The Jersey Wars

Chapter 12 - Answers

April 1989

Rah, Big E, and I sat in the back of the stretch limo flanked by our consiglieres: Ray Squared, Regula Lew, and Tre respectively. We were on our way to the brand new Eastern Tower of Trump Plaza Hotel and Casino in Atlantic City for a very important meeting that could very well determine if our crews lived or died.

We'd been sent for by The Commission to explain our actions in the warehouse massacre back in January. The subsequent months found all of us putting the bootlegging business in a stranglehold. In addition to all of our other ventures, bootlegging had made us all millionaires many times over and we operated without the fear of any reprisals since we'd eliminated all of our enemies.

With all of the good fortune that was had, we'd all known that it was only a matter of time before we were contacted for a sit-down by Ditta and The Commission. There was no witty banter or friendly conversation in the back of the limo that day. No, we were all held prisoner by our pessimistic thoughts.

Like myself, I'm sure that everyone traveling with me that day had gotten all of their affairs in order. If The Commission did decide to kill us, business would go on as usual with whoever had been appointed to carry on the torch, in my case it was Dunna. The limo driver wasn't very good at navigating the large vehicle and when Tre and I locked eyes briefly, I knew that he missed KC's driving just as much as I did.

As the car exited The Garden State Parkway and made its way into A.C., we were all in the act of putting on our game faces when Ray obliterated the tension as only he could.

"Well fellas," he said. "Just in case this is our last time being healthy, let me say that there's not a greater group of individuals that I'd rather die with than those that are seated in this vehicle today."

We all looked at each other for a few seconds before busting out laughing.

"What an asshole!" Rah said lightheartedly while clapping a massive hand on Ray's shoulder.

As the laughter died down, the driver's intercom crackled to life. "Gentlemen, we've arrived."

"Remember guys," I said as we were about to exit the limo. "Let me do all of the talking. If I can accomplish what my brain is telling me that I can, we may all walk away from this alive and kicking."

"Shiiiiiiit," E said with a smile brightening his face. "Then talk away my brother...."

1 hour later....

This meeting had the feeling of being sent to the principal's office and your parents along with the principal were waiting there for you. The five chairs at the head of the conference room table were occupied by five of the most powerful mafia figures in the world. Vincenzo Ditta sat in the center chair with Frank Morelli and Tommy Marconi seated on his left, along with Angie Fraschetti and Tony Andruzzi on the right.

These guys were so old I'd bet a million dollars that Jesus Christ was in all of their high school yearbooks, but with age comes knowledge and experience and there was no question that The Commission held those qualities in spades.

"JDC," Ditta called out, his voice resonating in the massive room. "Come before us."

I stood up from my chair and walked to the seat in the front of the room that directly faced The Commission's table. I got to the seat and stood in back of it, patiently awaiting instructions to.... "Please, have a seat." As Angie Fraschetti so elegantly put it.

At 78 years old she'd been the head of her all female family of soldiers since 1948. She was beautiful, not looking a day over 45; but she was also deadly. She'd once whacked a guy who was doing landscaping work on her Tacoma, Washington home. He'd whistled and made cat calls at her female associates as they'd exited her house.