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out,’ he said slowly.

‘Smart,’ the man said, picking up a pack of cigarettes from the counter and breaking the seal. ‘My boss likes smart ones who don’t give him no trouble.’

‘Who’s your boss?’ he asked, although he was pretty sure he already knew.

‘Ain’t that a stupid question,’ the man said, shaking out a cigarette.

‘Vito Giovanni,’ Michael blurted out. ‘An’ I’d like to meet him.’

‘A punk like you?’ the man said, snorting his amusement. ‘Forget it.’

But he didn’t forget it, and a few weeks later when he and Polly were snogging in the back of the movie house, he was excited to observe the entrance of Vito Giovanni, surrounded by several henchmen and his brassy blonde wife.

He quickly shoved Polly’s hand out of his crotch. ‘Quit it,’ he said tersely.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, quite put out.

‘You see that guy sittin’ over there?’ he said, leaning forward to get a better look. ‘That’s Mr Big.’

‘Mr Big?’ she sneered. ‘What does that mean?’

‘He’s the man who runs this neighbourhood.’

‘What is he? The mayor or something?’

‘No,’ Michael said impatiently. ‘He’s Vito Giovanni.’

At last she got it. ‘The Mob guy?’ she asked curiously, her interest piqued.

‘Not so much a Mob guy as a man who does things his way,’ Michael explained.

‘And what way is that?’ she asked, tilting her head.

‘Any way he wants.’

The movie playing was The Birdman of Alcatraz, starring Burt Lancaster. Suddenly he’d lost all interest in seeing it. All he could think about was that sitting a few rows in front of him was Vito Giovanni, and he was desperate to meet him. Ever since he was a kid he’d heard stories about the man who ruled the neighbourhood. Vito Giovanni was rich. He was powerful. He was everything Michael aspired to be.

The movie started and Polly obviously expected the usual goings-on in the back row, but he wasn’t in the mood to touch her: he had more important things on his mind.

‘What’s with you?’ she asked, after a few minutes.

‘I wanna see this movie,’ he lied. ‘Do you mind if I concentrate for once?’

‘Sorry,’ she drawled sarcastically. ‘Didn’t know we came to the flicks to actually see the film.’

‘Thought you liked Burt Lancaster.’

‘Wouldn’t kick him out of bed,’ she admitted, with a sly giggle.

As soon as the movie finished, Michael was on his feet, standing in the aisle just as Vito Giovanni and his entourage were about to pass.

‘Excuse me, Mr Giovanni,’ he said, blocking the way of the short, heavy-set man who was famous for favouring cashmere overcoats and flowing white silk scarves.

‘Out the way, punk,’ one of his bodyguards said, shoving him aside.

‘All I wanted t’do was meet him,’ Michael said indignantly, almost losing his balance.

‘Get lost,’ the henchman growled, as the group moved on.

The following day Mrs Giovanni walked into the shop. Michael recognized her immediately. She looked like an overblown Hollywood starlet, with her teased blonde hair and enormous bosom. She was wearing a skin-tight white dress, and was accompanied by her Cousin Roy, who stood outside the shop smoking a cigarette.

She sauntered over to Michael and came right to the point. ‘You Vinny Castellino’s kid?’

‘Uh…that’s right,’ he said, trying not to stare at her big breasts.

‘What didya wanna talk to my husband about?’

‘I pay him protection,’ Michael said, startled by her visit, ‘so I kinda figured we should meet.’

She threw back her head and roared with laughter. ‘You’re a ballsy little one, aintcha?’

‘Not so little,’ he answered boldly.

‘You look like Vinny,’ she said, squinting at him through heavily mascaraed eyes. ‘And you got a mouth, which is more than I can say for him.’

‘Where d’you know my dad from?’ he asked, quite shocked that she’d mentioned Vinny by name.

‘It was a long time ago,’ she said, thoroughly checking him out. ‘How old’re you anyway?’

‘Twenty.’

She gave a derisive laugh. ‘No way, sonny.’

‘Nineteen,’ he lied.

‘Try seventeen,’ she said, tapping her long red nails on the counter. ‘Am I right?’

‘Maybe,’ he answered cagily.

‘Yeah, I’m right,’ she said, very sure of herself.

‘How well didya know my dad?’

‘Well enough,’ she replied, with a secretive wink. ‘If you get my drift.’

‘An’ my mom, didya know her too?’

‘Oh–her,’ she said, dismissively. ‘Wasn’t good enough for your old man. He dragged her over from Italy on account of the fact that he knocked her up. I guess you was the bun in her hot little oven.’

Michael stared at her, trying to decide what to make of this flashy blonde woman with her huge breasts and disrespectful attitude.

‘Okay, kiddo,’ she said, smoothing down her short skirt. ‘Why don’t you come see Mr Giovanni tomorrow, two o’clock? I’ll make sure he gives you the time of day. Oh, yeah,’ she added, turning on her way out, ‘an’ you can tell Vinny that Mamie says hello.’

‘Mamie?’

‘That’s my name, honeybunch.’

‘I’ll tell him.’

‘Sorry he’s stuck in a wheelchair,’ she said, hesitating for a moment. ‘Only that’s what you get when you choose the wrong path, ain’t it?’

‘Huh?’

‘No big deal,’ she said. ‘Vinny’s the loser. I’m the winner.’

‘My dad’s not a loser,’ Michael said, quickly defending Vinny, because family was family and he didn’t want to come across as disloyal.

‘Have it your way,’ she said, pausing to lick her jammy lips. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. An’ you’d better not be late. I got no patience, sonny.’

Then she was gone.

Michael was excited, he couldn’t wait to question his dad. How come Vinny had never mentioned he knew the wife of the most important and powerful man in the neighbourhood? Even cooler than that, he now had an appointment to meet with Vito Giovanni, and who knew what that would lead to?

Vinny was watching Ben Casey on TV when Michael finally got home. Grandma Lani was sitting in an armchair, fast asleep, her head lolling to one side.

He circled his dad. ‘Who’s Mamie?’ he demanded, tapping him on the shoulder.

‘What?’ Vinny said, looking up and frowning.

‘Mamie. Mrs Giovanni,’ he said impatiently. ‘She claims she knows you. Says she even knew Mom.’

‘What’re you doin’, mixing with people like that?’ Vinny demanded, his

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