After you get the food, give 'em your notice. Nobody moonlights anymore. This ain't the fuggin' merchant marine I'm runnin' here."
When the food came, Don Carmine Imbruglia took one look at the pizza and went white with rage.
"What the fug is this? Where's the tomato sauce? And the cheese? Don't they have cows up here? Look at that crust. This fuggin' pie is all crust."
"That's how they do pizzas up here. Taste it. You might like it."
Carmine tore off the point of one dripping slice with his teeth. He spat it out again.
"Tastes like cardboard!" he said between explosions of dry crust.
"Sorry. Have some vino," said Bruno the Chef, pouring.
Carmine waved him away. "I can always drink later. I'm hungry." He lifted a cannoli to his mouth. He bit down. The brittle shell cracked apart. He tasted the sickly green filling.
And promptly spat it on the linoleum floor.
"What'd they fill these things with-used toothpaste?"
"This is Boston, boss. It's not like New York. They do things a little different up here."
"They don't do them good at all! Get rid of this junk and get me some real food."
"What kind?"
Don Carmine jerked a thumb at the heavy black stove.
"You're the fuggin' chef. Fuggin' surprise me."
Over a puffy calzone bursting with pinkish-gray tentacles salvaged from the pizza, Don Carmine began to feel better about Boston.
"So where are my soldiers?" he asked, shoving a rubbery tendril of squid into his mouth with a greasy thumb.
"I'm it."
Carmine's apish jaw dropped. The tentacle slithered back onto the plate. "Where's the rest of my fuggin' crew?" he demanded hotly.
"Dead or in jail. Rico."
"Them fuggin' Puerto Ricans are everywhere. Hey, what am I worried about? I can make guys now. I'm a fuggin' don. I'm absolute boss of Boston. I need soldiers, I'll just make 'em."
I know some guys. Vinnie the Maggot. Bugs. Toe Biter-" Carmine's face assumed a doubtful expression. "With names like those, make sure they got all their shots before you bring 'em around," he said. "Got that?"
At that moment the phone rang.
As Don Carmine resumed his meal, Chef Boyardi went to answer the phone.
"This squid tastes a little gamy," Don Carmine muttered. "You sure they didn't stick you with octopus?"
"I asked for squid."
"Tastes like fuggin' octopus."
"Yeah?" Bruno (The Chef) Boyardi said into the telephone. "Yeah, he is. Boss, it's for you." The Chef clapped a hand over the ancient black Bakelite mouthpiece. "It's Don Fiavorante."
Carmine grabbed the phone.
"Hello?" he said through a mouthful of tentacular matter.
"Don Carmine. How is my friend this day?" came Don Fiavorante's smooth-as-suntan-oil voice.
"It's great up here," Carmine lied. "Really wonderful."
"You have seen the computer?"
"Yeah, yeah. Nice. Appreciate it. Always wanted one of my own."
"Good, good. You will need it to keep track of your rent payments. "
Carmine stopped chewing. "Rent?"
"Rent is due Friday. Every Friday you must pay me twenty thousand dollars for the privilege of running Boston."
Don Carmine gulped. "I may need a few weeks to get on the ball here-" ,
"Every Friday. The next Friday is two days from now."
"But I don't got that kind of money. I just got here!"
"If you cannot pay me twenty thousand dollars on this first Friday," said Don Fiavorante, "I will understand."
"That's good, because I barely blew into town."
"However, if you cannot pay your first week's rent, then you must pay me forty thousand on the following Friday."
"Forty!"
"Plus, of course, your second week's rent of twenty thousand dollars."
"But that's sixty thousand bucks!" exploded Don Carmine Imbruglia. He wiped spittle off the mouthpiece with his sleeve.
"And if you cannot pay on the second Friday, that, too, I will understand. So on the following Friday after that, your combined rent will be, for the first two Fridays, eighty thousand dollars. Plus of course the third-Friday rent."
Don Carmine felt the room spinning. He had never seen that kind of money in his entire life. "What if I can't pay on the third Friday?" he wailed.
"This is not done, and I know you will not fail to repay the trust I have placed in you, Don Carmine, my good friend, to whom I owe my current high estate."