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Brown

Joe Randazzo

    It was 2016. The way everyone thought and spoke changed. A woman was the most respected fighter in the world - her looks second to the barbarism inside her fists - and a black man was finishing up his years as President of the United States. The old garb was losing power to this new tide - which was slowly and fiercely - swallowing the inequities of how everything used to be.
    Even the men and women who made a living off the Business of Street changed. You can never pin point the exact moment even their shoreline was overtaken - just as Hunter S. Thompson beautifully explained the tides of change in San Francisco - but if you had to guess when the Italian families became relevant again - moving out the goombas that pretended they were tough guys because they had ten friends and imitated the Sopranos - it may have gotten started in a basement in New Jersey when a classic styled gangster named Mr. Alby Genaro, or Mr. Gent as the people in this meeting knew him as, wanted to introduce three Samoan boys into the circle. When these families originally came to power Brown had been dutifully left out. Only light skinned men with roots from Sicily were allowed.
    Mr. Gent noticed the ways of old are the very reason the families spent their nights in a basement playing poker and cycling through money between themselves instead of making more. The three Samoan boys he wanted to introduce might be the change they needed he felt.
    Of the men at the meeting, six were willing to listen - not fully sold but still holding their ears open - and the other two were against the idea. What mattered most to Mr. Gent in this meeting was the opinion of a man named Jonathon Equestrio. The opinion of the head of the table swayed how these meetings went. Before the meeting started, Mr. Gent turned off the soccer game for the Eagles. One of the Samoan boys he planned on introducing to the family, Afa, had a lot of money depending on Philly’s defense for his fantasy team. It was there that all the men should have known the tide was coming in to swallow what they were used to.
    “Mr. Gent, welcome,” Equestrio said. The family sat staring at Mr. Gent and his Samoan boys. Anoa’i, the strongest, tallest and most handsome of the bunch stood in the center behind Mr. Gent. His jet-black hair fell down to his shoulders. To the right and left of Anoa’I stood Sika and Afa - the twins. The twins were not as big as Anoa’I but that wasn’t to say they couldn’t be classified as muscle. They were USC’s cornerbacks some years back while Anoa’I served with them on the field as the middle linebacker. This type of muscle was intriguing to the men at the table. Most of were aging and falling out of shape more and more. To not consider their value as a potential asset was bad for business.
    Equestrio, the oldest of the bunch, was a savvy businessman. The future was in his hands and he knew it.
    “You are always a favorite on this floor and I think I speak for everyone here when I say I have been looking forward to you entertaining us as you usually do,” Equestrio continued.
    This was a good sign to Mr. Gent. The warm embrace made him feel a little more at ease with introducing the Samoan boys. The stage was level - something he wished for most.
    “Thank you Mr. Equestrio,” Mr. Gent said. “ Also, thank you all for having me.” The eight men all nodded their heads and welcomed Mr. Gent with the respect an untouchable man in the family deserved.
    “As I’m sure most of you have discussed before I got here, I have a long term plan that I believe will change the way things are run,” Mr. Gent said. Before he could finish, Angelo, one of the men against having the Samoans join the inner circle, cut him off. While he was the youngest, sitting at 46-years-old, he was the most stubborn and clutched to those old ways. It was the only formula he knew to live by.
    “Mr. Gent we appreciate you coming to us, but before you go on, it should be said that, while I’m sure Brown would be a nice addition to our table, we could always use backup, it’s just not how things are run.”
    Mr. Gent took the jab by Angelo to the chin and didn’t react with emotion. He kept his composure and allowed Equestrio to shut down the interference.
    “Let him speak first,” Equestrio said. “We’ll get nowhere like this.” Angelo looked annoyed but he listened to
    Equestrio. The other men at the table looked back at Mr. Gent, giving him the floor once more.
    “As you appreciate my sentiment Angelo, I appreciate yours. The thing is, the ways of old, our Brown standards, are holding us back and I mean this on a philosophical level,” Mr. Gent said. Angelo looked at his friend like a dirty liberal. This was the set of words he wanted to throw at him but he didn’t want to get Equestrio angry. Instead, he stared down the Samoans and wondered how they “poisoned” Mr. Gent’s mind.
    “These boys here are young, strong and willing to learn,” Mr. Gent said. He looked back at them smiling. The three stood stoically. Mr. Gent looked back at the table and hoped this impressed Equestrio. They needed to be killers even if they didn’t know how. More importantly, he wanted these boys to be his muscle and trusted them more than the guys they had now. E and Cass, the current muscle, constantly bumbled jobs.
    “I’ve gotten to know them through the bookies that follow USC football and after speaking to the three of them extensively, they all want what we want,” Mr. Gent said. “To move away from the drugs, and more importantly, make the money we should be making now.”
    Mr. Equestrio waited for Mr. Gent to finish and he asked his first question. “You said something that stood out to me a second ago. That term “philosophical” you used. Explain what you meant.”
    “To put it bluntly, I’m amazed we got this far,” Mr. Gent said. Some of the men at the table were left unsettled by the statement but Equestrio did not move. He kept listening. “These rules about not having Brown sit with the family, the drug stuff, other stone age
    ginny rules in that invisible rule book we all live by, these rules are a weight holding us down. I come here with Sika, his twin brother Afa and Anoa’I to be a catalyst for change. I believe if we start with our racial policy, we’ll progress in other ways.”
    Frank, the man sitting to the left of Equestrio called Mr. Gent President Obama for using the word “change.” The table laughed and even Mr. Gent smiled a little. It was the type ball busting that kept these men together.
    “Shut up Johnny,” Equestrio said laughing. “You want a spot at the Comedy Cellar or this table.”
    “Those Comedy Cellar spots are $15 I heard,” Frank said back. “That’s more than your going rate these days.” The table laughed again. Equestrio gave him a playful smack on the head and told Mr. Gent to continue before they fell into a two-hour tangent and forgot their point. Angelo was not as amused though. Throughout the conversation he didn’t laugh.
    “Some of us are getting up there in age – myself included - (the table gave a small laugh to that) but after a string of fuck ups by Cassidy and E, the muscle we got now, it’s clear that we’re gonna need better help. Anoa’I and the twins can be of value to all of us. Each has played Division One football. They follow playbooks, so clearly they can follow us. They’re strong, they’re agile and most of all, they’re smart. They don’t let dumbies on the field or in the classrooms at USC.”
    The Samoans continued their stoic stance behind Mr. Gent. The table started to get a feel of how the dynamic between the four men was going to work. Angelo, unable to hold back, once again cut off Mr. Gent.
    “With all due respect these men are not Italians,” Angelo said. Mr. Gent hit him back quick after that remark.
    “With all due respect to you, Angelo, Cassidy and E are aren’t in any shape to protect us. Can they even run a mile consuming the amount of pasta they eat a day,” Mr. Gent said. “On top of that they’re dumb. How can you run out of gas on the way back from a job? They brought back 5 g’s on a minuscule run but it took 2 g’s to move the truck in the middle of the night without getting caught. We might as well get Geico. People don’t respect muscle like that. Back in the day the drivers would charge $200 in that situation and be glad to help.”
    “I trust Cassidy and E,” Angelo said. “They’re good Italian boys with a lot of learning to do. That I admit. No matter what you say though, what I don’t trust is the Brown. They did not grow up in our neighborhoods. We do not know their agenda.”
    “I’d really like to move away from the E and Cassidy situation right now but while we’re here, let’s talk about the thought process between our lovely Italian boys. When we all get together and wanna watch a movie with the wives, what’s the first movie they want to put on,” Mr. Gent said.
    “Goodfellas,” Angelo said. “What does that have to do with anything”?
    “It has everything to do with what’s wrong,” Mr. Gent said passionately. “Goodfellas is a movie that glorifies rats and these two ginnies love it. Don’t get me wrong. Were I a civilian I’d love that movie just as E and Cassidy do, but I’m not. The corner is where I cash my checks and that movie represented a dark time for all of us.”
    “It’s an art piece,” Angelo said. “You don’t like art all of a sudden”?
    “To the rest of the world it’s art. For us, Goodfellas shows just how weak we became. Henry Hill goes on Howard Stern, he does ESPN documentaries on the Boston College betting and nobody put a bullet in his head. A single man exposed how weak we have become and Cassidy and E, those Italian boys, are the antithesis of that.”
    “Anthesis? Stop with the big words,” Frank said. “We didn’t get a college education like your Hawaiian friends.” The table laughed. In the middle of laughing Mr. Gent turned around to Anoa’I and asked him to take off his backpack. Angelo called him a schoolboy but Mr. Gent didn’t respond. He asked for the “Book Phone” in his pocket. It was a Kindle.
    Mr. Gent, happy the Wifi wasn’t password protected in the basement, went to the store and started typing something. Dereck, a member of the family who was on Angelo’s side remarked that phones were not allowed on the table. It was a Kindle.
    Equestrio, still listening, told him to let Mr. Gent do his thing. Mr. Gent got up off his seat and started showing everybody the book on the screen. It was a book about the Lufthansa Heist. He continued his speech when he got back to his seat.
    “You all saw that book,” Mr. Gent said. “There is an author profiting about our history. For $12.99, 60% less than the price of a typical hardcover book, you can find out how we operate as a family and everyone knows the specifics of John Gotti killing Tommy.”
    Mr. Gent had a controlled fire in his voice while he spoke. He was comfortable like Jordan with a few seconds left on the clock in the playoffs. He could have had the flu and delivered this. He wasn’t even thinking of impressing Equestrio anymore.
    “The worst about about this... Do you know what the worst part about this is,” Mr. Gent asked. “The people who read this think of an actor when they think Tommy.”
    “Well Tommy was a fuck up.” Angelo said.
    “You only know that because of the pictures,” the old man Frank said, firing another shot that made the table laugh.
    Equestrio once again playfully slapped him in the head.
    “At least he isn’t going around having the words of a rat come out of his mouth,” Mr. Gent said taking another dump on Cassidy and E. Angelo stood up and started cursing Mr. Gent and the Samoan boys in Italian. Anoa’I and the twins didn’t understand the racial epithets being thrown at them in Italian but if they did, they probably still would have stood in place.
    Angelo’s cursing and outburst threw the meeting out of order. Equestrio stared over at the Samoans who stood calmly throughout their storm and thought. He wondered if Mr. Gent was on to something.
    Equestrio put his hand up and everyone calmed down. It took a few seconds for everyone to get the fidgets out of their system but they calmed down. “These three boys you come here with. Propose a plan involving them,” Equestrio said.
    “The Italian Club on 18th Avenue in Bensonhurst has had a lucrative Fantasy Football business and because none of us are tech savvy, we’ve essentially let them go on without showing us tribute,” Mr. Gent said. “Tonight myself, Anoa’i
    Anoa’I, Sika and Afa will change that. They will have cut us a piece by morning. Maybe earlier than that.”
    Angelo, now sitting back, slung his head back in annoyance. “Fantasy Football,” he said to himself hating the idea. He would have hated any other idea at this point.
    Equestrio, a man who thought anything that had to do with phones was weakness, did not enjoy Fantasy Football. Football in general wasn’t something he was into because he was a Futbol guy - a sport he lauded as one respected by Italian Kings and Queens. Still, he saw the potential for another source of income.
    He took his biases, put them to the side and okayed the idea. Angelo looked over to Dereck and they both rolled their eyes at each other. They gave glances that it was “bullshit” but didn’t go on. They weren’t going to get Equestrio any angrier.
    Mr. Gent, ready to put his plan into motion, was stopped by the words of Equestrio before he left. “Hold on,” he said. He got up from his spot on the circular poker table that took up a third of the room and shook the hands of Anoa’i, Sika and Afa.
    “You boys have anything to add to this,” he said. This was the shot that Mr. Gent hoped for. If anything, it was better than what he expected. Equestrio got up to show his respect to the three boys.
    Anoa’I looked Equestrio in the eye showing respect, while also showing he wasn’t afraid.
    “Don’t mind us,” Anoa’I said. “We’re just gonna whoop some ass and make money.”
    Anoa’I flashed a little smile. He was handsome, and his long hair whipped round when he turned around to go up the stairs. The balls on him for talking to a boss like that impressed Equestrio. He patted Anoa’I on the back, put his arms around the twins, and walked Mr. Gent’s group out the door.
    “Impress me,” he said. “You have my attention.” Mr. Gent shook his hand and they jumped into Mr. Gent’s black Cadillac.
    Angelo complained downstairs while Equestrio was up with Mr. Gent and his Samoan boys. “You believe this,” he said. “Niggas are gonna beat on Italians and we’re letting this go. Unbelievable.”
    ***
    An hour-and-a-half later the poker game was interrupted by a bloody mouthed Irishman in a leather jacket. Besides him was one of the heads from the Italian club with a ripped shirt. Angelo – who was friends with the Italian club – was not happy by what they looked like. He was even less happy when the three Samoan boys walked down the stairs laughing with Mr. Gent. Angelo was cursing the Samoans out in Italian again. Equestrio though was impressed. He told the Irishman and his friend to have a seat.
    “What’s going on you two,” Equestrio said. “You have something to say?”
    Anoa’I put his hands on the back of the seat of the Irishman. He was going to speak for his friend at the Italian club.
    “We negotiated with Mr. Gent and his friends here. We at the Italian club are now back in business with your family,” he said nervously. He looked down as he spoke. Anoa’I, still with his hands on the chair, moved his head right above the Irishman’s shoulders. This made him more nervous. “You left out the part about how you and your boys got your ass kicked. Tell Mr. Equestrio that?” Angelo yelled this is bullshit but Equestrio put his hand up. He quieted down.
    “Please tell me,” Equestrio said. He smiled while he spoke. Mr. Gent was starting to feel cocky now. He knew he won. He put his hands behind his Armani suit and waited for the Irishman to speak.
    “Be polite about it too,” Mr. Gent said.
    “Yeah man,” Sika said. “Tell us the story of how we wooped your ass and you negotiated from 30% to 45%,” Sika added. The demeanor of the three Samoan boys was different now. First they stood like the statues of Greek warrior gods. Now they were antagonizing these two guys.
    The poker table started stirring over the prospect of a 45% cut. They didn’t expect much from the proposition. They were open to it but didn’t know what would happen.
    “We did not like the idea at first,” the Irishman said. Sika interrupted him again. Repeat that sentence again and make sure you say “Mr. Equestrio.” Have some godamn respect.”
    “We did not like the idea at first Mr. Equestrio but we negotiated terms you would like,” he said. Afa continued to torture him.
    “And how did you negotiate those terms?”
    “We got our ass kicked,” he said under his breath.
    “Louder man,” Sika said. “We gotta know what happened. I forgot. I got hit in the head a few times playing ball. Sometimes I forget things.”
    The Irishman sighed. He sat for a moment and crushed his ego more than Mr. Gent and his Samoan boys did.
    “WE DID NOT LIKE THE IDEA AT FIRST, MR. EQUESTRIO,” the Irishman yelled. “BUT THEN WE GOT OUR ASS KICKED BY THESE FOOTBALL GODS AND CHANGED OUR MIND.”
    The Samoans started laughing. “Good boy,” Anoa’I said. “10 points for saying the football god thing like we told you to. Now apologize for speaking for the Italian club and not being an Italian. Sounds kind of sacrilege huh,” he said staring at Angelo.
    The table laughed and Mr. Gent was now in heaven. He looked over to Equestrio and waited for him to make his decision.
    “You boys like playing poker,” Equestrio said?
    The table, happy to get some new money flowing in, popped for the boys. They welcomed the Samoans in and patted them on the back. A few went into the ear of Mr. Gent and congratulated him for his work. Angelo and Dereck sat down and nodded at the Samoans. They were going to have to work with them now whether they liked it or not.

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