by Zachariah Langley

Created on: August 28, 2010

This was the last place he thought he'd be, but there he was. Standing among at least sixty men wearing all black he sips coffee from the styrofoam cup in the kitchen area of the funeral home. A few of the men, three big Italians to be exact, make sandwiches from a plate of cold cuts and cheese while a few others load up paper plates of meatballs, rigatoni, lasagna, and paper cups being filled with red wine by one of the grandmothers.

"Thank you grandma," one of the men wearing shades says and gives her a half hug holding a plate in one hand and the cup in the other. Two other grandmas wearing all black carry out serving dishes and bring in more with different kinds of pasta, meat, and sauce. He hadn't been with the family long, maybe two years, and felt this a great honor to be where he was. It wasn't that he'd been invited by just family either, oh no.. he was invited by the Boss.

"It's hard to think Gino's gone, ya know," one of the men says putting a drunk arm around him smelling like wine and tomato sauce. "The old man's gonna have someone's head, capish?" He nods knowing full well that in three days time a war was going to break out in the streets, but now is not the time to plot. There'll be plenty of time for that. One of the capos walks in and clears his throat loudly which quiets the room.

"Bennie, Mickey.. finish up," he says looking at the two men taking a pause from stuffing their faces. "Joey, Pete, Johnny, Rico.. go to the parlor and stand where you're supposed to," he says turning and walking off. "They're here." Suddenly a rush hits everyone and they're quickly finishing up, cleaning, and making their way in to the main parlor. Three older women sit in the front with their rosaries praying for the spirit of the dead while everyone else makes their way in crossing themselves passing a statue of a crucified Christ. They find their seat and he immediately feels him walking in the room. So does everyone else, and seated they all turn back to see him consoling his wife over the loss of their first son. The second leads them in and is greeted with hand shakes and hugs.

"Why is the casket closed," he hears one of the men say to another.

"Cause the bastards shot him five times in the face in the form of a pentacle," the other one says, "now zip it."  

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