Joe The Hatter & The Black Pearl (1) JOE THE HATTER & THE BLACK PEARL by Lawrence Anthony Calabro In those days men wore hats and were fastidious about their appearance. He had a store where he shined shoes and cleaned and blocked men’s hats, thus the nickname Joe The Hatter. He was not a very nice man, most of the kids in the neighborhood were afraid of him as were a lot of adults. He had very little use for people especially the young guys of the neighborhood who made up a good deal of his shoe shine trade. His general appearance added to his fearsome persona. His left eye drooped and a scar ran down his left cheek. In addition to those two fearful features he walked with a decided limp caused by his twisted right leg. The affliction is so severe it causes the muscles on the left side of his back to become overdeveloped giving the appearance of a hunch to the man. Because of his disability he’s developed incredible upper body strength, that along with the fact that he was a very strong man to begin with made for someone not to be trifled with. On more than one occasion one or more of the local toughs found themselves sprawled out on the sidewalk in front of Joe’s store for being what he called “big mouthed wise guys.” Joe’s general demeanor outside of his fearsome looks was that of a man of very few words and less patience. Reflecting back and having since uncovered certain facts perhaps there was some justification for his behavior, I am not excusing him merely trying to understand him. It seems he had a son he thought the world of. The boy from what I was able to find out was an excellent athlete and scholar and was looking forward to a bright future. When the second world war broke out the boy enlisted in the Army and was made a 1st. Lieutenant in the infantry. He was killed during the Battle Of The Bulge. The news was devastating to Joe and his wife so much so that his wife passed away from what the doctor’s called severe melancholia, a broken heart. So inside of a year Joe lost his son and his wife of thirty years. All in all Joe The Hatter had been dealt some pretty hard shots by life. Prior to his sons death there was no greater and prouder patriot than Joe, pictures of his son’s outfit adorned the walls of his store. Once the boy and his mother died that all changed, the picture were still there but by the same token whenever someone asked about the pictures he was ignored. I remember on one occasion I was getting a shine and the guy sitting next to me asked about the picture. The icy stare he received was bone chilling, it was as if death was looking at you. Joe had no friends but he did have a working relationship with two people, old man Ligonetti who owned the barber shop next door and with whom he shared a common back room and Pepino Secci the local numbers guy who would collect the day’s receipts. Pepino took over the job when old man Ligonetti’s son Manny who use to do the collecting was killed. For the most part Joe was a one man band he did all the work in the store himself. Once in a great while he would hire a guy to shine shoes usually around the holidays but they would never last Joe was too hard to get along with. The years went by one by one without Joe taking any notice. It was the autumn of 1953 and as usual Joe was working late in the store, he was alone old man Ligonetti having closed his barber shop hours before. Walking to the common back room he takes a coffee pot from a stove where it’s been kept hot all day and pours the thick black fluid into a cup. Dry leaves being blown by the wind make a rustling sound in the alley behind the store as they meet the wall of the building and rise into the air swirling as they do so. Looking up at the Regulator clock on the wall over the entry way to the back room Joe see it’s almost eleven. “One more hat and I’ll leave.” He thinks to himself. The street is empty as he steps out of the front door of the store on to the sidewalk. Turning he puts a key in the lock of the door and turns it’s. Then taking hold of the door handle he shakes it several times to assure himself that it is locked. If it weren’t for the bar a few doors down from the store the street would be devoid of any signs of life. Slowly Joe makes his way down the street towards home. Joe had hardly turned the key in the lock when a figure makes it’s way down the alley, it moves among the shadows with ease. Starting at one end of the alley it tries every window and back door for the slightest opportunity to enter. Coming to the door of the shoe shine parlor it goes through it’s same routine this time finding the rear window open. Silently the figure raises the window and slips inside with the grace of a cat. Closing the window behind itself the figure stands motionless accustoming itself to the blackness of the room. Making out the outline of a refrigerator the figure moves to it without hesitation. Opening the door produced a shaft of bright light to shoot across the dark room. This causes the figure to crouch down out of the path of the light. Closing the door slightly to cut down on the escaping light the figure goes about inspecting several cabinets and closets which are about the room and relieves them of some of their contents at it’s leisure. Old man Ligonetti opens his barber shop at seven in the morning. The first thing he does is to go to the back room and make a pot of black Italian coffee. The aroma of the brewing coffee fills both stores. Going over to the refrigerator he leans in looking for something. Not finding what he’s looking for he shrugs his shoulders and closes the door. Not to long after Joe places his key in the front door to his store. “Nino did ya make the coffee?” He calls out upon entering. “Cant you a smell a it?” The old man replies from the back room. “Yeah, yeah I smell it.” “Hey Joe did a you a use all a the ricotta last a night?” “Naw there should be almost a whole can left.” “There’s a nothing a left, she’s a gone.” “What the hell are you talkin about.” Joe snaps. “I’m a talkin about a no ricotta.” The old man snaps back. “It’s over here.” Joe says opening the refrigerator door and pushing the objects inside around in an attempt to find the missing ricotta. Turning to the old man he says : “it’s gone.” “That’s what I a tell a you.” “I would have sworn it was there last night.” Joe replies still looking about the inside of the refrigerator. “She’s a no there now.” The old man says pointing to the white box. “I bring a the nice a bread for to eat the breakfast because I think we have a the ricotta.” “What time does Mangenello open?” Joe asks. “He open a his a store at a eight o-clock.” The old man answers as he opens one of the many cabinet doors that line the wall of the back room. Looking about the cabinet the old man says “I think I have a two a barber coats, now I no have a none.” “What the hell are you mumbling about ?” Joe shouts from his shop as he readies for the day’s business. “I think I have a two barber coats and when I a look I have a none.” The old man replies as he continues to look through the cabinets and closets of the back room. “What have we got spooks around here?” Joe snaps. “What a spook, we have a no spook.” The old mans replies annoyed with Joe’s remark. The day passes like any other day, once more Joe works late into the night leaving the store at about eleven. No sooner has Joe locked up when the figure appears in the alley once more. Emerging from the shadows of the alley like the night before it again enters the back room of the two shops by the open window. Like the night before it heads for the refrigerator. Old man Ligonetti turns the key in the lock of the door to his shop and enters. It is seven o-clock on the dot. Under his arm is a loaf of Italian bread. Closing the door he makes his way to the back room. After preparing a pot of coffee the old man cuts some slices from the loaf of bread on a table which sits in the middle of the room. Opening the refrigerator door he reaches in for a can of ricotta that is supposed to be on the top shelf in the front. Like the day before he groups around the old box to no avail. “Son a ma bitch again she’s a no there.” The old man exclaims aloud. Once more he confronts Joe about the missing ricotta.” “Ya gotta be kiddin.” Joe exclaims going back to the refrigerator and flinging open the door. “You think I’m a kid, I’m a no kid, the ricotta she’s a go.” The old man says angrily. “Some malfattore is a steal our a stuff.” The old man exclaims his face becoming contorted at the thought. “But how ?” Joe thinks aloud. “I’m a no know.” The old man says looking about the room. Continuing to look about the room both their eyes come to rest on the window. Climbing up on the table Joe examines the window and says “it’s not locked.” “I never lock a the window who want a to come in a here.” The old man says looking up at the window. “Maybe not before but they sure do now.” Joe says locking the window. “What a you a do?” The old man asks. “I locked the window.” “What for you a do a that?” “So who ever it is stealin our stuff can’t do it anymore.” Joe answers climbing down from the table. “If you lock a the window how we ever gonna catch a the son a ma bitch bast malsconsone.” The old man exclaims shaking his fist at the window. “You got a plan?” Joe asks. “I got a the plan.” The old man answers still looking at the window. Like every other night the old man and Joe lock up their stores except tonight it is a ruse. This night they wait n the darkness of the back room. Just like clock work the figure emerges from the shadows of the alley upon hearing Joe slam and lock his front door and try it a few times. As before it slithers through the unlocked window and heads for the refrigerator. Suddenly Joe turns on a light and old man Ligonetti shouts “don't make a the move son a ma bitch or I a shoot” the old man is holding a pistol he used in the Italian army in the first world war. The revolver is very imposing looking with it’s hexagonal barrel and large sighting piece. “Don’t shoot mister, don’t shoot mister.” The figure screams aloud as it cowers in a corner of the room. “Stand up and let’s see ya face sfachime.” Joe orders the cowering figure. Rising to its feet the figure turns and faces the two men. “It’s a malanziano.” The old man exclaims surprised by the turn of events. “Well wadda ya know a pick-a-ninny.” Joe says looking at the intruder. “What are ya doin here kid ?” Joe asks. “Nothin mister.” The kid answers his eyes transfixed on the pistol in the old man’s hand. “C’mhere.” Joe says gruffly grabbing the kid by the back of the neck, causing him to cry. The shabby coat the kid is wearing falls open revealing one of old man Ligonetti’s missing barber coats. “Son a ma bitch there’s a my coat.” The old man says waving the pistol in the kid’s face and causing the kid to cringe in terror. “Put that thing away you want to hurt somebody.” Joe scolds the old man. “Don’t a worry she’s a too old a to a shoot, see.” The old man says pointing the pistol in there air and pulling the trigger once , twice then three time at which point there is a tremendous explosion in the room and a large gaping hole appears in the ceiling after the thick smoke clears. “Too old to shoot, gimme that thing before you hurt ya self and somebody else.” Joe says taking the smoking pistol from the old man. ”What a we gonna a do with at his a malanziano, call a the cops?” The old man asks. “Please mister don’t call the cops, I’ll do anything ya say I’ll work for ya, just don’t call the cops.” The kid implores the two men. “So ya don’t like the cops?” Joe asks the kid. “Please mister don’t call them.” “Well I don’t like them either, so that makes us kinda have what they call somethin in common.” Joe says eyeing the kid with his one good eye. “Ya wanna work do ya, well I got work for ya.’ Joe says seriously. “Tu se pazzo.” Old man Ligonetti exclaims upon hearing Joe. “This a little a blacky is a the crook.” The old man says loudly. “Where do ya live kid?” Joe asks. ”Nowhere.” “Hey kid don’t try to bullshit me.” Joe says grabbing the kid by the scruff of the neck and bringing his face close to his. “Where do ya live, I asked ya.” “Nowhere.” The kid replies once more. ”Where are ya folks?” “Aint got any.” “Wadda ya mean ya aint got any, everybody’s got folks.” Joe snaps still glaring at the kid. “My pappy run off and my mammy died.” “So how do ya live?” “:I’s lives on the street.” “Didn’t anybody give ya a place to live?” “They put me in this here home and I run off.” “I don’t blame ya I seen them there homes.” Joe says helping the kid up. “I’m gonna give ya a break kid I’m gonna give ya a job. Ya know how to shine shoes?” “No mister.” The kid answers still terrified of the two men. “What’s ya handle kid?” The kid looks at Joe not knowing what to answer. “What’s ya name.” Joe repeats. “Harlan, Harlan Clayton.” “OK Harlan ya gonna work for me and Mr. Ligonetti here. Ya gonna shine shoes. polish brass, sweep up and what ever else we tell ya to do. And for that we aint gonna turn ya into the cops. Ya can sleep here in the back. ya eat when we eat and quittin time is when we quit. Ya can keep all the tips ya make after ya pay us for the goods ya swiped. Is it a deal?” Joe asks extending his hand to the boy. Taking Joe’s hand the boy shakes it asking “what’s a tip?” Manifesting the closest thing to a smile he can Joe replies “don’t worry I’ll explain everything to ya.” “Ya can call me Joe and this is Mr. Ligonetti. One thing kid if ya thinkin of runnin away forget it, because if ya do I’ll find ya and when I do I’ll cut out ya little pick-a-ninny heart and put in that there big pot on the stove and cook it with my macaroni.” Joe says pointing to a giant steel pot sitting on the back room stove. Ya understand kid?” “I understand Mr.” the boy replies his eyes bulging with fear. “That’s good, now go lay down and go to sleep tomorrow’s comin fast.” Joe and the old man leave the store locking up behind themselves. Pausing the old man turns to Joe and says “I stay here tonight to keep a the eye on a the blacky.” “Go home Nino that kid aint goin nowhere.” Joe instructs the old man. Turning away from the store the old man leaves saying “Bona serra.” “Yeah,yeah good night .” Joe says as he walks off in the opposite direction.
Copyright © 1995 Lawrence Anthony Calabro |