“That’s the $64 question, pal. You just got hauled out of your comfortable, cushioned little programmer geek world and into one that’s likely to give you a huge load of trouble. I’m gonna try to give you enough to stay alive until dinner time and then we can see what comes after that.”
Jamie looked up at RL but his head would only make blocky, robotic moves and the sun glared into his eyes. RL dropped his CHP helmet, tugged off his leather gloves, and sat down, leaning against the car next to Jamie.
“There’s a little history here but I’ll try sticking to the highlights; this first part is really hard to believe but I heard it told myself from someone who was there. This starts in 1967, during the Summer of Love, when some major East Coast Sicilians got smart–really, really smart. One of the Dons’ kids had just graduated from college with a degree in electrical engineering. What he really studied, though, was computers; in fact, he was probably the first mafioso to know anything about them.
“What made that important was that his uncle, another man of respect, was deep in worry. The Feds had been after the Families for years and ever since the big meet in ’58, they were beginning to break through and put people in jail. Life had always been dangerous for these guys, with wars breaking out every five years and all, but now men in the lower levels were beginning to talk, trying to save themselves from 20 years or more behind bars.
“One night the uncle and the son were sitting together after a nice meal, taking their espresso and talking. The son was full of the possibilities that computers and other brand new tech and he went on for at least an hour before the uncle cut him off. ‘This is all well and good,’ he said, ‘but how’s it going to keep us in business and out of jail?’
“The younger man had to stop and think. He knew that just computerizing the accounting would make a huge improvement and they could adapt some of the forecasting already in use by big businesses. Good but not enough, though. They needed something more, and he said so.
“This time it was the uncle’s turn to think. Finally he told his nephew a secret. One so closely held that only four other men new it. ‘You know that our family comes from Trappani, a little village a few miles west of Palermo. We came to America after the first World War, when your grandfather made a very bad decision regarding some soldiers. What we never told you, something you can never speak of to anyone but me and your father, was that there was another family that came across the ocean with us. And now, as we have become more than just a family of immigrants, so have they. One man is the Assistant US Attorney in Manhattan and another, younger, is with the US Attorney’s office in Brooklyn. And they are our friends.'”
BillSaysThis 