We Probably Came Really Close to Getting Whacked in 2018

Someone told me once that good writers always write about what they know, but that to be a great writer, you should write about what you don’t know. So here goes.

Me riding shotgun with my Uncle Eugene after the murder of my mom. No just kidding – that’s Adriana and Silvio from “The Sopranos”.

One cold night in January 2018, shortly after my mother was murdered in Long Island Jewish Hospital, Eugene had me under lockdown pretty much. He would not let me out of his sight. This was right before he’d placed me in the “Ocean Breeze rehab” facility. (You can read about the people involved in this hustle simply by finding my archived Facebook posts from that time – they’d actually created a Facebook Group for the facility’s “alumni”, and it’s just great.)

Anyway, one night he and his sidekick Sally took me out to some Italian restaurant over there in Bay Terrace, the community he’d had my mother move to while they were poisoning her and trying to inventory all of our assets and finances, and who knows what else. So he and Sally took me out to the restaurant. Afterwards they drove me to the Bayside Marina when the car (my mom’s Lexus) froze again. He made me get out and try to jump the car. It was freezing. He was acting like a good uncle, trying to teach me life skills. Now I’m thinking that I was probably really close to getting whacked then. I bet there were a lot of people involved thinking, shit, what if she wakes up to what we did? We’d better whack her now. The place was pretty desolate except for us, it was night…..I was in such a grief stricken stupor back then. Obviously God kept me alive the whole time and I’m super grateful. Still, I don’t know why they chose to keep me alive, send me to a “rehab” in Fort Lauderdale, and keep on living in Pompano By The Sea over there on NE 12 St for that time. My surviving relatives and people invested with them were obviously very nervous letting me off the proverbial reservation (which I hadn’t even realized I was on).

I could be wrong, and I know I’ll find out sooner or later, but for now I can only still theorize:

Everyone involved was probably like, if we kill her right after Bernadette, it would look too suspicious. My Aunt Elaine and the Shines wanted Elaine to shore up her claim of kinship to me by making me seem closer to her than I really was, because they were anticipating a legal fight by the Daguannos/Maiuris after my death. Am I right? Elaine and her interests wanted to shore up their stake on all my loot. I mean, Jimmy had gone so far as to change his last name to solidify his intended claim and that was years ago, plus even his baby mama and their brats had their last names legally changed to mine, so you can see how serious they always were about sticking their own personal flags into my inheritance.

Elaine and Joyce and all of them probably were worried there would be less left for them and needed more time for Elaine to prance me all around Pompano and accrue all sorts of security camera footage, witness testimonies, etcetera, because they were planning on countering a posthumous claim by the Daguannos and my Uncle Victor (that Judas devil) that I wasn’t actually that close to her.

Case in point: I used to sing at Saint Coleman, the church here in Pompano at the 6pm mass every Sunday. I’d since stopped, when I realized that Stella, the woman in charge of the “music ministry” there, was likely in cahoots with Elaine and Eugene. One night, Elaine and Eugene came to “hear me sing”. I did a great job that night I’d thought. After the service, they approached me and Stella and Eugene said “Great job, glad we got you all of those singing lessons when you were young.” I thought that was Eugene’s attempt at a joke because a) I’d never had professional singing lessons and b) He never encouraged or invested in me as a child and now seemed to be trying to take credit. Ha ha, whatever, we laughed it off. How fortunate I was, I’d thought then, that my parents had come from larger families and had had brothers and sisters that were looking after me. Hilarious, right.

Now I realize that that was an engineered encounter designed to be used to bolster Elaine’s/the Shines’ claim of a stake in my inheritance. Right? If they could get church people to make statements in a court of law attesting to the fact that they were there, it would make them look like they cared.

All I can say is, thank God I woke up when I did and that I wasn’t whacked.