25 years after the letter, 1950...
Enzo ‘The Brick’ De Luca, “just call me Zo, you sound like my mutha.”
“It’s ‘mother’ you illiterate prick.”
“Yeah yeah can we get on with this, my girl is making her famous stromboli and would hate it if I were late.”
“Fine.”
The officer turns on a recording device and proceeds with the interrogation. “Why do they call you ‘The Brick’ De Luca?”
Zo shows a little smirk and proceeds to answer the question as if he loves delivering the answer. “They call me the brick because in high school I hit a kid over the head with a break for calling my friend a bad word.”
“Ah, and would that friend be Angelo Scaletta, or ‘The Big Deuce’ as the streets call him?”
Zo began to get uneasy, he realized where the conversation was going, but he’d been in this position before. “Uh yeah Deuce is the friend in question, sir” he says in the most sarcastic way he can to prove his defiant point.
“So, how was it that you became to know Mr. Scaletta?”
“Well that’s a story within itself isn’t it, an origin for the decade right? You know I haven’t gotten my one phone call yet, or is that only in the movies detective?”
“Just answer the question De Luca, I also have a family to go to pal and I’m not in the mood.”
“Oh right, Margrett right? 1206 West Clay Street Manhattan New York?”
The detective immediately hopped to his feet grabbing Zo’s collar in the same motion pressing him against the brick wall of the interrogation room. “Is that a threat you sniveling bastard?! I swear to God if it is I have a .45 pointing toward your gut and slew of cops who would back up a self defense story!"
“Woah, woah take it easy top cop, I’m just trying to get my phone call that’s all” Zo says with a grin but a sense of fear, as if he’s second guessing his choice to throw that open ended threat.
“You answer my question first De Luca, then you get your call, and no more mouthing off or so help me God I have a bullet with your name on it.” The detective lets go of Zo and straightens out his collar, motions him to sit and returns to his own seat.
“That’s more like it, a little respect from New York’s finest is much appreciated top cop. So, if I may, It was 1940 at P.S. 45 at lunch and some scumbag was calling the new kid uh, names that quite frankly get under my skin..."
To be continued, maybe, probably, for sure...
