. He took off after him again and caught him in front of the grammar school, the same one he had attended not that many years ago. This time he pushed the boy up against the fence. He had him now so he turned him around to see the kid’s face. “What’s your name?”

“I don’t have to tell you nothing, mister.”

“I’m a cop. What’s in the bag?”

“You don’t look like a cop,” the kid said. He surveyed Rizzo’s body looking for a sign that he might really be a cop.

“Tell you what, kid. We’re going to walk back down Abington Avenue and pick up your jacket. I’m going to ask some questions and you’re going to answer them. If I don’t think there’s a problem, I’ll let you go. But if you try to run again, you’re going to wind up spending the rest of your day at the police station. Understand?” The kid, who was scared now, nodded. As they walked down the avenue toward the jacket, the kid said his name was Jack Oliveri. He was 13. “About the sack, it’s just pieces of paper. It’s no big deal. I didn’t steal nothing.”

“Did you say, Oliveri?”

“Yeah.” He picked up his jacket. “Can I go now?”

“You related to Angela Oliveri?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Yeah, she’s my stupid sister.” He picked up his jacket and put it on. He was shivering from the cold.

Rizzo smiled. He had been riding in his patrol car the first time he noticed Angela walking down the street. Her long brown hair, dark eyes and shapely legs got his attention. He convinced his partner to drive around again so he could get another look. By the time they were able to complete that maneuver, the young woman was opening the door to the hardware store where she worked as a cashier. He got her name from the hardware store’s owner. He hadn’t worked up the nerve to introduce himself yet, but she had noticed him too.

“Give me the sack. I need to look inside,” Rizzo said.

“I told you, it’s just pieces of paper, man. Can’t I just go home?

“Where do you live?”

“Seventh Street.”

Rizzo stuck his hand out. Reluctantly, the kid gave him the sack. He looked inside and shook his head. “Betting slips, right?”

Jack shrugged. “I don’t know. They’re just pieces of paper.”

Rizzo looked at Jack and frowned. “Where were you taking these pieces of paper?”  

“Nowhere. I was going home, that’s all.”

“Good idea. Let’s do that. I need to talk to your mother.”

“About what?”

“About you running numbers for Ralph Fortunato.”

“I don’t know who he is.” The kid was beginning to tear up now. “Just let me go home, okay?”

“Everybody, including you, knows Ralph Fortunato is the neighborhood bookie.”

Jack started to speak, but nothing came out of his mouth. It was as if the air in his lungs had evaporated. They walked back up the avenue toward Seventh Street without talking. As they were turning onto Jack’s street, he said, “I could get in a lot of trouble if I don’t deliver those papers.”

“You’re not worried about getting into trouble at home?”

“I think my father knows about it.”

When they got to the Oliveri house, Rizzo stepped in front of Jack. “I’m going to let you go inside and tell your mother and father what happened. One of them better call me at the precinct tomorrow. Tell them to ask for Tony Rizzo.”

“What about the slips?”

Rizzo laughed. He couldn’t believe this kid’s temerity. “I’ll give them to Fortunato. But as of right now, you don’t work for him anymore, understand?”

The kid’s shoulders slumped. He was the envy of the entire seventh grade. His status was about to change and he knew it.

Rizzo looked into Jack’s eyes, holding his stare. “If I even hear you were anywhere near Fortunato, or his buddies, I’m going to arrest your mother and father. And you’ll spend your teenage years in a home for juvenile delinquents. You tell them that, okay?” Jack nodded. Head down, he walked up the steps to his front door.

Rizzo walked back to Sixth Street and Abington Avenue. He went into Slim’s Corner Market, a small neighborhood grocery store. As he expected, he found Ralph Fortunato, the store’s owner, sitting in the back, sipping coffee. He walked up to him and showed him the sack. “This belongs to you.”

“Says who?”

“You don’t want it?”

Fortunato knew who Tony was. He made it his business to know the cops who worked the neighborhood. This cop had a reputation for being a stickler for enforcing the law, every law. “How much?” He knew better, but he asked anyway.

Rizzo handed him the bag. He pointed his finger at Ralph and said, “The Oliveri kid doesn’t work for you anymore.”

“Okay.”

Rizzo leaned in close to Fortunato and whispered. “You run your business the right way. My father bets the Kentucky Derby with you. We both know that. But you ever use one of these neighborhood kids again, I’ll find a reason to put a bullet in your skull.”

“I understand, Tony. I swear to God. It won’t happen.” Fortunato didn’t scare easily, but Rizzo always made him a little bit nervous.

Rizzo left the market and walked back toward the bakery to pick up his bread. He saw the Cadillac drive by again. He loved the new model. He’d never own one though. He knew that. Just before he reached the bakery, he heard footsteps running up behind him. His first thought was that Fortunato sent someone to take him out. Unlikely though it was, it was his first reaction. He whirled around ready to face whoever was coming.

It was Angela Oliveri. “I just want to thank you for what you did for Jack. My mother and I have been very worried about him. How can I possibly repay you?”

Rizzo smiled. “You could have dinner with me Saturday night.”

She laughed. “Okay.”

Part 2 will be posted tomorrow