Here’s part one of the short story promised last week, the first of four posts in the series. Master Buddhapuss speaks on Friday, so the saga concludes next Tuesday. Before the first post – the usual legal disclaimer applies – the story is copyrighted to me, Writer guy. Comment as you like. The more comments the better.

Another important point: this story has nothing to do with The Ridge Runner or Velocity. I’d love to post chunks of those novels. Unfortunately, there’s an unpleasant clause in many publishing contracts, especially fiction, called first rights. By first rights, the publisher controls the right to publish the material “first” in whatever medias they choose, electronic, print or otherwise. A few novelists lost book deals in recent years because they had posted chapters on the Internet before they had a contract or an offer. Whether that’s fair is anyone’s guess. It’s happened and I’d rather not be a statistic. Right now the market for short stories is weak, the field competitive. Thus, the potential downside is minimal.

Enough foreplay. Meet Joey Vinny….

People always ask if Joey Vinny really lost a poker game to a blind woman. Well, that was true. It was also true that woman was eighty-four at the time. Joey Vinny was an absolutely pathetic loser – at more than just cards. If he bought two hundred scratch-offs from Patel, he choked on the scratch off dust. If Joey bet six out of nine dogs to place, none showed. If he bet on football he blew the spread. But the truth about his loser nature was just among friends ” the crew. In public I never owned up to the the real story. I stoked the rumor mill like everyone else.
The first reason was respect. It just wasn’t right for a guy to badmouth a cousin like that. And Joey and I were tight, almost like brothers. We were born on the same day. We played in the same park as kids, went to the same schools and messed around with the same girls.
Second reason was that the eighty-four year old woman that beat him at poker was my grandmother. And she was a real sharp tiger, even blind. Poker is more about the people than the cards in their hands, and Grandma knew people. Anyways, maybe he threw the game because she was so old. Although, honestly, in a game of chance, Joey was screwed. Not to be rude or anything, those was just the facts.
But the real reason I didn’t deny Joey was a loser was because of the deal. Three of us were in on the thing. Uttering a word, even just a single word, might compromise the arrangement. The only way to keep a secret is to never speak of it. And that’s what we did.
The truth died with Joey Vinny.
At his funeral though, there was no deal yet. The deal was later.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. I do that sometimes. A doctor diagnosed me once with some kind of attention deficit disorder. Stupid doctors. All the they do is listen to you breathe and write scrips.
Anyways, even with Joey being what he was, it’s not like we didn’t like the guy. He was loved. We had hearts.
Before the burial services most of the crew cried. We cried behind closed doors, out of sight, bawling like a pack of wusses, carrying on like a pack of wussies, carrying on like our dear mothers had just passed. The tears stained the lapels of our black suits. The sleeves of our jackets ” they was the worst though. What a mess. My dad would’ve beat us all if he caught wind.
At the funeral, his mom and brother howled. To Mrs. Vinny it was the end of the world. She made sure everyone understood that. Even Father Tessio needed sedatives after the service. My grandmother hooked up Father. She was very generous with the Secanol. Poor guy, Father hadn’t been that rattled ever. With more than thirty-eight years at the parish, that was something.
That night back in the neighborhood, the air frosting up our breath, it was all salutes and smiles. We toasted Joey’s death. We even splurged for the good stuff: chilled Mickeys malt liquor in plastic cups.
Joey once said that everyone has a story, they just don’t know it yet. Come to think of it, Joey said a lot of confusing things. Well, this story isn’t all about Joey Vinny, although he’s as close to a centerpiece as it gets. It’s about the crew. And it’s also about what happens when the biggest loser in the world gets lucky.
One thing it’s not, is all pink and pretty. Theres no high gloss lipstick and six pack abs. Those that have six pack abs and wear high gloss lipstick, hey, whatever, it’s okay to go ahead and read about Joey and all. I’m no underboss.
All I’m saying is, just don’t expect glossy lipstick and abs and hot sex by chapter five. I promise a story. And this particular one may not be for you. So like, whatever. I’m just the messenger.
Joey Vinny wanted his story known. The whole story. The real story.