Vincenzo Gambini

Carmine waited until the woman coming out of the hall had passed by the check-out counter before answering his nephew’s questions.

“This is a cash only business,” he explained. “No checks. No credit cards. Supposedly, we are a club, and the rental fees are to purchase new tapes for the members, so we don’t have to collect any sales tax. Of course, the items we actually sell we do collect the tax.”

“Now this cash register,” Carmine pointed to the machine, “Keeps track of the money collected and the date, but not the time. Or what was bought or rented. So, when I am here, I punch in the money from the drop. In increments of five dollars. In the range of fifteen to fifty. I throw in a fiver or ten from time to time just to make it all look legit.”

Another man strolled in from the side door and headed for the booths while Carmine was talking.

“This way, when I deposit it and later pay taxes on the money, we can answer where it came from if the Feds ask.” He made a sweeping gesture at the display floor. “It came from the Gagootz.”

“But it didn’t,” Vinny pointed out.

“Prove it,” Carmine countered. “They can’t park at the curb across the highway and take pictures of the check-out counter with a high-powered camera. We’ve got posters taped up to block their view. But we have security cameras outside. We can show people entering and leaving the store.”

“Empty handed,” his nephew replied.

“How big is a video?” Carmine grinned. “They shoved ‘em in their jacket pockets or the rear pockets of their jeans. The dames drop them into their purses.”

“Then this is just one big money laundering operation?” Vinny replied. When his uncle said yes, Vinny followed up with, “But where does it all come from originally?”

Carmine placed one meaty hand on his nephew’s shoulder, saying, “Vinny, you’ve been asking great questions today. You are getting a good grip on how the store operates. But some questions…”

He patted the young man’s cheek and told him, “You don’t ask.”

At that moment, two more men, African-American this time, walked in from the front parking lot and swaggered back to the booths. Vinny grimaced and hissed, “I hate those mother-fuckers! Coming in here to get their dicks sucked by some white woman.”

“Nooo… “ Carmine wagged his index finger in front of Vinny’s face. “Alot of these dames want some black cock. The blacker the better.”

Removing his hand from Vinny’s shoulder, he said, “You’ve done good today. Why don’t you take a break and go watch a video in one of the booths?”