The Bookie's Daughter (18 page)

Arriving at the Strip District, Al parked in front of our regular wholesalers and headed to meet up with “some friends,” as I began the chore of selecting the produce and plants I thought most desirable. An hour later, I loaded up the truck, and headed down the street to rendezvous with Al for breakfast.

The Strip District was one of my favorite places. Even at five in the morning, it was bustling with activity as some laborers began their day and others prepared to finish their shift. As I made my way past the lively warehouses, I encountered the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with roasting meats wafting out of the restaurants that were nestled within the beehive of businesses.

On the mornings I accompanied him, Al would take me to my favorite deli, which served enormous breakfast plates that temporarily satisfied my father’s seemingly unending appetite. Entering the restaurant, I found Al already devouring a large plate of hash and eggs. This particular deli was famous for their over-stuffed deli sandwiches and massive breakfasts, but luckily, they also served one of my favorite dishes, matzo ball soup. The owner, a gruff, portly, yet warm-hearted Jewish man, was horrified the first time I ordered matzo ball soup for breakfast. Jackie thought it an inappropriate meal for breakfast and flat out refused to serve it to me. Only after some cajoling from my father did he finally agree, but Jackie insisted on a compromise—he would serve me the soup topped off with a fried egg. This may sound unappetizing, but I found it delicious. After I had devoured my steamy, albeit nontraditional, breakfast, Al and I made the short ride home to Jeannette. I unloaded the produce and began to set up my fruit market. I then spent the morning selling my wares and taking care of customers.

Around noon, my father called me into the store and handed me a stack of money to deliver to a winning sports client at a nearby luncheonette. Counting out the money to confirm the amount, as Al had taught me years before, I peeled off the fifty-dollar bills from the hundreds. I turned the bills to ensure that Grant and Ben always faced to the right, and then verified the thirty-five hundred dollar winnings. As I headed for the door, Al instructed me to bring back two cheeseburgers and a large order of onion rings.

“Did you order them?”

“No, that’s your job,” my father replied, sarcastically. By the tone of his voice, I knew that his massive breakfast had worn off. A hungry Al was not a pretty sight!

Placing the winnings in a brown paper bag, I proceeded down the street to the rendezvous point and found the winning client outside of the luncheonette conversing with other gamblers. I handed him his winnings and he pulled a ten-dollar tip out of his pocket and presented it to me. Not bothering to enter, I went to the service window to order my father’s lunch and a soft serve ice cream cone for myself. The owner, Pat, handed over my ice cream to enjoy while I waited for Al’s lunch. Pat’s ice cream was legendary—an icy, chocolaty treat that danced on the taste buds and numbed the throat.

I had just taken my first lick when I heard an angry voice from behind. “Hey, Goldilocks, you want to spit at me again? Come on, bitch, let’s see how tough you are now!”

My tongue froze in mid-lick, my mind racing. Of course, I knew who it was, but I was caught off guard.

As I turned to face his accusations, the Loogie Man smacked the cone from my hand, splattering chocolate ice cream all over my shirt. Before I could say or do anything, the Loogie Man let loose a loogie that would most assuredly have qualified for a Guinness World Record. Caught in the moment and knowing there was no escape, I closed my eyes a split second before I felt the impact of his emissions. The loogie hit its mark. It splattered on my forehead and clung to the curls hanging down the right side of my face. I glanced up through my lashes, and found the slimy glob suspended over my eyebrows. Holding back the bile that rose in my throat, I stared at my attacker in horror. Before I could respond, several of the gamblers stepped up and pulled me aside, creating an impenetrable wall of safety between my attacker and me. The Loogie Man, clearly a coward of the highest degree, turned and jumped into his idling car, and escaped the wrath of the indignant group.

A concerned patron hurried out of the luncheonette and handed me a napkin. I mechanically accepted his offering and wiped my face clean. Pete, one of my father’s best friends, picked up Al’s lunch and escorted me the short distance home. I entered the store and immediately ran to the basement bathroom to rinse my hair and wash my face.

I could hear Bonnie’s raised voice as I ascended the stairs. Pete had already filled my parents in on the Loogie Man’s vile attack. Bonnie and Al were horrified and furious at the degrading way I had been treated by this mystery man who had so suddenly appeared in our lives. As I took a seat behind the counter and contemplated my second encounter with an adult who considered it appropriate to spit on a child, Bonnie hurried over to the luncheonette to talk with those who had witnessed the event, hoping to gather information that would reveal the Loogie Man’s identity.

Luckily, an avid numbers player had made note of the Loogie Man’s license plate moments before the viscous loogie made its appearance. Sweet Kate, oblivious to the Loogie Man’s vile intentions and obsessed with numbers, had written down the license plate number as she made her way to the store to place her daily bets. Just as my mother reappeared in the store with little information other than descriptions of what had just occurred, Kate entered and presented my father with the Loogie Man’s license number.

Armed with the plate number, Al made inquires and learned that the Loogie Man was a Pittsburgh native and “an up and comer” in the body building circuit. Apparently, the Loogie Man had a nasty reputation. He was known for his unpredictable behavior, especially when it came to young girls.

Before Al could make the necessary arrangements for a sit down with “friends” who would have a “talk” with my attacker, the Loogie Man made another appearance. It was a Friday night, several days after I stood covered with spittle and chocolate ice cream; I remember this because my young cousins from Michigan were staying with us and they insisted on having pizza on Friday nights. I had already put in a full day at the store when Al ordered me to run down to Abie’s and Bimbo’s Pizza shop to pick up the half-dozen pizzas he ordered for the family and the gamblers awaiting the start of the night’s poker game. I solicited help from one of my young cousins, and we set off to our destination just a block up the Avenue.

We found a long line leading up to the counter. Our order having been called in, I took a seat and engaged in conversation with Judy, a long-time friend of my sister. I had my back to the door when suddenly I heard a voice from behind. Obviously, the Loogie Man liked to sneak up on his victims.

“Hey, bitch,” he screamed. “Yeah, I’m talking to you, Goldilocks.”

I turned around to find the Loogie Man in the company of a large black woman whom I did not recognize. Seeing the two of them together, I decided that feigning bravado was my best shot at coming out of this encounter unscathed. I went on the attack—verbally, of course.

“What do you want now? Did you come to show your lady friend what a big man you are? Did you tell her you spat on a thirteen-year-old? Maybe the guys at your gym would like to know the kind of coward they are competing against,” I taunted.

Unfortunately, the woman showed no sign of surprise. From her angry expression, it was apparent that she was not at all disturbed by her boyfriend’s previous actions, but instead seemed intent on doing me harm. Although my bravado did not elicit the desired effect from his bimbo, there were several gasps from horrified customers.

My insults inflamed the Loogie Man, who was not amused at my revealing his cowardice to the crowd. “Joke’s on you, bitch. I brought my woman along to kick your ass,” he sneered. “You think you are so high and mighty? No one, and I mean no one, turns me down. Loretta knows what happened and she is insulted by your lack of respect. Aren’t you Loretta?”

I looked at Loretta and knew I was in deep shit. Towering over me in height and bulk, eyes ablaze with fury, Loretta looked like she could eat nails. Even in her ridiculous pink spandex pants, orange shirt and gold shoes, she was menacing. Her comical attire contrasted with the Loogie Man’s silver-flecked garb. Although this was our third encounter, it was the first time I noticed the Loogie Man’s gold tooth and his strange, amber-colored eyes, which combined with his golden hair, gave him a look of a jungle cat. He was tall, extraordinarily muscular, and flamboyantly dressed, wearing a skin-tight silver and black snakeskin shirt that clung to his muscles and coordinated perfectly with his high-heeled, snakeskin boots.

Although unaware of what lies Loogie Man had told his visibly pissed off girlfriend about our previous encounters, I was astute enough to know two things: Loretta wanted to put a major hurt on me and I would not stand a chance in a physical confrontation with her. Quickly surveying the shop for something to hit her with, I came up empty. Abie’s and Bimbo’s served take-out orders only, so there was not even a chair to use as a weapon. The few benches were far too heavy for me to handle. Many of the waiting customers had left the building at the increasing signs of trouble. I was aware that I would have to handle this predicament on my own. Out of choices, I squared my shoulders and accepted the challenge.

“Great, you think you can kick my ass. Let’s go outside and get in on.”

The Loogie Man, delighted that he was about to see the curls pulled from my head and my face pounded into the pavement, gleefully pulled open the door for the ladies to exit ahead of him. I pushed my cousin in front of me and as I passed the Loogie Man, I took off running with a parting shot. “Fuck you, asshole!”

My cousin and I ran like the wind the Avenue, arriving at the store minutes later. Out of breath but full of adrenaline, I excitedly told my father what had occurred. Sitting on his oversized chair, Al listened to my description of the events stone-faced. Rising up to his massive height, he called on several of the gamblers to accompany him to the pizza shop.

Hurrying up the Avenue, we found the Loogie Man and Loretta as they exited the pizza shop. Apparently unconcerned that she was already busting out of her garish clothes, Loretta emerged from behind the Loogie Man carrying two pies. Her badass attitude began to melt away as she saw the angry posse that surrounded me. Fearful, she looked even more ridiculous in her gaudy attire. Wisely, she stepped back from the Loogie Man and quickly disappeared around the corner.

The Loogie Man also attempted an escape, but, unfortunately for him, ran directly into a friend of my father’s from Pittsburgh. Big Sir, as he was known to everyone, had chanced upon the scene. Curious as to why Al and his band of merry men were congregating at an unusual spot on the Avenue, instead of getting ready for the night’s poker game, he followed in his car. He parked on the side street and approached the crowd just as the Loogie Man attempted to follow Loretta’s lead.

Crashing full force into Big Sir, my attacker made his biggest mistake. Desperate to escape, the Loogie Man punched Big Sir full force in the face.

Al, knowing that the Loogie Man had just punched a well connected man, tried to defuse the situation. “You’re in more trouble than you know, son. Don’t make things worse. Apologize to my daughter and my friend who you just needlessly hit, and maybe you can walk away.”

Defiant, the Loogie Man sneered at my father. “I’m not afraid of you, old man, or any of your friends. There will be no apology from me. That bitch has to pay for her disrespect.”

Suddenly, one of the gamblers, Tricky Dick, lunged. The Loogie Man responded by landing a forceful punch, which knocked him to the ground. Caught up in the moment, the Loogie Man then attacked Al, who took several hard blows to the face before getting his hands around the Loogie Man’s throat. The Loogie Man was strong, but my father’s unusual size gave him the momentary advantage he needed. Ignoring the blood dripping from his nose, Al threw the Loogie Man on the hood of the nearest car and began to choke him in earnest. “Listen to me carefully,” he growled menacingly. “You will never again come to Jeannette or near my daughter. If you do, you won’t live long enough to regret it. Do you understand me? Do you?”

From where I was standing, I could see that the police were on the way down the Avenue. “Dad, the cops are coming,” I warned. “Please, Dad, let the cops have him. We don’t need any more trouble.”

Loosening his grip on the Loogie Man’s throat, Al straightened up and released the gasping man just as the cops leapt from their squad cars. Having no idea what had just occurred, the officers went straight for my father and pushed him up against the front of the pizza shop. Another officer checked on the Loogie Man and then began to talk to witnesses. I explained to the officers that it was not my father’s fault; he was protecting me from the man who had been harassing me for the last week. Upon hearing that my attacker had previously spit on me, they apologized to Al and turned their attention to the Loogie Man.

One officer asked me, “Do you want to press charges?”

“Yes,” I screamed, but Al hushed me.

“No,” my father replied. “I don’t think that’s necessary. I think he got the message.” Turning back to the Loogie Man, Al warned, “I better never see your face again. Take me at my word.”