Carmine And Vinny

Carmine’s eyes followed the female who came out of one of the private viewing booths. She tossed her head back and ran her fingers through her hair as she headed for the door between two racks of videos. The woman looked neither to her right nor left, but kept her gaze focused straight ahead.

The Gagootz was located alongside a highway in New Jersey that was populated by gas-stations, liquor stores, fast-food franchises, billboards, with sporadic trees thrown in. A rectangular, one-story building that had a small asphalt parking lot in front, and a much larger one in the rear. On one side was a grove of trees. The other side had a patch of dirt, and next to it was an abandoned beauty salon that had gone out of business.

Basically, the Gagootz was isolated.

The rear parking lot added to that isolation. Not only were the cars hidden from the view of passing motorists, but there was a door in back. It led to a narrow hallway running the width of the building. A door at the other end opened into the store. So the business had two entrances.

The sound of the front door opening caused Carmine to glance in that direction. It was another man. A regular. They exchanged nods as the customer went for the booths. The new arrival nearly collided with Vinniy when the Manager-Trainee emerged from a recently occupied booth carrying a mop and bucket.

Vinny was in his mid-twenties, short, with perhaps too large a nose. His hair was combed straight back and blow-dried. The young man looked ready for the disco.

Carmine, on the other hand, was roughly twice Vinny’s age. His hair was thin on top and he had a pronounced belly. For the next few weeks, he would be teaching Vinny how to run the place. Once he was properly trained, Carmine would be able to take over managing the Bing-Bang-Boom, a “tittie bar” in the next township.

Despite his eagerness to shift jobs, he was not going to rush the young man’s training. Vinny was the oldest son of Carmine’s sister and the bulky man had always had an affinity for his nephew. Especially since the boy’s father had been gunned down by a rival gang when Vinny was still in grade school.

“You don’t ever get tired of cleaning up the booths, Uncle Carmine?” Vinny asked after returning the equipment to the janitor’s closet.

The big man scoffed. “Naw. I did a hitch in the Navy when I was younger than you. Why do you think they called us ‘swabbies’?”