Uncle Joe Ligambi was wondering the streets of New York when he happened to notice little Dominic Cirillo coming out of Callahan's Tavern. Little Dom owned and operated the largest waste hauling company in all of New York, he had four truck depots with more than 40 drivers and collected on some of the most lucrative waste disposal contracts in the state and because of his strangle hold on garbage Dom was able to low bid on most contacts because of the sheer size of his operation, this earned Cirillo hundreds of thousands of dollars a year in revenue. 

This high level of income allowed little Dom to gamble big in Uncle Joe's sports book and numbers game, but Cirillo had recently gone into major debt with Joe over some bad bets, near five hundred thousand dollars. This didn't make Joe sweat as he knew that if worst came to worst, he could step in and take over Cirillo's Garbage empire. 

Angry that little Dom had been dodging him, Ligambi flagged him down.

"Hey fat ass, get over here!"

Noticing Uncle Joe little Dom fearfully waddled over to greet him.

"Hey Mr. Ligambi, I'm sorry I haven't been able to come see you, but I've been busy. I've had some problems with the business."

Hearing Cirillo's words Joe felt no pity for him. 

"I don't give a fuck cocksucker you owe me five hundred thousand dollars. You can't come see me and give me something?" Joe griped.

Afraid, Cirillo went on to explain that because he wasn't connected, a rival carter had recently torched a number of his trucks in order to scare him out of bidding on an upcoming township contract.

Thinking to himself this was his perfect inlet, Uncle Joe went on to tell little Dom exactly how things were going to go.

"First off, you can forget the money you owe me because you just gave me your business." Joe said sternly.

Shocked by Ligambi's claim to his business that he had spent his entire life building Cirillo asked.

"But what about me, what am I supposed to do?"

Ligambi responded quickly.

"I don't know, get a cat, you're a grown man and you made a wager and lost. You can't defend yourself or your business and you definitely can't pay me what you owe, so if I was you, I'd just fall in line. I'm taking your business and that's that. You know the alternative."

Realizing that he had no more options between the recent attacks on his business and his huge debt to Joe, Cirillo tearfully agreed to sign the business over the following day.

The next day after the deal was done, Joe beamed with joy over his new business venture. With his family connections all over New York Uncle Joe would surely be able to enforce his policy on trash collection and the allocation of routes. Joe had seized a waste management empire overnight and thought to himself one man's trash is another man's treasure.

Some time had passed, and Uncle Joe was firmly in control of his new waste management empire. He even kept little Dom around to manage the books, as heartbreaking as it may have been for him. Uncle Joe was savvy and picked up on the business model quickly. Within the city, Joe would divvy up routes, rig contract bids, and harass non mob haulers and customers to squash competition and keep prices high. Uncle Joe would falsify paperwork and tamper with waste scales to adjust the tonnage on trash collected. Uncle Joe could secure “consulting” positions for his associates and friends, providing them with a legitimate job to explain their income

Armed with his knowledge of how the industry worked, Joe was hoping to win a bid on his first contract in the Bronx. The contract covered over twenty square blocks and would be a lucrative one to say the least. The only problem was Jerry Brown, Jerry Brown owned and operated a smaller carting company and was also trying to win the bid for the Bronx neighborhood. Jerry had made a reputation for being tough and not bending the knee to the competition. Jerry Brown had no idea who Joe Ligambi was and could care less.

Bothered by his competitions unwavering resolve, Uncle Joe knew he would have to deter Jerry Brown from going fourth with his bid with the city municipality. Uncle Joe pondered on what he could do, he didn't want to necessarily hurt the man but at the same time he knew the message had to be strong enough to sway Jerry away from bidding the contract. Uncle Joe thought about it for a while and came to the conclusion that he would send Carlo DiNunzio to firebomb a few of Jerry's trucks at his depot. If jerry didn't have trucks he wouldn't be able to haul trash, it was that simple.

Uncle Joe sent word for Carlo, who had recently been spending a lot of his time in south Philly doing some work for the Corelli organization. Carlo DiNunzio had known Uncle Joe for some time and done a great many things for him over the years. Carlo was known for his prowess in the streets, he could do it all, from murder to extortion and everything in between. Arson just so happened to be his specialty.

When Carlo arrived in New York he made his way to meet with Uncle Joe at Ligambi's trucking depot. Upon entering he was greeted by Joe with smiles and a hug. It had been a few years since the two had seen each other.

The two sat down and got right to business. Uncle Joe went on to explain the situation to Carlo.

"It's like this Carlo. I need to win this bid for this carting contract here in the Bronx. My only problem is this other local hauler named Jerry Brown. Jerry's a self-made businessman and his pride is going to cost him. I've sent waves out to sway him away from seeing his bid through, but he just won't take a hint. I don't want to hurt the man just yet because I don't need law enforcement to start looking into the industry. I was thinking god forbid, an act of mother nature was to befall him, you know, like a fire." Joe smirked.

Nodding his head, Carlo knew just what Uncle Joe wanted from him. Carlo assured Joe that he would take care of the issue that very night before he headed back to south Philly.

Later that night under the cover of darkness Carlo made his way to Jerry's depot and cut a hole in the fence to gain access to the yard. From there Carlo looked for the best trucks Jerry had. Carlo was very knowledgeable and skilled in arson, he had brought with him four Molotov cocktails, they weren't pretty, but they would get the job done. Carlo made his way over to four of Jerry's new trucks and began to light his Molotov's. One by one Carlo smashed the Molotov's into the cabs of each of the trucks, watching them burst into flames before making his escape. As the last truck burned to the ground, Carlo could hear a fire trucks sirens getting closer from the distance. He knew it was time to hightail it back to Philly.

The next morning, rising to his feet after a peaceful night's sleep. Uncle Joe slipped on his silk pajamas and made his way down the stairs to his kitchen to start the day with a cup of coffee and go over the daily newspaper. Much to his delight he looked down at the paper as it read, "Trash depot fire destroys four garbage trucks". With a big grin, Uncle Joe pours himself a cup of coffee as he steps out into the back yard to read the story and reflect on a job well done by Carlo. Smiling, Uncle Joe thought to himself surely that would be the end of Jerry Brown.

Word got to Carlo that Uncle Joe had sent for him. No question was needed, Uncle Joe was in many ways the reason Carlo was still walking the earth. If it hadn't been for the opportunities provided by Joe or his many operations Carlo would be penniless and more then likely dead. The suitcase was packed and the earliest flight was paid for.

Once landing in New York a quick cab ride brought Carlo to the building addressed in the message he received from Joe. Once inside the job laid out in front of him. Arson should get anybody excited and Carlo was beyond thrilled. The job was simple, some stupid asshole didnt want to take Uncle Joe serious and unfortunately for him i was in turn going to put him out of his livelihood. Some people never learn and some others need to get a real spank on the ass to make something click in their head.

After leaving the meeting a few stops were made to throw together four molotov cocktails. These things didnt ever need to look pretty, the magic happens after i ight the rag and watch the bottle shatter into a miniature cloud of orange and black. A few snaps with the bolt cutter Carlo had arrived with and a hole big enough to squeeze through the fence had opened. One by one Carlo lit and threw each molotov. Shit eating grin ear to ear sat on Carlos face, to be broken moments later from the distant whine of sirens. 

 Carlo was back in South Philly before the sun could rise.