Between the time Jay graduated from high school until the time Jay entered the hallowed halls of Syracuse University, Jay was briefly employed by Marty Tileo. Marty was the lead guitarist for the Jay Fingers band in which Jay played keyboards. Marty was a short, cute Italian guy with black hair, a small mustache, had a wife and a five year old kid. Marty was eleven years older than Jay and drove a cold box storage truck for the Morello Cheese Company. By day, Marty sold fresh Italian cheeses to delicatessens, pizza shops, restaurants, and bakeries, throughout the Flatbush Brooklyn area. By night, Marty played a black Les Paul guitar, was the lead singer for the band, and hung out partying with the band members late into the early morning hours. Marty was a Vietnam vet, extremely kind hearted, and totally unreliable.
 
As Jay’s disability made him unemployable by any regular establishment, Marty, being understanding, asked Jay if he was willing to work with him on his cheese route. Never having any type of paying job, being a fresh cheese delivery assistant to Marty was something Jay believed he could do. The assistant position paid $60 a week, half-day on Wednesday, and included food from the stores along the route. From Jay’s very first day, to the time he left for college, the cheese truck experience was life changing, and mind blowing.
 
Jay’s day started with Marty picking him up at home and driving from College Point to Brooklyn in Marty’s red Camaro during the morning rush-hour. Every bump and pothole on the Cross Island Expressway was transmitted through the car’s bucket seats, and directly into Jay’s body. Literally, Jay was shaken up from head to toe before he even got to work. Getting to work, the first duty was to ice up the truck. Marty’s truck did not have a refrigerator unit. Instead, it needed to be manually iced by shoveling ice chips into the boxes that held the cheese product. Each day, Marty would receive his daily cheese order, bringing the pallet of cheese out to the truck dock. 50-pound waxed cardboard containers filled with overstuffed metal cans of fresh ricotta cheese covered with a thin plastic sheet and held in place with a rubber band, 50-pound boxes of vacuum sealed pizza cheese in 10-pound loaves, 1 and 2-pound pieces of vacuum sealed mozzarella, five pound tubs of whole milk mascarpone, and white and yellow fresh cheese curd between 45 and 50-pounds wrapped in protective cheese cloth. All of it needed to be iced to the brim and covered with a tight waxed cardboard lid. Marty would back up the truck to the rim of the loading dock, and Jay would first remove the cheese not sold from the previous week, ice up those boxes, carry each box of fresh cheese product into the truck and then carrie the old cheese back and stacked them on top of the fresh cheese, making sure to put the old cheese into the stores before opening a fresh new box. Before they pulled out of the Morello cheese factory, Marty would review the stops they would be visiting that day. “We have eight stops to make, three delis, two bakeries, two pizza shops and a restaurant” Mardy listed. As each stop took about forty five minutes with ten to twenty minutes of drive time between each stop, they would not be back home in College Point until well after 6:30pm. Finishing up icing and stacking the heavy boxes of cheese, Jay jumped off the doc, open the door, and climbed into the truck. Marty then pulled out of the Morello cheese factory. It was a little after 9am when we got to Romano’s delicatessen, our first stop.

 
Delivering cheese in Flatbush Brooklyn, Marty’s clientele were mostly individual store owners with a colorful range of personalities. Double parking the truck and going in by the store’s street entrance, Romano’s deli counter stretched from the front door to the end of the wall about fifteen feet across. In front of the counter was a foot wide ledge were sat Italian breads of varies kinds and sizes, bags of Italian rolls seated and unseated, exotic bags of flavored chips, and platters of Italian cookies and pastries. At the end of the ledge, five feet of space stretched between the front of the ledge and the opposite wall. “Jay, do you want a sandwich?” asked Marty. “It’s a little early don’t you think?” replied Jay. “We’ll buy them now as Nick makes really good sandwiches,” said Marty. “We’ll eat them during our lunch break as it’s going to get busy.”
 

“Hi Marty,” said Nick the store owner. From what Jay could tell, Nick Romano was a tall man with dark black curly hair, had thick bushy eyebrows, and a meaningful mustache. He wore a white apron over a blue and white checkerboard shirt. “What kind of sandwich do you want?” asked Marty. “What do they have?” said Jay. Although Jay couldn’t see Nick’s facial expression, his voice tone sounded surprised and a little annoyed. “Any kind of sandwich you want I can make,” Nick exclaimed. Nick then started rattling off a list of sandwich combinations on multiple types of breads and rolls. Prosciutto and mozzarella on onion roll with pickles and pimento, spicy Italian sausage and onions with hot mustard and sweet pickle topped with Gorgonzola on white roll, corn beef with sauerkraut and Swiss cheese with thousand island dressing on dark rye. “That all sounds good,” Jay said nervously. “How about Virginia ham with provolone cheese and coleslaw on a hard roll.” Smiling, Nick said , “you got it.” He then grabbed a long, thin, sharp carving knife from under the counter and sliced the roll with a fast clean swipe. Marty then placed his sandwich order with Nick. “What do you need from the truck?” said Marty. “I need ten cans of ricotta, ten, 2-pound pieces of mozzarella, and two loaves of pizza cheese,” said Nick. Marty and Jay returned to the truck and Marty drove the truck around to the back alley. “Nick, the owner, does not allow food deliveries in the customer portion of the deli, especially with melting and dripping ice chips from the cheese cartons,” Marty said to Jay. “So we’re now relegated to the backdoor,” Jay satirically remarked.
 

Driving around the corner to the back alley and pulling the truck near to the store’s back door, Marty and Jay both got out. “The door is unlocked,” said Marty. “There’s a door stopper over on the ground near the back leg of the dumpster, watch out for the vermin,” Marty chuckled. Pulling the door open, Jay felt a small ramp of asphalt leading up to the lip of the door jam, providing enough room to slide the doorstop under, forcing the door to stay open. “Nick wants ten cans of ricotta, ten, 2-pound mozzarellas and two loaves of pizza cheese. Take the pizza cheese from the box that is already opened,” directed Marty. Jay went into the back of the truck and assembled the order by placing everything in one of the extra, waxed cardboard lids. Jay carried the order into the cold box refrigerator storage and saw that Nick still had three cans of ricotta not yet sold. Emptying the contents from the cardboard lid into a small refrigerator unit at the front of the cold box with access to the main deli, Jay got up turned around and went back to the truck. Twenty minutes later, Marty came out of the back door carrying the sandwiches and holding a handful of bills. Opening the door to the truck on the driver side, Marty placed the sandwiches on the seat, jumped in, and started counting the bills, inspecting each $20 bill for authenticity. “Sometimes, if you’re not careful, a counterfeit $20 bill gets slipped in among all the real bills,” said Marty with a shrug. “Where to next?” asked Jay. “Francesco’s delicatessen,” replied Marty. Marty backed the truck out of the alley, and we continued down Flatbush Avenue.

 
Francesco’s delicatessen was a corner store about ten blocks away, with a door to the storage on a side street. Marty parked the truck on the side street, and Jay and Marty walked around the corner to the front entrance of the deli. “Franky owes me, and other delivery drivers a lot of money. I don’t expect him to pay up, but he should give me something towards his outstanding account,” whispered Marty.  Jay questioned, “How much does he owe?” Marty stared at jay and said, “Who, me? or all the delivery drivers together? Franky owes me $975, and I expect to get $275 today. Although, between all the drivers, I heard close to $10,000. I also heard a rumor that unless Franky pays up, a contract would be placed on his head,” said Marty. Turning the corner and opening the front doors of Francesco’s delicatessen they walked in the store.
 
Francesco’s delicatessen was a large open space, much bigger than Nick’s. Brightly lit, there was a large glass display counter showing all kinds of deli meats and cheeses, hot and spicy sausages, whole cooked chickens, ready-made sandwiches and salads, and even a soft drink fountain. Hanging from the ceiling about eight feet from the front of the deli counter were six long, roughly five feet in length, provolone cheese loaves covered in plastic, sweating cheese oil. Also, opposite the deli counter was a refrigeration case with milk, yogurt, packaged cheese, butter, ice cream, bottles of juice, and canned beverages. The store look to Jay as very well stocked. “Hey Franky, how’s it going,” said Marty in his most calm and friendly voice.

 
Franky was short, about 35-years old, had light brown hair combed in a Bobby Rydell pompadour style. He wore a brown long sleeve shirt with a green and white polka dot bowtie, covered by a beige apron. “Not bad, not bad,” said Franky, finishing up with a customer. “Did you watch the ball game last night? I really hated to see the Yankees lose.” Franky shrugged.  “No” said Marty. “I was out gigging with the band at Sundowners’ in Flushing.” The customer was given their package, turned and walked out of the deli. “Do you need anything from the truck,” asked Marty with an insightful grin? “No, no, I’m good. I still have plenty of product,” said Franky in a neutral voice. Jay stood there looking at  the various foods and breathing in the wonderful deli smell with the six hanging provolone cheeses, producing that deli fragrance. Jay wondered why Franky is in such debt. Marty walked over the me and said, “go back to the truck. Frankie and I need to conduct some business.” Jay wasn’t sure just what that meant so Jay left the store and sat in the truck for about twenty minutes. Marty finally came out and climbed into the truck, and said, “Franky!” with a sigh. “Did you  get paid?” asked Jay. “No,” said Marty, “Franky said he would catch up with me on Thursday, the next time his stop was scheduled, Marty shrugged. “Where to next,” Jay asked? “Bonnie’s Bakery,” said Marty. “Bonnie is a good person. She can get deals on any kind of small appliance you need.” Jay wondered, appliance? “Bonnie has great contacts in the local black market. She got me a toaster oven for less than half the purchase price at Sears,” claimed Marty,
 
We then left Flatbush Avenue and drove over to Atlantic Avenue where Bonnie’s bakery was a standalone store with her own private parking lot. Marty pulled the truck into the lot and parked. Walking around to the front of the bakery, pulling open the double glass doors and walking in, Bonnie was behind the counter with two other bakery assistance. The store was busy, filled with waiting customers.
 
 
Bonnie, a woman in her late 50s was of medium height with dyed brown hair. She wore gold wire rim glasses that sat low on the bridge of her nose. She had on a sky, blue blouse and a white baker’s apron with wide shoulder straps, and a frilly little hat, like something you would see on a maid. “Hi Bonnie,” said Marty. “I’ll be right with you as soon as I finish tying up this cake,” said Bonnie.  At the station where Bonnie stood, there was a hanging spool of nylon string that she pulled to wrap the cake box up tightly. She finished up by making a bow and bringing the cake over to the counter, passing the box over to a customer. “It’s been really busy. I need three boxes of mascarpone, and one case of ricotta,” said Bonnie in a booming voice that carried over the noise of the crowded shop. “Go ahead and fill the order Jay, I’ll meet you at the back door,” said Marty. “There’s a fresh, half yellow curd in one of the boxes Jay, include it with the order, it’s on the house.” Jay pushed through the two glass front doors, walked around to the back of the truck and unlocked and opened the truck’s cold box doors. Jumping up into the back, Jay needed to use the hand truck as the three boxes of mascarpone would weigh about 180-pounds and with the addition of the case of ricotta cheese, and half yellow curd, almost 300-pounds of product. Jay picked up the hand truck laying on the floor and lowered it down to the ground. Jay then turned and went over to where he stacked the mascarpone cheese earlier. Each box of mascarpone had six, ten pound tubs, and as they were all freshly iced that morning, they were heavy, and the hand truck was necessary. Rolling the hand truck with the cheese over to the back door, Jay knocked, and Marty opened the door to let Jay in the building. “The mascarpone and ricotta goes over into the walk-in fridge on the right-hand side,” said Marty. He turned and went back into the bakery's customer area to speak with Bonnie. Jay did what Marty said and noticed a half used box of mascarpone and two cans of ricotta cheese with one partially used can. Jay briefly looked around the walk-in fridge, and in the far back corner a stacked set of boxes with labels such as Black & Decker, GE and Rival, loomed. Smiling, Jay turned around and went back to the truck.
 
​
Fifteen minutes later, Marty opened the door, put a package on the seat and hopped in to check for counterfeit bills. “The nice thing about Bonnie is that she always pays in full. Also, here’s a gift for you, said Marty. It was a factory sealed cardboard box with a picture of a fancy looking blender with a Black and Decker label. “You can have it if you want,” said Marty. “There was a whole bunch of factory-sealed cardboard boxes in the walk-in fridge,” said Jay, sounding suspicious. “By the end of the week, all those boxes will be gone,” Marty said with no concern. “Where to now boss,” Jay asked. “Peppy’s Pizzeria on Ditmas Avenue,” Marty replied. “Peppy’s is a very interesting stop. Every time I go there, I never know just what to expect. Sure, they buy the cheese and pay me in full, but there’s always something in the background. Sometimes there are cop cars parked in front on the sidewalk, and other times, strange men in business suits,” commented Marty. “Should I be paranoid?” said Jay. “We’ll see. We’ll eat lunch after this stop,” said Marty. It took a while to drive over to Peppy’s Pizza Parlor, as nearing lunch time, the traffic made driving slow.
​
​
Arriving at Peppy’s Pizza Parlor, the front door was wide open, and the music of Dean Martin emanated from the building. “Here we go,” said Marty. Getting out of the truck, Jay followed Marty into the shop. Peppy’s pizza had a long counter stretching about twenty feet towards the back of the building with a wall length mirror, opposite to the counter.  The space then opened up into a dining area with wooden chairs and laminated tables. Further back was a large doorway where two stairs went down to a dark room that Jay assumed was the location for the walk-in fridge.
 
It turned out that Peppy was really two brothers, Paul and Brian, who own the shop. Paul was of medium build, long black hair and dark eyes. He wore a white shirt with a long white apron that covered his black trousers. Paul was the master pizza chef. Brian was overweight with short black hair and wore a red vest over a white short-sleeve shirt and served as the waiter. “Hey Paul, hey Brian, how are you guys doing?” asked Marty. “Doing good” Paul replied as he slid a large metal pizza paddle under a hot cheese and pepperoni pie that was just coming out of the oven. “Brian has your order and there is a delivery I would like you to make when you stop at Johney’s Pizza later today. I know it’s a out of your way, but I’ll put a little extra in the envelope,” said Paul. Marty turned to Jay and said, “bring in ten boxes of pizza cheese. You can wheel them in through the restaurant and take them all the way to the back room walk in fridge. Also, Brian has two boxes he wants us to deliver to John at his pizzeria. Take them and put them in the truck. Did you get all that?” asked Marty with a hard stare. “Sure,” said Jay.
​​
​
Jay left the pizza shop and went back to the truck. Delivering pizza cheese was an easy delivery. Each sealed cardboard container had ten, 5-pound vacuum sealed loaves of mozzarella pizza cheese. They stayed fresh in the truck’s cold box, not needing to be iced. Jay would need to make two trips to fulfill the order. Placing five boxes of pizza cheese on the lip of the hand truck, Jay slowly wheeled in the first five boxes weighing 250-pounds carefully navigating through the restaurant. Brian was in the back serving customers’ salad who were sitting at one of the tables. When  passed, Brian looked at Jay with a face of neutral acknowledgment. Jay nodded his head and slowly slid the hand truck down the two stairs into the dark back room. Looking around, Jay saw the walk-in fridge and the back door to the restaurant. Opening the walk-in fridge door to stack the five boxes of pizza cheese, Brian, quietly came up behind Jay. “Stack them against that far side wall. See those two wooden crates in the back? You and Marty are going to deliver them to Johney’s Pizza,” said Brian with authority. “Yes sir,” acknowledged Jay. Going back to the truck to get the second part of the order, Jay felt apprehensive, sensing a level of tension given off by Brian.
​
 
Wheeling in the next five boxes of pizza cheese to the back of the store, Brian directed Jay to quickly stack the next five boxes again over by the side wall. “Now, I need you to take the wooden crates, one at a time, out to Marty’s truck and place them deep in the back of the cold box. Here are two black tarps. After the crates are stacked, make sure the tarps are securely wrapped around the crates so they don’t get wet when you replace the cheese that was initially stacked there,” commanded Brian. “Sure,” said Jay. No problem. Then Brian took the first tarp and wrapped the top crate up for transport to the truck. Jay moved over to the first covered wooden crate and tried picking it up. It was really heavy. “Let me help you with that,” said Brian with a shrug. Brian walked around to the far side of the crate, pushed it towards Jay. When the crate was over far enough to lean and stand up on the lip of the hand truck, a subtle shift of weight and the sound of clinking metal was heard. “What’s in the box?’ said Jay innocently. “Boy, don’t ask questions. It’s really none of your business,” Brian said in an aggressive tone. “I’m sorry,” Jay said, My apologies. Jay held onto the top of the crate, placed his foot at the bottom and then lean the hand truck back. Rolling the hand truck out of the walk-in fridge, Marty suddenly appeared at the open back door. With the door open, Jay saw the truck was now parked on a quiet side street. Marty helped Jay transfer the two wooden crates from the walk-in fridge into the back of the truck where Jay made sure the tarps were in place, putting the cheese on top as Brian instructed. “Let’s get out of here,” said Marty holding a thick white envelope in his hand. “Do you know what’s in the crates?” asked Jay. “It’s best you don’t know.
 
Let’s have lunch,” said Marty. “We’ll drive to the next stop and eat our sandwiches in the parking lot of Friendly Foods Market. As we drove away from Peppy’s Pizza, a black sedan pulled in the spot we just vacated, and two men in suits got out. “Just in time,” Marty whispered under his breath.” Marty drove the truck over to Friendly Foods, about 10-minutes away and he parked the truck in the lot. “We have three more stops, with a drop-off, after this one. Old-Time Bakery, Antonio’s restaurant, Johney’s pizza, and Pizza City” said Marty. Handing jay his sandwich, and a bottle of Coke purchase from Peppy’s, they sat and eat their food while discussing the play list for that night’s gig at Sundowners. When finishing lunch, Marty said, “let’s get back to work.”
 
Friendly Foods Market was a small neighborhood market, not part of any corporate chain like Pathmark, Grand Union, or A&P. As they were already parked in the back lot near the employee entrance, Marty hopped out of the truck and said, “I’ll open the door and let you in.” He walked around to the front of the store and after a few minutes, open the back door leading into the building. “The guy here is a hard ass. He likes to push people around. He also owes me money so ignore his warm personality. His name is Vincenzo, but everyone calls him Vic. He is the head of the cheese and deli meats section of the store,” said Marty.
​
Jay walked into the store through a narrow dark passage and came out behind the deli counter. The deli was small, about ten feet from where Jay stood to the end of the deli section. Vic stood behind a large cheese display piled high with a huge variety of fragrant cheeses, in every shape and size, wrapped in clear plastic. There was so much cheese, it was difficult to see Vic over the towering cheese pile. Vic turned to Jay and said, “boy, what are you doing there?” I’m Jay, Marty’s assistant and I’m here to get your Morello cheese order,” Jay nicely replied.

 
Vic was a short and stocky old man, in his late 50s, with a bald head, white short-sleeve shirt, a checkerboard tie, wearing a long white apron. To Jay, he looked like an angry bulldog. Walking over to Jay and staring right into his face Vic said, “I want twenty cans of ricotta, one white and one yellow curd, and ten, 2-pound and 1-pound pieces of mozzarella. Take the five cans of ricotta I didn’t sell back to the truck. I want all fresh stock. Look at me when I’m talking to you,” demanded Vic. “If I do, I can’t see your face,” Jay stated directly. Vic looked shocked but then said, “get me my cheese.” At that point, Marty came around to the back of the deli counter and said, “Hey Vic, what’s new?” Vic replied, “same old shit.”
 

Marty bent down and showed jay where Vic stored the cans of ricotta not yet sold. Marty grabbed an empty box from back storage and removed the five cans of ricotta that was put in the store last week, still standing in the glass refrigerator case. He put the cans into the box and carried them out as if he was holding up a tray like a waiter. “I’ll help you assemble the order,” said Marty. They both went back to the truck and hopped into the cold box with Marty closing the doors behind. Marty turned on the dome light and slid a small sharp knife out of a side slot attached to the cold box wall. “What are you doing?” asked Jay. “The ricotta is still good. Just the tops that are exposed to the air, yellow. Open that fresh box of ricotta and remove two of the fresh cans,” said Marty. Jay did what he asked and placed two fresh cans of ricotta on a carton lid. Marty took the first can of old ricotta removed from Vic’s fridge, Marty removed the rubber band, took the plastic sheet off the top of the can exposing about two inches of slightly yellowed ricotta cheese, sliced the top off with his knife, and let it drop into an empty mascarpone tub to be dumped out later. Marty then scooped fresh ricotta cheese from one of the two new cans, squashed it on the top of the old can, took a new Morellos plastic sheet, wrapped the can with a new rubber band, and threw it in the box with the fifteen fresh new cans. He did this for all five of the old ricotta cheese cans. Once all the old cheese cans were replaced with new tops, he rotated them in the ice chips. “There,” said Marty. “Good as new. Just make sure to put the 5-cans we freshened at the front of the case to be sold first.” Marty opened the truck doors, and Jay got down the hand truck, placing the twenty can case of ricotta, the two boxed curds, and the twenty pieces of mozzarella Jay placed in a box lid on top, and wheel them into the store.
 
Vic owes me $720 and with this new order another $400, so I don’t feel so guilty. After putting all the cheese product into the glass case and walk-in fridge, Jay turned around and quickly left the store. A few minutes later, Marty came out and hopped in the truck. “How much did Vic pay you?” asked Jay. “$1,150 in cash,” said Marty. Marty pulled out a huge roll of $20 bills and began checking their authenticity. “Look, see here,” Marty exclaimed. Marty showed Jay a $20 bill that looked real on the front yet totally washed out and counterfeit on the back side. “Here’s another one,” Marty shrugged. Out of the $1,150 payment, $60 were paid with counterfeit twenties. “So what do you do now?” asked Jay. “Nothing. It all balances itself out in the end,” said Marty. “How Zen of you,” laughed Jay. “We go now to Old Town Bakery,” said Marty. “They make incredible cheese cannoli.” It took us about 20-minutes to get to “Old Town Bakery.” It was 2:15 when we arrived.
 
“What’s the story here?” asked Jay. “Mark, and Janet his wife is a third generation baker. The store has been here forever. All the baked goods come from Mark’s family recipes,” said Marty. “They’re good people. The only problem is Mark likes to play the horses. They are always strapped for cash.” Driving up, Marty double parked the truck in front of the store. “I’ll take the order and bring it out. Stay with the truck,” said Marty. He got out of the truck, walked over to the front and went into the bakery. Awhile later, Marty came out and said, “I need two white curds, one case of ricotta, and two cases of mascarpone. “You got it!” said Jay.

​
Jay gathered all the cheese product, placing it on the hand truck, wheeling it into the store. As Jay rolled the hand truck around to the walk-in fridge in the back, he overheard Janet talking to Marty. From what Jay could see, Janet was a slim and pretty woman, about 40-years old. She wore a yellow dress with a white baker’s apron. “We’re a little short this month, said Janet apologetically. “Some of Mark’s investments dropped in value.” Jay heard Marty say, “how’s Mark doing?” “Alright, I guess,” Janet sighed. “he’s in the back about to pull out of the oven hot cannoli shells,” said Janet. As Mark was in the back baking, Jay did not see or meet him. “Here’s $675” said Janet handing Marty a white envelope. “I’ll get the rest to you next week.” Janet then handed Marty a white cake box. “Here’s some fresh cannoli for all your troubles.” When we got back into the truck, Marty said, “it’s a shame. I know Mark, he’s a nice man. He thinks playing the horses is a science but it’s just plain gambling. Old Town Bakery still owes me $1500. I don’t know how Janet puts up with it. She must really love him.” Those cannoli smell really good, said Jay, quickly changing the subject. Marty sat in the driver seat counting out the money, verifying all the bills. Here, try a cannoli,” Marty offered. Opening the box and taking a bite, Jay closed his eyes and exclaimed, “Wow, that’s really good,” said Jay. “It’s now off to Antonio’s,” cried Marty.

 
Antonio’s restaurant was an expensive, posh Italian restaurant known for its exclusive wine cellar, porterhouse steaks, and luxurious desserts. It was also known for its underworld family clientele. Driving down the block to the restaurant, Marty shouted, “Oh my God, the front of the building is totally destroyed. It looks like the building was shot up and fire bombed.” As we got closer, the entire front of the building was burnt and riveted with bullet holes. Police crime tape was wrapped around the entire place. There goes that stop, said Marty with a nervous concern.” Jay thought about the two heavy mysterious crates sitting in the back of the truck. Reading Jay’s mind, “Johney’s pizzeria is nearby. Let’s quickly go there now and deliver those crates,” said Marty anxiously. Marty drove about five blocks, stopping in front of Johney’s pizzeria. “Stay in the truck. I’ll go in and speak with John,” said Marty. Jay sat there for almost a half hour when a black pickup truck with a white camper shell slowly drove past and parked around the corner. Another fifteen minutes went by, until Marty, followed by two large men, came out of the pizza shop. They went behind the truck, and Jay heard the back doors open and then some heavy scuffling. The two cases that were wrapped in the black tarp were carried out by the two men as Marty followed them into the pizza shop. Five minutes later, Marty came out of the pizza shop and got back into the truck. “I’m glad that’s over,” said Marty with relief. “What was in the crates,” Jay asked again. “Oh, just hospital equipment.” said Marty dismissively. ‘We have two more stops to make,” said Marty. “Two more? I thought we had just one more pizza shop to go,” said Jay in frustration. “Yes, that’s true, but there’s a small mom and pop deli over in Red Hook that has very little food to sell. I like to give some of my older unsold stock to them for free. Will go there and then stop at Pizza City on the way home,” said Marty.

 
Arriving at Jerry’s deli, Marty parked the truck on the street across from the store. “This neighborhood can be dangerous. I know this guy who had his delivery truck emptied as he was in the store taking orders,” said Marty. “Here” Marty reached over, opened the truck’s glove compartment and pulled out a small 22-caliber Derringer. You probably won’t need this, but here you go. “You are kidding, right?” Jay swallowed. Marty replied, “No!” Marty jumped out of the truck, went to the back and got a Half yellow curd, and a 5-pound loaf of pizza cheese, then walked across the street and entered the store. Jay looked out the windshield of the truck. The narrow street was walled with four-story attached tenement housing. The buildings with their rusted fire escapes and dirty windows  were dark, gray and silent. Jay heard and saw no one on the sidewalk, just a few old cars parked here and there. A feeling of foreboding came over him as Jay held the Derringer flat in his hand. “Come out quickly Marty, Jay pleaded. How foolish is it, to give a visually impaired person a loaded gun? Jay’s mind drifted into various violent confrontation scenarios, when suddenly, the driver’s door opened, and Marty jumped in. Jay was startled but relieved. “Here, take the gun,“ said Jay. Marty put the gun back into the glove compartment. “Let’s go,” said Marty with a frown . They left Red Hook and drove almost out of Brooklyn.

 
“One stop left,” said Marty. Pizza City under the “M” train near the border of Brooklyn and Queens. It took them about twenty five minutes as the rush hour traffic on the BQE was bumper to bumper. When they arrived at Pizza City it was almost 6 o’clock. “This will be a simple stop,” said Marty. He parked the truck in front of the store. Marty and Jay got out and walked into Pizza City. “Hey Tony,” called Marty. “Hi Marty…do you want to see what I got? I just purchased a new electric bass,” said Tony. Are you gigging this weekend,” asked Marty. “Yes, over at Fat Boy’s. They just got a new stage sound system and my band the Rat Trap, is opening tonight’s show, said Tony. “What do you need from the truck,” asked Marty. ‘Let me go look,” said Tony. “While you wait, do you want a slice?” Sure, two slices, it’s been a long and strange day,” said Marty. “Who’s the kid?” asked Tony. This is my new assistant Jay Flanders, He plays keys for the band,” Marty stated. “Hey Jay, who’s your favorite band?” asked Tony. “it’s hard to say, but Pink Floyd,  The Renaissance, and the Mothers’ come to mind,” Jay responded. “The Mothers? You’re a Frank Zappa fan?” said Tony. “He’s a  little too weird for me.”
 
​
Tony looked like a seasoned rocker. Long dark brown hair tide in a ponytail, about five-foot ten, wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt with the legend, “Party On.” Tony left to go back to see what he needed from the truck. Marty and Jay turned and began to eat their slice of pizza. Tony returned from the back, holding a bass guitar case, and said, “I need ten boxes of pizza cheese, and one box of ricotta, said Tony. Marty, check this out.” Tony opened the bass case to reveal a brand new clear body Dan Armstrong electric bass guitar. Jay finished up his slice, and when out to the truck to assemble the order, bringing it in on the hand truck. “Just put it in the back Jay, I’ll put it away. How much do I owe you?” said Tony. Marty said “$250,” That’s pretty cheap for that amount of cheese, Jay thought. Tony opened the register and gave Marty $250 in cash. Tony then reached under the counter and brought up a small brown paper bag handing it to Marty. “You’ll like that I guarantee,” said Tony with a huge grin. “Thanks Tony,” said Marty gratefully. We left Pizza City and got back into the truck. “What’s in the bag?” asked Jay. “Check it out,” said Marty. Jay opened the bag, and a sweet pungent aroma wafted to his nose. “It’s an ounce of Panama red,” Laughed Marty. “Tony sells more than slices of pizza I see,” Jay remarked. Jay suddenly realized, “Marty, we left your car back at the Morello factory,” Jay warned. “Tomorrow is our half-day, and we go right to work from the truck. Let’s go home,” sighed  Marty, as he started the truck and pulled away from Pizza City.
 
Epilogue – Although the events in this story are mostly true, they did not happen all on one day. The four month period Jay spent as Marty Tileo’s assistant working for the Morello Cheese Company was unforgettable. It completely changed Jay’s perspective on what it means to be a food delivery truck driver owning a route in Brooklyn, New York. That fall, the Jay Fingers band played its last gig, broke up, and in January of 1977 Jay left for Syracuse University, starting a whole new adventure.