Robert Monatelli sat in his chair in the back of Fredo's Deli and watched the boy they had hired to clean up.
"He looks ok," Robert thought, "but he is not Italian." With that, Robert thumbed off the safety of his Browning automatic and fired three quick shots. The boy felt the bullets thud softly against his Levis denim shirt. He coughed up his liver and it fell into his lap. He stared at it in broken wonder, clutched his guts, and died.
The men began to arrive, hungry for succulent pasta. There was Geno Vitoli, Gregorio Manatelli, Vito Roma, and Carl Levin. All the men hated Carl because he was Jewish, but they tolerated him because he always found the best prostitutes in town. They all sat down together and drank wine and ate pasta, and laughed and laughed, and then they wiped the pasta off their faces with thick, hairy fingers. Suddenly a hydrogen bomb exploded and they all died and burned in Hell forever.
© 1978 by Craig Snyder