Massimo is on the loading dock making sure crates filled with knockoff products are being loaded by forklift onto semi-trucks heading for tourist locations. Another truckload will be exported to our associates in New York and Miami. The trucks full of Ukrainian dolls and handbags lined with coke will be driven to our counterparts in other parts of Italy and throughout Europe.
“Massimo, I’m surprised to see you here today.”
“Tommaso asks, I come,” he says without a smile, which is a good sign he takes this seriously.
“Good, so you’re in charge of the loading already?”
“Yeah, boss says I’m good with the workers.” He shrugs.
He’s wearing those Nike sneakers again, this time a different color. I won’t begrudge him his shoe collection. Everyone has their thing and I love my shoes too.
“Massimo Rizzo, where are you from? A name like that says Sicilian through and through.”
“A small town, I came here as a child with my mother to be closer to the gelateria where she worked.”
“Really? You grew up with her working here?”
“Pretty much.” He shoves his hands in his pockets.
“You seem mature for your age, how old are you?”
“Twenty-six.”
“No way, so am I.” I chuckle and shake his hand as he jumps off the dock.
“What month?”
“August, Leo. You?”
“January, Capricorn.”
I try to get a feel for the people who work for me after they’ve reached a certain level in the organization. And that level can take years to reach. But Massimo, he seems familiar. Maybe it’s the love of shoes we have in common.
For the first time in my life my judgement could be clouded by thoughts of a woman. Prende brings out the softer underbelly of the world for me to see, it’s in her eyes.
Her innocence is unappreciated by society. But she makes it easier for me to forget that I live in the darkness most of the time.
“Great, well, I better be heading out.” I take off mainly because I’m hungry and need to find something to eat now that Mama isn’t cooking.
Damn.
Family dinner cancelled, Sal and Francesca at the police station. What else is left to go down the shitter on a Sunday night?
I eat a calzone in a tiny place with a brick oven, drink a Moretti with it and walk around downtown. I text Angelica and we chat on the phone, catching up, but I’m evasive when she asks about a meet up. She’s unaware that she’s become the backup plan. She’s a big girl, I am sure she’s lining up her next boyfriend as I hang up.
It’s late when I drive by Prende’s condo. The street parking is not full so it’s safe to assume the guests have left.
What are you up to?
Cleaning up.
Everyone gone?
Yes.
Great, buzz me in.
12