Mind Kill- Rise of the Marauder

by Peter Casilio

  “Sir,” MacJames asked, “what characteristics should we look for in regards to YOUR civilian operative?”

  Stuart narrowed his eyes at her. “Mac, you don’t approve of my operative?”

  “No, I don’t approve, but I know you won’t change your mind.”

  “Mac, unfortunately we are both stubborn. I want someone who can blend with the people and community of Buffalo without sticking out like a sore thumb. Let’s say kind of a rogue who is at home on land in the water. A citizen of western New York; Mac, the opposite characteristics you would expect in a great federal agent.”

  “Opposite?” Freed asked.

  “Opposite. Are my orders clear?” The two agents nodded their heads.

  Freed sarcastically asked, “Would a fisherman suffice?”

  Stuart cut the agent some slack and actually laughed. “Robert, now you’re on the right track. Find a damn fisherman, a banker, some damn Buffalonian businessman that isn’t corrupted by government training. Remember, Louis and Clark had Pocahontas; imagine you’re in the union cavalierly looking for a scout to track Indian raiding parties that had killed settlers, you know women and children. I didn’t invent this concept, the Romans did.” Stuart looked at MacJames and Freed. “If you find someone who you think has FBI academy potential, don’t call me. My man should scare you; intimidate you when he walks in a room. He shouldn’t look like anyone in your office. He’s not afraid of anyone, especially a federal officer. I want a man that will tell us what we’re doing wrong. I want a man that thinks like a criminal.”

  Freed remarked, “The man you want may already be one of our suspects.”

  “My God, yes!” Stuart yelled and jumped up from his seat, clasping his hands together. “Now you’ve got it, son. That’s the man I want, don’t forget it.”

  “Secretary Stuart,” Freed asked inquisitively as Stuart turned to leave the room, “who made that ridiculous claim to Congress that there was no national crime syndicate?”

  Stuart laughed and paused at the door. “Well, Special Agent in charge he was your hero, Jay Edger Hoover. Remember, you have two weeks to get me a local operative.”

  CHAPTER 4

  As Dr. Rubin entered his den, he yelled to his wife, “Stella, you’re right. The house is very nice! I will check my planner tomorrow at the office and see if we can look at it this weekend.” There was no way he was going to Florida to look at that beach house. The airfare would be ridiculously expensive with such short notice.

  He had to call Peter Mitchelli before it was too late in the evening. Dr. Rubin was concerned about his patients no matter what the time of day, especially the Mitchellis. He respected Rose and Pasquale and he could not let their children succumb to illness. He sat in his chair and loaded his pipe. He quickly lit the tobacco, taking several short puffs and then sat back in his desk chair as he picked up the phone.

  “Hello Peter? This is Dr. Fritz Rubin, how are you?”

  “Doctor, did Phillip call you?”

  “Well he is worried about you,” Rubin responded. “He says you had an argument, smashed a phone. Your family worries about you. Are you taking your medicine?”

  “Phil should keep his big mouth shut. He’s the one that picked that damn contractor. Did he tell you about the garbage can?”

  “Yes, oh golly, I heard all about the garbage can. He probably saved your life when he called the first time.”

  “I am not taking any medications, only vitamins,” Peter hesitated. “I was going to tell you at my next appointment.”

  “How are you feeling? Do you have any obsessive thoughts?”

  “No my head is clear; those damn pills make me feel like my head is in a fog, I’m Ok. I’m worried about our business…I had a bad day.”

  “So I heard. What about your mood, are you calm, or easily agitated?”

  “I’m ok; the argument with the contractor served its purpose. He has to stay focused on getting his work done on my project not my competitors. He’s been dogging it, then he wants to get paid for work he hasn’t completed. My phone was broken, and that contractor wasn’t taking my project seriously, when I smashed the phone and started yelling, I tell you he took notice, he’ll have people on my project tomorrow pushing dirt.” Peter’s tone was confident and persuasive.

  Peter Mitchelli’s physique combined with his yelling was quite threatening. Stress and depression made him short-tempered, and possibly aggressive. His depression, if left untreated, caused his brain to become severely chemically imbalanced. Then the obsessive thoughts would start with interludes of aggression. His depression would take him on an emotional rollercoaster ride.

  “Can you come in and see me?” Dr. Rubin asked. “I would like to discuss this incident with you and your medication. We can try another medication that does not make you feel funny, how you say in a fog? There are many excellent drugs.”

  “Doctor, I appreciate you calling so late, you’re dedicated. I know Phillip means well, he should mind his own business. I’d be in tomorrow if you could give me a pill to get him off my back. He hovers over me asking me how I feel. I’m good; I have to learn to deal with this myself. I don’t like taking those drugs. They make me feel like a failure, I can’t look my kids in the eye.”

  “I want you to call me whenever you feel the need; life is too short not to feel good. You are not a failure for taking medication that heals you, are you a weakling because you take vitamins?” Dr. Rubin paused, “Peter, were you going to hit that contractor? Did you want to hurt him? Tell me what you were feeling?”

  Peter hesitated, “No...of course not.”

  “You know smashing your phone, kicking a garbage can through a wall; even yelling at the man could be signs you’re subconsciously redirecting your anger from what is really bothering you.” Dr. Rubin had to lead his patient; Mitchelli would not divulge any information. “If Pauli would not have intervened what would have happened?”

  Dr. Rubin could hear Mitchelli breathing heavily over the phone, “I don’t know…”

  “How do you think your family should perceive your actions, or for that matter, the man you were yelling at? Do you think they should think, hey our brother’s fine, buy him another phone, pull the garbage can out of the wall and send the next problematic contractor in?”

  “Actually Doctor, that is what they did; Pauli pulled the trash can out of the wall and while he was escorting the site contractor out of the office he told me the masonry contractor was waiting in the lobby.” Peter pauses, “My family uses my temper as a management tool.”

  “You need to see me,” Dr. Rubin implored.

  “I can’t, I need time to clear my head.” Mitchelli was an expert at negotiating. “Doctor, how is the Porsche, is Stella still nagging you to buy a vacation home?”

  Rubin knew Peter was changing the subject on purpose. “My patients know too much about my personal life. The Porsche is too expensive and so is Stella.” They both laughed and agreed that they will stay in touch. Disappointed with his patient’s answers, Dr. Rubin returned to studying his notes…

  Beth remembered, “One summer evening when Peter was sixteen, he went with his friend Leonard Divido for pizza and wings. They ran into a friend from grade school who introduced them to a female transfer student from Long Island, Ann. His friend thought Peter barely noticed Ann; Peter never mentioned her name while they inhaled a large pizza, a bucket of wings, and a liter of pop. Nevertheless, she had made quite an impression on the priestly wannabe. If Gloria Vanderbilt wanted the perfect body to squeeze into her designer jeans, it would have been Ann Riis at sixteen. Ann’s shapely figure was naturally perfect, well suited for modeling jeans and tight argyle sweaters. She had beautiful big light brown eyes, large sumptuous lips, long wavy brown hair, and a figure that would put Barbie Benton to shame. In fact, she was better looking than the Playboy centerfold. Her delicate long slender fingers accented by her perfectly manicured fingernails painted a deep shade of red.”

  Pauli spoke
, “Most normal adolescent boys would gawk at Ann’s large breasts and shapely ass, but not my priestly brother--he was drawn to her beautiful eyes and hands, what a jerk!”

  “Mom has beautiful hands. I remember her delicate touch, cleaning my cuts when I came home beaten and bleeding from the Irish bullies. God, I loved Ann’s Long Island accent.” Peter stopped speaking and stared out the window.

  “Ann was beautiful, Doctor. Ok, at first I didn’t like her, I didn’t want any girl breaking my brother’s heart like I did to so many guys. I didn’t want him to see her. But once Peter has something on his mind that’s it, he loved her.” Beth held Peter’s hand.

  Rose looked towards Dr. Rubin, “Although she looked Italian, she was actually Puerto Rican, something that my mother didn’t like. My mom could not look at Ann without thinking of her mother murdered at the hands of the Puerto Rican farm hand.”

  Beth continued, “Ann and Peter would socialize with their clique of friends in school, but did not date. The first dance of the year was Sadie Hawkins; you know the girls asked the boys to the dance. Ann asked Peter and he cautiously accepted.”

  “He accepted cautiously because he’s queer!” Pauli mumbled to himself.

  Pasquale yelled at Pauli, “He’s no queer, Pauli. How could Peter not enjoy dancing with Ann, holding her perfect body to his, the smell of her hair, the allure of her perfume? The priesthood lost a promising candidate when they kissed for the first time. My boy was forever in love.”

  Rose interrupted her husband, “Pasquale, Peter knew Ann was going to be his wife. After college Ann went to work for a local bank, and Peter took over our construction operations at Mitchelli Construction.”

  Beth spoke, “A year out of college Peter proposed, how could Ann say no to a five-carat diamond ring? They constructed a small house together, and traveled extensively.”

  Pasquale shouted, “Doctor, I asked him what the hell is wrong with you and your wife, why don’t you want kids? I thought he was odd, you know one of those bio-sexuals. Then Ann became pregnant with my grandson, Peter Jakob, PJ, and a daughter Kaitlin Rose. Peter had the million-dollar family, a healthy boy and girl.”

  Rose put her hand over Pasquale’s mouth, “They needed a bigger house. Ann reluctantly agreed to let Peter build a larger home, six thousand square feet, four-car garage on a six acre lot, bordered by a creek in an open development with six other houses. Peter, of course, insisted he would do all the site work himself.”

  She looked at her brother. “Peter, I have to tell Dr. Rubin. Ann’s motherly instincts made her feel guilty; she did not like placing the children in daycare. She was successful in her career, but was at odds with herself for leaving her children and not spending more time with them. She was torn between her career, her children, and her husband. Peter seemed distracted, almost unsympathetic; Doctor he wasn’t with Ann or us, his mind had taken him away from his family.”

  Dr. Rubin stopped and poured himself another glass of schnapps, while wiping a tear from eye. He finished his last group of notes prior to Rose and Pasquale passing within a year from each other. They had lived long enough to see their children work hard and grow a successful business. The stress from business was large, but Pasquale had always wished his children stay close to home and work for themselves growing the family business. He was incredibly critical of his children, and they each had a different role to play in the business.

  Patrick, Peter’s oldest brother remembered, “Meningitis damaged his brain, yes that’s what I think did it. A month after recovering from pneumonia, Peter got a severe headache. He suffered from migraines his entire life, probably caused by stress. He knew if he could sleep for several hours, he would wake and the headache would be gone. Peter went home early, slept for three hours, and was awakened by a phone call from me. He could not speak without throwing up. He had to drop the phone and run to the bathroom. He couldn’t speak or move without vomiting.” Dr. Rubin recalled Patrick was very detailed with his brother’s medical prognosis. “The next morning Ann took him to the emergency room. The doctors ran all sorts of test and x-rays. Finally, after hitting bone spurs on his vertebrae twice, a young intern successfully tamped his spinal cord. The lab examined the fluid and determined he had viral meningitis. Meningitis is an infection of the layer of tissue which surrounds the brain.”

  Dr. Rubin smiled. “I know what meningitis is, Patrick.”

  “I know, but my siblings don’t,” Patrick finished. He turned to them and continued, “A membrane layer around your brain swells when infected and puts pressure on the brain. Since antibiotics can’t heal a viral infection, Peter insisted on coming home.”

  Dr. Rubin looked at Peter. “What were your emotions like when you were sick?”

  Peter answered, “I lost three weeks of my life; I couldn’t remember what happened while recovering. It was the first time in my life I didn’t work.”

  “You idiot,” Pauli interrupted, “you could have infected us with the virus. We could have died or worse be turned into a psycho like you.”

  “I felt useless and slept all day and most of the night. Ann worked full time and took care of the kids. She was worried our kids would get sick; it’s highly contagious. I hated being sick, I felt pathetic, depressed.” Peter stared out the window. “Ann never complained, not once.”

  Beth continued, “When Peter recovered, he was not the same person. His mind was not right; he couldn’t remember certain things. Ann would frequently remind him of promises he made; he was withdrawn and suffered severe bouts of depression.”

  “His depression was severe, clinically severe,” Phil interrupted, “and he thought he could control it. Doctor, he needs your help. He’s much better tranquilized.”

  “He’s depressed because he’s struggling with his sexuality. He’s a gay man that carries a gun because of his insecurity.” Pauli laughed while pointing at his brother Peter.

  “Pauli, please let your siblings speak. We’ll have time later to discuss your brother’s sexuality.” Rubin’s comment was directed at Pauli but was intended to calm Peter. It worked--Peter did not throw his younger brother around the office. Rubin looked at Peter and asked, “Are you carrying a gun?” Peter smiled and winked at the doctor.

  Pauli yelled, “I told you Doc, he’s hitting on you. He likes older men with European accents, stay away from him Doc, he’s got a gun.”

  Patrick talked over Pauli’s shouts. “Peter was stable when he received a call at work that Ann was having trouble breathing. He immediately picked her up from work and took her to the emergency room. They had thought Ann was battling some type of flu and sent her home with antibiotics. Nevertheless, after several weeks, Ann was not recovering. The doctors sent her to Roswell Park, a cancer research hospital, and they quickly diagnosed her with acute leukemia. Peter stayed calm, strong, and positive. He was determined he did not want the children, Ann, or her parents to panic. They would work through the situation together and follow the direction of the doctors. Ann was the healthier of the two, always taking care of herself. The doctors tried to be optimistic but they stressed Ann would not be going home for quite some time and needed to start chemo treatment immediately.

  “Ann’s immune system was weekend by the chemo treatments, her lungs had become infected, and the doctors had prescribed pure oxygen to combat the lungs’ inability to absorb oxygen. With no immune system, the pure oxygen was a breeding ground for germs. Ann contracted a painful infection in a gland near her throat. Doctors feared her throat would swell up so large that she would suffocate and recommended a tracheotomy. Peter agreed. They also recommended inducing a coma because Ann was in so much pain from the infection. They would wake her from the coma when the infection had subsided, which they expected in five days.”

  Beth started crying as she picked up the story. “Ann’s parents watched the children at night while Peter stayed with Ann at the hospital. He said the Rosary with her several times a night running the beads through her beautiful f
ingers as he said the Our Father and Hail Mary. The nurses would stop as they passed Ann’s room and watch this giant of a man kneeling by his wife, desperately praying for her life.”

  Pauli spoke, “He was slowly beginning to lose weight, not making time to eat.”

  “Saturday quickly came, the day Ann was to be awakened from her induced coma,” Patrick continued. “Peter arrived at the hospital early. The doctors had told him to speak loudly to Ann, which would help her come out of her coma.”

  Beth started sobbing at this point. Peter put his arms around his sister and said, “Peter did nothing halfway and was yelling, ‘Ann! Ann! Wake Up!’ The nurse’s station was diagonally thirty feet from Ann’s door, several nurses came running in pleading with him to stop yelling. Peter relented, although he was excited; he wanted to speak to Ann. He looked into her eyes as he spoke and saw her pupils widen and then close, he squeezed her hand and said her name, and asked her to wake up. He stayed with her for ten hours.”

  “It was pathetically sad, Doctor. We came down and watched our brother leaning over Ann’s bed, looking into her eyes asking her to wake up. We insisted he go to the hospital cafeteria for something to eat and Beth took his place. He quickly returned and began yelling at Ann to wake up.” Pauli put his head down. “Peter stayed the night, never leaving her side. He questioned the nurses why she did not wake, they said her regular doctors would be in for their rounds Sunday morning and they would meet with him.” Beth could feel Peter’s hand begin to tremble, “Sunday morning, Ann’s doctors told Peter additional tests were needed. It was recommended that Peter go home and rest and they would have the results Monday morning. Peter realized he could do nothing.”