“A Trailer full of illegal drugs was found by the Illinois State Police on the US I-72 highway. Law enforcement authorities were alarmed by the magnitude of drugs being transported on US soil. John Baker, a middle aged family man, was apprehended by the Police. He is believed to be working with the Decatur and Chicago mob families. However, Illinois State Police states that they currently have no comment as FBI and DEA agents have taken over the investigation. This is Ann Karen reporting for your Local News,”
Tom changed the channel as quickly as possible. Earlier that week, Tom had shut down the warehouse and sold all goods to neighborhood gangs, at half price. It was a loss Tom was willing to make.
“All you do is watch football, all day,” Francesca said, trying to grab the remote control from Tom.
“Well you guys say I don’t spend enough time at home and now I am home and you’re complaining,” Tom yelled back in a state of agitation.
“Yeah! Yeah! Whatever! – Anyway, it’s good to have you back – You spend too much time at Ted’s,” Francesca replied. Cecilia ignored the racket going on between Tom and Francesca as she continued knitting her sweater. She wasn’t one to say much. Each wrinkle on her face showed a sign of wisdom. She seemed to know everything.
Just then, there was a knock on the door. Tom froze. Francesca walked up to see who it was. Seconds later, she came back to the living room with curious eyes.
“Grandma! There are policemen at the door,” Francesca said in fear.
“What’s going on?” Francesca added. Cecilia Olivetti stood up from her seat without a hint of surprise or fear. Tom stood up, pretending to be alarmed and worried as his grandmother walked up to the door with slow and steady steps.
“Evening ma’am,” a tall policeman with brunette hair and a musky voice said as she opened the door.
“Good evening to you too. May I help you?” Cecilia asked in a tone of curiosity.
“Uh… as you may have seen on the news, we are currently undergoing an investigation of a truck full of illegal substances. We have reason to believe that your son may be involved. Do you have an idea of where he might be?” the police man asked in a professional tone.
“My son? Tom is my Grandson and I doubt he is the one you’re looking for,” Celia replied as she called out for Tom. Shortly after, Tom was right by her, looking as innocent as possible.
The policeman took a look at Tom. He was stunned! “This is Tom?”
“Yes!” Tom replied.
“Tom Olivetti?” the policeman added.
“Uh! Yes!” Tom replied again.
The policeman looked at his partner in a state of confusion.
“I’m sorry ma’am there may have been a mix up,” the policeman said.
“We may have been mistaken. We didn’t know he was this young— it’s impossible for him to be involved,” the other policeman added with a smile as he tried to make a joke out of it.
Tom laughed casually. Cecilia didn’t. Her poker face was as blunt as ever. They noticed her tense face. The policemen stopped laughing abruptly.
“Uhm we are sorry for the disturbance. We should go now. Good day ma’am,” the police officer stammered as he and his partner walked away.
“Hmph! they must have gotten it all wrong. How could I be involved in smuggling?” Tom said, walking away. Cecilia scoffed in disgust.
“It’ll take some time to adjust. We will be working on physical rehabilitation in the next few weeks,” the gallant Doctor said, happy to deliver the good news. Walter smiled in response. His wife, Beatrice Olivetti was right beside him.
He felt free for the first time in months, his cast had been removed from his leg and all other bandages had been removed. His gunshot wound was still in a healing process, but he could walk properly again. He leaned forward then shook the Doctor’s hand.
“Thank you, you have been a great help to me.” The Doctor nodded in response as he walked out of the room.
Beatrice gave a victorious smile. She was happier than he was. “So now that you’re better, you can return to our room,” Beatrice said as she hugged her husband.
“Woman! It’ll take some time to get all my legs functioning,” Walter joked. He then paused as he tried to stand upright. He wobbled. His guards tried to help.
“No! No!” Walter replied shrugging them off. “I would have to get used to walking again” Walter added. Beatrice was overwhelmed with emotion.
“The kids will be so happy to see you have recovered” Beatrice said. “Yes they will, It’ll soon be safe for them to come back home. We haven’t noticed any visible threats in the past few weeks” Walter said as he leaned on the wall trying to regain some energy.
Beatrice smiled in return. A mixture of feelings. Uncertainty was definitely in the air. Regardless, she was glad that her husband could walk again.
In a DEA interrogation room, John Baker’s tense mood was posing to be more difficult. He looked around for any escape. There was nothing but space. There was one chair and one table with one light source. He could see a one way mirror. John observed the agents interrogating him. White male and a black male respectively. They had an unforgiving look. Their aura instigated fear into John.
“What? I swear it was that kid. He owns the truck of goods! He employed me! Check the warehouse! I swear I’m not crazy! I’m not just making this up! I swear!” John Baker yelled at the two agents who glanced at him in ridicule.
“You expect us to believe that Mister Baker? You better come clean or you’ll be serving more time with us in federal penitentiary,” one of the agents said.
“I Swear!” John Baker said, still sweating excessively. Both agents sighed simultaneously. They were frustrated, tired and relentlessly desperate for a confession.
“You failed the polygraph test! Your body language shows you’re lying. Why is that?” an agent asked as he moved closer to John.
John baker frowned. He desperately wished he was dreaming. He wished he could just open his eyes to realize it was all a vision.
Nothing he could say would make a difference. He struggled to remember the names of other members of Tom’s crew. None came to mind. He was just a driver—a plain old simple driver without privileged information and he was treated as such. Of course, no one will believe the warehouse was owned by a boy. But what about the people he was meant to deliver the goods to? Could they be blamed for it? Everything could have been perfect if only he could remember their names.
“Look, I gave you the delivery address. Why am I still in here?” John Baker replied in frustration.
“We visited it,”
“No one was there.”
“It seems like your only option is to plead guilty in trial because everything points to you,”
John Baker shook his head as he realized how stupid he had been. He had already said too much. He was sure Tom will do anything to shut him up for good. His best bet was to stay in prison till a solution to his demise was found.
Tom was standing on a hill, close to the farmhouse. He gazed at it. The cold wind blew on his face.
He could see the yellow tapes the police had put around it. The John Baker incident had forced him to walk around unguarded to avoid suspicion. He thought about the Decatur mob and Damon’s angry demeanor, as his mind pondered about ways to reduce the tension between himself and Damon.
“Six Million Dollars. Down the drain,” He already had a plan to get Damon his money back.
“Wow,” he thought. Just like that.
“Well, that that was unlucky,” Tom said to himself.
Everything seemed to be going wrong at the same time. The men he had assigned to watch Jack were now dead and cold. It had to be the Sanchez family.
“Hey!” a voice yelled from behind him.
Tom turned towards the sound of the voice. Her face was familiar It was Ricky Raymond—his office/warehouse assistant. She didn’t know what she was getting herself into. She had bragged of her high paying job, to her friends and family.
Unknown to her, she was part of a drug smuggling ring—a pawn in the game of chess. She was in fear for her life. Scared that she might be killed or imprisoned, she went into hiding right after the news broadcast. Tom didn’t reply her.
“John Baker is in Prison,” Ricky, a twenty year old average looking girl said as she slowly approached Tom.
“I know,” Tom replied without intent to continue the conversation. He wanted solitude and privacy to think about the next step.
“You know? Is that all you can say?” she asked.
“Look! Whatever your name is, I don’t care! Right now, I’d like you to give me some privacy,” Tom replied.
She looked at him in anger. “My name is Ricky!” she replied.
“Ok,” Tom replied. His attention was still on the warehouse.
“Look here, asshole! I don’t care who your father is, who your family is, or why you’re still here, instead of prison. I want you to know you’re a shameless son a bitch,” she yelled.
“So you’ve been following me for the past two days to tell me that?” he replied in a calm tone as he turned towards her. She was stunned. Surprised. Expressionless. She assumed that her attempt to follow Tom was discreet.
“Yeah I knew all along,” Tom added as he noticed her expressionless face. She sighed as anger grew within her.
“You bastard! Can’t you help John Baker? He has a family! He has kids!” Ricky yelled.
“It’s not his family you’re bothered about. You were having an affair with him and now you need me to help you get him out,” Tom replied in a tone of confidence. She was even more surprised.
“Yeah I know all about your romance! I have background checks done on everyone who works for me! Shame, you were sleeping with a married man!” Tom added again.
She tried to say something, but lost her voice. She couldn’t defend herself. She was weakened by Tom’s invasive speech.
“John Baker has been caught already. He knew the risk. What’s done is done,” Tom said, trying to hide his temper.
“Fuck you!” she yelled. Tom turned away from her. He wasn’t willing to engage in any further conversation. He moved closer to the edge of the cliff hoping she’d stop talking. He could hear her rant, but her words were incoherent. Finally, he gave a deep sigh as he walked away from the edge of the hill
“Wait, Mister. You can’t walk away from me like that! Listen to me! If you don’t save John, it just shows what a wicked bastard you are! And trust me, no one’s talking, but I’ll talk. I’ll confirm his stories,” she said angrily as she tried to grab Tom. Tom’s reflex was quick.
He dodged her quick attempt to grab him, she lost her footing, tripped then fell off the hill. It all happened too fast. Tom tried to grab her before she fell, but it was too late. Her head was split open on the rocks below.
Francesca jumped with joy as she hung up the phone. She had just spoken to her father.
“Yes!” She screamed as she ran to her sister’s room across the hallway.
“We are heading back to New York soon!” Francesca said as Sara jumped for joy. They couldn’t wait to get back to their school.
Just then, Tom rushed into the house, panting and sweating. He was more worried than scared. He had just fled the scene of an accidental death. He didn’t call 911 because he’d be the primary suspect. He was frantic. Ricky Raymond’s death could confirm John’s testimony.
“Tom!” Cecilia called, wondering why he was panting and sweating. She was worried. Concerned. Alarmed. Disturbed.
“What’s the matter Tom?” Cecilia asked as she walked towards him.
“Nothing,” Tom replied, trying to keep a straight face. He was trying to think, but he couldn’t. His mind was fogged with fear. Tom noticed the luggage on the floor.
“What’s this?” Tom asked, pointing to the luggage.
“Your father wants you guys back home by Tomorrow,” Cecilia replied.
Tom’s heart leaped with Joy. Yes! At last! He could leave Illinois and leave all his trouble behind.
“The police won’t find out. There were no witnesses,”
“Yes! Let’s leave now! Today!” Tom said as he ran up the stairs to pack his bags. He dialed Dean’s number. “Come quick! We’re heading back to New York today!” Tom said as he hung up. Cecilia briskly walked to Tom’s room. Frantic.
“You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on, young man!” Cecilia said as she held Tom.
Tom stopped, then shrugged, then looked into his grandmother’s eyes. His emotions were overwhelming.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t do it! It wasn’t my fault,” Tom said almost in tears. For the first time in his life, he realized he had emotions. Ordering the death of an assassin didn’t bother him. Ricky wasn’t an assassin. She was a helpless youth, trying to advocate the wrong person. The disturbed image of her split head on the rocks, stuck to his brain.
Francesca and Sara ran towards the scene, wondering why Tom was distraught. Cecilia closed the door for some privacy. Tom sat on a chair with his face buried in his hands.
“What’s going on?” Cecilia whispered. Tom didn’t respond.
“What’s the problem?” Cecilia asked again as she leaned towards her grandson.
“Nothing, Grandma. Something really upsetting happened and I just over reacted,” Tom said trying to put himself together.
“What?” Cecilia asked again. Tom was reluctant to speak. He didn’t want to get her involved.
“She was the wife of a Mafia Don. Does she have any idea what the family did for a living?” he pondered.
“Did you kill someone?” Cecilia asked softly before Tom could utter another lie. Tom was alert. Cecilia’s question was blunt and straight forward
“Why’d you ask?” Tom asked.
“Because that’s the way your father acted when he killed someone who wasn’t supposed to die,” she replied in a soft voice.
“I—I didn’t kill her! She tripped, she fell and she died,” Tom said incoherently.
“Tell me Tom! Who? Where? When? Let me know and I’ll handle it for you,” Cecilia asked impatiently. Tom observed his grandmother. She wasn’t what he expected her to be. He always saw her as the pure woman who ignorantly turned a blind eye to the exploits of the men in her family.
At that moment, he knew he was wrong. She was calm. Composed. Calculated. She was used to handling issues like that. He spilled out his guts.
16
It was allover the news. The drug bust had increased from State news stations to National news stations. There was report of the missing woman who was tied to a closed warehouse. Police were investigating rigorously.
“Twenty year old Ricky Raymond who might have been tied to a police drug bust, is missing. Her car was last seen at the supposed warehouse where police think the drug dealers worked. Law enforcement Agents also think that she might have been working alongside with the mafia or the local gang. Law enforcements Agents say she might be a suspect or might be the victim. Contact your local police if you see her. This is John Castello, on the news at six,”
Cecilia Olivetti smiled as she turned off the television.
Purio Maccuzo sat on his hospital bed with his face, legs, hands and abdomen covered in bandages. The morphine was helping with his physical pain, but the thought of revenge was increasing his emotional pain. His discharge date was in three months, but every second seemed like hours and every hour seemed like months.
He was thirsty for blood—Tom’s blood. Tom’s body guards didn’t matter to him. They were inconsequential roaches.
“Why wasn’t I killed?” There was something about Tom’s hired henchman that Purio didn’t understand. Jack was a mysterious fellow indeed.
“Could Jack be working for the Mexican Cartels?”
School was tough for Tom, especially when Tom knew that he had killed an innocent woman, accidentally. Thankfully, the police wasn’t all over his ass. His Grandmother must have handled it well. His nightmares, which had
once stopped, had started again. This time around it wasn’t about his father being shot.
It was her face—Ricky Raymond. It haunted him. She was everywhere; in his bathroom, in school, walking on the road and in the mall. He was miserable. He remembered the last dream he had. In it, Ricky Raymond was alive, his dead Grandfather, Frederick Olivetti, warned him to run. He ran like he had never run before. Finally, he arrived at a cold and dark graveyard. He looked around. Tombstones were scattered all over the place. He leaned closer to one of the Tomb Stones. His name was on it. He looked at the others. It belonged to other members of his family. He had horror on his face. He rushed to his tombstone then tried to dig the ground to see who was in the casket. A hand grabbed his. He woke up.
Back in school, Tom was beginning to question his sanity. There was a girl in the hallway that looked like Ricky Raymond. He walked into the Men’s restroom. He dropped his school bag on the floor as he splashed some water on his face. Suddenly, he saw her through the mirror. She was at the Men’s restroom. He turned back, she was gone. He panted excessively. He couldn’t see a shrink and antipsychotic medications were out of the question.
“Murderer!” rang in his head like a bell. He looked around to see if anyone was talking to him, but the only person in the bathroom besides him was his pestering friend, Scott.
“Tom! Snap out of it!” Scott said.
“Hey! What’s up?” Tom said, trying to act naturally. He was glad someone was there to rescue him from his invasive thoughts.
“Not much,” Scott said in a curious tone.
“What’s the matter, Scott? I’m pretty sure you heard something,” Tom said, knowing his friend’s mischievous tone.
“So, I’ve been thinking—you walk around with bodyguards. I’ve been trying to figure out what your family does for a living…” Scott said. Tom sighed. He tried to interrupt him, but Scott cut him off.
Olivetti: Inception Page 11
