Chapter Three:     NICK AND NATCH:

     John Collins, sixth grade teacher, remembers Nick:  "the kid was, a, excuse the expression, a real dick head."

     Peter Sloan, seventh grade teacher, remembers Natch:  How should I put this, let me just say that, ah, er, well, he was a special boy, liked throwing his weight around, caused a lot of trouble, and, I'm sorry to say, he broke my nose."

     Nick, real name Nicola Tedesco, the only child of Angelo and Maria.  Angelo was a driver for one of the trash outfits, did a pretty good job, loved his wine and from time to time beat the crap out of Maria.  Slights were imagined, wine was consumed in great quantities and regrets, shit I coulda' owned this damn company, and sure enough, Maria would ask him to please do this or do that, don't talk to loud, whatever, and slam!, his fist, her head.

     For years, as he grew up, Nick thought, was absolutely certain, the way you treated women was with an open palm, slammed against a cheek. This lead Nick to many interesting encounters with girls in school, various trips to the Principals office, threats of law suits, and by the time he was in eleventh grade, they somehow figured out a way to give Nick a diploma and out the door he went.

     Angelo was quite proud, Nick being the first in the family to finish, more or less, High School.

     Nick got a low leveL job working on the back of a trash truck, making pennies, throwing eight to nine tons of garbage each and every day, six days a week.  Nick said to himself, this ain't too bad, I get to be outside all day, I'm gettin' exercise, and what the fuck, that new word he just discovered, fuck!, the money ain't so bad.

     After a while Nick's penchant for violence would come into play, and on one occasion, he was watched, by a fairly important person in the business, turn a guy upside down and dump him into a four cubic yard container.   The guy was unhappy with the service he was getting, unhappy with the price he was paying and he wanted to change to a different trash hauler.  After a while the guy changed his mind.

     This kid, he's got some fuckin' potential, the fairly important guy in the business thought, as he watched the performance.  Why I think we could use a fella like this for various things up and around town, things which otherwise might cause some agita.  So to prevent some things up and around town, things which otherwise might cause some agita, Nick was spoken to, and they kept their eyes on him.  Each day, after the route truck came into the garage, the fairly important guy in the business would snatch Nick up and drive around town.  They would talk about business, and what to do to protect business, and how to dispose of bodies, how to torture a guy who's tossin' unfounded beefs around, and to generally prosper and become an upstanding member of the community.

     About this time, THE GUY!, nursing a bullet wound in his shoulder had decided well, it's time we hit the road, cure up this big hole I got here, and don't it seem nice this Florida place?  There was many a sad eyeball as THE GUY said his goodbyes, well not everyone, a fella who happened to park the bullet in THE GUY's shoulder was not all that broken up.

     After a while, Nick came to the attention of the Old Man, who in turn brought Nick to the attention of his son, Joseph, the Old Man having big plans for Joseph and this Nick guy would be a large boost to those plans should some agita be up and about town.

     Nick continued to work on the trash truck, but everyone knew, do not fuck with this kid, he's got a fairly important guy in the business watching out for him, should agita be up and about around town.  After a while, Nick wanted to stop working on the back of the truck.  They said, okay, it's time you learned how to drive, since that is a very important part of the trash business, this driving thing.  He quickly became the youngest driver in the Old Man's fleet, a relief driver, so he got to work not all the time, which Nick thought, fuck!, this ain't so fuckin' bad.

     During the times when he wasn't driving the trash truck, or being driven around by a fairly important guy in the business, Nick joined a gym and spent his days working out.  He noticed, quite early on, that babes, hard bodied babes, also spent time in the gym.  He also spent some time thinking about slammin' them around and figured there's no edge in it for me, unless they start runnin' their mouth, then fuck it, slap city.  The babes, the hard bodied babes took note of Nick, he was, after all, good looking, dark hair and eyes, and after a while a pretty hard body himself.

     Nick learned about sex from the fairly important guy in the business, not sure if everything he was taught was the right thing, but that blow job thing, though, that was pretty tremendous.  Maybe, he thought, one of these hard bodies would love to clamp one on the old shooter for me, and fuck, she'd probably enjoy it more than me.  So with his fairly distorted view of sex and love, taught to him by the fairly important guy in the business, Nick moved on, and did for a very long time have quite a sex life.

     For his nineteenth birthday, the fairly important guy in the business bought Nick a pinky ring.



     Natch, on the other hand, was raised by an insane mother, Elena, a psycho born in Sicily, who figured any son of mine has got to go to church every morning, get on his knees and confess his sins and beg God for forgiveness.  Natch had a few other ideas, which lead to some agita up and around the household, the Colangelo household.  Beatings, religious based beatings, were a regular occurrence, especially when demented Elena found out, much to her dismay, that Natch, her pride and joy, was walking in the front door of church in the morning, and walking out the back door two minutes later.

     Natch had discovered some guys who didn't also like to go to church, and whatever else, maybe some were supposed to go to work, so they gathered near an old run down gas station, the owner Vito, Vito who, nobody knew was taking numbers, working for that racket in town, which was soon "acquired" by a fairly important guy in the trash business.  On more than one occasion, the young Natch was confronted by folks who wanted to know what was in the little satchel he carried on the bus.

     "None a yer fuckin' business."

     One thing lead to another, words were exchanged, and one of the guys ended up being tossed, head first, through the rear window of the bus.  His two friends realized they had missed their stop and quickly exited the bus.  The  driver, a cousin to another fairly important guy in the business, told his cousin and shortly thereafter Vito's prized numbers runner was noticed.

     "We'll keep an eye on that little jerk off and see what develops."

     What developed was a violence prone, very strong, knock around guy, with no idea what life had in store for him, other than runnin' these numbers slips on the fuckin' bus, which I ain't too much fond of too much any more.



     A pretty nice restaurant, a place where a fella who was mighty tired up from running the trash business could wrap himself around a large plate of pasta, or some other thing, to warm his soul and fortify his being.  Wine, which the saying goes, goes with everything, went well with the tired up guys wrapping themselves around a large bowl of Al-dente pasta.

     It was raining outside, a crappy day for the guys working the trucks, not so crappy for the guys not working the trucks, but who were mighty tired up anyway.  Two fellas, one a fairly important guy in the trash business, the other, another fairly important guy in the trash business, had settled in on a fairly important date with Rigatoni, Broccoli Rabbe and Sausage.  Garlic and Olive Oil was clinging to the pasta, a sweet smelling meal to help some guys who were fairly important in the trash business relax away from the stress and strain of running those trash businesses.

     "This is good."  Big smile, watching the other guy.

     "This fuckin' guy can cook, looka' that sausage!"  What's he lookin' at?

     All was good, however, the meal passed without any dust ups, since the potential for beefs being tossed around was always there when two fairly important guys in the trash business got together.

     They discussed things in general, the state of the business, the fact that outfit, you know, the one with the big green fuckin' trucks, those national guys, was startin' to nosey around town, causing some grief to the two fairly important guys in the trash business.

     They decided to sit with the Old Man, and now with his son, Joseph, an up and comer in the trash business, more than fairly important.

     Nick ran into, literally, Natch, pulling out of a grocery store, backing into Natch's car, placing a pretty nifty dent in the front bumper.  Doors were opened, temperatures rose, face to face, but somehow they figured they were both sorta' involved with the trash business, more or less.  Nick smiled, shook hands with Natch, Natch telling him "forget the fuckin' bumper."

     Two weeks later they met at the gym, Nick eyeing a very hard bodied blonde with some sorta' pants on made him think they were fuckin' spray painted on her, Christ, looka' them fuckin' tights.  He had a vision of this girl, a hot bicycle, some cold water and well, he thought, none of ya' fuckin' business what happened next.

     "Hey, how you doin'?"

     Nick turned, there, smiling, was the crazy fuck who busted up my fuckin' bumper.

     "Hey, how you doin'?"  Nick smiled, Natch moved closer and they shook hands.

     Natch took a peek at the girl, the hardest hard body, and spoke to himself, man, I could fuck that right now, and she'd love every fuckin' minute of it.

     "You come here, to work out?"  Natch thinking, he's got a pretty hard body himself, must get a lot of pussy.

     "Yeah, three times a week, gotta' keep the shit nice and tight, the babes dig it.  Wanna touch this bicep?"

     "Not today, not never.  I don't like touchin other guys, you know, maybe those other guys get funny ideas, not ha-ha funny, but funny ideas."  This guy, he ain't a fugazy is he?

     "Whoa, I anin't no fugazy, Natch, was just tryin' to show you what the fuck happens when you work out all the time."  This guy, he ain't too solid I think in the head, a few rough edges.  "So, lemme ask ya, where'd you get the Natch from?"

     "I was working with Vito, down at the gas station, runnin' them slips downtown, and every time he asks me to so something, and do it fuckin' quick, I said, sure, natch, it's done.  Natch."  Big smile on Natch's face.  "So Vito down at the gas station started callin' me Natch and it stuck."

     Nick thought, gee, this fella is pretty handy, I heard a story about him tossin' some jerk off through a bus window,.  Maybe we can team up and do a little business, he's a solid citizen in all ways according to Vito, and a straight shooter.

     So they did team up.  The became a dynamic fuckin' duo of immense proportions.  When they weren't doing their normal jobs, they began doing "not normal" jobs.  Little things, breaking and entering, knockin off a mailman or two down town on social security check day; they got their hands on some "reefer" and sold some of it around town, both swearing to each other, we will never touch this shit, which they never did.

     They were very respectful, always kicking up part of what they scored to the fairly important guys in the trash business, who passed some of that good stuff over to the Old Man, who gave some to Joseph.


Next Week:  Chapter Four:  TWO FAIRLY IMPORTANT GUYS IN THE TRASH BUSINESS.