Find Big Fat Fanny Fast (9 page)

Skinny Benny did the driving and before long, they were on South Street, under the FDR Drive, near Market Slip. Skinny Benny parked the Buick with the engine running, sideways, up against the curb of the East River, which was flowing rapidly ten feet below street level.

Without saying a word, Tony B shot The Lunkhead in the side, but before he could put one in The Lunkhead's half-a-brain, The Lunkhead flung open the back door and jumped into the East River.

Tony B and Skinny Benny sped out of the car and looked down into the dark waters below. All they could see was blood and bubbles, but no Lenny the Lunkhead. Thinking the drink had swallowed up The Lunkhead, Tony B and Skinny Benny absconded to Moochies Bar, on the corner of South and Market Slip, to celebrate their accomplishments.

About an hour later, as Tony B and Skinny Benny were about half sloshed, Lenny the Lunkhead staggered through the front door of Moochies, soaking wet and holding his bloody side with both hands.

The Lunkhead screamed at Moochie the owner, who was tending bar. “Quick, call an ambulance. I've been shot.”

Moochie, a dour man, did not suffer fools too well. He looked up at The Lunkhead and said, “There's a pay phone in the back. Call them yourself.”

“I'm busted. Can I borrow a dime?” The Lunkhead said.

Just as Moochie was reaching into the register to get a dime, The Lunkhead spotted Tony B and Skinny Benny seated at the far end of the bar. Moochie turned around with the dime extended, but by then The Lunkhead had already dashed out of the bar, never to be seen again in the Lower East Side of Manhattan.

CHAPTER 9

Two Funerals and a Wedding

Ann was pregnant just a few days when Tony B made up his mind to marry her. He asked. She accepted. End of story.

The hard part was breaking the news to her rat-bastard father, who would not take too kindly to having a Dago for a son-in law. The one thing Tony B and Ann did not tell her father was that she was already pregnant. Tony B figured they would tell her old man they wanted to have a rush wedding because they loved each other so much, which was true anyway, and no one would be the wiser.

Being the Mayor of Greenwood Lake, Ryan O'Reilly chose himself as the minister to marry his beautiful daughter to, as he called Tony B, that slimy Dago pig. O'Reilly figured why pay a clergyman, when you can perform the wedding yourself for free?

Cheap bastard, but more on that later.

Tony B picked Skinny Benny as his best man and Ann picked her slightly chubby cousin Louise, only a tad over two hundred and fifty pounds, as her maid of honor. Both bride and groom decided there was no need for additional bridal party members.

Being the sex maniac that he was, and having a preference for fat women, Skinny Benny wasted no time in seducing Louise in the back seat of Tony B's Caddy. Of course, this forced Tony B to buy a new set of rear end shocks and springs, which he immediately presented the bill for to Skinny Benny.

Skinny Benny scanned the bill. “A room at the Plaza would have been cheaper.”

“So next time, get a room at the Plaza,” Tony B said.

The wedding was set to take place in a clubhouse by a softball field in Greenwood Lake. Not to have his friends and relatives in the city inconvenienced, Tony B rented two buses to take about one hundred people from the corner of Mulberry and Bayard, to the wedding ceremony and reception, fifty-two miles north of New York City. That way Tony B's brood could drink to their heart's content and not have to worry about driving drunk back to the city.

Tony B did make one slight mistake concerning the buses. He loaded up both buses with bottles of booze, wine and beer, which his father Sally Boy dispensed in the first bus with a very heavy hand.  His wife Dria shook her head in disapproval.

“You're getting all the guests drunk before the wedding,” Dria told her husband.

Sally Boy knocked down a scotch, neat. “So what? We've having this wedding in a freaking clubhouse by a softball field, for Christ's sake. Its better our people get sloshed before they even get there.”

“But you're getting fat as a pig with all your eating and drinking. You want to give yourself a heart attack?”

Sally Boy patted his belly. “This is just good living. Now leave me alone. I'm enjoying myself.”

“I hope you have all your life insurance policies paid up.”

Sally Boy took a slug of booze. “What life insurance policies? My estate is all in cash.”

“What cash? I don't even know where you keep all your money.”

“And it's going to stay that way. If you did know where I kept all my money, you might get ideas.”

“I already have ideas,” Dria said. “And they're not good for you.”

The people on the second bus were not quite as drunk as the people on Sally Boy's bus, because Richie Ratface, the buses' designated bartender, did not operate as quickly, or as efficiently as Sally Boy. And he had a much lighter hand.

By the time the two buses arrived at the clubhouse by the Greenwood Lake softball field, some people were already slightly drunk. Others could barely make it down the steps of the bus.

As the father of the bride, it was also Ryan O'Reilly job to pick up the tab for the wedding. Keeping true to his cheap bastard form, he spent as little as possible, so the wedding and wedding reception itself, looked more like a high school prom, with older people. In some cases, much older people.

Tony B and Ann were married on the clubhouse stage, where just a week before, there had been a high school rendition of Damn Yankees.

When O'Reilly's booming voice said, “And I pronounce you man and wife,” there was polite applause from the O'Reilly contingent. But Tony B's group from New York City let out a roar, like one heard in Yankee Stadium after Mickey Mantle hit a tape-measure home run.

There was no waiter service for wedding dinner, so the attendees got their food from a buffet table, lined with trays of cold cuts, sliced bread, potato salad and a lousy cold slaw.

Sally Boy was not amused. He turned to his wife, who was munching on a corned beef on rye. “What kind of freaking wedding is this? No pasta. No meatballs. No freaking baked ziti. Or even a platter of chicken parmigiana.”

Dria spoke without looking up from her sandwich. “Stop complaining. I told you should have volunteered to pick up the tab for the reception.”

Sally Boy's face turned red. “Screw that. That was the Mick bastard's job. Not mine. At least the donkey creep should have served some steak, or lobster. Or maybe even some shrimp.”

“Shut up and eat,” she said.

After about two hours of dancing to the four-piece Greenwood Lake Um Pa Pa Band, Tony B's group started to have a pretty good time. While the band was playing “The Beer Barrel Polka,” which sounded like every other song the band had already played, Skinny Benny decided he had had just about enough. He sauntered on shaky legs up to the bandleader, who was blowing away on his trumpet. Skinny Benny slipped him a ten spot. “You know any rock and roll? Like Elvis, or something?”

In mid-note, the band leader silenced the band with a wave of his trumpet and started playing “Jailhouse Rock.” After a few bars, Skinny Benny grabbed the bandleader's trumpet. “Not a good idea. Some guys here might take that personal.”

The bandleader took the cue and started playing “Don't be Cruel,” which suited Skinny Benny just fine.

A few songs later, and Tony B was shocked to see the band was packing up their instruments.

He hurried over to the bandleader. “What's with you guys? Why are you leaving?”

The bandleader put his trumpet into its case. “Because O'Reilly only paid us for two hours. He said that would be enough.”

Tony B rushed over to where Ann was sitting with Betty. He stared darts at Betty. “Your cheap bastard husband only paid for the band to stay for two hours. My people came all the way from New York City and they're just getting warmed up.”

Betty rushed over to her husband, who had his arms around a young blond from Tony B's New York City crew. “You miserable cheap bastard! The band's leaving and these people came all the way from New York City.”

O'Reilly squeezed the blond tighter. “Screw those Guinea bastards.” He pinched the
blonde’s
cheek. “Besides, I have other plans anyway.”

Out of nowhere, Sally Boy rushed to the table, his fat belly proceeding him by about two seconds. Without saying a word, he pushed the blond out of the way and cold-cocked O'Reilly with a clubbing overhand right. O'Reilly eyes rolled in his face and he fell backwards off the chair, hitting his head on the floor. Blood gushed from a huge cut on the back of his head.

A hush came over the wedding party. Betty screamed, “Is there a doctor in the house?”

Old Dr. Depasquale, who had his office on Canal Street, staggered over to where O'Reilly lay motionless. He knelt down and felt his wrist for a pulse. Then he put his forefinger to the side O'Reilly's neck.

Zippo. Nothing. Nada. Neggits.

Dr. Depasquale slowing forced himself to his feet. “I'm sorry, but this man is dead.”

As soon as the words came out of Dr. DePasquale's mouth, Sally Boy clutched his chest, moaned, then fell face-first to the floor, right next to O'Reilly.

Dr. Depasqule bent down again and rolled Sally Boy over onto his back. After a few seconds of examination, he stood up and told the crowd, “Sally Boy is dead too.”

Ungodly moans, and ear-splitting screams and screeches emanated from the crowd. In seconds, a festive party had turned into an Italian wake at it's worse. Dria hugged Betty and Ann hugged the both of them. People from both New York City and Greenwood Lake stood stunned, as the three women expelled sounds usually heard in the Bronx Zoo. Tony B stood paralyzed, not knowing what to do. His face was as white as his wife's wedding dress.

Thinking fast, Skinny Benny ran towards the band, who had stopped packing up their instruments and were just standing there with slack jaws. He pulled a roll from his pocket and gave the bandleader five twenty-dollar bills. “Just keep playing until this money runs out. Then let me know and I'll stake you some more.”

“What do you want us to play?” The bandleader said.

“Anything fast and cheerful. Get the crowd moving.”

The bandleader whispered something to the band. Then the music started. The bandleader sang:

Come on,

Clap your hands in the air

And follow the music man!

I am the music man

I come from down your way

And I can play

What can you play?

I play piano

The piano player started playing, while the bandleader continued
singing:

Pia-pia-pia-no

Pia-no pia-no

Pia-pia-pia-no

Pia-pia-no

I am the music man
I come from down your way

And I can play

What can you play?

I play the trumpet

The bandleader played the trumpet while the piano player sang:

Umpa-umpa-um-pa-pa

Um-pa-pa um-pa-pa

Umpa-umpa-um-pa-pa

Umpa-um-pa-pa

Like Zombies rising from the dead, the aggrieved people started gravitating towards the dance floor. The Greenwood Lake contingent started dancing the Polka, while the Italians from New York City did the Tarantella to
the same music. They had all become oblivious to the two dead bodies laying on the floor.

Betty and Dria stood sobbing over their husbands, while Tony B held Ann tight.

Tony B whispered into Ann's ear. “A wedding, a murder and a heart attack. All in one night. Who would have believed it?”

Skinny Benny came over to the newlyweds. He whispered into Tony B's ear. “Hey, at least your old man didn't get arrested for manslaughter, or maybe even worse. About two hundred people witnessed the murder. No way he was beating that rap.”

Tony B nodded. “True. His lawyers would have taken him to the cleaners and he still would have had to do big time in the can.”

Skinny Benny made the sign of the cross. “Thank God for little favors.”

Betty and Dria stood hugging each other, both crying loudly.

Betty stopped crying first. She took out a handkerchief and blew her nose. “What am I going to do? How am I going to bury my husband? He didn't even have a life insurance policy?”

Dria wiped the tears from both eyes. “Neither did mine.”

“But your husband was a big man,” Betty said. “He must have left you plenty of money to get on with your life.”

“Oh, he left me with plenty of money alright,” Dria said. “Now if only I can find out where the hell he hid all his money, I might be able to pay my bills.”

“What about me?” Betty said. “My husband didn't have two nickels to rub together.”

“Don't worry. Me and my son will take care of you. You're family now.” Dria wiped another tear running down her cheek. Then her face turned mean. “On Monday, we have to pay a visit to someone in the know. My husband's scumbag lawyer. He better say all the right things, or else my son's not going to be too nice to him.