Olivetti: Inception

by Tamilore Odimayo

  “So then you disappear from New York for a while and then I begin to get more curious. No phone calls, emails, not even Facebook. Could your family be in protective custody? No. Is your family walking around with bodyguards because they are too rich? No! Warren Buffet’s kids walk around without bodyguards. So why is your family so special?” Scott said, waiting for Tom’s response. There was a long silence.

  “If I tell you….”

  “…you’d have to kill me right?” Scott completed his statement. They both paused.

  “Anyways, there are rumors about you being the father of Donna’s child…” Scott blurted out. Tom froze.

  “Shit!”

  Jack was as scared as ever. Still seated in his living room, he held his guns to chest just in case someone walked into his apartment complex to annihilate him. His whole life was in shambles. Saving Purio Maccuzo seemed to be the most detrimental decision he had ever made. The reasons given to him were unclear, but he knew he had to let Purio Maccuzo live as part of a greater agenda.

  He remembered the crime scene that occurred outside his apartment complex, the previous night. Two men killed in a black car—the same car that had been parked outside his apartment for over three weeks.

  “If Tom finds out his men have been killed, it’ll only aggravate him more,”

  He could hear the noise from the ceiling fan, the sound from the noisy refrigerator, the traffic noise outside—all combined to create a dull symphony that distracted him from his thoughts.

  He closed his eyes as he imagined all possible solutions to his problem. There was only one thing he could do. Stay with the enemy. His hands began to shake as he picked up his cell phone. He dialed a number. He paused for a second as the phone rang.

  “I need help!” he said.

  It was a bright sunny day in Illinois. Damon and his men got out of their cars as they walked into the Illinois State Penitentiary. Damon adjusted his brown suit. His men waited outside, restlessly. He was wearing a hat that hid his baldness and had rings on most of his fingers. His alligator shoes clogged with each step.

  He walked into the facility. There was a loud buzz. The facility was noisy. It smelled of metal bars, piss and sweat. He removed his keys, belts, rings, and chains as he walked through the metal detector. There was no beep. The prison guards gazed at him in suspicion.

  “I.D sir,” a prison guard said as Damon handed his ID briskly. The prison guard took a good look at his ID for about ten seconds then sighed.

  “Who do you want to see sir?” the prison guard asked without eye contact. He dreaded his job. Damon’s countenance screamed gangster. Due to the federal laws, criminals were allowed to visit criminals—innocent until proven guilty. It made it easy for organized crime to remain organized.

  “John Baker,” Damon replied. The guard frowned. He remembered the news.

  “Okay! Is he expecting you?” the prison guard asked.

  “Just tell him I’m here to give him what he needs,” Damon said with a smile.

  Purio Maccuzo hung up his cell phone as he stood by the window in his ward. He was shocked and confused at the same time. He had just spoken to the Mexican Cartels. They had no idea who Jack was, where he came from, or who sent him to rescue him from the mindless torture Tom’s guards inflicted on him. Jack must have acted on his own discretion or sympathy. Why did Jack save his life?

  “Maybe I was just lucky,” he said to himself as he turned towards the television. He was still wearing his comfortable hospital clothes.

  Jack sparing his life didn’t mean that he wouldn’t try to end the existence of the Olivettis. He was desperate to finish what he started. He gazed at the Television blankly as he waited for a special someone to show up. The Sanchez family was sending back up.

  Just then, someone knocked on his door.

  “Come on in,” Purio said.

  A tall well-built man with dark grey hair walked in. He had clean shaven cheeks and looked like he was in his fifties. The man was well dressed in grey Italian suit, a black shirt and black shiny shoes. He looked completely professional. The barely visible marks on his face showed that he was experienced.

  Purio stared at the man. He immediately questioned his efficiency.

  “Don Sanchez sent an old man for back up?” He expected someone younger.

  “I’m Roberto Puccini. What job do you have for me?” the man said with a straight face as he shook Purio’s hands.

  In class. Tom could hear the teacher talk in the background. He was absent minded. He thought about Nina. He thought about his failed conquest in Illinois. He thought about Ricky Raymond’s unfortunate death. His personal feelings were affecting his business and he couldn’t help it. Class was nothing but a distraction. He was paranoid. He felt everyone could hear his thoughts. The school bell rang. School was over. Tom got up from his seat then briskly walked to his locker in the hallway.

  “Hi Tom,” a girl from his school said to him. He didn’t pay attention to her. He tossed his books in his locker and smiled back. The girl walked away disappointed. Scott walked up to him after noticing what occurred.

  “What!? Are you too good for all the girls in this school?” Scott asked in a casual tone.

  “Not in the mood,” Tom said in a straight voice. No girl mattered to him. He was looking for someone—someone special—someone he had to apologize to before it was too late. He had gone months without seeing or hearing from her. Everything seemed to go bad within that month.

  He spotted Nina, Barbara and Emily, outside. He walked towards Nina, neglecting Scott.

  “Oh I see where this is going,” Scott said in a presumptuous tone as he noticed Tom’s direction. Tom ignored Scott’s comment as he walked towards Nina. She was his drug. She made him feel better.

  Emily and Barbara sighted him then walked away, leaving Nina alone with Tom.

  “Hey!” Tom said. She didn’t respond. She stared at him with a blank expressionless look on her face.

  “Well, I see you don’t want to talk. I’m sorry. I should have called, but there were complications,” Tom said in a sincere tone. He had his words planned out, but he had a sudden ‘stage fright’. His memory failed him.

  Nina stood by her locker, still staring at Tom. She was dressed in blue jeans, a pink t-shirt and a black leather jacket. She had a scarf tied loosely around her neck. Behind her beauty, Tom could tell she was upset about something. She was disappointed by the rumors she heard during Tom’s absence.

  “You didn’t have to call me, you should have saved your phone call for Donna,” Nina finally replied. Tom’s heart beat quickened its pace. He couldn’t think about a sufficient explanation. Every detail of her voice registered in his head. He couldn’t understand why he was into someone he barely knew.

  “You shouldn’t believe in rumors,” Tom replied, hiding his nervousness behind his baritone voice.

  “Really? Rumors just happened to stem out from the blue about you and a freshman girl?” Nina replied in a sarcastic and frustrated tone. She tried to ignore his confident demeanor. Tom was more handsome and more charismatic than she had thought. He was unbothered by the rumors and he seemed to careless about what she thought.

  “I honestly don’t know what happened. She was at my party. When I woke up the next morning, she told me we slept together,” Tom confessed, disarming Nina. She shrugged. Now, she was the nervous one. She was impressed by his blunt honesty, but still upset.

  “You don’t need to explain it to me. You’re a grown man. It’s your problem, not mine,” Nina replied as she slammed her locker. Tom held her hand before she could walk away. Nina stared straight into his eyes. He looked like he had a sincere need to be with her.

  “I can’t know anything for sure until she births the baby. I’m sure I didn’t sleep with her. If I did, it was a mistake. I want you! Not her! Please give me the benefit of a doubt,” Tom blurted out. Her heart sank. She was confused by her feelings for the boy with a bad reputation. She nodded.
/>   “I don’t know what to say,” Nina replied.

  “Look, I know you build walls around yourself to protect yourself from getting hurt. I will never to lie to you. If my drunken disaster leads me to becoming a father for Donna’s child, so be it. I just want to let you know, it’s you I want. Nothing else! No one else,” Tom replied in a straight tone as he walked away.

  She stood in the middle of the hallway, dumbfounded by his words. It pierced through her deeply. She could tell he was sincere and part of her wanted to grant him the benefit of a doubt. The other part was afraid to let him in. for someone she barely saw, his everlasting presence in her thoughts made her wonder who or what they could be, in the future.

  “Damon,” Damon said, stretching out his hand to introduce himself to John Baker. John Baker ignored his hand as he sat down. The guest hall was crowded and noisy. On the right, a baby was crying endlessly after being handed to her inmate father. John scoffed at the pretentious scenery. The prison was no place for a family, let alone a baby. Half the men incarcerated were either sex offenders or murderers.

  John was wearing an orange jumpsuit that didn’t fit his persona. He looked defeated. He had grown a long and thick beard to intimidate other inmates. The penitentiary was literarily a dog eat dog world. He had once witnessed an inmate bite off the ear of another inmate for not listening to his request. Of course, cannibalistic inmate was sent to solitary confinement. Weeks later, he was returned to general pop.

  “You’ve got five minutes. I’ve got no time to waste,” John Baker replied.

  “You have nothing else to do in prison. Time is all you have,” Damon said, folding his hands. John Baker didn’t see any humor in what Damon said.

  “Four minutes forty eight seconds,” John Baker added without staring at the clock. Prisoners were the best at counting time.

  “Alright! Alright! My bad!” Damon replied with a gnawing smirk on his face.

  “I’m here to help you with Tom Olivetti,” Damon added. John Baker shifted his gaze from the clock, surprised.

  “Who are you?” John Baker asked curiously.

  “Damon! The owner of the merchandize you were caught with,” Damon replied.

  “So you want what I want?” John Baker asked.

  “No! Not exactly. You want to get out of this shit hole and I want my six million dollars and Tom Olivetti’s head on a platter,” Damon said with a grin.

  “Hmm I see. You were screwed by the boy too,” John Baker replied. He could sense Damon’s tension.

  “Here’s the deal. Someone who has six million dollars will have the resources to get me out of here for a mere drug bust. I’m on bail because they don’t believe I knew what was in the truck. I’ll get you your six million dollars and you get me out of here,” John said.

  “What about the boy?” Damon asked.

  “I’ll handle him myself,” John Baker said with a smile.

  17

  August 23-31, 1956

  Friday night. The city that never sleeps was wide awake. Elite New Yorkers pulled over simultaneously, in their limos and exotic cars, at the side of the newest club. Women stepped out of the car, dressed in expensive mink coats with their Tuxedo dressed partners by their side. The atmosphere was filled with the lush music of the early fifties. The Mo-Club, owned by the Moretti family was filled with classic New Yorkers; mayors, councilmen, businessmen, state senators, and the Governor. It was the place to be and the place to see famous musicians like Frank Sinatra.

  The Club had a cool atmosphere with brown marble floors, glass tables, mirror walled bars, and beautiful waitresses wearing white flimsy dresses. People nodded their heads to the subtle sounds of Jazz music and the abundance of wine selections.

  Frederick Olivetti walked into the club wearing a grey suit and black bow tie. His presence was complimented by Clara, whom helplessly attracted attention from every grown man within a five foot radius. Her silver dress hugged her curves and her black mink coat exuded eloquence.

  “Reservation for Olivetti,” Frederick said to the man in the black tux, in front of the door. The man scrolled through the list then nodded. Frederick and Clara walked in briskly.

  “Ok so you know what to do. Time is not on our side,” Clara whispered, signaling to Frederick to move along. Frederick nodded in response.

  “Just don’t drink wine,” Frederick said. Clara smiled back nervously as she observed Don Moretti’s guards, hoping their plan will work.

  “I will be at the bar honey,” Clara said, kissing Frederick on the cheek, pretending to be a couple. Frederick walked gallantly towards the section where Don Moretti and his crew were, but Don Moretti was nowhere to be found. He looked at the half finished bottles of wine all around the club. He smiled.

  It was earlier that day, Friday morning. Frederick Olivetti stood behind the Mo-Club with his cousin Jimmy the Pitcher. They were both dressed in jumper suits. The back of Mo-club was scattered and semi filthy. The alley was dark and clogged with silver garbage cans. The back of the club looked nothing like the front. It was the exact opposite. It smelt of fermented alcohol mixed with the mushy smell of New York air.

  “Are you sure this is going to work?” Jimmy asked. Frederick nodded.

  “I was a chemistry major back in Italy. Trust me, it will or we’ll all be dead by the end of the weekend,” Frederick replied bluntly.

  “I can try to trust your chemistry shit, but if this doesn’t work, Don Moretti won’t kill you. He will make sure you suffer the most excruciating pain,” Jimmy replied.

  Just then, the wine delivery truck arrived. They watched as the truck backed up, into the alley. Both tried to control their anxiety. They looked to see who was in the truck –only one man. Members of Don Moretti’s crew were asleep due to a long night’s shift.

  Frederick hoped he made the right decision to involve his cousin, despite warnings from Clara not to. He had to get him involved. Jimmy was the only person he trusted.

  A middle aged white male jumped out of the truck and walked in through the back door of Mo-club.

  Frederick signaled to Jimmy to move around the other side as quickly as possible. Jimmy rushed to the back left side of the truck and stood there.

  Just then, the wine deliverer walked out of the club, leaving the back door wide open. He walked back into the truck to grab something. Frederick calmly walked to the driver, placed a handkerchief laced with chloroform on the wine deliverer’s nose and waited till he passed out. He then placed the deliverer on the driver’s seat. Jimmy quickly opened the back of the wine truck.

  “Fine Italian wine! Fresh from the motherland!” Jimmy said, looking at the multiple crates of wine.

  “We have to be quick,” Frederick said. He removed his backpack and placed it on the floor. He brought out a long needle and injected fluids into each and every wine bottle cap.

  “What’s that shit called?” Jimmy asked whilst observing his cousin.

  “It’s a neuromuscular blocking drug,” Frederick replied.

  “What? English please,” Jimmy replied.

  “It’s something that causes muscle paralysis. They won’t be able to move after a while,” Frederick said in his thick European accent.

  Frederick briskly walked into the restrooms where Don Moretti and his men were. All he could hear were the background music playing in the club, a couple of toilets flushing and water from taps. Frederick stood by the sink and gazed at himself in the mirror. He glanced at his watch then waited until everyone left the restroom. Don Moretti and his guards were coincidentally still in the restroom. Frederick cleared his throat.

  “What the hell are you looking at?” one of Don Moretti’s guards asked. Frederick smiled in return. He turned on the tap. After ten seconds, he turned off the tap. He calmly walked up to Don Moretti. The obnoxious and defensive guards attempted to grab Frederick, but were shrugged off with ease.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Don Moretti yelled in a cocky voice.

  “Shut up!”
Frederick said. Don Moretti’s guards brought out their guns without hesitating. Frederick remained calm and his calmness scared them to bits. As expected, the discomfort started. Their legs began to wobble, their eyes began to blur, and they could no longer hold their guns anymore. Both dropped to their knees reluctantly. In moments, both guards fell face flat on the floor. Don Moretti glanced at his guards then glanced back at Frederick. His pupils were dilated and his heart raced.

  “Who are you?! What the hell is happening?” Don Moretti yelled in a state of rancid fear as he too began to lose control of his muscles.

  “I am Frederick – Frederick Olivetti,”

  “Guards! Help! Help!” Don Moretti yelled. Frederick scoffed. He vainly gazed at himself in the mirror.

  “There’s no use. The entire club should be experiencing the same thing by now; loss of muscular control…nerve paralysis. Some will even find it hard to blink – those who aren’t experiencing this would be too busy trying revive others or perhaps, running out of this club in a state of desperate fear,” Frederick began. Don Moretti could see the coldness in Frederick Olivetti’s eyes.

  “It’s like you’re stuck in another person’s body and I can do whatever I want and all you’ll be able to do is watch,” Frederick added.

  “Look I have money in my car! A million plus dollars, please just let me go! I promise, it will be like it never happened,” Don Moretti said, begging for his life.

  “I don’t have much time,” Frederick said as he got ready to smother Don Moretti to death.

  “Stop! Do you even know why you were asked to kill me?” Don Moretti asked. Frederick stopped.

  “Speak and I may save your life,” Frederick replied impatiently. He could hear the sirens inching closer, from a distance.

  “There’s a drug everyone wants. It’s rare and valueless, but in the right hands, with the right people, it is priceless,” Don Moretti said, in a state of frenzy.