A Dinner with Mister Capazino

It was supposed to be a simple Italian dinner between two respected gentlemen. I swear, I have no idea how it went so wrong. I thought Capazino and I were on good terms. We never became buddy-buddies, but we were working on a mutual relationship. 

Capazino is what you call the unofficial official of the city. You want to get something done? You talk to Capazino. You have a hard time with your business? You talk to Capazino. Do you know the saying that money doesn’t grow on trees? Well, Capazino proved that saying as a bunch of hooey. He gave money to everybody, from the big cheese banker to the lowly doorman. 

Sure it was rumored the man had violent tendencies, but who doesn’t? He was a well-respected, upstanding businessman who didn’t let anyone or anything get in his way. I’m telling you nobody said no to Capazino. Okay, that’s not entirely true. Someone did have to tell Capazino no, and that someone was me. 

Now, don’t get me wrong, I didn’t mean to go up against him. You can probably already tell that I’m not too big on confrontations. I try to avoid it as much as possible, to be honest. My parents always taught me that getting along with others was the path to a good life. So far their words of wisdom have worked out for me. I’ve operated my family’s rug store for twenty-five years, never had a complaint, always told I had the best service in the whole city. I even had a dozen or so commercials that played during prime time on all major networks. I’ve sponsored little league games, community plays, and several local non-profits. 

Yes, sir, I was moving up in the world, and then Uncle Sam got a little too greedy. I started to get taxed on things neither I, nor my parents, had ever been taxed on before. A lot of it sounded made up to me. I thought for sure someone was trying to pull a fast one, but my accountant said it was no joke. I had no choice but to raise the prices on my rugs to break even, but a lot of my customers weren’t willing to part with a few extra bucks, even if they did get excellent service. What else could I have done? I didn’t want to close up shop, and I didn’t want to fire anybody. After all, I knew everyone on my team from childhood. I had aunts, uncles, and nephews under my wing and I couldn’t let them down. So, I took some advice from a friend. 

“Whenever you get in trouble, go to Capazino,” he said. 

I was a little intimidated because I had no idea what this guy looked like. I couldn’t find any news clippings or even a picture with his face. 

My friend knew a guy, who knew a guy, who knew a guy, who had connections with Capazino. A few phone calls later, my friend was able to set up a meeting with him a week ago at L'Essenza di Roma, one of the fanciest and most expensive Italian restaurants in the city, and I should know. I looked at their menu once, and I was shocked to see that I couldn’t afford a basic salad or a calamari appetizer. Even if I could afford their outrageous prices, they had a waiting list at least five miles long. 

For the occasion, I took my shower, combed my hair, and put on my sharpest suit and tie. If I was going to meet the Capazino himself, then I wasn’t going to leave anything up to chance. 

I waited in the lobby with a silver watch on my wrist and my suitcase in between my legs. Capazino wanted to meet me at seven sharp, and I arrived fifteen minutes early, hoping he’d be impressed with my punctuality. 

Turned out I didn’t have to look very hard to find him. As soon as he stepped through the doors everyone stood to attention like he was a sergeant at a boot camp. I was a little late, but I made up for it by shaking his hand and introducing myself.  He had streaks of silver hair, a dark black mustache, a fedora, and a suit with a red rose in the front pocket. All his clothes were white, excluding the brown shoes on his feet.  He had a very sullen look on his face. I had no idea whether he was happy to see me or disappointed. 

I was about to tell him everything, but then he raised his hand and said, “First, we eat. Then we talk about business.” 

The host looked absolutely terrified. He held the menus under his lips, while his hands trembled. 

“Mis-Mister Capazino,” he said, his voice quivering. 

The man just brushed him aside and said, “I’ll take my usual spot, capiche?”

The host nodded and walked on ahead of us. 

As we passed by each of the tables I took in all the sounds and smells. There was a string quartet made up of two violinists, a cello, and a bass player. I never heard a live band play in a restaurant before. The closest I ever got before this was a teenager playing a harmonica for my birthday at  Skeeters. They were playing a beautiful tune, and I felt it was a shame that no one was really listening. Scents of freshly cooked bread and spices surrounded me. They made me hungrier with every passing second. 

Capazino’s spot was a horseshoe booth in the furthest corner of the restaurant. I guess he liked it because he got a full view of the restaurant. 

Just like the others, the table was covered in a red-and-white checkered tablecloth. On top of the table cloth there was a red basket filled with golden brown breadsticks, and right next to the basket was a small red candle with a flame dancing in the center. The breadsticks were so hot I could see the steam dancing under the light. Behind the basket were two empty glasses, which were so clean they might as well have been invisible.  The sight was picture-perfect. It was so beautiful, the setup looked like it should have been hanging in an art gallery. It was so mesmerizing, that I didn’t realize Capazino had already taken his seat until I heard him call my name. 

I rushed in to make up for lost time, and as soon as I sat down a waiter rushed in with a wine bottle. He filled Capazino’s glass first and then to mine. The server did his best not to look us in the eyes. 

“Leave the bottle here,” Capazino said, and the waiter replied with a, “Si, Signore.” 

Capazino held up his menu, clicking his tongue as he considered his options.  

“What to choose, what to choose,” he mumbled to himself. 

I didn’t want him to think I  was being rude by staring at him, so I spent some time looking at my own menu.

In the end, he had the Tuscan Chicken and I had a Manicotti pasta. When the waiter took our menus away, I felt very awkward just sitting there in silence as Capazino just stared blankly with his hands together. 

“Mister Capazino…sir…” I began, but he stopped me when he raised his hand. That’s when I remembered he didn’t want to speak of business until after we ate. So instead of talking,  I excused myself to leave for the restroom. 

The restroom was just as fancy as everything else. When I first walked in, there was a man in a suit standing right up against the wall. I gave him a hello, but he barely reacted. I gave out a laugh feeling a bit foolish, and the fact he didn’t laugh with me made me feel even more so. If I hadn’t walked away, I would have probably been stuck in some feedback loop of my own making.

I went to one of the urinals which were all painted gold. There were small little pebbles at the bottom, I think they’re the kind you’d see in an aquarium. It felt wrong to relieve myself in it. I had to tell myself that it was perfectly alright, that it was still a urinal. I unzipped my pants and took care of business. 

I was having  a relatively pleasant experience, when some guy stood right next to me and said, “Are you making a deal with Capazino?” 

First I asked him what his problem was. There’s an unspoken rule amongst us guys, that we don’t talk to one another at the urinals. This was why I was a little less than friendly when he came up to me like that. 

I say to him, “I haven’t made a deal with him. I just want to hear what he has to offer, that's all.”

“Well, whatever you do, don’t do it,” he said. 

I was taken aback by his response. 

I asked him what he meant with a simple, “Excuse me, what are you talking about?”

The man looked over his shoulder before unzipping his own pants. 

What he said next made little sense. The man said, “Listen, whatever he offers, it’s not worth it, understand?”

Now I tell him, “Understand? I understand nothing!  You’re talking in riddles and you expect me to understand, like I’m some mind reader?” 

“How’s this,” he said as his urine trickled on to the pebbles. “You take the deal, you’re a dead man. You might as well be taking a deal with a devil. That clear enough for you?”

As if to add to his point, he pressed a button on the top of the urinal causing it to flush. I saw his hands reach down to zip up his pants. 

I did the same soon after, and it was almost in unison with the guy, like we had planned it that way or something. 

I told him he had an interesting story, but it would have been better if he had provided me with any evidence to back up his accusation. 

He told me his brother had a small fishing port. Fishermen paid him a small fee, and he would let their boats dock for however long they had to.  Anyway, his brother fell on hard times and he made a deal with Capazino to keep the lights on. According to him, his brother was found three weeks later, dead in a garbage truck. 

I repeated myself saying it was a nice story, but that it really didn’t prove anything. 

“They haven’t found the killer, and I don’t think they ever will,” the guy said on the verge of tears. “Can’t you see? He made a deal with Capazino, and he was dead before he knew it!” 

I raised both hands and said, “Listen, I’m sorry about your brother, but it’s none of my business. You should go to a detective instead of bothering me.” 

The guy got right up in my face and said, “I’m bothering you because I don’t want you to make the same mistake. You take the deal, you wind up dead, capiche?” 

And that was the last thing he ever said to me. I didn’t have a chance to ask him who he was or how he knew me. The man disappeared as quickly as he appeared. I don’t even remember if he washed his hands or not. 

I chose one of the many empty sinks and washed my hands quite thoroughly. I didn’t want word to get out that I touched Mister Capazino with dirty hands. I didn’t care how tight-lipped the restroom attendant appeared to be. Better safe than sorry, as they say. I looked around for a towel dispenser, but I couldn’t find it anywhere under the mirror or near the door to the outside. I must have looked like a lost puppy, shaking my hands profusely as I wandered from one side of the room and then to the other. 

Finally, I went to the restroom attendant, and before I could ask him anything he pulled a dark crimson towel from the rack behind him.

I thanked the man, and before I left I asked him how he knew which towels were clean and which were dirty. He didn’t say anything, so I just laughed and said, “Trade secret, eh?”  He still didn’t say anything. I had no idea if I was supposed to tip the man or not, so I just slipped him a five along with the towel. 

As I walked back to my table, the words that man said kept repeating in my brain, like a scratched record. I didn’t want to admit it, but I never really knew what Capazino was really like. Up until then, I heard good things about him, and he seemed like a nice gentleman. Then again looks can be deceiving. But for the record, the man didn’t give any red flags. I also didn’t know the guy in the restroom all that well. He was a complete stranger, and he did very little to prove his case. For all I knew, he just hated Capazino’s guts, or just plain jealous. 

The guy’s words ruined my appetite. Although my pasta was absolutely delicious, I can’t say I enjoyed it. 

I think Capazino noticed my solemn mood. He asked me if there was anything wrong. I lied of course, but what else was I supposed to say? 

“Yeah, Mister. Capazino, some guy told me you killed his brother.”

What a disaster that would have been. 

We both took our time eating our meals. While I think Capazino was enjoying his dish, I was trying to stall. I never thought I would be in such a dilemma. Why did that guy have to ruin my whole evening? I could have taken that deal with no problem. No matter how much I tried to forget what that guy said, I just couldn’t get rid of it. It was like an itch that wouldn’t go away. 

Unfortunately, I wasn’t eating slowly enough. One moment my plate was full and within a flash it was empty. Then the moment of truth came. 

Mister Capazino cracked his knuckles and said, “Alright, let’s get down to business.”

I leaned in and placed my hands together. I did my best to appear confident when in reality I was shaking to my core. 

Before Capazino spoke I told him I wanted to give a few words. I said I respected him, and  I thought he was a good man, but I needed some more time to think about his deal. 

He looked confused and understandably so. 

The man spread his hands apart, sat back, and said, “But you haven’t heard even heard it yet!” 

This was when I started to fumble with my words and my composure started to crumble. 

I said to him, “I know that, and I’m very sorry for wasting your time, but now that I think about it, maybe I don’t have it so bad after all. You know, maybe I need a chance to explore my options.” 

Capazino didn’t say anything for the longest time. His silence made me even more tense than before. Then again, he didn’t have to say much. The raising of his left eyebrow spoke volumes, sending a message to me that was loud and clear. I didn’t know what I could have said to the man that would assure I meant no disrespect.  

He finally gave out a long, deep sigh and reached for his crimson napkin. 

“Alright, you need time, I’ll give you time,” he said, wiping something from the corner of his chin. I couldn't tell you what because I didn’t see anything there.  Once he was done, he crumpled it until it was a little ball. “I’ll give you a week from tonight to consider your options.” 

I didn’t like how he coughed up the word, “options,” as if it were the punchline to a terrible joke. 

He then asked me what type of store I owned. I thought he genuinely forgot so I kindly reminded him I owned a rug store.

I kid you not, the guy looked me dead in the eyes and said, “You don’t come to a decision you’ll find yourself wrapped in one.”

He tipped his little hat and left. I told him to wait, but he just gave me the hand. I begged him and pleaded with him to sit back down, but I guess he had enough of me.

Defeated, I yelled at him and said, “Can you at least pay the bill?” 

He says to me, “It’s already been paid,” and we haven’t spoken since. 

So, yeah.

 I guess our night was a complete disaster. I can already hear my friend yelling at me now for how stupid I was. If only I hadn’t gone to the restroom. I should have stayed in my seat like any other person, enjoyed my meal, and made the deal. But that ship has sailed, and now I’m in a dilemma. 

My week is almost up, and I still don't know what to do. You guys provide protection, right? I don’t have much, but do you think this is enough to protect me from a man like Capazino?