The Runner -Part 3 of 6

Ralph Fortunato was having trouble finding a reliable runner to take Jack Oliveri’s place. The kid was fast, and nobody paid attention to him as he went from the cake factory to the restaurant, to the chicken market, picking up betting slips along the way. Since the kid stopped coming around, Ralph had been making the collections himself most days. His brother-in-law Carl, did it once in a while, but he was unreliable. He took a long time to make his pickups, gossiping with people, which slowed things down too much for Fortunato’s liking.

When he heard that Angela Oliveri was seeing Tony Rizzo, he didn’t think much of it at first. But one day, Angela’s father stopped by the market. It was rare to see him there because his wife, Marie, did all the shopping for the family. Oliveri took an inordinate amount of time looking over the oranges and grapes. Fortunato noticed him glancing over in his direction a few times. The men knew each other well, but for some reason, Oliveri was being coy. Finally, he stood up and walked over to where Oliveri was standing.

“You want a cup of espresso?” Fortunato pointed to his table. Oliveri nodded and followed the bookie. One of Fortunato’s men poured them some coffee, lacing it with Anisette. “Sembri un uomo le cui tasche sono piene di problemi.”

“My Italian isn’t as good as yours,” Oliveri said.

“I said you look like a guy with a pocketful of problems.”

“My problem is my pockets are empty. That’s my problem.”

“You miss the extra income your boy brought in?”

Oliveri didn’t answer right away. He slurped his coffee. “That cop who’s dating my daughter is a problem.”

Fortunato smiled. “You know that damn cop doesn’t care what I do. His father bets here, more than his son knows. What he doesn’t want is me using kids as runners. Maybe your daughter can talk to him.”

“Come on, she’s never going to go along with that.”

“You have a better idea?”

“Maybe. Just start using my son again. Same deal. You pay me and I’ll give him an allowance, just like before.”

“I don’t know, Angelo. That cop threatened to put a bullet in my ear if I used a kid again.”

“You tell anybody else that?” Angelo asked.

“He told me.” It was the guy who poured the coffee. He was refilling their cups.

“Rizzo isn’t going to shoot nobody. He’s young, but he’s not stupid,” Oliveri said. “Even if he catches Jack again, what’s he gonna do? Is he gonna send his girlfriend’s baby brother to a home for juvenile delinquents?” He smiled and drained his cup. “He’s in love with my Angela. He’s gonna be family a year from now. I’m sure of it”

“Let me think about it. Maybe we can work something out,” Fortunato said. 

A few days later, Fortunato ran into Rizzo at the bakery on Abington Avenue. It wasn’t entirely a coincidence. “Good morning, Officer Rizzo. Getting some pastry for Sunday dinner at the Oliveri home?”

Rizzo ignored him. In fact, he was getting bread and Italian pastry for dinner with the Oliveri family. They had invited Tony’s father, Pete, to join them for dinner. He had recently met Angela and approved of his only son’s choice. When Marie Oliveri learned that Mr. Rizzo was a widower, his wife having passed away a year ago, she took pity on him. “He must be very lonely,” she said. She wasn’t wrong. Pete Rizzo was lost without his wife. Retired now, he bet the horses to give him something to do. He also played bocci in the park every day with other retired men.

Tony made sure to get everyone’s favorite pastry. He took bills from his wallet to pay for his purchases, but the man behind the cash register, the bakery’s owner, had an odd look on his face. He held up his hand in refusal and said, “It’s on me today, Tony.” What Rizzo didn’t know was the owner had been given a signal by Fortunato not to charge him.

Rizzo was surprised by the gesture and uncomfortable. There was a long line waiting to pay, so he decided not to argue. He thanked the owner and made a mental note to return the next day and pay for his goods. As he walked up the avenue toward Seventh Street, Fortunato caught up to him. “The baker treats you with respect. I’m sure other merchants do the same. You deserve it.”

“What can I do for you?’

“I want to hire Jack again, but only to deliver groceries to the old folks in the neighborhood. I don’t need your permission, you understand, but I thought I should let you know in case you get the wrong idea and decide to put a bullet in my skull.” Fortunato smiled when he said this.

“You’re right. You don’t need my permission.” Rizzo stopped walking and Fortunato did too. He was a bit concerned now that he’d made that idle threat about killing this man. He knew better than to do something so foolish. “Whatever you think I said about a bullet, you’re mistaken. If you use Jack or any other kid for your gambling business, I’ll shut it down and make sure you spend time in prison. Understand?”

“Then we have nothing to worry about.”

On Tuesday morning, the next day the bakery was open, Rizzo paid the owner a visit. He handed the owner the exact amount due. “Never do that again,” he said, in a tone that frightened the baker.

“I’m sorry. I was sort of told to do it by the man who owns the grocery store up the street.”

Rizzo’s face softened a bit. “I know that.” He pursed his lips before speaking again. “There’s right and there’s wrong. No in between. Remember that.”

Jack was working at Slim’s Corner Market again, after school, making deliveries and stocking shelves. This went on for two weeks. Fortunato had instructed Jack to let him know if he encountered Officer Rizzo. Jack had begun to like Rizzo, but had yet to show it. One afternoon, carrying two bags of groceries, mostly fruit and vegetables, Rizzo’s patrol car stopped where Jack was walking. Rizzo got out and said hello. Sykes asked the kid if he could look in the bags.

“Go ahead. Just don’t take anything,” Jack said.

Sykes gave the kid a gentle poke in the ribs and did a quick inspection while Rizzo talked to Jack. “The Yankees are playing Cleveland this weekend. You want to go Saturday afternoon?”

Jack shrugged. He did want to go. They had attended a couple of games recently. “The Indians? I guess so.”

Rizzo smiled. “I’ll get tickets. Okay if we take Angela with us?”

“Okay.” Rizzo was pleased. It was progress. But the Oliveri kid had his reasons for going along.   

“Just groceries,” Sykes reported.  “Get lost runt,” he said to Jack as he transferred the bags to the kid’s arms.  

Rizzo was happy. He called his cousin, who lived in the Bronx, and asked him to pick up three tickets to Saturday’s Yankee game. “You and Angela’s little brother are starting to get along,” Sykes said. “I don’t understand though, why you’re letting him work for that dirtball, Fortunato.”

“His father said it’s okay. What can I say?”

Sykes laughed. “The father is a piece of work too. You sure you know what you’re getting into?”

Naturally, Fortunato had anticipated Rizzo checking the grocery bags. He just needed to be patient. After the second check, he felt sure he could let the kid pick up and deliver the betting slips. Fortunato was also careful about which days and times he let Jack do this work. He had a connection, a desk sergeant, at the precinct who gave him Rizzo’s schedule. Even better, the guy would let him know when Rizzo got a call that would take him away from the area where Jack made his pickups. In return, the desk sergeant got a weekly envelope containing a fifty dollar bill. 

Of course, Jack was carefully coached to play nice with Rizzo. Fortunato also explained why Jack couldn’t tell any of his friends he was back in action. Even if they guessed it, he was told to say no.

By the time school let out for the summer, Angela and Tony, together now for six months,were starting to talk about the future. Nothing too serious, but in subtle ways like when Angela said, “I’ve been saving money. I’m thinking of getting my own place.”

“You are? Where would you look?”

“In the Forest Hills area. It’s nicer than here.” Forest Hills was a tony section of Newark.

“Kind of expensive isn’t it?” Rizzo asked.

“Maybe I’ll ask my friend, Jeanne, to share a place.”

“What will your father say?”

She rolled her eyes. “He’d probably say ‘The only way you will ever leave this house, young lady, is when you get married.’”

Rizzo let it pass. It was the first time the subject of marriage was broached, however indirectly. But the next Sunday afternoon, he took her for ice cream in the Forest Hills area and suggested they ride around just to see what it was like.

He had been looking at newspaper ads that week for apartments in Forest Hills, just to satisfy his curiosity. That was what he told himself. It turned out there were several with rent that two working people could afford. On his day off, he went to look at one. It was a two-bedroom with a kitchen, living room, and small dining room. It was perfect. That’s when it dawned on him that not only was he in love with Angela, he loved her enough to marry her. That made him nervous.