I worked for this one restaurant for about three days when I was in college. I was there just long enough to see a few little things, mostly notably the very well-dressed man who came in during a slow period looking all somber, summoned the owner to a private area of the bar, and showed him an article in a folded-up newspaper. They had a quiet but serious-looking discussion while the well-dressed man drank one of the nicer wines offered in the restaurant, and then he left. I came along to clean up the wine glasses and newspaper, and noticed the article was about someone who had been found murdered, and the murder was suspected to be a mob execution. “Aha,” I thought. I was a terrible waitress anyway, so I didn’t mind leaving that job after the three days of training proved hopeless.
Another time when I was 13 or 14, my mom dropped me off at the mall. By the time I got to the Sam Goody, a clerk from another store ran in looking for her friend who worked at Sam Goody, all freaked out because mall security had just found an idling Lincoln in the parking garage, right near the entrance where I’d been dropped off maybe half an hour before. In the driver’s seat was a man who had been shot twice in the head. Later, I saw a local news story about it that suggested the man had mob ties.
I also met a guy named Hawk who was a bouncer in a strip club, and he claimed he was also a mafia hitman. He certainly looked the part, but probably was full of crap. Seems to me you couldn’t keep being a hitman if you ran around telling everyone that’s what you did.
