“Thank you!” Stanley smiled as he offered the man a fifty dollar tip, for helping. Stanley got into the car. He put the keys into the ignition then shifted his gear to reverse.
Just then, someone knocked on the window.
“Hello, Mister Olivetti,” the man in the uniform said. Immediately Stanley heard the man pronounce his last name, he knew there was trouble. Adrenaline increased. His heart rate increased. He was in fight or flight mode. Fear crippled his legs. He couldn’t reverse fast enough. Time seemed slower as flashes of his life ran through his head.
“I’m Roberto Puccini, say Hi to your father for me,” Roberto Puccini said as he shot Stanley twice in the head.
Peter, Tom’s bodyguard, whom Tom had personally assigned to watch over his Grandmother, was seated on the front porch of the house. He gazed at the beautiful scenery the neighborhood had to offer. The fine autumn weather beautified the trees with red and orange leaves.
Tracy, the girl who owned the house across the street, was jogging by the sidewalk. She wore tight bum shorts and a sleazy sports bra that revealed her femininity. He was instantly distracted. It was hard to keep his hormones in check when he had to watch over an elderly woman, all day. No social life—nothing. His job was to live and breathe for the Olivettis. He watched as her breasts jiggled to the rhythm of her steps.
“Damn! I could definitely get used to this. Hell yeah!” He opened the door to check on Cecilia Olivetti. The other guards weren’t in or nearby. Sometimes, he felt like he was the only one actually working.
“Hmm weird—well, I’m sure she’ll be okay,” he thought to himself.
19
It was Wednesday evening. Cars filled the interior and exterior of Walter Olivetti’s compound. He was celebrating his birthday and his rapid recovery, at the same time. The large ballroom was filled with guests drinking, laughing and chatting. Walter Olivetti made it his duty to greet each guest who came from far and near to validate the recovery of Olivetti Corporation’s Chief Financial Officer. The event was primarily intended to ease the anxiety investors felt after the assassination attempt.
At the corner of the ballroom, Tom, Ted and their other cousins caught up on family gossip. He was bored. None of them met his ambitious standards. He waited for his uncle, patiently. He had an urgent matter to discuss. It was clear that Don Olivetti might not be in attendance. Stanley Olivetti’s absence wasn’t unusual, the absence of his grand gift was. He and Walter were the closest, amongst the brothers and were both notorious for outlandish gifts.
His phone rang—an unknown number. “You weren’t expecting me,” a deep tenor voice said. Tom froze for a second then relaxed. He moved away from Ted then signaled to Dean, his bodyguard, to follow him. He walked into a small room then shut the door as soon as Dean entered.
“Seems like you were expecting one of you girlfriends, eh? Well, I’m not them,” the voice said.
Tom scanned his memory, trying to figure out who it was. It sounded familiar, but Tom couldn’t put a face to it. It wasn’t Damon and it wasn’t John Baker. He pushed the speaker button so Dean could hear the conversation.
“Keep talking,” Tom said in a stern voice.
“Ah ah ah! Don’t be upset. It’s simple. I’m Purio Maccuzo. The man you killed,” Purio said.
Dean was startled. Tom was shocked. He gazed at Dean in anger. Dean returned a facial expression of absolute confusion. Purio had to be dead, after going through the tremendous torture. Jack shot and buried him—or did he?
“Well now, I’m alive! Thanks to an angel or should I say your former bodyguard?” Purio added. Jack, Tom whispered.
“Well now, I’ve completed another mission and will soon complete another,” Purio said.
“I hope you know that your Uncle, Stanley, is with your Grandfather, in heaven,” Purio added. A chill ran through their spine.
“I’ll kill a member of your family for every scar your degenerate soldiers put on my body. You’ll be my last grandiose kill, dear Tom. I’ll relish every moment of it. This is the first kill I’ll gladly do for free,” Purio added then hung up before Tom could say anything. The atmosphere was tense. Dean was scared. Tom felt deceived.
“I told you to handle it!” Tom yelled. He took off his grey blazer. The room suddenly felt hot.
“I…I’m sorry,” Dean replied in a tone of fear. “I was dumb to trust…”
Tom cussed underneath his breath as he slammed his hands on the table, next to the wall. It all made sense. Don Olivetti’s absence, in the most crucial family gathering, spoke volumes.
“Jack…” Tom said, cutting him off. “I want his head!” Tom added as he paced around the small room.
“I want him dead, now!...wait….I want to be there. I want to watch him suffer! This is all….urgh…then find Purio Maccuzo!” he yelled out incoherently.
“Uhm! I haven’t been in contact with any of the guards either,” Dean said. Tom was frustrated. His anger clouded his judgment
“Then I’ll do it myself,” Tom said as he walked out of the room. To his greatest surprise, the guest he had been expecting was right in front of the door.
Don Olivetti was standing in front of the door, staring at Tom with a look of sadness, disappointment, guilt and defeat.
“You must have heard,” Tom said as Don Olivetti signaled to Dean to leave the room. Don Olivetti walked in. The ten thousand dollar suit he had specially ordered, hand stitched, was now a waste. He couldn’t enjoy his brother’s birthday party when another brother was dead cold in the morgue. Don Olivetti sighed heavily as he sat down on a chair next to the door.
“Two shots to his head,” Don Olivetti said to Tom.
“Have you told anyone?” Tom asked, surprised at his uncle’s confidence in him.
“No! Everyone’s happy. I don’t want to spoil it. I’ll let them know later on,” Don Olivetti replied in a tone of defeat.
“No wonder he was late to the party,” Tom thought. Tom frowned. It was his fault. If he didn’t go after Purio, Purio wouldn’t have gone after his uncle. His mess was getting bigger, by the day.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Don Olivetti said in a low voice. “So you know what happened?” Tom asked, confused.
“Yeah. I know everything. After I found the device you used to spy on our conversation, I knew I had to keep an eye on you. So, I sent my men to follow you. They watched your every move. I knew you ordered the death of Purio Maccuzo and know everything about your drug business in Illinois,” Don Olivetti replied.
Tom looked weary. He was stunned. He imagined the disappointment his father would have on his face, if he found out.
“Does…” Tom said, not completing his statement. “He doesn’t know, but he might, soon,” Don Olivetti replied, as if reading Tom’s mind.
His spirit was low and he couldn’t hide it. His actions had cost a life. There was no turning back. Even after Purio’s death, there’d still be a missing life, in the family. His cousins will still be fatherless, because of him.
“I’m so sorry,” Tom replied. He sat down on a chair with his head buried in his hands.
“Don’t be. You’re just like us. Our blood runs in you. We just have to make sure every member of Cartel family pays for this,” Don Olivetti said sharply, his wrinkled face as stern as a bulldog’s. Tom felt intimidated and appreciated, at the same time. Though, he couldn’t see why Stanley Olivetti’s death wasn’t his fault.
“Everything happens for a reason, nothing is what it seems,” Don Olivetti added as he stood up from his chair. What’s that supposed to mean? His uncle was upset. He didn’t dare to ask.
“Oh and see me after school Tomorrow,” Don Olivetti added again as he walked out of the room. Tom was ruined. His chance of enjoying his father’s birthday had vanished. He had to lay low. He had to stop meddling in the family’s business. He was making things worse. Still, there had to be a way to fix it.
20
It was a dull day. The sky was gloom and grey. J
ohn, Damon and his crew were seated in a van, across the street. Damon peeped through the window of his car. They had decided to scope out Tom’s house before their actual plan to kill him. They wanted a survey of the neighborhood to understand the risks. Damon was surprised and so was John Baker. They didn’t realize how powerful the Olivettis were.
“All my money…he conned me!” He said to himself. John Baker wasn’t expecting a mansion or a fortress. He’d expected to see a house with a picket fence and a teenager playing baseball with his brothers. Instead, they received a sight of terror—multiple heavily armed guards surrounding a mansion.
“Seems like we are going to need more than an army to take down Tom Olivetti,” Damon said to John.
“That kid keeps surprising me,” John Baker said to himself.
Jack had done something drastic. There was no turning back. Earlier on, he had called Don Sanchez. It was the only way he could stay alive or rather, that’s what he made them believe. Jack’s paranoia had increased. Every loud bang sounded like a gunshot.
He drove to the front gate of a mansion. It was large and secluded, but not as large as the Olivetti’s.
A Mexican man walked to the side window of Jack’s car. The guard took a look at his face, suspiciously, and then signaled the guards to open the gate, without saying a word.
Jack drove in. He felt like a mouse walking into a trap. After what seemed like ten seconds, he pulled over at a parking spot. He got out of his car. His legs were weak, but his heart was strong. He glanced at the semi large compound. The floor was covered with stones. The rough green trees complimented the sky and the concrete water fountain complimented the brick building. The house was unlike any building structure he’d seen in New York.
Heavily armed Mexicans surrounded the compound dressed in casual jeans, boots and summery t-shirts. They carried their guns openly, without regard for law enforcement.
Just then, two tall guards with heavy muscular physique escorted him to the front of the house. They frisked him, checking every single part of his body for weapons of any kind. He hated being manhandled and could tell they loved every moment of frisking a former Olivetti loyalist.
When they were done, the man with the scar on his right cheek smirked and nodded. Jack nodded in response then walked into the house, hoping he’d walk out alive.
Purio Maccuzo was delighted in Roberto Puccini’s success. He couldn’t wait for his return. He was seated in his vehicle, fiddling his thumbs nervously. He was parked in a remote location on the south side of Brooklyn.
It felt good to be discharged from the hospital. His face was healing. The doctors did a semi good job reconstructing the damaged nerves and flesh he had sustained during the torture. He glanced at his face in the mirror. It was a reminder of what Tom did to him and what he was going to do to Tom.
Just then, Roberto Puccini walked into the passenger seat of Purio’s car. He shut the door. He was a smug looking man. His face was stern and showed no signs of remorse.
“Ahh I underestimated you. Job well done!” Purio said. Roberto nodded without a smile. He had an aura of impatience.
“Oh! Your cash,” Purio said, tossing him a brown paper bag of money.
“That’s fifty thousand dollars—large bills,” Purio added. Roberto grabbed it without counting the money.
“You’re not going to count it?” Purio asked.
“Just did,” Roberto said, about to exit the vehicle.
“Hold up! There’s more where that came from. I have another job for you,” Purio said.
Roberto smiled “It will cost more.”
Jack sighed as he opened the door leading to Don Sanchez’s room. The house wasn’t properly lit. The hallways were like dark dungeons and smelled like Mexican food and dried sand.
Don Sanchez’s study was huge. It had two floors and had a collection of paintings on the walls. The room had vintage furniture. The floors were made of marble and the large windows were left open to allow cross ventilation. He could see the balcony from where he was standing. It didn’t have much of a view. He could only see trees.
“Wealth can do remarkable things,” he thought to himself. Don Sanchez had a remarkable smile that said, “Let’s be friends”. The wrinkles on his face showed pain and experience. His smile however, hid the pain and anger in his eyes.
He was standing by his mahogany desk. Two guards were in the room—their skin was well tanned, thanks to the Mexican sun. Towards his left, there was a man he didn’t know—probably one of his sons or brothers. Don Sanchez signaled the guards to leave the room. A few men remained. Jack assumed they were the trusted ones.
“Jack! Jack! Jack!” Don Sanchez said with a smile as he walked towards the table of wine bottles at the corner of the room. He poured a random bottle of wine into two wine glasses, gave one wine glass to the man beside him and gave another to Jack. Jack shook his head, rejecting the Don’s offer.
“No, thank you,” Jack said with caution. If he was going to die, he didn’t want to die by poison. Don Sanchez felt insulted, but managed to keep his smile. He was wearing a white shirt and brown trousers. His gold watch flashed excessively and his white moustache instilled some fear into Jack.
“You’re a good man, Jack,” Don Sanchez began. Jack nodded. His words didn’t feel like a compliment.
“But, let me give you a word of advice for future purposes…it’s something you should keep in mind! Never refuse a drink from me!!” Don Sanchez said with a sudden change in his facial expression. He frowned deeply as he drank all the wine—a gesture to prove that the wine wasn’t poisonous. The room felt tense.
Don Sanchez’s face changed from an ugly frown back to his remarkable smile. The other men in the room said nothing.
“But like I said, you’re a good man and that’s why I’m not offended,” Don Sanchez added.
“Meet Don Cruccifixo, a good friend and good in-law of mine,” Don Sanchez said, pointing to the man beside him, whom he had given the glass to. He looked younger than Don Sanchez, but definitely elderly. Both looked like they were in their sixties.
Don Cruccifixo returned a smile. Don Sanchez cleared his throat. He walked back to his chair, sat down then crossed his legs. Everyone in the room was now seated, except Jack.
“How can I help you? Or rather, how can you help us?” Don Sanchez said in a smile of arrogance
Tom couldn’t concentrate in class. He had to pay attention to graduate with a descent grade. He gazed at the teacher, Mr. Anderson. He had an arrogant look that upset almost everyone. Physics was a boring subject—agreed. But Mr. Anderson made it worse. Most students in the class dozed off as the boring words of Mr. Anderson filled the room. His voice was like sleeping gas, immune to the nerds and toxic to everyone else.
“Psst,” Tom signaled to Scott. Scott turned back.
“I need to get Donna’s number. She seems to have disappeared. No one has her number or contact info,” Tom said.
“What!? Why do you care?” Scott whispered.
“I just need some closure. These rumors have been…” Tom responded in a low voice. Mr. Anderson cleared his throat.
“Wanna share your thoughts on the subject, Mr. Olivetti?”
They both froze.
“Thought so! Pay attention!” Mr. Anderson added as he continued teaching.
21
Springfield, Illinois.Roberto Puccini veered off the I72 exit towards Cecilia Olivetti’s house. “This will be an easy job,” he thought to himself as he arrived at the neighborhood.
He reached out for his binoculars in his glove compartment as he looked for safe spots to park his car. He then briefly glanced at Cecilia’s five-bedroom home. He could see Peter, the bodyguard, standing by.
They surround themselves with incompetence. Roberto scoffed. The chewing gum in his mouth tasted bland. He spat it out then reached out to his right pocket for another.
He looked around the neighborhood again. There was a girl with a killer body dressed in skim
py clothes. She seemed to be exchanging glances with Peter. He watched as she walked up to the guard. Their conversation seemed intimate. Roberto smiled, “Every man’s weakness.”
The guard did what Roberto expected to happen. He waited patiently in his car as he watched Peter and the young girl exchange flirtatious words. Peter seemed to be too preoccupied with the girl.
“You’re kinda good looking too,” Tracy, the neighbor across the street, said to Peter. Peter smiled uncontrollably. Her large breasts made it difficult to stare into her eye. He was mesmerized by the size of her cleavage and she could tell. They had exchanged countless glances over the past month, but he never had the courage to talk.
“A bored young college girl,” Peter thought.
“Well thanks! You live around here? I see you jogging all the time,” Peter asked.
“Yeah I live down the street,” she said almost immediately. She leaned forward to stretch, intentionally. The size of her hips made her tight shorts smile.
“Hmm that’s good,” Peter replied, distracted once again.
“I see you’ve been watching me,” she replied with a flirtatious smile. Peter was dumbfounded. The conversation had gone from zero to three sixty. He looked around for signs of an angry dad. None.
“Well, it’s not a sin to watch,” She added again, aware of his demise.
“Hmm yea I may have,” Peter replied. “I have a confession, I have been watching you too,” she said
“You have an unfamiliar face. Just moved here?” she asked.
“Yea I’m from New York,” Peter said.
“With a strong Italian accent! I like!” She said. It was almost impossible for Peter to avoid a blush.
“We should hang out sometime,” Peter said.
Olivetti: Inception Page 14
