I focused on the shiny new Gran Torino I was about to have all to myself. I imagined the highways opening wide for me, like the actor Steve McQueen in Bullitt, dealing out justice from behind the wheel. Except that was a Mustang Steve McQueen drove. Well, I could have one too one day, but for now the Gran Torino would do. And if they let me keep it, who knows how much * I could get around here.
“You want me to drive the Torino for you, no?” I asked as I dared to stand up. With my sudden move, I heard one of his men chamber a shell into his shotgun. My employer motioned to them it was okay and smiled wildly at me.
“Oh. That’s not what you will be driving,” he stated. He had his men pull the plastic down from around another car. This one had a Jersey license plate too, but was quite different.
“A Country Squire,” I muttered aloud as I grimaced over what I was being shown. It was an old station wagon. Not a new Gran Torino, but a fucking station wagon, complete with wood panels along the sides. It was like something you’d see on The Brady Bunch for all those fuckin’ California kids and their stupid dog. But even theirs looked better than this monstrosity.
“That. That is what you will be driving for us, Al.” He cackled gleefully as he let a puff of cigar smoke blow into my face. “It’s good, no?”
“But . . . I don’t understand, sir,” I began as respectfully as I could. This had to be a joke. “It’s a station wagon. I will look like a fool.”
“What? You thought we would let you go out there in a flashy racecar? You are already too flashy with your pretty hair and gold chains. We’re sending you to deal with the head Italians, but not in a car that will attract the attention of the police or this new DEA.”
“What do you mean, sending me?” I questioned, no longer hiding my annoyance. Reckless, I know. “I thought I was making a normal run.”
“Oh, you are, Al. We’re delivering a healthy sample of our best crop to the Mafia in New York. You will be in charge of getting the shipment to Sal Dash, a low level lieutenant with their families, as an overture for future cooperation.”
“Why me?” I asked, genuinely stunned by the responsibility I was being given, but at the same time bursting with pride.
Neither Manny nor his cousin had said a thing since we arrived. Instead they stood off to the side as if deaf. I guess they knew better than to give me a heads up.
“We’ve been watching you, Al,” he answered, motioning for me to sit back down. I quickly complied. “We’ve seen you in the discos, and we see how easily you can blend in with any group. Manny says you are a charmer, so you can bullshit your way out of certain situations.”
“Well, I do what I can.” I smiled, suddenly feeling my normal confidence return.
“The families in New York don’t know about our venture. These are delicate times as we try to branch into the Northeast, which they control. And if the Northeast Italians discover us encroaching on their territory, it will be unfortunate . . . for you. Understand?”
“I . . . I don’t know about this,” I mumbled, no longer comfortable or as confident about my latest job opportunity as when I strutted in there. But I had parents and sisters that I helped to support. They depended on the money I made to keep my sisters in school and not working in some sweatshop. As much as I feared the road ahead, the idea of winding up another mouth to feed worried me more.
“So, you think you can handle it, or do we need to get another man for the job?” his voice thundered, as he questioned my ability to handle the assignment.
“I will return from New York with every dime you’ve been promised,” I swore to the men who were now watching me too closely.
“Good, because to disappoint us would prove fatal,” my boss assured me, his tone steel and ice.
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