Stefi

His mama called him "Stefi", short for Stefano. She never learned to speak English, but that was hardly necessary as an Italian immigrant in 1930s New York city. All their neighbors spoke Italian, and the ones that didn't weren't worth talking to anyway. Home was a Mott Street apartment building. When you got down the stairs to the ground floor there was a butcher shop on one side, and a mortuary on the other. To your left they're wrapping up some fresh cut beef, and on the right someone's crying their eyes out.

The local Mafia ran a gambling circuit in the neighborhood -- nothing sinister, just a fun game called Frogger for the ladies. All the women would write their numbers down on a paper, and send those papers off with their money for the pot. If their numbers on their papers matched the day's lucky numbers, then they won the pot!

The police in the neighborhood were always on the lookout, but for the life of them they couldn't figure out how the bets and papers all made it to the mafia… None of the neighborhood ladies left home in the afternoons. Who could, with all the washing to take care of and pasta to be made?

Stefi was a runner. He'd watch his mother fiddle with her pencil, scribbling down numbers thoughtfully, erasing them, trying again. Then finally, with a determined and decisive air, she'd rip the page from her little black leather bound notebook, and fold it, carefully into a small square. Stefi took it from her, popped it in his mouth and tucked it neatly into his cheek. She'd hand him 5 cents, then, off he'd go, running down the street. Three or four other boys all did the same, silently running at top speed down the street, their mouths full. They'd drop off the papers and money, then head of to the next house. Every lady in the neighborhood had a paper and 5 cents.

Stefi dropped off his last papers and waited around. It was an odd game. He was only 6 years old, so he hardly understood it. The big men would put all the money in a basket, except for 50 cents. Then, they would choose one of the papers from the pile to be the winner. Stefi, or one of the other boys, would go tell that lady she won, and she would come collect her 50 cents.

The prize was always 50 cents, no matter how many ladies placed bets. The winner was always told, "Don't tell nobody how much you won this time… don't want 'em to get jealous when their prize ain't so big as yours!"

Stefi really didn't understand the rules.

This particular day was different. All the big men were in a fight when Stefi got there.

"What do you mean, you don't know what to do with it? We got to take it downtown!"

The room heated quickly.

"Downtown? There's cops crawling all over the joint! Looking for guys like us, with briefcases full of cash! We'll never get through!"

Stefi turned, heading for the door. There were hushed whispers behind him.

"Hey! Taxi!"

He halted. Everyone called him Taxi on account of his ears, which stuck out like taxi doors. He turned around.

"You wanna do us a favor, kid? We need someone to carry a briefcase downtown. You up to it? You'll get some cash… a whole dollar!"

Before he knew it, Stefi was headed down the street, carrying a briefcase full of twenty thousand dollars! He could hardly imagine that much cash! But he would have a whole dollar of his own. That was so many nickels… and a nickel bought all kinds of things. He was going to buy a train set. That much was sure.

He rushed down the street. He had to get to the second avenue trolley stop. That's where he was supposed to give the case to someone who would say a password. It was easy.

Stefi made his way down the street and up the next. It wasn't really that far. But he was pretty tired.

"Hey kid! You in a rush? What you got there?"

Stefi recognized the voice of one of the neighborhood beat cops. He pretended not to hear.

"Stefano. I know it's you. What you got?"

He loitered for a moment.

"Go on home, Stefano."

Without hesitation, Stefi turned around and headed back towards his apartment on Mott Street.

He got a little ways down the street, then turned around.

"There's a bunch of big guys in there that stole a lotta money!"

He said. The cop turned around.

"What?"

"In the back of Monnelis Deli. They're fighting'. They told me to go take this case downtown… but I don't want to. Can you take--"

"Go home, kid. I'll look into it."

"But--" the cop waved his hand toward Mott Street.

"Just go home!"

Later that night Stefi sat on his bed, looking down into the briefcase. All that cash!

He couldn't keep it… what if someone came looking?

He closed the case quietly and crept down the stairs. The butcher shop was closed. The mortuary door was open. He quietly entered and approached one of the caskets. He opened it softly. The body inside didn't scare him all that much. He stuffed the briefcase in, down by the feet, closed by the casket, and went back up stairs.

The next morning he woke up and went right down to the mortuary to get the case from its hiding spot. But the casket was gone! They must have taken it to be buried already.

He went back upstairs, dragging his feet.

"Stefi! You know the whole operation was blown last night? All the boys are in jail!” His mother cried, waving a wooden spoon around. “They robbed a bank. Cops still can't find the cash… but I heard that the mafia thinks the cops got the money already! What a mess! If only I could find that cash!"

Stefi sat down in a slump and sighed.

"What's for breakfast?" he asked.