As I boarded the subway back to work, my thoughts kept circling around Louise. Her father in my mind was an ass who shouldn't cross out her dreams. Then I think of my own. Pa has never accepted my dreams. Often when I'd show him my illustrations, when I was a boy, he'd make up an excuse, and then walk away. Ma always enjoyed them but the sketches never felt right since I could never get pa's approval.
Louise's father's power resurfaced into my mind as well. Does her pa really have that much power? What if he's involved with the mob. Rumors circled about them all around the city. They play dirty and kill dirty, or so I've heard from my coworkers.
Italians have been reported to be the most involved in the mob. Could her father be involved? Although it does sound like a plausible accusation, I have serious doubt that he's involved. The mob are mainly Italian men. Right?
"Hey, Capurso!" My boss spots me walking down the stairs as I arrive to work. Late I might add.
"Looks like little Italy's about to get it," chuckles one of my coworkers to another man. I don't look at the man who threw my least favorite slang. Ignoring their laughs, I push on to my boss.
"Where the hell have you been Capurso? I've been searching frantically for you for about an hour now. Don't forget we're short of workers these days." He crosses his arms disappointed. "I was feeling under the weather, so I went for a walk to get some fresh air. It won't happen again sir. I promise."
His face shows no care so I decide to shut up. "It better not, now follow me Capurso!" Orders my boss.
What's happening? I thought I was off the leash. He's going to fire me. At least he's doing it privately, right? I didn't think It'd matter that I ditched work for a little while. There wasn't anything to be fixed and the remainder of us were just drinking coffee and smoking.
I'm beginning to panic and I can tell my boss noticed. Still he says not a single word to me as he leads me to his office. We walked for ten minutes through the winding underground streets before arriving at his office.
It's a small square room with no windows. I've only ever been in it twice in my life. If you were ever called into his office it wasn't a good fate for yourself at this job.
As we enter, there are two men in black dress suits. Both of their fedoras sit on the corner of my boss' desk.
"This is Joseph Capurso. He's the Italian immigrant you asked for." The two men both nod silently, not showing any expressions. They're like the clay statues you see in art museums. I pause feeling my face grow pale. Did he just say Italian immigrant? Why are these men here?
One of the two tall men clear their throat, notifying my boss to leave.
"Alright, very well I'll leave you three to it. Get back to work after you're through here."
Noticing my uncomfortable stance, I'm nudged forward by my boss towards the two statues. He then leaves me alone in his office with these two unknown men.
I keep my distance as I take a step back. "What can I help you with today?" My voice comes out shakier than I'd liked it to sound.
"Take a seat Mr. Capurso. We don't bite." With no choice, I listen, taking a seat behind my boss' desk.
"I'm Detective Jim McCoy. You may call me Detective McCoy." He sits in my boss' seat behind the desk. "This here is my partner detective Alan Buckley." He points to the man who is standing in front of the door. It's more like he's blocking it. Does he think I'll try to escape? Why would I have a reason to escape anyways?
"Did I do something wrong? If this is about me ditching work I didn't mean to be gone for more than an hour sir."
I know for a fact that my boss didn't send for these men because I ditched work. But here I sit in front of them clueless.
"Why'd you ditch work so early in the day Joseph? May I call you Joseph?" It sounds more like a statement then a question. I nod silently.
"We're not here because of your work trouble Joseph." Detective McCoy pulls out a cigarette out of his trench coat and lights it. He puffs the air towards me causing me to cough. I quickly regain myself.
"Then why are you here?" I question him curiously. He stares at me for a few seconds before speaking. "You and your family were born in Italy. Am I wrong?"
My heart beat starts to quicken.
"No, I mean yes you're correct sir." I tend to try to keep being an Italian immigrant quiet. Not too many people are fond of us. Especially since my nonna and nonno told us all of the news in Turin.
From what I understand, the two detectives already knew where I originated from when I stepped foot in the office so why ask me for confirmation?
"I suppose you've heard about Germany and Italy becoming allies. Rumor has it that Hitler and Mussolini are as close as a tied knot now." He explains.
"They've been allies since May I believe." I tell them. I'm hesitant at what I say could get me in trouble. But what do I have to fear since I've done nothing wrong?
"So you are aware what's going on in Italy?" Detective MCcoy blows out smoke from his mouth. "I have but the same knowledge of the public. My grandparents live in Turin and have occasionally been writing to my family about what's going on." Detective MCcoy glances up at Detective Buckley who hasn't said a single word until now.
"Germany is one of our biggest enemies, along with Japan. Has anything to your knowledge happened in Italy recently? Perhaps some invasions or bombings?" Detective Buckley walks up to the side of me. It's like he's testing me. Testing my knowledge. I feel sweat trinkle on my brow as the two fbi officers stare into me.
"My grandparents wrote to me about a bombing attack on Turin by the British last year. They ruined their home, their crops, all their hard work." I was stunned, furious at the British for carelessly leaving my family in that state. Mussolini isn't better I suppose but it still makes me heated to think about their beautifully destroyed farm.
"Keep your cool, kid." Detective MCcoy says in a low, raspy voice. "Let's get back to the real reason why we 've paid you a visit. Shall we?" Letting the anger fizzle I nod agreeing.
"Joseph, we have been watching you, and your family for quite a while now." My anxiety returns. Not that it ever left. "Why have you been spying on my family?" I cross my arms leaning back into the wooden, creaky chair.
"It's quite interesting that you should use the word spy. In fact the reason we've been watching your family is because you've got yourself a whistleblower." Puzzled at the unknown vocabulary word, I ask, "Whistleblower?" Detective McCoy explains what it means.
"A whistleblower is a person who informs on a person or organization engaged in any sort of illicit activity." What have we done that's illegal? Nothing right? Instead of just thinking about the question, I ask it.
"Your father has been seen using counterfeit money. That's illegal Mr. Capurso." Detective Buckley informs me. "Yes, I'm aware that it is but I think you're accusing the wrong man detectives. My father has never used counterfeit money in his life. I would know." I straighten myself up in my chair. "You would know, wouldn't you boy?" Detective McCoy leans forward.
"Where the hell would he even get this money from even if he had some?" I question still not believing the detectives. "My guess is the Mafia." He states proudly. My heart drops just by the mention of the Mafia. "He's not in the mafia." I run a hand through my curly hair. "That's where you're wrong young man. How old are you fifteen?" He assumes.
"Eighteen. Almost nineteen" I answer trying to hold onto any remaining confidence I can.
"Perhaps I'm all wrong about this and he is innocent."
"You are wrong about this." I say. "Perhaps. Tell me something Mr. Capurso, how do you see your father?" I'm confused by the question.
"How do you mean?" I sit back down as does the detective. "Do you see your father as a good man or bad man?" I go quiet, unable to speak. My mouth becomes dry and I'm unable to speak.
"It wasn't a difficult question was it?" I shake my head. My heart quickens. "He's a good man." He was maybe before I was born. My stare is diverted to my laced brown boots.
"Is he?" I nod still looking down. Unable to conceal my nervousness my feet begin to tap the chipped floor.
"Then how come you can't look me in the eyes?" Looking up I lock my eyes into his. I've done nothing wrong and by the glint in their eyes I can tell they've already found me guilty.
"Mr. Capurso, we have a spy living among us. You can never know for sure how many there are here in America but you can most certainly try to arrest them." The word arrest sits uneasy in my stomach.
"There are some facets of your father's life that you are likely unaware of. Perhaps you are lying to us straight in the face. Who knows? But what we do know is that your father is a spy for Mussolini. The fact is we have enough evidence to arrest you and your family." I've stopped breathing. "Arrest?" I hear myself say out loud.
"Yes, you heard me correctly. You will be taken immediately to a prison nearby. Detective Buckley and I have already talked to your father before coming to you. He lied as you did." I'm on my feet again.
"I didn't lie. Don't we get a fair trial? Like in front of a judge?" I'm on my feet now. "Your luck is out Mr. Capurso. Unfortunately you won't be allowed that. I promise where you and your family will be taken will be lesser than two evils." A hollow feeling enters my body. My mind still doesn't comprehend what's going on.
"Please don't send my family to prison. We didn't do anything wrong. We're American citizens mister." I plead. "Legally?" His eyes interrogate me. I pause silently.
"Look, we worked hard for everything that we have. I have a thirteen year old brother who can't go through this. We did nothing wrong." I plead endlessly.
Detective MCcoy lays his cigarette in the gray ashtray. The smoke swims upwards in the air freely. "You're just like your father, kid. You'll come up with millions of fake excuses just to save your ownskin." Detective McCoy reaches for his black fedora as does his partner. "Who's ordering this? Maybe I can just have a brief conversation with him. Please sir." I want to figure this all out.
"I'm afraid President Rosevelt won't be wanting to converse with you anytime soon." I stop breathing. Somehow I feel this massive betrayal hanging over my shoulders.
"We have officers ready to take you and your family away back at your apartment. We will head there with you. After you Mr. Capurso." They force me to lead out of the office.
As we head to exit the underground station my boss comes up to us. "Where are you going Capurso?" His confused stare digs into me. "Joseph Capurso quits." Detective Buckley tells my boss for me.
Is this what it feels like to be in a state of shock? I stare straight forward, hardly blinking until we reach him home. They have pa in metal handcuffs when we enter the store. Michael's face looks similar to mine when I enter. Georgie is just a kid, so how is this t happening to him?
How can they treat us this way when we never did any of the things we're accused of? Unless pa is involved with the mafia? Could all of this be on my pa?
Walking over to ma and George I clutch their hands in mine. I won't let them split us. I refuse to let that happen to us.
How could this be happening to us? Besides George, I was in my bedroom, packing clothes and a few personal items into my suitcase. We didn't speak a single word as we packed quickly. I only began to pack when I realized how I should spend my waning time here. I write two letters to two important people. One to Roy and another to Louise. I'm having a tougher time finding the right words to say to her.
My heart feels heavy as I write a letter on my absence tonight. After two months I'd gotten the courage to ask her out. Now this makes my letter to her all the more important because of who she is to me. I'm not even sure what that feeling is right now, but it's a passionate one.
"Joseph!"I hear my little brother calling out my name. My focus remains on finishing Louise's letter.
"Joseph, you need to pack, we don't have much longer." George's voice is high with nerves.
"I will but I need to finish this first." Every word I write down sounds wrong. "Damnit Joseph, come on."Setting my pencil down, I glance up at George who looks the most frightened I've ever seen him. The usually confident boy has fear behind his worried dark eyes.
"I'm not going to let them split us up Georgie. I won't." The young boy, only thirteen, trembles out of fear.
"You don't know that." Moving over to my bed, he bends down and pulls out my suitcase. It's the one I brought from Italy with me. Not very large in size but not so small that I can't fit a few clothes into.
"What are you scribbling down there?" George paces back over, peering down at me.
"It's nothing." I finish the letter to Louise concealing it from George.
"It's for her isn't it? Louise?" Not answering, I begin to pack my belongings up. "Are you two together?" He asks as I fold three pairs of clothes into the suitcase.
"No, we're just friends. Have you finished yet?"
"Liar," Mumbles George from behind me.
Once I find my sketchpad, I stick it into my leather satchel, clipping it shut.
"Have you seen my charcoal pencils George?" I shuffle through my desk searching through everything. Still no luck.
"Just take an ink pen with you Joseph." Having no choice I snatch my ink pen off of our desk, sliding it next to my sketchpad.
"It's time to go, boys." Detective Buckley stands at the door. "How dare you! You and your police partner march in here with my older brother in your grasps-" Grabbing onto my brother's arm I try to push him out of the room but he won't budge.
"No, Joseph this isn't just. They're arresting all of us as if we've stolen and murdered someone. I want proof that my father or Joseph are criminals. You have some don't you, detective?" Snaps George.
"Boy, you need to leave well enough alone. As of now we are arresting you and your family. When we get enough evidence proving that everyone's innocent, then we'll think about releasing you all." They'll think about it?
"Is there a problem?" Detective MCcoy barges in. He holds a pair of handcuffs in his hands. "I don't know, is there Joseph, George?" Shaking our heads we rush out of our bedroom with suitcases in one hand. He tucks the handcuffs away.
Whenever criminals were arrested in the films, they never got to take their belongings along with them to prison. If we were headed off to jail right now, then why were we instructed to pack a few belongings? It all didn't make sense to me. I wanted to shut my eyes and when they'd open this all would be a crazy nightmare.
But this isn't some crazy nightmare, it's real life.
~ ~ ~
Chapter posted: 3/12/2021
What'd y'all think of this chapter? This is why Joseph didn't show up to his date with Louise. A lot of these kinds of things happened to Italian immigrants after the Pearl Harbor Bombing. Along with Japanese Americans and German American's as well.
Until next week...