Desert Night

"The mob is the mother of tyrants." - Diogenes

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Chapter 11

Our Thing

The Mafia.

Cosa Nostra.

Our Thing.

The original Sicilian mafiosi had no need for a name. They called their practices Cosa Nostra, Our Thing. When meeting another member, he was introduced as being in la stessa cosa, "the same thing."

There are claims that bands of outlaws similar to, perhaps forefathers of, what we call the Mafia existed since the Middle Ages. In Italy's Revolution of 1848 and the decades of chaos that followed, these bands grouped together to kill police and witnesses, burn evidence, and all around cause chaos. When Rome took control of the situation, these thieves and criminals offered to patrol areas, preventing another uprising. The government, desperate for stability, bowed to their wishes. The secretive bands turned to a more lucrative business of guarding lemon groves and protecting workers through a mix of bribery and threats. Closer ties were made between families to ensure fair wages and safe working environments.

The word "Mafia" came into use in the later half of the nineteenth century. It derives from the Sicilian adjective mafiusu, aggressive bragging, boasting, or in some dialects, man of honor, bravado. It was a term mostly used by the media. The actual members had their own term. They called their structure the Honored Society. It became a value system, something honorable to the working man, but disreputable to employers: self-perceived men of honor; long, proud families ruling their various districts. Since they considered their activities honorable, fighting for the freedoms of the little people—a Roman Robin Hood, if you will—and no honorable man needed to "belong" to any pompous society, they simply called their actions Cosa Nostra, "Our Thing."

They dressed simply, even slovenly, to hide who they really were. They were rich, power hungry, and power often brought corruption. Murder was an easy way to eliminate those against Cosa Nostra, and a simple solution for those wanting to rise in the ranks. There evolved elaborate ceremonies of induction, strict rules, oaths, blood bonds, intricate webs of family lines. The simple concept of Our Thing became complicated and potentially fatal.

During Mussolini's regime, many Sicilians fled to America. Like the Underground Railroad, Cosa Nostra became heavily involved with getting Italians to freedom...for a price. Altruism was not profitable.

After World War II, Italy was again in chaos. The Mafia rose, seized control, and established order. With ties now linked to America and Australia, and displaced Mafia members suddenly aware of the advantages of international operatives, Cosa Nostra became stronger than ever. Drug trafficking became a major money maker.

Meanwhile, mafiosi in America were busy with sneaking in alcohol during Prohibition, loan-sharking, drug trafficking, prostitution, gambling, creating Las Vegas, corrupting teamsters, fighting street wars, and escaping the FBI. The Five Families of New York ruled the city with iron fists. A few other families spread out to Chicago, Los Angeles, Kansas City, Cleveland, New Orleans, Detroit, and other major metropolises. With such a huge country, there was plenty of room for new families to sprout off and gain control. For half a century, the Mafia grew in power and size.

Then came the eighties and nineties. Family wars broke out, and many prominent Dons were killed. The Mafia fell to younger hands, members with new ideas, new approaches to making money.

Cosa Nostra went white collar.

The government fought back with the witness protection program, one of the greatest enemies to the secret society. If members were caught, a new life could be assured if they broke their oaths of silence. Particularly after the RICO Act made it a crime to belong to an organization that performed illegal acts, the influence of the Mafia drastically fell, but they did not completely fade away.

In general, the American public are kept unaware of the influence the Mafia actually has in the areas where they rule. GoodFellas, The Godfather, and other Hollywood movies painted a picture of the Italian families that stuck in the mindset of Americans. When someone said "Mafia," Robert Di Niro, Joe Pesci, Al Pacino, and Marlon Brando were who they imagined. The fedora hat, pin-striped suit, a tommy-gun hidden in a violin case, all became iconic caricatures. The seriousness of modern day Mafia activities was laughed off by the public.

Except for those in Cosa Nostra. There is nothing funny to their business. Their oaths made in blood are not a joke. Their actions carried out in blood are anything but funny to their victims.

Whether firmly entrenched in their control, or more concerned with hiding from the law, it mattered little. The Family adjusted to change. There were always new ways of making money.

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Since those initial gunshots at sunset and seeing the cactus blow up, I had been going through my head everything I knew about the Mafia. Which, admittedly, wasn't much! I knew a thing or two from my Leap as Frankie LaPalma. I don't actually...remember everything from that Leap, but I remember...some things. Or maybe it was from reading The Godfather.

In any case, I knew what awaited me if I got caught. I knew I had to avoid these people at all costs. I knew pain and torment awaited those unlucky enough to cross these violent people.

I knew, as soon as I was captured, that I was in deep doodoo.

As I slowly regained consciousness, I realized the beatings must have already begun. Instant agony, the thickness of blood starting to dry and crackle on my body, a stabbing sensation in my rib, an unbelievable pain in my finger. By the bruises on my legs, face, and chest, I realized I had been beaten already.

The Mafia would not bother beating up an unconscious man. So what happened?

The memories were fuzzy. Of course, so are most of my memories. Yet these were more recent, and they were memories I instantly wished I could repress again. Faces, pain so bad I recall vomiting, threats both shouted in a spray of spittle and whispered direly with a knife in my face, then more torture. The memories flashed, and with them, brutal sensation returned to my body. I wanted to vomit again. I wanted to fall back to sleep so I could escape the agony.

Being blown up with the cactus might have been more desirable.

End of Chapter 11