Zeke was driving, Mickey was in the passenger seat. His arms wrapped around a package, ten inches by six inches by four inches. Zeke glanced over, “Any address on the package?” asked Zeke.
Mickey looked at it. “All the address says is P.O 191, 273 Court Street, Brockton, Mass 02302. That’s all. Can I shake it?”
“You crazy, Mickey. What if it is a bomb from one of Tony’s competitors?”
Mickey’s eyes widened as big as saucers. He bent over and pressed his chest against the package. “Slow down. If we crash we’re going be blown up. Why didn’t you tell me there was a bomb in the package. We’re going to die, Zeke. I can feel it. It’s going to hurt like hell when it happens,” said Mickey.
“I didn’t say there was a bomb in there, Mickey. I said maybe there’s a bomb in there. I don’t think there is a bomb in there because Tony said to hold the package for him until he was ready to collect it.”
Mickey breathed a sigh of relief. He straightened up. He said, “I could use a beer after that close call. You know how they say your life flashes in front of you when you’re going to die. Mine flashed in front of me and I saw the white light too. I guess I’m not ready to die.”
Zeke didn’t want to travel down that path, “It was a close call. Let’s go over to Marzelli’s and grab a sub. If he doesn’t sell beers, we’ll take our subs to go and pick up a six pack.”
“You got all the good ideas, Zeke. Your brain works faster than a forklift,” said Mickey putting his hear to the package. He added, “I don’t hear no ticking. So, I think you are right, it’s not a bomb. You think we should take the package by Nonna after we have our sub and beer? Maybe she can use her inner eye to tell us what’s in it.”
Zeke turned left onto Warren Ave. “This is the Puerto Rican neighborhood. Know how you can tell?”
“How?” asked Mickey.
“Just look out the window. That’s all you see is Puerto Ricans,” said Zeke.
“I know a Puerto Rican, Julio. He’s a nice guy. He took me to a chicken fight one time and I won ten bucks. Julio taught me how to pick out a tough chicken,” said Mickey.
“How come I never met Julio? You never told me about the chicken fights,” said Zeke.
“The cops raided it the next night. Julio got arrested and since he had priors he’s doing five to ten at Cedar Junction. It’s too bad. Think about it, no body complains when they kill chicken and eat it. I call that murder. That’s different than assault. Besides, Julio was not doing the assaulting. It was the chickens doing the assaulting,” said Mickey.
Zeke tried to respond. His brain refused to send a signal to his mouth. He nodded his head and pointed to Marzelli’s. It was packed. He pulled into his reserved spot. The one in front of the fire hydrant. He got out of the car. Mickey got out still clutching the package. The boys walked into Marzelli’s ordered a large meatball sub and a large Philly cheese steak sub and two beers. They took their orders and sat in the only empty booth. Zeke sat facing the door. Mickey placed the package on the seat next to him and faced the window.
“This meatball sub is good. It’s really good. Marzelli should franchise. How’s the Philly cheese steak. Maybe I shoulda got that. I haven’t had one since I went to the Pats game with you last September,” said Mickey.
“The best one I ever had. I like the idea of going back to Nonna. Maybe she’s done with making a curse. I was thinking what if there is a million dollars in this package and we’re carrying it around,” said Zeke.
“Can I peek?” asked Mickey.
Will the boys succumb to the temptation to look inside the package? What will Nonna advise them to do?