Part 1
Rocco was Albanian. He was a kindly man, a fantastic son, a wonderful husband, a loving father and a dedicated killer.
“I didn’t start out to be a killer” he would often say while sharing drinks, fine dining and intelligent conversation with countless homeless people.
He was nothing if not philanthropic.
#
Velvet Daisy, professor of quantum physics at the University of Tirana and owner of Kinky Studies, Rocco’s favourite sex kiosk, stated passionately at the trial:
“Rocco functions on a unique sub atomic level that is difficult to understand. He must be released to kill again. ”
When the verdict was read out she collapsed, inconsolable.
#
If someone was hurt, emotionally or physically, Rocco felt it was his duty to right the wrong done to the victim and do it quickly. “Slow justice is not justice, only more pain for the victim,” Rocco repeated to his priest after confessing each murder, single or multiple.
Father Uber agreed with Rocco. He himself had wielded a Kalashnikov in his freedom loving Balkan youth.
“There is too little killing in the world these days. Well done my son. Please go to Mizzi’s and order three Bloody Mary’s and a pizza with all the toppings.”
The next Sunday there were ten thousand Albanian Lek in a Submarine sandwich bag at the feet of Jesus. Father Uber knew from whence it came.
#
Over the years Rocco had accumulated many enemies. The city’s powerful criminals who killed for money or advantage or drugs or endorsed human slavery or the fatal journeys of asylum seekers, common phone snatchers, hand bag grabbers, car and bicycle thieves, house invaders and speed fuelled knife brandishers ... nobody liked Rocco.
“The twerp’s an affront.”
“For why he has no reason but to fucking help?”
“ A killer who is a good man besmirches the hood.”
“We are not a craft guild of honour and pride?”
#
“ Fuck Rocco with extra spicey meatballs till he yell vodka, vodka !” screamed Lemmy Bezov.
The rented Knights of Columbus Hall shook with hyena screams of approval from six hundred of the vilest scum since maybe Nuremburg.
Lemmy raised his hands. The Hall went quiet. “ Father Uber would now like to say a few words to remind us all that Dear Jesus is on the side of the fallen.”
Father Uber, force fed communion bread until he agreed, rose to generous applause and proceeded to betray Rocco with a submarine sandwich bag and ten thousand Albanian Lek smudged with DNA infested garlic sauce.
Rocco, oblivious to such momentous spiritual treachery, was peacefully twisting piano wire around his gloved hands to garrot a newspaper vendor for smacking a ten year old girl on the head with a rolled up Daily Mirror.
She had picked her nose and wiped it on a Royal mail box.
#
“ Mr Rocco Ronald Wentworth, it is with a sense of satisfied revenge that this court sentences you to one hundred and fifty seven years in the Albany State Prison, minus the two days already served, for littering at the feet of our Saviour Jesus of Nazareth with a submarine sandwich bag and five thousand worthless Albanian Lek stinking of garlic sauce.”
He continued.
“I wish to thank all of the bribed and bullied members of the jury for their heartfelt false testimonies and Zippo Sam Croister for the one hundred thousand dollars he personally handed me at the Golden City Steak House last Friday week. Finally, a tip of my robes to the Chancellor of Princeton University for enrolling my five children into that esteemed institution of learning. Especially my crack addled fifteen year old daughter Rosewater. I’m sure she will make the university proud starting on Wednesday. This court is adjourned.”
“Lips as tight as assholes!” Rocco shouted just before he was tasered. Dazed, he did not at first notice the ball of paper that Myron Mizzi saliva-slipped into his right cheek as he gave him a rather long and lingering kiss on the mouth.
Not alert to such secretive Albanian criminal traditions as the Spit Pigeon, the note was safe from all normal prison procedures.
#
At six thirty, sitting on the grey cover of his quiet jail cell bed, Rocco removed the paper. Gently waxed, it was easily rinsed and dried.
“Rocco. I do not forget. I wait for you. My wife waits for you. My children wait for you. I have the list of the six hundred bastards. I have the Knights of Columbus Hall booked for Saturday June 12, 2140. Invitations will go out. There will be revenge. Mizzi.
#
Rocco’s one hundred and fifty seven year sentence in solitary confinement did not pass quickly.
His family and friends abandoned him within four decades. He suffered through one hundred and thirty Ministers of Prisons but none would review his case.
Rocco reread The Da Vinci Code a five hundred and sixty times to help with unrelenting anxiety and for entertainment recited lines remembered from Shakespeare in his cell every Saturday at nine o’clock.
He had studied theatre as young man in Berlin and so, adopting a Macbeth demeanour one week and perhaps a Juliet the next he would strut round and round until at long last, always with a W.C. Fields accent, he attained a critical Stanislavsky moment and addressed the cell door:
“ Frankly, Malvolio, I don’t give a damn.”
Or perhaps,
“ Here’s looking at you, Alfalfa
#
Rocco waited in vain for the Mumbai Gitas ice hockey team to win the Stanley Cup.
His crotch went bald.
Then his ass.
He covered his prison walls with very tiny and very close together magic marker checks.
He recounted them during Lent each year.
“There are always more of them,” he said to a succession of unsympathetic yellow toothed prison guards.
It was a fucking drag.
Part 2
Mizzi continued to write religiously every ten years.
This kept Rocco hopeful.
‘Rocco, I do not forget Saturday June 12, 2140 at 8pm. The Knights of Columbus Hall has been remodelled into a roller derby venue but still stands.’
‘Rocco, I do not forget Saturday June 12, 2140 at 8pm. The Knights of Columbus Hall has become an upscale vegan market. I am looking for a new space.’
‘Rocco, I do not forget Saturday June 12, 2140 at 8pm. I have rebooked into the old Rotary Club Spelling Bee venue across from Central Station. It’s condemned but what a great price. Not long now. Keep the faith !
Sure enough things began to improve.
#
The Mumbai Kings won the Stanley Cup.
The hair on his crotch grew back. A brilliant Swedish blond.
His ass remained smooth.
On Saturdays instead of Shakespeare he began to act out what he could remember from Greek comedies:
“Here’s looking at you, mom.”
For example.
#
Then, one Sunday as if life couldn’t possibly get any better, Rocco looked at his magic marker and at the wall and said, “It’s got to be near the end.”
It wasn’t Lent but he counted anyway.
He lost count half way through twice but the third time scratched into the prison door 57,278.
“ Don’t mark up the fucking door,” said the guard.
“ It's soon,” said Rocco.
#
As arranged, Mizzi called on the Monday.
“ Rocco!”
“ Mizzi!”
“I will pick you up Thursday at 2 p.m. You can stay at my apartment until you get settled”
“Time’s up,” said the guard.
“ I know,” said Rocco, enjoying the double meaning.
#
On the morning of his release Rocco was up early, shaved, put on the suit returned to him by the prison guard and received a small box of odds and ends. He checked the contents and tossed out the condoms and half-eaten pastrami sandwich.
An official behind a glass partition counted out the five million eight hundred and seventy thousand one hundred and eighty three Lek he had earned in prison.
“You silly Albanians,” he said.
Everyone laughed and Rocco strolled out into the street.
Mizzi waved to him through the window of his black stretch limousine.
A guard suddenly put his hand on Rocco’s shoulder.
“Sorry, there’s been a mistake,” he said.
“I counted wrong?” said Rocco.
#
Two years later Rocco was up early, shaved, put on the suit returned to him by
the prison guard and received a small box of odds and ends. The condoms and half-eaten pastrami sandwich had been returned.
“ It’s the law,” said the guard.
Rocco tossed them out.
An official behind a glass partition counted out the five million eight hundred and seventy thousand one hundred and eighty three Lek he had earned in prison.
“You silly Albanians,” he said.
#
Rocco strolled out into the street.
Mizzi waved to him through the window of his black stretch limousine.
The driver opened the back door, Rocco climbed in.
“ You look older,” Mizzi said.
“ Some days I don’t feel so good,” Rocco whispered. “Other days I feel worse.”
“ Take the tunnel,” said Mizzi. They drove away.
“Things look different,” said Rocco.
“Stop here,” he said.
Rocco walked to a small shop.
“I’d like a Snickers bar.”
“What’s that?” asked the girl.
#
Mizzi looked pretty much the same. He wore the same hat and the same coat and had the same pizza cufflinks. However, he was wearing sneakers instead of the leather brogues.
He saw Rocco looking down.
“ They wore out,” said Mizzi.
“ How’s the wife? asked Rocco.
“ She passed away,” said Mizzi.
“How are the kids?” asked Rocco.
“The kids are all dead.”
“The grandchildren are all dead.”
“The great grandchildren are all dead.”
“Gunter?” Gunter was Mizzi’s dog.
“ Stuffed,” said Mizzi,” and lit a Cuban.
The limousine filled with the stink of cigar.
#
As they neared Mizzi’s office tower the limousine turned left and dipped into the underground parking lot.
Mizzi said, “ The Mets are playing tomorrow. I got two great tickets.”
“Who the fuck wants to watch the Mets?” said Rocco.
“ You need to chill a bit,” said Mizzi.
#
So Rocco slept for several days while Mizzi made a few final preparations at the Rotary Club Spelling Bee Bingo venue which was covered in mould and infested with rats.
He showed Rocco the gold trimmed invitations that had been sent to the 600 bastards. Dated January 1, 2140.
"Read it out," said Rocco. " I need to hear it."
‘You are an invited VIP guest at The Rocco Get Out of Jail Dinner that will be held at the former Rotary Club Spelling Bee Emporium on ... I thought the word Emporium would give it a touch of class” said Mizzi.
“It definitely does,” said Rocco.
“ On Saturday June 12. Father Uber will be the Guest of Honour. Free hard liquor and pizza with all the toppings. RSVP. ‘
Rocco was pleased but didn't smile.
They shared a bag of Doritos.
#
“ The problem was,” said Mizzi. “ tracking all these people down. That’s why I sent the invitations out so early. The end result was that 597 of the bastards plus Father Uber have been officially recorded as dead. The other three nobody knows about. So I’ve cut it down to one table, four pizzas and a few bottles of gin, vodka, tequila, rum, whiskey, bourbon and an accordion player. You and I will be on the stage. There is a lectern.”
“ Do you think it will echo?” asked Rocco.
“ Yes,” said Mizzi. “ Especially the accordion.”
“ The three of them will be shown no mercy,” said Rocco.
#
On Saturday June 12, 2140 at 8pm Rocco and Mizzi sat on the stage on either side of a black lectern with a yellow bee on it and looked down upon a small plastic folding table and three empty plastic folding chairs positioned in the middle of the vast Rotary Club venue. There were four medium pizzas on the table.
The accordion player struck up a spirited polka. He danced about.
They tapped their toes.
#
At 9pm Rocco and Mizzi sat on the stage on either side of the black lectern with a yellow bee on it drinking a bottle of vodka and looked down upon a small plastic folding table and three empty plastic folding chairs positioned in the middle of the vast Rotary Club Venue.
The accordion player ate the first pizza off the plastic table had six shots of gin and played on.
#
At 10pm Rocco and Mizzi sat on the stage on either side of the black lectern with a yellow bee on it drinking a bottle of gin and stared down upon the small plastic folding table and three empty plastic folding chairs positioned in the middle of the vast Rotary Club Venue.
The accordion player ate the second pizza took eight shots of Rum and played on.
#
At 11pm Rocco and Mizzi sat on the stage on either side of the black lectern with a yellow bee on it drinking a bottle of tequila and focused hard at the small plastic folding table and three empty plastic folding chairs positioned in the middle of the vast Rotary Club Venue.
The accordion player ate the third pizza drank seven shots of vodka and played on.
To the best of his ability.
“ They turn the heat off at midnight," said Mizzi.
#
At 12am Rocco and Mizzi sat on the stage drinking a bottle of rum and squinted down upon one small plastic folding table and three plastic folding chairs positioned in the middle of the Rotary Club Venue.
“Nobody here yet,” said Rocco.
The accordion player ate the last pizza, guzzled a bottle of Jack Daniels and collapsed on top of the accordion.
Then he got up and played on.
“ Incredible,” said Rocco.
“ What’s that tune?” asked Mizzi.
“ I could guess but I’d be wrong,” said Rocco.
#
At 1 am Rocco and Mizzi sat on the stage drinking a bottle of bourbon and nodded towards one small plastic folding table and three plastic folding chairs positioned in the middle of the Rotary Club Venue.
The accordion player tossed an empty pizza box on the linoleum floor sat down put on woollen mittens and pissed himself.
“It’s getting very cold,” said Mizzi.
“ I will ... I will say my speech now,” said Rocco.
“ It’s time,” said Mizzi. “ The fucking waiting’s over.”
#
Rocco stood, a bit tipsy. He grasped the lectern with one hand and his speech with the other.
He looked out at the hall.
He swayed, Mizzi steadied him.
“Go for it,” he said.
Rocco cleared his throat.
“ Remember, no mercy,” said Mizzi.
“Wait,” said the accordion player. “ There’s a tapping.
There was a tapping.
“There is a tapping,” said Rocco.
“ Somebody’s tapping at the fucking door,” said the accordion player.
He stood up.
“ It’s just the cleaning lady,” said Mizzi.
The door opened.
Rocco's speech fluttered to the floor.
“It’s,” said Rocco.
“ The cleaning lady,” said Mizzi.
“It’s,” said Rocco.
“The cleaning lady,” said the accordion player.
“It’s,” said Rocco.
“ Velvet Daisy,” said Velvet daisy.
“ Velvet Daisy,” said Rocco.
“ Who the fuck is Velvet Daisy?” said Mizzi
“The cleaning lady,” said Velvet Daisy.
The accordion player looked up at the asbestos ceiling.
“ That should have been replaced years ago,” said Mizzi.
“That stuff’s a fucking health hazard,” said Rocco.
“ Yes it is,” said Velvet Daisy.
She wiped the plastic table.
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