[ wp ] At a fact restaurant there are two events listed as `` big Vinny 's Birthday '' . One is an actual party , the other is a meeting of mob bosses . A sweet old lady get seated at the wrong table .

The dim lights were soft against the violin. They stared at her but she seemed oblivious, like any old lady. 
 
 
 `` What's your name ma'am?'' the young boy asked. 
 
 
 `` Oh my, do n't you remember me? I'm Mrs. Cassano. You used to come by my house everyday Vinny. You used to ride your bike and you had that squirt gun...'' 
 
 
 `` Mrs. Cassano, I do n't think this is your table. My name is Vincent but I'm not...'' 
 
 
 `` Bah! You young people. In my days there were manners. This is n't my table. Oh Lord what did I do to deserve this? My own family does n't want me to sit and eat. Oh Lord...'' 
 
 
 She was sobbing. The violins were muted and there was the stir of eavesdropping. 
 
 
 `` Oh Lord!'' 
 
 
 He patted her. What could they do? 
 
 
 `` Mrs. Castano, please, please forgive me. Of course this is your table. Of course you can sit here. Where were my manners?'' 
 
 
 `` Up your ass probably,'' she said and she sat. 
 
 
 He was a young boy, probably not even twenty five. To be honest, he hardly looked like the Vinny she knew. These people were Italian, but they were different. 
 
 
 `` Mrs. Castano, are you okay?'' 
 
 
 It was an older woman. Probably Vinny's mother. 
 
 
 *I thought I'd be the only woman here, * she thought. 
 
 
 A twitch of pride glimmered within. 
 
 
 *It does n't matter. It's good for the women to finally come out more. Lord knows we're smarter. * 
 
 
 `` Why would n't I be okay, my dear?'' she asked. 
 
 
 `` Well it's just... Mrs Castano, you just *cursed* in front of my family. Bobby here is only seven. And to be honest, we do n't even...'' 
 
 
 *Okay maybe the women have a ways to go, * she thought. 
 
 
 She was impatient. Her nerves were old and sparked and the jitters were n't good for an old heart. 
 
 
 `` Well maybe if my own family had gotten my name right, I would n't have to use such vulgar talk,'' she said. `` And you, Felicia is it? Vinny's mom? *You* should know better than to bring children here. That's your own damn fault.'' 
 
 
 `` Mrs. Castano!'' 
 
 
 `` Cassano!'' 
 
 
 The old woman got up and her purse was heavy. 
 
 
 `` That's quite enough,'' Vincent said. 
 
 
 The old woman pulled out the gun. 
 
 
 `` I agree,'' she said. 
 
 
 She shot him twice and then she shot Felicia. 
 
 
 `` Mommy!'' the young boy cried. 
 
 
 `` Barbara!'' a bald headed man said. 
 
 
 *Good, * she thought. *That was for Johnny. * 
 
 
 Johnny was her husband. He was a made man in the forties and like most men, pussy had brought him down. 
 
 
 *Slut, * she thought. 
 
 
 Johnny had been gunned down after being accused by Vincent Sr. of screwing his daughter in law. 
 
 
 *Slut, * she thought looking at Felicia. *Serves you right. * 
 
 
 And then to Vincent: *Always with that squirt gun like you were some man. You cried like a little girl when you fell off that bike. * 
 
 
 There were screams and the music had stopped. A table nearby overturned. 
 
 
 `` Boss! Get down!'' someone screamed. A group of men had guns drawn and she turned around and saw the smoke from the cigars and the glasses of wine and the expensive suits. 
 
 
 *Oh, * she thought. 
 
 
 She looked at the dead bodies and saw that they wore casual clothes. Vincent was wearing a black shirt with'Birthday Boy' written on it. 
 
 
 *Oh. * 
 
 
 she turned and saw the face of terror. The look of disbelief. The boy ducked behind the table but that face was inescapable. 
 
 
 *Squirt squirt Mrs. Cassano. * Then the ding of the bicycle. 
 
 
 `` Mrs. Cassano!'' the boy shouted. 
 
 
 The gun fell from her hands. 
 
 
 *Oh fuck, * she thought.
