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An erotic massage along with breast toppings.
He was utterly gorgeous, about five ten, well-built but not overly muscled, extremely handsome in a dark Italian way. He was quite a contrast to Karl. Gino was polite and deferential to his parents. He wasn't a doormat. He could meet his mother's jibes with some of his own, showing a very subtle, very funny brand of humour. He and his father seemed to be good friends.
Maria was her mother all over again. She, too, was beautiful. I could tell her father was completely smitten by her, for good reason. She was bubbly with a sort of infectious happiness.
The Morellis had been blessed with their children and appreciated the blessing. We got along well from the first minute. I'd had a loving home before I tossed it away. Here was another. I felt at home at once.
So that, in its own strange way, is how I ended up in the Morelli Gang, an adjunct to Morelli himself.
Tony was as good as his word and taught me a lot of street tricks, and some not-so-street tricks, such as how to use and throw a knife.
"Nahnah, you need a weapon, something to protect yourself and your packages. You could try a gun, but right now a gun would be more dangerous to you than to an attacker. Perhaps a knife? I hesitate to suggest that because it is a lot of work, much more so than a gun. A knife, though, is a much more personal weapon."
Tony picked a couple of knives from somewhere.
"Here, Nahnah, pick them up and feel them, weigh them in your hands. Throw them at the target over there. The knives will tell you if you should use a knife. I don't know how they know."
I picked the knives up, one at a time. It was love. They seemed perfect for my hands. I threw one at the target and scored a perfect bullseye. Tony shook his head in admiration. The second knife hit very wide, but at least on target. The knives were telling me that they'd given me a sign, not that I didn't need to practise. Tony explained that.
"These knives are yours, now, Nahnah. They have spoken. Mrs. Morelli thought they might. They were hers, and are now yours. It will be a lot of work."
It was a lot of work, but so is love. For me and the knives, it was love.
I practised daily and became very good at knife work. Tony was an excellent teacher. From that time I always had at least two knives when I was on the job, and, most times, when I was on my own, too. Tony taught me the basics of firearms as well. By the time I was any good with them, I'd learned that a gun could be more of a liability than an asset for what I was doing. The knives were much more up close and personal, a decided advantage in my job. A would-be hijacker wouldn't believe you were good enough or crazy enough to shoot off his balls. Cut them off, though: he could see that, feel it even. A woman with a knife didn't seem too incongruous whereas a girl with a gun just didn't have "Dirty Harry" written on her.
The point of a weapon, at least for me, is protection. You've lost something if you have to use it. The knives were better for me than a gun for that reason. Maybe it was the connection made between a woman (mother) and the kitchen and the knives used there that made it seem more realistic for a woman to threaten with a knife. Sure that's not a feminist attitude. I was into what worked, and there weren't any feminists on the street or in the mob. Not until they ran into me, anyway.
Even though the knives were my chosen weapon, I did become very good with guns as well, and a few other tricks Tony and the others taught me, and a few other weapons. It turned out that I didn't have the weight to anchor a submachine gun, but otherwise I was very good.
We even practised hand to hand, and I learned why there's a difference between street fighting and more formalized styles of unarmed combat. It has to do with the rules. You see, in street fighting there aren't any.
Lucia Morelli taught Gino, Maria and I together.