The Blue Suit
The mayor’s favorite blue suit and Josh Resnek dissect the election and the mayor’s threat to retaliate against those not with him.
By JOSH RESNEK with THE BLUE SUIT
The Blue Suit climbed into my red Honda. I picked him up on Elm Street, at the end of Abbott Ave. It was Tuesday morning on about the most beautiful day in a succession of them that we’ve recently had.
He was happy. He was calm. He looked refreshed. He had recently been cleaned. He’s always that way after a good laundry cleaning.
“You’re looking pretty chipper,” I said to him.
All the food stains had been steamed into oblivion. His pant legs hung straight and true without wrinkles. His lapels were perfect.
“Yeah. What a day,” he replied. “When the boss is away I get to play, to feel free, to totally relax. God. You don’t know how happy I am that Carlo is away,” he said to me.
“What do you think he’s doing right now?” I asked the Blue Suit.
“Could be any one of many things. He might be on the beach in a beach chair smoking a thick Cuban cigar and sipping on a nice drink of some kind. Or, he could be down the end of the island having some badly needed private time… you know…away from everyone and left to himself,” the Blue Suit added.
Driving in my junk 2006 red Honda Fit on a day like Tuesday, well, even in my car the day was magnificent. We took a ride down Broadway all the way to Santilli Circle. We continued on our way to the casino and took a ride through the property. We stopped for a few minutes to stare out at the Mystic River and the giant windmill. The tide was low. The sun gleamed brilliantly off the water. We sat there in awe of it all.
“Could it be like this in mid-December?” I asked the Blue Suit.
“Don’t bet on it,” he replied.
“I’m hungry,” he said. “Haven’t eaten a thing all day so far. Let’s go to Mike’s Roast Beef.”
“Great idea,” I said.
I drove off the casino property and over to Mike’s. Chrissy was working behind the counter when we entered.
We were early.
‘What’ll be, Josh?” she asked me.
“The usual,” I replied.
“Junior roast beef rare with cheese, sauce and onion,”
Crissy shouted out to the guy making the sandwiches.
“Who the hell is this guy?” Chrissy asked me pointing her finger at my companion.
“He’s the mayor’s Blue Suit.”
“Oh yeah,” Chrissy replied. “I’ve been reading about you. Pleasure to meet you.”
“No. The pleasure is mine,” the Blue Suit replied.
“What will it be?” she asked.
“Two large roast beefs with horse radish, onion, pickles and hot stuff and two large French fries, please.”
“I guess you must be hungry!” Chrissy exclaimed.
The food arrived in about four minutes. We took it out to the car. I drove south to Charlestown.
We found a bench in the park by the river near the Schrafft’s Building facing Everett.
Now began the slurping, chewing, swallowing and burping sounds. There were other sounds, but I won’t get into those.
“What did you think about the mayor’s victory speech Tuesday night?” I asked the Blue Suit.
“What did I think? It was an embarrassment. Those words he uttered at the end of the speech – that he’s made a lot of money and he’s going to go after a lot of people…well, those are tough words to say on the eve of a victory.”
“Is this how the mayor celebrates victory by making a public promise to retaliate against people who weren’t with him – sandbaggers as he likes to call them?” I asked.
“That’s him to at,” The Blue Suit echoed.
“Nothing is ever enough for him. He always needs more. His life is about living on the edge.”
“What do you think he’s thinking about in Aruba?”
“He’s thinking he’s going to be the mayor forever, that he can’t be defeated, that he’s going to control everything about Everett for years and years to come.”
“Does he really think about this?” I asked.
“You bet he does and everyone he pays to be around him thinks the same way.”
“Does he take a swim when he’s in Aruba?” I asked the Blue Suit.
“Of course he does. What’ better than the water on Aruba? I mean its crystal clear, warm as can be, inviting in every way.”
“You’ve got that right,” I said.
The Blue Suit thought about things for a few minutes. The silence was nice but temporary.
“You know he wants everyone on Aruba around him to call him “mayor.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me?” I asked in disbelief.
“No. I’m not kidding you, Josh. He demands to be called and to be known as the “mayor.”
“Does he expect everything for free down there?” I asked. “What do you mean?” the Blue Suit replied.
“Does anyone give him chips to gamble at the casino?” “Like who?” he asked me.
“Oh, I could name a few people who might take care of this for the mayor while he’s relaxing in Aruba.”
“Do you think he is bothered by anything down there about what’s happening in Everett?” I asked.
“Are you serious?” the Blue Suit replied.
“Aruba is paradise. The mayor enjoys paradise. He is at ease at the Ritz, not thinking for a moment about Everett, you can bet on that,” the Blue Suit said.
“Yeah, he’s got his cell phone. He says that’s how he can run the city from Aruba or anywhere for that matter. He doesn’t need to be at city hall. He just needs his cellphone. He could be in Siberia and run the city with his cellphone. Jerry and his attorneys are just a phone-call away.”