A SOUTH PHILLY XMAS

A SOUTH PHILLY CHRISTMAS STORY

By ARMEN PANDOLA

 As told to him by a person in the Witness Protection Program.

The original cause of the trouble took as long to grow as a sentence for a felony murder without parole. And at the end of that time it was worth it.

Had you lived anywhere

within TWENTY blocks of

the Mucci’s Bar and Grill you would have heard of it.

It possessed a quantity of long blonde hair,

a pair of extremely frank, deep-sea green eyes

and a laugh that rippled across the backyards

of South Philly like the sound of a cat in heat.

The name of it was Sophia Mucci;

and she was the daughter of old man Mucci,

the local loan shark.

Every night, two wooers made their way to Mucci’s:

one in a 1966 Ford Mustang

and the other in a 1960 Cadillac Eldorado.

The classic mustang was Mike Frio, a cop,

and the caddie was Johnny Two-Guns - not a cop.

But at that time they did not call him Johnny Two Guns,

for he had not yet earned the honors of a special nomenclature- His name was simply Johnny Tugunatto -

wit two t's.

It must not be supposed

that these two were the sum

of the agreeable Sophia's admirers.

Wise guys and local cops both

hung out at the long bar of the Mucci’s Bar and Grill,

just hoping to catch a glimpse of her

as she ran up the stairs to their second floor apartment.

It is said that during this time, the local parish,

Our Lady of The Royal Flush,

never had so many parishioners -

since it was known far and wide

that Sophia attended high mass at noon

every Sunday.

But of all the dime store gangsters and cops who hoped

to wed and bed Sophia (and that was the only order in which the two events could occur, given that ole man Mucci could dissect a fly with the twelve inch blade he used to cut up the tripe that was always stewin’ in a pot behind the bar),

Frio and Tugunatto - wit two t's - were far ahead,

wherefore they are to be chronicled.

Mike Frio, a young detective from Packer Park,

won the race.

He and Sophia were married one Christmas eve.

Armed, loud and inebriated

the mobsters and the cops,

laying aside their mutual hatred,

joined forces to celebrate the occasion.

The Venus Lounge was crackling

with the sound of new hundred dollar bills

being snapped onto the bar top

and the buzz of cell phones with last minute bets

on the NFL playoffs–

many of the cops making the calls

while most of the mobsters were answering them,

just a few feet away.

But when the wedding feast was at its liveliest -

the bride and groom stood poised to squash cake

in each other's faces -

there descended upon the feast, Johnny Two Guns,

smitten by jealousy, like one possessed.

"I'll give you a Christmas present,"

he yelled, shrilly, at the door,

with his .45 in one hand

and his Glock semi-automatic in the other.

Even then he had some reputation as a pretty good shot.

His first bullet cut a neat hole in Frio's right ear.

The barrel of the Glock moved an inch. Maybe more.

Who could see from under the table where we all ducked.

The next shot would have been the bride's

had not Carson,

a parking authority cop, possessed of a hand

made quick by writing parking tickets

hurled his plate of chicken Sicilian and gnocchi at Johnny, spoiling his aim. The second bullet, then,

only shattered the statue of the Madonna

that hung above the bride to keep her safe.

The guests fell out of their chairs

and jumped for their weapons.

It was considered an improper act

to shoot the bride and groom at a wedding –

and absolutely blasphemous to plug the Madonna

even if it was by mistake.

In about six seconds there were twenty or so guns

aimed in the direction of Johnny Two Guns Tugunatto -

two t's and two guns.

"I'll shoot better next time," yelled Johnny;

"and there'll be a next time."

He backed rapidly out the door.

Carson, the parking authority cop,

spurred on to attempt further exploits

by the success of his plate-throwing,

was first to reach the door -

it was the only time he had come in first in anything

-and the last.

Tugunatto's bullet from the darkness laid him low.

The law (cops) and the order (the mobsters) then swept out upon the night, calling for vengeance, because, while the slaughter of a parking authority cop wasn’t exactly an occasion for mourning in South Philly - it was definitely a misdemeanor .

But the posse failed in its vengeance.

Tugunatto was in his Eldorado and away,

shouting back curses and threats

as he made wheels into the concealing warren of side streets and avenues lined with double parkers and

more handicapped parking signs than Lourdes

that made South Philly the paradise of ticket-fixers.

It wasn’t a bad wedding

by local standards –

only one dead – and a parking authority cop at that -

and one plugged Madonna

who had a permanent hole in her blue robe -

at the exact spot where her navel should have been -

if she had one.

A week later, wine started to flow out of that exact hole -

and since then it has been consecrated as holy ground dedicated to Our Lady of the Stray Bullet,

visited by thousands each year

whose loved ones were erased in drive by shootings.

That night was the birth night of Johnny Two Guns Tugunatto - double t and double barrel.

He became the "hit man" of the South of Philly.

The rejection of his suit by Miss Mucci

turned him into a killer – well, not exactly –

he already was a killer – but now he was a famous killer.

When officers went after him for the shooting of Carson (well, the Madonna, really, for nobody mourned Carson's passing), he killed two of them, and entered upon the life of a full-time gangster. He became a marvelous shot with both hands. He started fights at the slightest provocation, then started blasting – once, while watching the parade on New Years day on the corner of Broad and Moore somebody said he looked cold – he shot him dead with the words –

Nobody says I look cold.

He was so mean, so deadly, so rapid,

so inhumanly blood- thirsty that no one got in his way –

and lived to tell the tale.

Two Guns had the deaths of eighteen men on his head.

He never had mercy on the object of his displeasure – once he shot a priest who merely smiled at him.

Yet at this and every holiday season

it is well to give each one credit, if it can be done,

for whatever speck of good he may have possessed.

If Johnny Two Guns ever did a kindly act or felt a throb of generosity in his heart it was once at such a time and season, and this is the way it happened.

One who has been crossed in love should never breathe

the odor of cloves of garlic.

It stirs the memory to a dangerous degree.

One December five years later

in the Mucci Bar and Grill,

ole lady Mucci was cutting garlic for the festival of the fishes to be held on Christmas Eve.

In strolled Johnny Two Guns and a companion –

Freddie Frick.

As soon as Johnny smelled the garlic,

he turned to Freddie and said:

"I don't know what I've been thinking about,

to have forgot all about a Christmas present I gotta give.

I'm gonna come back here tomorrow night and

shoot Frio in his own fada-in-law’s place.

He got my girl -- Sophia wudda had me

if he hadn't cut into the game.

I wonder why I happened to overlook it up to now?"

"Maybe the drugs, Johnny," said Freddie,

"anyway - don't talk foolishness.

You know you can't get witin a mile of Mucci's Bar and Grill to-mara night.

It’ll be Christmas Eve and there’s always a party

for all the locals – and the kids - and there’s sure to be a million cops on hand for Frio’s weddin anniversary –

it’s their fifth.

"I'm going," repeated Tugunatto, without heat,

"to go to Mucci's Christmas party, and kill Frio. I shouldda done it a long time ago. Why, Freddie, just last night

I dreamed me and Sophia was married and

I was slappin her around a bit cause dinner was late on the table, and I could see her smiling at me, and -- oh! hell, Fred, he got her cause he’s a cop and her father just wants protection.

Yes, sir, on Christmas Eve he got her,

and that's when I'll get him."

"There's other ways of committing suicide," advised Freddie.

"Why don't you go and surrender to the FBI?"

"I'll get him," said the Two Guns.

“How?”

“You’ll see.”

That Christmas Eve was one of those spring-like days

that pop up in the middle of winter.

When night came, Mucci’s was brightly lit.

In one room was a Christmas tree, hung with ten and twenty dollar bills that displayed the true spirit of the holidays.

Sophia and Frio already had a little boy named Fredo Santino Michael Frio, and dozens of local kids came to meet Santa

and get their presents from the local mob, ah, businessmen.

At nightfall Frio called aside Jimmy Free Donuts

and three other cops.

"Now, boys," said Frio, "keep your eyes open.

Walk around the block and watch the street.

All of you know ole lady Mucci saw Johnny Two Guns yesterday lurking around the bar.

I'm not afraid of his coming around,

(there were snickers at this remark)

but Sophia is. She's been afraid he'd come in on us

every Christmas Eve since we was married."

The guests had arrived and were treating themselves to tables laden with bacala, calamari, shrimp, clams and spaghetti, mussels, smelts and lobster (it was a good year - the Fed had just raised the prime interest rate and since ole man Mucci’s vig on the loans he had outstanding was tied to the prime rate – it was exactly 122 times prime – the future looked bright).

The evening went along pleasantly.

The guests enjoyed and praised Mucci's excellent fish dishes, and afterward the men scattered in groups about the rooms or on the outside porch that curved around two sides of the building, smoking and chatting.

The Christmas tree, of course, delighted the youngsters,

and above all they were cheered when Santa Claus himself

in magnificent white beard and furs

appeared and began to distribute the toys.

"It's my daddy," announced Al Capone Soncini, aged six.

"I've seen him wear that Santa outfit before."

Captain Belchy, an old friend of Frio’s,

stopped Sophia as she was passing by him on the porch, where he was sitting and smoking.

"Well, Mrs. Frio," said he,

"I suppose by this Christmas you've gotten over being afraid of that fellow Tugunatto, haven't you?

Mike and me have talked about it, you know."

"Very nearly," said Sophia, smiling,

"but I am still nervous sometimes.

I’ll never forget that awful time

when he came so near to killing us."

"He's the most cold-hearted mobster

- in South Philly – we’d all be better off if he was dead and buried" said Belchy.

"He has committed awful crimes," said Sophia,

“but -- I -- don't -- know.

I think there is a spot of good somewhere in everybody.

He was not always bad -- that I know.

There was a time when I loved him –

and you can’t really hate anyone you once loved –

not if you really loved them, can you? No, Johnny is no friend of ours – but this Christmas Eve, wherever he is, I wish him a warm shoulder to lie his head on and a soft hand to smooth his troubled brow."

Sophia turned into the hallway between the rooms.

Santa Claus, in muffling whiskers and furs,

was just coming through.

"Ho, ho, ho - I heard what you said through the window,

Mrs. Frio," he said.

"I was just going into my bag for a Christmas present

for your husband.

But I've left one for you, instead.

It's in the room to your right."

"Oh, thank you, Santa Claus," said Sophia, brightly.

Sophia went into the room, while Santa Claus stepped into the cooler air of the yard. She found no one in the room but her husband, Mike.

"Where is my present that Santa said he left for me in here?" she asked.

"Haven't seen anything in the way of a present,"

said her husband, laughing,

"unless he could have meant me."

The next day Elliot Ness Bucca, the chief of the local FBI’s Organized Crime Strike Force, called his boss in Washington.

"Well, Johnny Tugunatto alias Two Guns

got his dose of lead at last," he said.

"That so? How'd it happen?"

"A Wawa security guard did it! --

think of it! Johnny Two Guns killed by

a convenience store security guard!

It seems Tugunatto walked into the Wawa on South Street about twelve o'clock last night for a pack of Camels

when two guys come in to rob the place.

The guard had a little holiday cheer in him

so he panics and starts blasting away –

he shoots Two Guns by mistake.

Funniest part of it was that

Johnny was all dressed up with white whiskers and

a regular Santa Claus rig-out from head to foot.

Can you imagine it- Johnny Two Guns playing Santa!

Who woulda believed it?!"