Light Dreams

By Richard E. Murff

Anthony DeLuca spent much of his childhood on the Atlantic City Boardwalk. Unfortunately, he was forced to move because of circumstances beyond his control. As a teenager, he met two young women who had contrasting life goals and ideals. He was torn between the two and had to make a decision.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Mar 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664224308

Richard E. Murff

Richard E. Murff resides in Saltillo, Mississippi with Lynda, his wife of 46 years. His writing is inspired by his Christian faith and past experiences. Richard and Lynda are blessed with two children and five grandchildren.

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Light Dreams

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RICHARD E. MURFF

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Copyright © 2021 RICHARD E. MURFF.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means,

graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or

by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the

author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of religious fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the

author and the publisher make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy

of the information contained in this book and in some cases, names

of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

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Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in

this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views

expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the

views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are

models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Unless otherwise noted, scripture taken from the New King James Version®.

Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations marked (NIV) are taken from the Holy Bible, New

International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica,

Inc.® Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide.

www.zondervan.com The NIV and New International Version are trademarks

registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.®

ISBN: 978-1-6642-2431-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-2432-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-2430-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021903443

WestBow Press rev. date: 02/22/2022

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4   Eleven Years Later

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Then Jesus spoke to them again, saying, "I am the

light of the world. He who follows Me shall not

walk in darkness, but have the light of life."

– John 8:12 NKJV

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This book is dedicated to my sweet mom, Ettie Jean.

Special thanks to my beautiful wife, Lynda,

for her patience and encouragement

and to my coolest brother, Neal, and my sweet daughter, Melissa.

Author photo taken by my multi-talented

granddaughter Sophie Love Sandlin.

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CHAPTER

S unday evenings at the Atlantic City Boardwalk had become seven year-old Anthony DeLuca’s favorite time because he could get away from Big Jon’s Italian Restaurant and into the delightful gusts of the Atlantic shoreline.

The savory smells of local shops that peddled disco fries, pork rolls and hoagies wafted their way along the shore, aided by the gentle breeze. Those were much more pleasant than the gaudy mixture of alcohol, tobacco and tomato sauce he was tasked to handle in the daily garbage disposal at Big Jon’s.

Anthony dodged the broken beer bottles and rolling paper cups with his bare feet as he plodded through the hot sand along the boardwalk on his way to the Clarksen Hotel. Roosevelt Posey was Anthony’s contact person at the Clarksen. The large black man with big round eyes always met him at his shop near the back of the hotel. Mr. Posey was a jolly man who had befriended Anthony during the past few weeks. As he and Mr. Posey became closer, Anthony would affectionately call him Rosey Posey.

Anthony carried a US Army tin that his grandmother, Rhonda DeLuca, had carefully tucked into his pocket before he’d left Big Jon’s. When Anthony delivered the tin to Rosey, he was rewarded with a shiny silver dollar. He was impressed with Rosey’s large hands. Rosey’s hands and fingernails showed signs of nicks and cuts from working on machines and any other mechanical devices needing repair or maintenance at the hotel.

Young Anthony was never allowed to enter, but he was attracted to the bells and lights continuously luring him in the direction of the rear entrance of the hotel. Not so fast, young’un, was Rosey’s familiar affront. Yo mama would have my hide if I let you in, boy, he’d say with a laugh. His baritone voice was clear and loud even in a whisper.

On Anthony’s way back from the Clarksen, he made sure to stop at the candy store and buy a handful of saltwater taffy with part of the value of his silver dollar. Mr. Palous, the candy store owner, always greeted Anthony with a welcoming smile and asked about him and his family. The saltwater taffy filled the void in Anthony’s pocket until it was eaten.

Anthony used the rest of his money to enjoy the many shows presented at the magnificent Steel Pier amusement park. One of his favorite shows on the pier was watching a horse dive some forty feet into a large pool with a woman riding on its back. He enjoyed his childhood environment with friends and family surrounding him like a security blanket. As long as he returned to Big Jon’s restaurant to do his chores, he was free to roam the Boardwalk alone or with any number of his young friends.

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CHAPTER

A nthony’s grandfather, Jon Deluca, had been in the restaurant business for all his adult life, having purchased the business from his former boss. Jon was a large man who had become known as Big Jon for his six foot four frame and unusual strength. Although an excellent cook in his own right, Big Jon hired full-time chefs, waiters, waitresses and busboys.

Anthony’s grandmother, Rhonda, was the backbone of the kitchen at Big Jon’s. Not a day or night went by that Rhonda wasn’t busy supervising the staff and keeping things moving along.

Weekends were busy at Big Jon’s which fed five hundred to six hundred patrons on a typical Friday or Saturday night and about half that many on Thursdays and Sundays. Big Jon DeLuca boasted of entertaining famous names like Frank Sinatra, Ricky Nelson and Kate Smith, just to mention some of the biggest of the era.

It was rumored that the one and only Sultan of Swat, Babe Ruth, had once challenged Big Jon to an arm wrestling match to earn a free dish of his famous beef ravioli. Big Jon declined the Babe’s offer out of concern that he might damage Ruth’s pitching arm during a Yankees series hosting the Boston Redsox. Instead, Big Jon treated the whole Ruth table with free meals, drinks and desserts included!

The restaurant business had been good for Big Jon and Rhonda, but as the years passed, the allure of drugs and gambling had attracted a less desirable class of patrons to the restaurant and to the Boardwalk in general. Organized crime had migrated out of New York City and into the family-oriented environment of the Atlantic City Boardwalk. As a result, Big Jon’s Italian Restaurant would not be spared from the turmoil.

It was closing time one Thursday night at Big Jon’s. Ricky DeMarco was cleaning up the bar while Anthony hid underneath playing solitaire with a deck of poker cards Ricky had slipped to him quite a while back.

Anthony liked his little hideaway, because he could go virtually unnoticed while watching the whole dining area through a peephole at the end of the bar. Like Ricky, all Big Jon’s employees catered to Anthony, because he was young, and he offered to run errands and handle refuse.

All the workers had left for the night except Rhonda, Big Jon and Ricky. As usual, Rhonda did the last-minute tidying in the kitchen while Big Jon calculated the register receipts and totaled the cash and checks for deposit the next day.

Someone rapped on the glass at the front of the restaurant. Anthony peered through his peephole. The double doors were wood-framed with etched security glass making it difficult, even in broad daylight, to see who was outside.

Ricky went to the door. Anthony didn’t recognize the voice outside.

The raps on the glass panes quickly became pounding on the wood frame. Jon entered the bar from his office to see what the commotion was about.

It’s Eddie Campo. Let me in, please. Now!

Ricky eased the door open, only to have Eddie barge in, forcing him backward. I gotta call the cops. Scardanos are after me. Look ‘em up. Look ‘em up, Eddie cried like a child.

Ricky went to the wall adjacent to the kitchen and checked the short list of local phone numbers. He barked the numbers to Eddie. 609-347- ... and four digits Anthony didn’t retain.

Eddie nervously tapped in the number. Suddenly, two men entered the front door, one tall and thin, the other shorter and stocky. One brandished an old .45-caliber tommy gun and the other a Beretta 92 S semi-automatic handgun.

No more hiding, Campo! shouted the stocky guy.

No shooting in my place! yelled Big Jon.

No, please! Eddie begged, dropping the receiver as he fell to his knees in a begging position. I didn’t know what I was…"

Anthony! Big Jon shouted.

The shorter guy nodded to the taller one.

Suddenly, a deafening hail of gunfire flamed like fireworks. Anthony heard the ching-ching of breaking glass and thuds as some bullets penetrated the wall. There was moaning and crying.

Please help me! Oh God, please help! Eddie stumbled backward like a rag doll. He was dead. The two Scardano operatives left out the front door as quickly as they had entered, leaving a cloud of smoke and the stench of gunpowder.

Silence.

Hiding.

Heart pounding.

What happened? Why? Anthony whispered a cry for Rhonda. There was no answer.

After what seemed like an eternity, Anthony heard people approaching through the front door of the restaurant. He stayed in his place under the busy side of the bar counter, almost becoming sick from the odor of gunsmoke, liquor and human bowels.

He was scared to death.

Someone slowly walking, glass crunching under their shoes, was nearing the bar. The walking stopped.

Anthony was afraid he had been discovered.

Oh, this is awful, a male voice whispered in disbelief.

The walking resumed. Anthony finally caught a glimpse of the cuff of a pant leg stepping gingerly forward.

What in the world? the voice continued.

Then loudly, the voice said, Hey, look! Isn’t that Big Jon Deluca?

Fraid so, said a man with a lower voice.

Anthony recognized the lower voice as Mister Elazar Cohn. He was the jeweler next door who frequented the restaurant for dinner. Big Jon and Cohn went back a long way. They enjoyed exchanging humorous barbs, usually about the other’s lack of business prowess or perhaps even a lack of scruples.

Cohn had heard the shots from his store as he was closing. He walked out the front door of his shop just in time to see the Scardanos enter a vehicle and speed off.

Anthony could hear Cohn stepping closer. Cohn leaned over Big Jon. Aw, buddy. I told yous to lay off them Scardanos.

The Scardanos were a loose knit family of thugs who had terrorized the community for years.

Mr. Cohn. Who’s this? asked the first man.

Why...I don’t know.

Then, in a louder voice, the first man said, Aw, that’s Ricky, the bartender!

Oh, no. I didn’t recognize him. Why him? asked Cohn.

Sirens began to whine from a distance, coming ever closer. That’s when Anthony panicked. He darted out of the bar, slipping on an unknown fluid and stumbling out through the back of the kitchen.

Hey, kid! he heard the first man shout. Come back!

Anthony ran as fast as his feet could carry him. He was on his familiar route along the Boardwalk. Even though it was black dark, he could find his way to the Clarksen Hotel. He ran, ran, ran gasping for air with every breath.

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CHAPTER

I t was getting late, but Rosey was in his shop working on a contraption. Anthony took on the role of Eddie Campo with a tap, tap, tap on the wire reinforced window of the steel door. He could see Rosey working at a drill press with his back turned. Bam, Bam, Bam. Anthony was hurting his hands on the door. Rosey turned to see Anthony’s expressive dark brown eyes peering into the shop. He opened the locked door and Anthony fell into his arms.

What’s up little fellow? he asked with a nervous chuckle. He wasn’t used to seeing Anthony this late in the day, nor in this condition.

Big Jon is gone! Tears streamed down his face. Rosey pulled out his handkerchief to dry the tears.

Well, where’d Big Jon go?

He’s...he’s dead!

Anthony’s tears flowed as his body trembled in shock and fear.

Dead? How? Rosey’s brow tensed as he realized the seriousness of the situation.

Those Scardanos. They shot him and Ricky and a man named Eddie.

"Oh, no! What