Flying Too Close to the Sun George Jehn (best non fiction books of all time .txt) 📖

back, unbuttoned his jacket and scrutinized his host, “Carmine DiLiberto you old sonamabitch. It’s at least that long and you and the place haven’t changed. Damn, you look even younger. Hey, never mind me, how you been? Is everything still good with you and Maria?”

“I’ve been married to the same broad for so long it’s like I’m reading the married man’s Penthouse; a couple of different stories but the same goddamned centerfold every month.” Making the sign of the cross, DiLiberto continued, “The only words that’ll be inscribed on my tombstone will be restaurant owner—forty fuckin’ years.” Cutting to the chase, he asked, “What brings ya back?”

After the expected glance over his shoulder, a solemn Juni whispered in a suddenly reacquired thick Brooklyn accent, “Ya got somewhere we can chat; privately?”

“Sure. I still got my conference room over there.” DiLiberto nodded in the direction of the tiny table he’d come from with two chairs off in a remote corner. Juni could still picture him discussing matters with the big boys at the same table, with most probably dead by now. They sat down and Juni fired up another Marlboro as DiLiberto leaned over and asked, “Can I get ya a bite to mangia, maybe a little macaroni or lasagna?”

“No thanks. I ate at home earlier this evening with the wife and kids.”

Shaking his head DiLiberto muttered, “Wife and kids? Where the hell does the time go?”

Time had indeed flown since Juni gained respect from DiLiberto and other lowlifes. Only Juni knew it was undeserved, because none were aware of the true circumstances surrounding the incident that happened during the ‘86 World Series. Never a great baseball player because of his build, like almost everyone else in the Big Apple Juni got caught up in the Mets run at their second World Series title against the Red Sox. So much so he purchased a Mets hat declaring them the winners before the series ended and proudly wore it everywhere he went. One night in Little Italy an inebriated, connected thug named Antonio “Big Boy” Gallo came out of Mama Sorrento’s restaurant, saw the hat and demanded Juni turn it over to him. But Juni ran away as quickly as possible, which wasn’t very fast, around the corner and down a dead-end alleyway. To his chagrin Gallo pursued him and with nowhere to go, Juni meekly took off the hat and handed it to his pursuer who had actually drawn a pistol. Gallo was so drunk that when walking out of the alleyway with Juni’s Mets hat in hand, he tripped over a garbage pail and the pistol discharged. The bullet went into his stomach and severed an artery, killing him. After retrieving his hat, Juni ran off, but Gallo’s goombahs believed a struggle had ensued, with Juni disarming and shooting him and perception became reality. Gary Carter might have been the most popular Met, but God was Juni’s best fan that night because loads of unearned respect was piled on him. He immediately became known as Juni the Lid and adopted phony mannerisms to go along with his newfound status. No one but Juni and the cops knew the whole thing was a sham.

Juni returned to the present when DiLiberto snapped his fingers, commanding the heavyset waitress with the constant smile, “Maria, bring us a bottle of good wine, the ‘88 Venizie Pinot Noir.” Turning to Juni he added, “Only the best for you.” After the waitress poured the wine Juni grasped the small wineglass in his thick mitt and both men raised their goblets, simultaneously reciting, “saluti.” DiLiberto looked directly into Juni’s dark eyes and as a faint smile crossed his lips knowingly asked, “To what do I really owe the honor of your return?”

Another peek over his shoulder. “I need a spot for an important meeting with some, er, business associates,” he whispered. “We gotta have good food and privacy, not worried about anybody listenin’ or even rememberin’ we were here, if you know what I mean.”

Knowing exactly what he meant, DiLiberto replied, “You got nothin’ to worry about ‘cause if anyone like that hung out here, someone would burn my joint down.”

Juni abruptly pushed his chair back from the table and stood, ready to depart Memory Lane.

“You’ll be comin’ in?”

“Yeah. Make a mental reservation at a secluded table for this Friday. There will be three of us for a late dinner between ten and ten-thirty. I’ll let you know if anythin’ changes.”

“Consider it done.” They again hugged and DiLiberto put his arm around Juni’s shoulder. “C’mon, have a bite. A small plate of pasta or some fried calamari?”

“No thanks.” Juni took a twenty from his wallet. “But give this to Maria. And put me down for one of your pasta plates on Friday.”

“Your order is placed.” A serious DiLiberto leaned over and whispered, “As far as anyone’s concerned I never spoke with or even seen ya tonight. I’ll instruct Maria on the same thing.”

Juni smiled. Returning to his car the smile disappeared as he felt dejected for reverting to his previously self-despised persona. His internal civil war picked up where it left off years ago, black versus white; evil as opposed to good. But the conflict didn’t last long, as a singular thought, do or die, overshadowed everything. While driving to his Jersey home, a somber Juni pondered how fate or whatever else you might dub it, had taken two total strangers whose lives had collided a short time ago and dropped an opportunity in their laps, no doubt changing their destinies.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

After concluding his Shuttle Air flights, Erik checked the pilots’ computer and discovered another notice from O’Brien demanding to see him prior to his next trip. What could he want this time?

Erik showed up as ordered the following day and without so much as a handshake the large man ushered him into his office. A frowning O’Brien sat down with such a crash it jostled his full mane of stark white hair. There