The Second Funeral for Dominic Carlucci

“Father forgive me, it’s been fifty some years since my last confession and these are my sins.” I began my absolution after the priest put the purple cloth below his chin and did the sign of the cross with a special oil. I knew that my chance of ascending to Heaven was a hundred to one shot according to any credible bookie I knew. Hey, but it was worth a shot.

Father Bagetti sighed since he knew that my list of transgressions would be long and quite time consuming. There was no easy way out as far as he was concerned, and he was correct in his assessment. Father Bagetti examined his fingernails, because he knew that this would be a long-drawn-out affair. 

“I done a lot of guys in. I lost count in 1935 or thereabouts.” I confessed in a weak voice because Death was waiting for me for a second time just outside the door. 

 It was no secret that my career in the mob was long and colorful. My exploits were front page material. Then in 1935 I disappeared from my apartment in Brooklyn. Later they found a body behind the steering wheel in my 1933 Cadillac in Long Island Sound in January 1938. The body was rather decayed and beyond any reasonable identification. With my wallet stuffed in the victim’s back pocket, it was assumed it was me, Dominic Carlucci. And just like that the case was closed.

Then somewhere around 1950, like Lazarus, I reappeared in Jakarta, Indonesia completely tanned and looking rather healthy for a man pushing eighty years old. That was five years ago, but then time waits for no man even if it has to wait a second time.

“Father, I must be honest.” He breathes heavily from his hospital bed. His hands are skeletal as he adjusts his breathing tube, so it won’t hiss. I close my eyes as Father Bagetti checks his watch for the third time. He told the monsignor administering last rites to me would take up most of the afternoon, but as time marches on, Father Bagetti feels as if this was a very conservative estimate on his part.

 “I have lived a jaded life.” I confess, but the humble priest turns his head.

“I absolve you of your sins, Dominic.” He waves the sign of the cross over anointed head to hurry this painful endeavor of the sacrament of Last Rites to conclusion. 

“No, no, father, I must get this off my chest.” I cough. My voice is growing weaker, but I continue.  

“It’s okay, our Savior will be waiting for you to-” He was interrupted.

“You do not understand.” I reach out and put my cold hands on the priest’s arm. He is startled.

“Proceed.” Father Bagetti waved his hand as his worst fears are realized.

“You shoudda been there…Brooklyn, 1928, speakeasies. The money rolled in by the minute. Spanky’s on 20th Street. You could still see the bridge from the big window facing north. What a time…what a time.” 

“Dom, I can forgive a lot of shenanigans, but one thing I will not tolerate is embezzlement.” Angel Ferroni, the big boss, spoke with a well chewed cigar hanging from one corner of his mouth. “You get me?” 

“Loud and clear.” I added a lazy nod in agreement.

“I got a couple of palookas who have been ripping me off.” He shook his head slowly to show his disgust. “Tiny has their names written on his hand. You need to go out and settle this injustice.” 

“Sure, boss. I can handle it.” I glanced over at Tiny who was studying his hand. His name was Julian, but due to his enormous size Tiny O’Rourke was a legend. Even his tailored suits did not cover his immense girth adequately.  

“I got their names right here, Dom.” He held out his vast paw for Dominic to see.  

“These goombahs hang out at Trixie’s down on Avenue J in Flatbush.” Angel tossed his unlit cigar in the trash can and pulled another from the humidor on his desk. 

I was a loyal soldier back then. If Angel Ferroni wanted something done, I did it without question. 

Getting Tiny into my Cadillac was a Herculean effort even though the car had extra room. I pulled away from the curb as Tiny had squeezed in with his knees under his chin.  

I knew both men written on Tiny’s hand. It was no surprise that they were involved in some shady dealings. Basil Tommovich and Aaron Gregoria were triggermen who would work for the highest bidder. Somebody had paid them to double-cross Angel Ferroni. This happened all the time. During Prohibition, customers were willing to pay through the nose for bathtub gin. There were lots of high rollers back then. It was a snap to forget your allegiances if the money was right.

“Whadda think?” Tiny asked, rolling down his window.

“These guys are trying to break into the big time, but they are still in the bush leagues.” I chuckled as the neon sign in front of Trixie’s came into view.  

“Are ya ready?” I glanced over at him as he pulled a pistol from his shoulder holster. 

“Yup.” Tiny nodded. I knew he was not the sharpest tool in the shed, but he was a good triggerman. You don’t need too much upstairs if you have to shoot. We had been in some tough spots before. Tiny was a veteran from the Great War and got shrapnel embedded in his shoulder. He never talked much about it. I doubt he remembered much of it anyway.  

It was drizzling when we got out of the car and walked into the place.

“Name?” The guy at the door asked through a peephole.

“I’m Dominic Carlucci and this is Tiny-” He interrupted me.

“Yeah, I know this guy.” He snapped as the door began to open.

“What can I get you guys?” Aaron asked dressed spiffy as if he walked out of the pages of an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel.

“How’s the beer?” Tiny asked, sitting down at the bar.

“Made this afternoon.” Aaron smiled as he pulled the draft handle. 

“Where’s Basil?” I asked as I sat next to Tiny who nearly emptied his glass in one swallow.

“What’s it to ya?” Aaron asked.

“Angel Ferroni sent us to check up on you guys.” I said as I saw a flash of panic cross his face.

“He’s in back doin’ the ledger.” Aaron jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

“Why doncha get him?” I leaned close.

“You got legs. You go get him. I know you know the way.” He raised an eyebrow.

“No, I want you to get him. It’s safer that way.” I whispered into his ear.

“Be right back.” He sneered and walked to the office door.

“When they come in, we are goin’ to open fire.” I instructed Tiny.

“Beer is flat.” He smiled at me.

“Never mind that.” I shook my head. Basil cradled a Tommy gun when he walked it.

“Let ‘em have it.” I pulled my pistol and Tiny did the same. In just a few seconds the air was filled with lead. There were just a few customers in the place, and they dove for cover as glass covered the velvet red carpet. One of my bullets caught Aaron under his chin. He fell limp to the floor. I heard Tiny yelp as I put two bullets into Basil’s chest. Peering over the bar, I saw both Aaron and Basil were goners. Then I heard Tiny groan.

“I got hit, Dom.” He said as blood appeared at the corners of his mouth.

“I know. I know.” My voice strained as I watched the blood soak through his shirt.

“I ain’t gonna make it.” His voice was just a whisper. I could smell the beer on his breath.

“I’m gonna call an ambulance.” I assured him as his eyes rolled to the back of his head and his last breath came out as a single raspy gurgle. I could feel the tears fill my eyes as I let the big man go. He sank to the floor.  

When I went into the office, there was a briefcase filled with money. A lot of money. Both had been skimming off the top. I closed the briefcase with a snap and put it under my arm.

Somewhere on my way home, I began to think about keeping this briefcase filled with Franklins. The more I thought about it, the more I began to suspect Angel Ferroni had set us up. Tiny was gone, but I figured he would tell me to keep the briefcase. I could almost hear him telling me, “Go ahead, Dom, keep the money.” 

By the time I got home, I had figured it was the right thing to do.  

“Evenin’ Mr. Carlucci. I need your rent soon.” Mrs. Mabel Woods, my landlady, reminded me. She was about my mother’s age. She had a kerchief and curlers in her graying hair.

“I’ll have it for you in the morning.” I promised. 

She gave me one of those “I’ll believe it when I see it.” looks as she passed by me in the hallway. Currently I occupied a two-room flat with an efficiency kitchen. I slept on a lumpy Murphy bed. The radiator belched out slightly warm air which she promised her husband Norm would come up to fix it, but that was a year ago. The radiator still made some very alarming clanging and hisses.  

Tonight, I would spread all the money across my mattress and then I would roll in it. Tomorrow, I will put my fifteen dollars for rent in an envelope and slide it under her door. 

I woke to a banging on my door.

“Comin.’” I groaned as I put my feet into my slippers before answering the door.

“I know ya in there, Dominic.” 

My heart froze. It was Frankie Petrocelli. Angel Ferroni sent him to get his money.

“I heard Tiny got rubbed out.” His predominant Brooklyn accent gave him away, but then it didn’t matter. He was at my door to collect the money I had absconded with from Trixie’s.  

He waited a few beats, knocking again before I could get to the door.

“C’mon Frankie, I’m hurrying.” I said, clutching the briefcase.

“C’mon Dominic. I know ya is in there. Angel wants his money. One of the folks at Trixie’s saw you take it after wasting Aaron and Basil. 

“Coming.” I put the briefcase in my only closet under a spare blanket and shut the door.

“Geeze, I ain’t got all day.” He groused. 

I opened the door; he snarled at me through his five o’clock shadow. “Bout time.” 

“I was asleep.” I yawned, “What’s up?”

“Boss wants his money.” He walked in with his head on a swivel. 

“I ain’t got it.” I shrugged after making a quick glance at the closet. 

“One of the crew at Trixie’s identified you. Told me you were the one who took the money.” Frankie sniffed.

“Well, they were wrong.” I shook my head.

“I don’t think so.” He grabbed me by the lapel and pushed me into the wall. “Ya better let me have the money or I’ll have to do bad things to ya.” 

“If I had it, I’d hand it over.” I said as I looked into his cold eyes. I had no doubt he’d kill me if he got the inclination. “I’ve always been square about in my dealings, you know.” 

“Yeah, but under certain circumstances, people have been known to switch loyalties.” He shoved me against the wall again. His jacket fell open just enough to see the pistol in his shoulder holster. There was a sly smile on his face. “We worked together quite a few times. I know you’ve been a straight shooter, but as I said temptation will change a person’s vantage point, I have found.” 

“I lost a friend last night.” I shook my head.

“Yeah, I heard about it.” He tilted his head, “I’m gonna keep an eye on you just cause Angel Ferroni told me to. But for now, I’m just gonna be on my way.” 

He left just like that. I was feeling better about things, but I had the feeling that I needed to move on. I knew Frankie would be back. He might even bring a couple of goons with him the next time. Angel Ferroni had little doubt that I had his money, and he would not hesitate bumping me off to get it.

The next day, I contacted a friend who worked at the morgue. “Benny, have you got any stiffs that has not been identified?” 

“Yeah, I got one who came in earlier in the week. So far no one has made an identification on the stiff.” He said.

“Sounds like a winner.” I nodded, “I’ll be over in a jiffy.”

“What’s the deal?” He asked.

“I’m goin’ underground.” I told him.

“Yeah, that’s where this fella was headed anyway.” Benny chuckled.

With Benny’s help I managed to get him in the back seat of my Caddy. He did have a slightly unpleasant chemical odor, but I figured I could put up with it on the drive home. When I got home, I put the stiff in the passenger’s seat and drove to the docks near Bath Beach. There was one dock that wasn’t guarded, and we used it as a dropping off point from time to time. When I got to the shipyard, it was quiet and deserted just the way I liked it.  

The stiff was already past rigor mortis, and he was hard to move into the driver’s seat. I tucked my wallet into his hip pocket. I knew he died sleeping on a park bench like a lot of the bums did. When I moved him, he let out a fart that stunk up my car. Once he was securely in place, I released the parking brake and my car began a journey to the end of the dock. Once it reached the edge, it continued on into Lower New York Bay. I watched my beautiful Cadillac sink in a million bubbles with the unidentified stiff at the steering wheels. From there I hailed a cab home.

Two days later, the newspapers carried my obituary and the story of my untimely demise. I even attended my funeral. There were so many flowers it was hard to move. I felt a tear in my eyes, but I could not tell if it was sentiment or allergies. 

“Poor Dominic Carlucci.” I heard Angel Ferroni lament. Frankie was seated right next to him.

“Boss, did we ever recover the money?” He asked in a whisper.

“Naw, but we will keep looking.” Angel Ferroni nodded.

“Right.” Frankie agreed.

I remained silent and incognito with the money stashed in a new wall safe in the closet. I never told Mrs. Woods about the safe even though she continued to snoop, knowing I was up to something. After a very touching service at the graveside, I caught a cab home, checking to make sure I was not being followed. I had the cab driver take a couple of detours. Satisfied no one was the wiser, I went to my hovel and packed my bags. In the morning, I made a phone call. 

“Hello, I’d like to make a reservation on an ocean liner.” I called the first travel agency listed in the phone book.

“Where would you like to go?” She asked me.

 I hadn’t considered that. “I don’t know. What would you recommend?”

“Well, I would love to go to Hawaii.” She said with a giggle.

“Hawaii it is.” I snapped my fingers. 

In less than a week, I was standing on the deck of an ocean liner heading toward the Hawaiian Islands in the tropics. I figured I was now past the point of no return. 

I had made a clean getaway. Later when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, I decided to move on in case someone would see me. I moved on to Papua New Guinea avoiding the Japanese Imperial Army. I figured I’d be safe with the headhunters. Then when the war was over, I sailed to Jakarta. Been here ever since. Welcoming weather and cordial people. 

“Well, you certainly have traveled quite a bit, I see.” Father Bagetti nodded. “Are you prepared for your journey ahead?”

“Yes father.” My voice cracked.

He muttered a few words in Latin, I presumed as he made the sign of the cross for the last time.

“May God be with you, my son.” He nodded and turned to leave.

“Don’t worry, I have made plans to return, father.” I smiled.

He turned and his face had gone completely white, devoid of any color at all. It never ceased to amaze me who and what could be done with a little bit of money.