So you wanna know how I became a gangster? And I'm not talking some Moulinyan or Spick with a semiautomatic machine gun. I'm talking the kind of guy who walks into a room and everyone else starts to whisper. I’m talking a real gangster, an Italian gangster.
It all started my senior year of college. I was twenty-two and on course to graduate. In four years mind you, with a finance degree from the business school at Rutgers. My dream was to become a suave business man. Who am I you ask? I'm Michael Davola, a full blooded Italian but not your typical Guido.
My life was nothing special, three point eight GPA, dean's list of course. No girlfriend at the time just an over protective single mother. My pops had always been drunk when I was younger. He worked the night shift at some manufacturing plant and slept most of the time when he was home. On his days off he was usually down at the corner bar, so I didn’t really care when my Mom through him out on his ass for good.
My mother worked hard, she held down two jobs to provide a nice home life for me. Even with little money she always made sure the holidays were still special, especially Christmas. With her working so often I used my time to study and read. I loved to read books, murder mysteries, history, or fantasy it didn’t matter to me. I became a great student and that is how I got to where I am now. A full academic ride to the Rutgers University in New Brunswick New Jersey.
A typical Friday night for me involved a rented movie and a freshly delivered, authentic Italian only, pizza from the neighborhood joint by my house. But, to be honest the cook was a Puerto Rican guy so it wasn't all that authentic. I liked it when they cut the thin pies into squares instead of slices; I wasn’t much of a slice folder. Anyways, back to my point, I was just a boring guy living in New Jersey but that all changed the day he responded to the roommate ad I placed in the school newspaper.
----- Monday - November 24, 2008 -----
Michael stepped up to place his order; he hadn’t eaten a thing all day. “Two slices and a coke for here please,” he said. He noticed the cook was pulling a fresh pizza from the oven. “And um, can you cut that fresh pie into squares by any chance?”
“What the hell kid you want Sicilian?” the pizza cashier asked. “Cause you pointed to the regular cheese.”
“Never mind, can I get a fork and knife as well.”
“Sure thing kid,” replied the cashier as he rang up the order. “Five bucks even.” He turned around and pulled two slices of pizza from the tray and grabbed a twelve-ounce can of coke. He placed the order on the counter with some plastic utensils and took the five-dollar bill from Michael. “Thanks, come again.”
Michael grabbed his food and walked over to one of the little two person tables that surrounded the pizza parlor. He would have been happier getting delivery from the place next to his apartment. They always cut his pizza into perfect squares; he didn’t even have to ask anymore. He decided to stop complaining and make do with the flimsy plastic fork and spoon. He had a more important task anyway, his sole reason for being at this particular restaurant so close to campus.
It happened only minutes earlier. He was walking the two-mile trek to his apartment when he noticed her. She was sitting at a table alone, reading from her business management textbook. It was Michael’s favorite class to attend but mainly because of her, Heather Farrell, she sat right in front of him. Well not exactly in front of him. It was more like he sat somewhere near her no matter which seat she chose. Doubtful that she had even noticed, which he assumed was a good thing. He didn’t want to come off too creepy.
