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wine, sure came in handy when Tony B felt compelled to take matters into his own hands.
    When the urge came, Tony B would close his bedroom door, click on his War Civilian radio for background noise so his mother wouldn't wonder why he was so quiet, and begin his novice masturbation routine. At the age of ten, only a few dozen rapid strokes were necessary to bring himself to completion.
    Then one day, the unimaginable happened.
    Tony B's was banging away with his right hand and holding a copy of New York Nights in his left hand. Fibber McGee and Molly were arguing on the radio, when for no discernible reason, his mother opened the bedroom door and stumbled in.
    Time seemed to stand still. Tony B stopped pumping his right hand and held his manhood tight, with one eye on his mother and the other on the bedroom window, which he was considering jumping out of in about ten seconds.
    Mom, if anything, seemed more embarrassed than Tony B. She stood frozen, with her mouth open and nary a sound coming out of it.
    Suddenly she said, “Well, all-righty.”
    Then without another word, she did an about-face and exited the room, closing the door gently behind her.
    Tony B froze for a second, then decided it was best he finished the job at hand. And that he did.
    The next day when Tony B came home from school, he noticed a slide lock was installed on the inside of his bedroom door. Nobody needed to tell him when to use it.
    Tony B quickly established himself as somewhat of a neighborhood practical joker. Usually the butt of his jokes was Richie “Ratface” Rambone, who was called “Ratface” because he resembled the cartoon character Mickey Mouse. Or maybe it was Minnie Mouse. Nobody was really sure.
    Richie had a funny walk, like he had a broomstick up his butt. Tony B heard people say mean things, like maybe Richie Ratface was a queer. Tony B had no idea what the word queer meant. He thought it probably meant that someone walked like they had a broomstick up their butt.
    One day while in sixth grade, Tony B came up with the brilliant idea of giving Richie Ratface a present he and the entire neighborhood would never forget.
    It was the day after Halloween and the neighborhood kids had made a few bucks trick-or-treating the night before. Most people gave cash. A quarter here. A half a buck there. And some people even sprung for the green, which was just fine by Tony B, who as the son of a local mob boss, expected no less. But some old-fashioned creeps still gave the kids candy, which plainly sucked, because you couldn't buy a girlie magazine on Chatham Square and offer the Chinaman a Milky Way in return.
    So Tony B decided to be a pal and give all the chocolate candy he received the night before to his friend Richie Ratface, who was a chocolate fiend himself. But mixed in with the Mars Bars, Milky Ways and Chunkies, Tony B slipped in a few dozen brown chocolates wrapped in aluminum foil.
    “My mom made these special,” Tony B told Richie Ratface.
    Of course, Tony B failed to include the tiny little fact, that the candy was actually Ex-Lax, used by men who would never be considered “regular guys.”
    So right in front of half the neighborhood, Richie Ratface filled his yap with several pieces of the laxative. He chewed, swallowed, then headed on home.
    It was Skinny Benny Vacarelli who told Tony B, that maybe this joke was not too funny, since more than one, or two Ex-lax could make a young boy very sick indeed. Maybe even sick enough to die.
    They had watched Richie Ratface knock down at least six Ex-Lax and there were a couple dozen more in the bag Tony B had given him. And what if Richie Ratface's parents downed a few Ex-Lax themselves? Well, then the shit would hit the fan for sure.
    So Tony B and Skinny Benny rushed to Richie Ratface's apartment at 75 Baxter Street, the corner of Bayard, right across from the newly built Tombs Prison, where Tony B might wind up in, if Richie Ratface kept eating those damn Ex-Lax.
    75 Baxter was