“Don’t forget – Stalker,” Tom joked.
“Yes and a big stalker!” she laughed. Tom returned a smile, expecting her to continue. She proceeded with more caution.
“Is this how you ask girls out? By stalking them first?” She said. “Nope! Just you!”
“Well it’s an honor to be stalked by you, Tom.”
Tom laughed.
“To be honest, I haven’t met a girl worth the hassle till you bumped into me on that faithful day,” Tom replied. Nina tried to hide her blush.
“Hmm I bet you say that to all girls,” She said with sarcastic humor.
“Believe me, one thing I’ll never do is to lie to you,” Tom said in the most sincere tone Nina had ever heard. She stopped laughing. He was serious. She could see it in his eyes. He wasn’t messing around. Maybe he was just a good actor. Still, she felt a wave of trust for him. She was out of breath and speechless.
“Nina?” Tom called out, hoping she was okay.
“Yea! Yea! Uhm I think you should start heading out. My parents will be home soon,” She said in a nervous tone. Tom gazed at the clock. It was nearly 6pm. Time had flown by.
“Yea I have to head to the airport soon anyways,” Tom replied with a hint of disappointment.
“Be safe. Okay?” she replied. He could tell she cared about him and it scared him. He lived a risky life –one with deep unpredictability. If she cared so much, his eminent death would crush her. Still, that was the least of his fears. His enemies now had a bargaining chip that could be used against him.
“If you need me, call me. Don’t hesitate, I’ll send someone to you, immediately,” Tom replied in a low voice as he walked along with her to the door. His protective instincts were kicking in again. She returned a sincere smile.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” Nina replied with a sweet smile. Her heart sank. Her stomach tightened.
“And maybe when you get back, we could go on that date,” Nina added as Tom walked to the car. They didn’t touch, but their bodies felt electrically connected. Before he entered his car, he gazed at her – a mental picture he would treasure.
“Bon voyage!” she whispered as he drove off.
12
Passengers had boarded. Some were seated and some struggled to put their luggage in the overhead cabin. It was noisy. The sound of the crying baby behind his seat bothered him. That was the least of his concerns. A man in a gypsy style haircut rambled boring jokes about his adventures in Zimbabwe.
“Urgh. This is why I hate flying commercial,” he thought to himself.
“This is flight 767, going to Springfield, Illinois. The weather is perfect. The sky is clear. The clouds are clear. Take off will soon be cleared by the control towers. Please fasten your seat belts as we take off. I’m Captain John McGuire and I hope you have a safe and comfortable flight,” the pilot said briefly. There was a dial tone and the air hosts and hostesses showed the normal safety procedures.
Dean and Jack smiled. They had never flown first class before. Tom rested his head on the seat. He thought about the Sanchez family. He fantasized about a complete annihilation. At last, the perpetuator who tried to kill his father was dead. A clear message had been sent and things were looking good.
For the first time in weeks, Tom voluntarily closed his eyes and slept while Francesca, Sara, and the bodyguards enjoyed the benefits of being first class passengers.
Donna stood in front of the mirror, naked. She fantasied about her night with Tom. She stood sideways, by the mirror, admiring her curves. She could still feel Tom’s body touching hers. She could smell his scent on her clothes. She couldn’t wait for him to get back. Every moment without him felt like torture. She felt like following Tom to wherever he was going, but that couldn’t happen with the kind of parents she had.
She took a look at the pictures she took of Tom that night. “He was too drunk to realize what was even happening,” she thought to herself. She cared about Tom too much. She was happy. She finally had her chance with him. Obsessive thoughts of Tom lingered in her mind. She grabbed a printed picture of herself and Tom then pasted it on her bedroom wall.
“He must really love me because I’m still alive,” she thought. “Mrs. Donna Olivetti,” she said to herself and smiled.
Don Olivetti was seated in his study with his eyeglasses on. He brushed through the financial papers on his desk, signing some and discarding the others. He had a half burnt Cuban Cigar on his desk. He had a glass of fine Italian wine beside his ash tray.
“Everyone is in a safe place now,” he thought to himself. He had a deep feeling of accomplishment. The only thing that bothered him was the fact that he had not found out who planted the device.
Just then, one of the guards knocked on the door. “Come on in,” Don Olivetti said.
“Sir! We have found the rat!” the guard said then handed Don Olivetti a piece of paper.
“Good!” Don Olivetti said. He grabbed the paper from the guard, anxious to see.
He looked at the paper. He grinned then gave a deep sigh. He was disappointed. It wasn’t expected.
“Good job! This stays between us,” he said to the guard. The guard nodded and exited the room immediately. Don Olivetti leaned back on his chair, his legs crossed, twiddling his fingers…“What his my nephew up to?”
The plane arrived at Abraham Lincoln airport. They briskly walked out of the airplane as they made their way to airport security. The air in Springfield was less polluted, the airport was much smaller and the staff was a lot nicer. Springfield felt like the polar opposite of New York. No one seemed to be in a hurry. People were less formal and looked less stressed.
Cars with four other guards were already waiting for Tom and his sisters. They grabbed their luggage, placed it in their respective cars and waited till Tom and his sisters entered.
Everyone in the car was quiet. It was a new environment. The buildings were sparse and there were more trees than houses. The roads had very few cars on it. It made it easy to drive in a single convoy. The drive through veteran’s parkway was never ending with nothing significant to see, but stores, business and more trees. They drove into Panther Creek where an array of mansions stood gallantly like horses on display. They finally arrived at one. Tom got out of his vehicle, took a deep breath, “A new chapter of my life”
His Grandmother, Cecilia Olivetti was standing at the door waiting for them. She had a wide smile. She had aged a lot since the last time Tom saw her. Still, she had that hidden beauty that intensified with old age.
Francesca sighed deeply as she got out of the car. Life in Illinois was going to be long.
13
Five months had passed and the war between families still wasn’t over. Situations in New York had become heated and security was more intense. Tom had adapted to Illinois. There was no major difference between his lifestyle in New York and his lifestyle in Illinois. He felt better going to school with people who had no idea who he was. He loved the anonymity of his family name.
Francesca and Sara had developed a bad-shopping habit. It served s a comfort to curb the boredom they felt in Springfield. Walter couldn’t complain but his Grandmother, Cecilia Olivetti, complained a lot.
Cecilia’s home had more than enough room to accommodate their guards. Surveillance cameras were installed in every nook and corner of the house.
Tom got up from his bed, took a shower, slipped into some clothes then walked downstairs to the kitchen where his grandmother was. She was dressed in a simple Maroon colored dress that complimented her grey hair. She stood by the coffee machine, impatiently waiting for the coffee to brew.
“Morning, Grandma,” Tom said, kissing his grandmother on her forehead. She smiled in response. He opened the refrigerator. He looked inside for a brief moment then grabbed a bottle of coke. He opened the top left cupboard then grabbed two bags of chips. Cecilia watched curiously.
“Where are you going in such a hurry?” Cecilia asked in her usual suspicious tone.
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“Uhm my friend’s house,” Tom replied.
“Hmm. You’ve been going to your friend’s house a lot, lately, why don’t you invite them here, sometime? I’m sure it’s much better and safer here than there…” his grandmother replied in a tone of concern. She tried to give her grandchildren enough liberty to make their own choices. She felt a mixture of sadness and pity for them because they had to grow up in an era of violence.
Tom smiled. “If my friends are here, they won’t give you peace of mind, they make a lot of noise!” Tom joked.
Cecilia nodded in response.
Dean, Peter and Tom’s new bodyguards stood outside the compound waiting for Tom. Jack had resigned. It was for the best. Tom decided he wasn’t ready to deal with Jack’s post-traumatic stress. Jack had moved into a state of depression, reclusive behavior and emotional imbalance after killing Purio Maccuzo. He couldn’t stand Jack’s sudden change in attitude. Jack had developed a timid heart overnight and that was bad for business. Tom couldn’t trust him. He believed in logic over emotions.
“Ready?” Dean asked as Tom walked out to the front Porch. Tom sighed.
“Sure! Let’s go to the warehouse,” Tom said as he jumped into the back seat of a black Lincoln town car.
Tom ate his lunch as they drove to a deserted farmland somewhere in Chatham, Illinois. Besides the rats, no living thing existed there. The land was previously owned by a farmer who sold his land to a man named Charlie—Tom’s employee.
It was a vast land surrounded by trees. It made it impossible for drivers driving by to see. The low barbed wired fences did a good job in keeping mischievous kids away. They drove through the bumpy roads. Tom struggled to prevent his drink from spilling.
Minutes later, they arrived at the side of an old barn that had been converted to a warehouse. Men in grey jump suits were bringing out goods from the trucks and stacking them neatly in rooms. Piles of Cuban cigars, Weed and Cocaine were stacked neatly in order of preference. They were covered with dry hay and smothered with horse dung to prevent detection by K9 police dogs.
Tom made a lot of money from his deals. He was highly respected for his fast thinking. Drug lords wondered how a young boy could make all that money. He tried not to be perceived as threat to the Chicago mob.
Tom got out of his car dressed in a casual outfit—blue jeans and a graphic t-shirt.
“Morning sir,” Charlie, Tom’s warehouse manager, said to Tom. He was the front man for most of Tom’s transactions. Tom avoided direct communication with his customers at all cost.
“So, how are things going?” Tom asked. “Fine boss! Though, one of the trucks had a slight delay,” Charlie replied.
“That means things are not ‘fine’,” Dean replied in a contemptuous tone. Tom ignored them.
“Anybody want to see me?” Tom asked.
“A guy named Damon and his guys want to see you. They are at your office. I told him he could talk to me. He refused. He insisted on a direct communication with you,” Charlie replied as he escorted Tom to his office, a semi large room with nothing but a desk and a table. Nothing fancy.
Tom sat on his chair then placed one leg on the table, showing off his new Italian boots.
Damon, a tall bald African American male, walked in. His suit complimented his muscular physique. He glanced at Tom then glanced at the other men in the room. He had heard rumors of a new dealer with more connections than most. Though, he had never imagined how young he was. Dean, Peter and Charlie were standing behind Tom. They glared at Damon like dogs about to chase down their prey.
“What’s up bro!” Damon said, with little enthusiasm. Eight unfriendly African American men were standing behind. Damon stretched out his hand for a handshake. Tom ignored it.
“Nothing much,” Tom replied, looking at Damon straight in the eye. A brief moment of silence emerged. Damon frowned, cleared his throat then adjusted his suit.
“I must say, I wasn’t expecting a kid,” Damon said. Tom’s bodyguards cleared their throat—tense. Tom stared at Damon with a blunt look of disgust.
“Well, now you see a kid, cut to the chase, I don’t have all day,” Tom said briefly. Damon was offended, but remained calm.
“So you gonna make me talk without getting me a chair to seat on?” Damon replied. Tom signaled to one of his men. Seconds later, they brought a chair for Damon to sit.
“Anything else?” Tom asked impatiently. The tension increased.
“I heard you are good at importing special Cuban cigars…” he paused. “You know what I mean?” Damon added.
Tom nodded.
“Yea good! So let’s strike a deal. I need a whole truck of special Cuban cigars in two days,” Damon said. He waited for Tom’s response. Tom nodded.
“Can you do that?” Damon asked impatiently. Tom nodded again.
“Hey! Why ain’t you talking?” Damon said. He slammed his fist on the table. Tom didn’t flinch. He remembered what his father told him as a little kid. A man with a temper has little to offer. A man with intelligence knows how to control his temper.
“You have a really unnecessary temper,” Tom said in a calm and calculated tone. Damon was surprised. He was angry, but Tom’s calm tone threw him off.
“You’re a very wise man,” Tom added. He lifted his leg from the table then placed both hands on the table.
Damon felt very insulted. He stood up in a state of anger. His men brought out their guns. Tom’s guards didn’t react. They just stood, waiting for Tom’s signal.
Tom cleared his throat.
“What’s going on? You want to kill me? I thought you were smarter than that,” Tom said in a calmer tone. Damon was confused. His attempt to instill fear wasn’t working. “No one speaks to me like this. I own the Midwest. It’s a privilege to work for me!” Damon added.
“So you think you’re going to waltz in here with your petty gang, kill me, take everything away from me? In my own warehouse?” Tom replied, this time, in a disdainful tone. “Before you even think of pulling the trigger, I suggest you think about the consequences. If you want to die, I can make it simple for you to do so,” Tom added in a tone of confidence.
Damon was shocked. His eyes flared from one corner of the room to the other. No one else was present. “And how do you plan on achieving that. None of your men have their guns out and my guys will shoot before they think about drawing their weapons,” Damon replied with a smirk on his face.
“The walls have ears,” Tom replied. Once again, Damon was as confused as a mother trying to figure out why her baby is crying. He glanced at the walls around him. There were tiny holes in the walls. He could see the tips of guns hanging through the small holes. His pride dissipated. He became terrified. His men trembled.
“Alright! Alright! We don’t want no blood shed in here,” Damon said with a sheepish smile. Tom frowned. Damon signaled his men to holster their weapons. The room was quiet. Damon laughed to ease the tense atmosphere. Soon, everyone else began to laugh, except Tom. Tom cleared his throat. The laughter ceased.
“Okay so how much do you want in cash?” Damon asked.
“Five million,” Tom replied abruptly. Damon gazed at Tom. “Five million?”
“What!?” Damon yelled. At this point, Damon had no choice. He pondered about the demand for the products. He sighed.
“In that case, you wouldn’t mind adding a shipment of marijuana and cocaine. Would you?” Damon asked. Tom smiled.
“Good! We have a deal,” Damon said. His men placed a duffel bag of cash on Tom’s table. Dean checked it and nodded to Tom. Damon shifted his attention to Tom.
“There’ll be an extra million if this job is done perfectly,” Damon said as he stood up from his chair.
“If you run away with my money, let’s just say…hmmm…your walls will lose their ears,” Damon added then walked out.
Donna walked out of the maternal clinic with a mixed sign of fear and sadness. She had not seen nor heard from Tom in months. Her Belly was b
ecoming more visible. She used larger clothes to cover it up.
Gossip and rumors were beginning to erupt like a pregnant volcano and attending school was becoming a dread. Her mother stood by her side for support, but couldn’t hide her judgmental attitude towards her daughter’s pregnancy.
Multitude attempts to contact the Olivetti family was futile and they feared advice to go to court.
Donna walked away from the clinic briskly. She was upset and uncertain. The pregnancy was harder to cope with than she had imagined. Her mother suggested an abortion, but Donna rejected the idea. She was obsessively in love with Tom. Her pregnancy was a means to get to Tom’s heart. She bumped into a man accidentally.
“Hey watch it!” the man yelled at her angrily.
“Sorry,” she replied, afraid.
Her mother struggled to catch up with her. Donna pulled out her phone. Tears flowed down her cheeks. She attempted to call Tom for the umpteenth time. He still wasn’t picking up
“Tom! Where are you?” She said to herself as she walked into her mother’s car.
New York Presbyterian hospital. Critical ward. The life support machine beeped continuously like a drunken bird in mating season. It enraged him. He was frustrated. Annoyed. Fatigue didn’t stop him from ruminating about his next kill. He couldn’t sleep. He could barely close his eyes without remembering how Tom’s bodyguards tortured him. He tried to understand why he wasn’t killed—why Jack let him go—why Jack buried a fake body instead of him—Why Jack dropped him at the nearest hospital. There were too many questions and no answers.
All was a mystery to him – but he had another chance to live - he was going to make sure Tom Olivetti paid for the inhumane treatment he received.
“Tom Olivetti, I’m going to enjoy killing you,” Purio Maccuzo said to himself. His voice was low and weak. His face was slowly healing, but it would never be the way it was before. He limped to his bed and adjusted his bandage. The physical rehabilitation he’d been going to was slowly paying off. However, his mental state was greatly flawed. He had nightmares anytime he closed his eyes. While awake, he saw Tom. He was suspicious of hospital staff. His post-traumatic stress was way beyond comprehension. Beneath all the weakness, the only person he could think about was Thomas.
Olivetti: Inception Page 9
