Family Loyalties

Tommy Camilleri had been part of the Falcone crime family for years. The media referred to the New York family business as a criminal organisation but for Tommy it meant more than that. It was the life they had chosen. Tommy and his associates had sworn an oath to the Family. That meant something. It was as unbreakable and as personal as his wedding vows.

That was why he was taking the jail sentence the government had thrown at him. The judge had dished out a ten year stretch. He was settling down to life at Green Haven Correctional Facility in New York. It was tough being apart from his family and the life on the street but day to day, it was not unpleasant. 

He would take the rap, losing a decade of his liberty, for what he believed in. The way he saw it he was almost a political prisoner. He would sit out his jail time, keeping his mouth shut. It was known as Omerta, the vow of silence. You said nothing when questioned. For Tommy, being a rat and giving up the Family was even worse than being a cop.

Tommy was a caporegime, a captain in the Family. He had a dozen soldiers, made men, all working for him. He, in turn, reported to the Underboss of the family. He was a wiseguy, a stand-up feller. He was proud of what he had achieved in the Life.

When he was a kid, he’d be hanging around the neighbourhood, he’d see these men in their expensive suits and designer watches, he would see them driving around in their Cadillacs. 

These guys were like Hollywood stars to Tommy. They carried themselves a certain way. They didn’t let anybody push them around. They commanded respect. 

And so, while his school friends had been going on from high school to study at colleges across the country, Tommy was graduating from petty crime and thuggery, progressing to working for known associates of the Falcone crime family. 

Looking back, Tommy would say that was when his real education began. For Tommy, being a wiseguy was all he was ever interested in, and it was the only thing he was ever told he was any good at. 

The first time he was arrested, sure, he was scared, but he knew what to do. You didn’t say a word when you were questioned. You hadn’t done anything, hadn’t seen anything. You didn’t know anything. Even if they arrested you in a stolen vehicle, you tell them you’ve never seen the vehicle before in your life. 

You kept your mouth shut. You took what was coming. And that’s what he was doing to this day. As far as Tommy was concerned, all the cops and all those judges, they were all part of the machine, like the teacher and priests, all telling you how to live your life. They were trying to keep people like him down in the gutter. Why shouldn’t he want the good life?

*

A prison warder called Baxter came over to him as Tommy entered the recreation room. He was well-known for trying to either provoke the more hot-headed inmates, or intimidate and bully the more meek characters in the prison. 

‘Here he is, Johnny Cash.’ Baxter said with a smirk.

‘How’s that?’ Tommy asked.

‘You’re on the move, Tom. Going to San Quentin.’

‘What about my family? They’ll have to trek out to California to visit.’

‘It was your so-called Family that got you in this mess.’ The warder said.

‘What did you say about my family?’ Tommy demanded, stepping forward to face the warder. 

‘Chill out, tough guy.’ Baxter said, still grinning.

‘If I wasn’t cooped up in here they’d be fishing you out of the Hudson River.’ Tommy said.

‘Are you threatening me?’ Baxter asked, suddenly serious.

‘I never said nothing.’ Tommy replied.

Tommy turned and walked out of the room.

The official letter was delivered to his cell later that day, informing him of the move. In two weeks’ time he would be moved to San Quentin. Tommy screwed up the letter and tossed it in the metal trash can in the corner of the cell.

Later that day, he was in the recreation room playing chess with a guy from Long Island. While they played the game, they spoke in hushed, mumbled whispers. 

The following morning, Tommy used his telephone privileges to call home. He called his wife, Angela. He explained that he was due to be moved from the New York prison to the penitentiary in California.

‘Why there? Why have they got to send you there?’ Angela asked.

‘That’s what they do. It’s the games they play. We’ll sort something out. We’ll get by. We always do.’ He shrugged, twiddling the telephone cord in his fingers. 

Angela said nothing.

‘How’s Junior doing?’ Tommy asked.

His wife explained how she was worried about their son, Thomas Junior, and concerned that he was getting in with the wrong crowd.

‘He’ll do okay. Boys will be boys. I was a real tear-away at his age.’

‘I’m worried he’s gonna get himself in trouble.’ Angela said.

‘Junior’s a tough kid, he can take care of himself.’

‘That is what I’m afraid of.’ His wife snapped.

A few days later, in the prison canteen. Tommy was standing in line for his food, sliding his tray along the shelf that ran the length of the counter. An inmate called Denny joined the queue behind him. 

‘Hey, Tommy, I hear they’re moving you.’ Denny said.

‘Yeah. Can you believe this? California? I’m a New Yorker, what am I supposed to do in Cali?’

‘Same as you’re doing here, doing your jail time.’ Denny replied.

Tommy gave him a grin that said that was exactly the joke he had been making.

‘Did you hear about that warder, Baxter?’ Denny asked.

‘No, what’s the news?’

‘He was whacked outside a restaurant last night.’

‘Really?’ Tommy said.

‘Yeah, he was leaving a steak restaurant on 34th Street when two gun-men ambushed him.’

‘It just goes to show, you never know when your numbers up.’ Tommy said.

Tommy turned to the uniformed canteen staff behind the counter.

‘You got any steak back there?’ He asked.

‘No, it’s chicken or fish today.’

I just fancied steak today for some reason.’ Tommy grinned. ’I’ll take the chicken.’

Denny knew better than to ask if Tommy had any involvement in the assassination. Besides, everybody knew the answer. If Tommy was lucky, he would never be found guilty of giving the order to push the button on the prison guard, but those in the life, those on the street, and every inmate in the prison, they knew the truth.

Despite being in the joint for the next ten years, Tommy considered himself lucky. He had lived the good life, had been one of the princes of the New York underworld. When the Vice President of the United States had visited the city, parading around in his big car with his entourage, Tommy and his associates had looked on in bemusement from the sidewalk. Who does this guy think he is? Look at this guy, swaggering around like he’s on our books. It was well-known that the only people with any authority in the city were connected to the Falcone family. 

Tommy had a family he loved and who loved him too. His son, Thomas, known as Junior, was fifteen years old. He idolised his father and his way of life. He was still in high school. He was bright, witty and popular, but he had his father’s temper, and shared his criminal ambitions.

When he came to visit, Tommy would tell his son about La Cosa Nostra, this thing of ours, what the media called the Mafia. With the glass partition between them, Tommy would talk down the phone to his son on the other side of the screen. 

‘I used to work for Carlo Palazini. He was the genuine article. Back in the day, Carlo was a captain in the old Angelo Falcone regime. Falcone made this family what it is today. Carlo used to run with Don Angelo himself. Imagine that? The guy who I worked for was a protégé of the very man who founded this family. Now that’s a heritage. That’s a lineage to be proud of. It’s like these guys practising Karate, whose style of martial arts can be traced back to Okinawa centuries ago. Our thing, it goes back to the old country. The Sicilians and Italians came over to the New World and decided to do things the way they did back home. And here we are all these years later. What a legacy!’

In the days leading upto his transfer across the country Tommy was visited regularly by his wife Angela and his son. When Junior visited and would get upset about his father being moved so far away, Tommy would place his hand on the glass, tell his son to look him in the eye.

Tommy would stick to his guns and insist, he had no regrets. You had to play with the hand that you are dealt. For guys like Tommy, it was the only way to live, the only chance they had. 

‘What else was I supposed to do? Can you see Tommy Camilleri flipping patties and cooking fries in some burger joint? Forget about it.’

Junior laughed at the idea of a powerful man like his father working shifts in a burger bar. 

‘You really showed them, Pop. You showed them all.’ Junior said.

‘I know things haven’t ended too well for me, but you can carry your head high knowing your old man was a stand-up guy who didn’t back down. When you get involved in the life, you know it’s gonna end up a certain way. There isn’t a pension-fund or nursing home for wiseguys.’ Tommy laughed. 

Junior smiled, saying nothing.

‘And how are you getting on at school?’ Tommy asked.

The boy shrugged before replying.

‘There’s a few teachers have got it in for me, but it’s okay. Nothing I can’t handle.’ Junior said finally.

‘Have you been bunking off?’

‘Yeah, of course, but don’t tell Ma.’

‘You know the number one rule?’ Tommy said.

‘Sure, don’t get caught.’ Junior said with a grin.

‘Esattamente! That’s where I went wrong.’

His wife Angela came to see Tommy a few days later. After chatting about how daily life was for each of them, Angela delivered the question she had come here to ask.

‘Would you do something for me before you’re moved?’

‘Of course, anything.’ Tommy replied.

‘Tell Junior that you regret it all.’

‘Are you crazy? I’m a strand up guy. This is the life we chose. I don’t regret a thing.’

‘If you don’t do this, you’ll be condemning our son, and maybe even our grandchildren to this life.’ Angela insisted.

‘You’re asking me to denounce the life I chose? Forget about it! Even if Don Angelo himself came back from the grave to ask me, I couldn’t do that.’

‘You want your son to see his children through a glass screen, to only hear their voices on this phone?’ She tapped the phone receiver on the glass between them to illustrate her point.

Tommy said nothing.

Early the following week, Junior visited his father in prison. It would be the last visit before the move to California. It could be months before they saw each other again.

 ‘How are you doing, Pop?’ Junior asked.

Tommy studied his son through the glass. It would be the last they saw of each other for a while. Finally he spoke.

‘Yeah, I’m doing okay. You know I love you and your mom, don’t you? I did all this for you. I did what I had to do, to put food on the table. I made sure we always had the best in life, you never wanted for anything. And now, well,’ he shrugged, ‘I have to pay the price.’

‘And you’re happy with how everything turned out?’ Junior asked.

‘Sure, I am. In this thing of ours, it only ends up one of two ways, you end up dead or in jail. At least I’m still here. I had my time to shine and I have a wonderful family. Yeah, I’m happy.’

Junior nodded. Tommy recognised the steely determination in his son’s eyes. 

His son knew the deal. And he had now been given the green-light, the approval from his father. The torch would be passed on from father to son. 

*

A few days later Tommy was transferred. With cuffs and chains on his wrists and ankles he was escorted from the prison. As he was being taken away, Tommy paused to drop a letter in the prison mail-box. He nodded to the warder by his side, let’s go.

On the way across the yard to the waiting police wagon, Tommy stopped. He took one last look at the gloomy, brooding New York skies overhead. 

‘Well,’ he said to the city he was born in, ‘I’ll be seeing you.’

One afternoon, a few days later, Angela arrived home from shopping to find her son on the sofa. He had tears running down his face, a letter in his hand. She placed the shopping bags down on the floor and went over to him. 

‘What’s wrong? What is it?’ She asked, joining him on the sofa.

‘It’s from Pop. It’s dated the fourth. He must have written it on the morning they moved him.’

‘Is he telling you that he loves you? You know he loves you very much. And we’ll go and visit whenever we can.’ Angela said.

‘He says he regrets the way things turned out, says I should do something with my life. He says I should work hard in school and be the first one in the family to go to university.’

Junior folded the letter and carefully put it back in the envelope. He got to his feet and headed for the stairs.

‘Where are you going?’ Angela asked. 

‘To my room. I’ve got homework to do.’

By Chris Platt

From: United Kingdom