CHAPTER THREE
810 Words
CHAPTER THREE
WHERE TO NOW, BOYS?" Joe Zumbaglio, otherwise known as Joey Zoom, asked as he slowly drove the van up and down the city streets. Skinny, with sagging cheeks and gnarled hands, he was seventy-five and the only one who still had a valid California driver’s license—sort of. In case they got stopped, they didn’t want to take any chances. The driver’s license gave his name as Hiram Bernstein.
"I think we should’a stayed downtown." Lorenzo the Slug scratched his fake beard. He used to be called the Slug because he was so good with his fists—a slugger. Now, though, it was because he had to stop at a bathroom every thirty minutes so it took him forever, slug-like, to get from one place to another. That was also why the others let him ride shotgun next to Joey Zoom. He could get in and out of the van easily and no one had to sit next to him if they didn't find a john in time. Nobody told Lorenzo that, but let him think he was the same strong pugilist as ever. That was the thing about the crazy names the guys gave each other, they were for fun, honor, and at times, a surprising amount of affection.
"Three women handed me money," Lorenzo continued, his brows thick with tangled white strands. "I was just standin’ there, too. Wish I’da known how easy it was to make a buck wearin’ a Santa suit. Woulda saved me a lotta trouble."
"What? You gotta pot 'a rubble?" Frankie Vines shouted. "What you gonna do wit' rubble?" Frankie didn't have a nickname. They tried to call him Frankie the Ear because of his obvious difficulties, but he thought they said Frankie the Beer and went on a toot that lasted three years.
As usual, everyone ignored him.
"How was we supposed to know everything’s changed so much?" Lorenzo asked. "Who woulda thought Big Leo retired? I was countin' on him to help!"
"I told you I heard he died," Peewee Carducci whined in a high voice. He had a long narrow face and oversized ears that jutted out like wings under his Santa hat.
"Naw, Big Leo didn't die," Lorenzo said confidently, his scrawny Santa suit-clad chest puffed out. "We’ll find him and get him to help. He knows everything, and if he don’t wanna help, we’ll make sure he remembers who he’s dealing with."
"He don’t remember nothing if he’s dead," Peewee muttered.
"Who's Fred?" Frankie, formerly "the Ear," shouted.
"Maybe he’s got alkaselzer," Guido Cucumber piped up. He was called that because of his love for antipasti, but he liked to brag that it was for another reason. Guido was round with a big belly, a jowly face and thick ankles that seemed to ooze over his shoes. "You know, that memory thing. Like Ronald Reagan had."
"Yeah, and maybe he thinks he’s president, too," Joey Zoom remarked with a sneer. "Time’s wasting. We gotta find him and take care of business. After that, maybe we should call Richie. Who’s got his number?"
All were silent, but then two of the Santas were asleep, four had turned off their hearing aids, and two were too busy looking out the window to pay any attention to the conversation.
"Well, somebody’s gotta have it," Joey Zoom muttered.
"At least we got ridda him," the Cucumber said, tugging on the Santa suit around his thick thighs where the material was cutting into his circulation. "And Joey Zoom still has his stuff." He high-fived the Santa next to him so hard that poor old Joey Aces, former card shark, fell off the seat. Six of the Santas were named Joe, which made things confusing sometime.
"Try North Beach," Lorenzo the Slug said. "That’s where all the paisans hang out. And I gotta use a bathroom. Somebody there'll know how to find Big Leo." Everyone agreed.
As they drove by St. Francis of Assisi, they saw an elderly woman dressed in black step out of the church. She appeared confused, as if she wasn’t sure which way to go.
Joey Zoom slowed way down, concerned about her, when two young men walked by. One of them grabbed her purse. She hung on tight and fell to the ground, but he yanked it hard and ran off with his buddy.
The van roared to life. Joey bore down on the thieves.
The young men angled right and so did the van. Pedestrians jumped out of the way; city trash bins flew. The guys turned down a narrow side street only to discover it dead-ended. High-pitched girly screams mixed with the squeal of brakes. The van stopped just in time. Six more inches and the assailants would have been spending Christmas in purgatory … or worse.
Lorenzo jumped out, snatched the purse from the dumbfounded muggers who gawked in disbelief at the van of ancient Santas.
"Don’t mess with little old ladies," Lorenzo yelled from the passenger seat as Joey Zoom backed the van out of the alley. "Or, with Santa Claus!"
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