Olivetti: Illumination

by Tamilore Odimayo

  “My father is dead! My son is dead! My Ex-husband’s family wants me dead! And all because of the mess your family started! So tell me, who is the Joke?” She said as she threw the wine bottle at him. Walter dodged. The bottle went smashing on the walls, ruining the white walls with streaks of red wine. Walter’s guards rushed in.

  “Boss! Are you okay?” They said with their weapons drawn out, fearing the worst.

  “Get out!” Walter yelled at them. They walked out, still suspicious that Catherine might be trying to harm him.

  “Get out!” Walter yelled again. Catherine ran towards Walter. Frustrated, she started to hit him continuously; punching, scratching and slapping. Walter tried to control her.

  He held her hands and tried to hug her to calm her down. She struggled. She was already crying and Walter could understand her pain. Catherine could feel Walter’s vivid strength as he held unto her.

  “Relax Cathy! Relax!”

  “You relax!” She cried out.

  “I’m so sorry!” Walter yelled out. “I’ll try to make it up to you,” Walter said, holding her tight. His scent reminded her of the very first time they had sex.

  “I think you should leave,” She said to him.

  “Leave?”

  “Yes!” She said in a sudden relaxed manner, calming down and leaning away from him. Her pink silky indoor dress hugged her curves. Walter stood, staring blankly at her again.

  “C’mon!” Walter said with his hands out.

  “Please get out! Go back to your wife! Go back to your family! At least you have one!” Catherine yelled.

  Walter gathered himself then started to walk away. She scoffed then sat down on her white sofa, almost in tears again.

  Walter walked towards the door. He remembered the day he watched Catherine marry Billy de Sanchez – the saddest day of his life. He turned back and walked briskly towards Catherine. Surprise and confusion emerged on her face.

  “What are you doing? I said get out!” She said weakly.

  “No! I’m done! It’s not up to you to determine what happens to us! You’ve pushed me away before, you’re not doing it again!” Walter said as he pulled her up and pressed his lips against hers. He had a firm grip on her waist. He pulled her closer to himself.

  The taste of his lips caused her to forget how angry she was at Walter. She forgot how empty she had been feeling only seconds ago. She forgot how much she had despised the entire Olivetti family as her libido rose. They kissed for what seemed like thirty seconds then she pulled away.

  “Stop! You need to stop! We’re just grieving Tom’s death! You’ll get over this feeling you’re having now,” She said in a state of vulnerability. Every part of her wanted him and every part of him wanted her.

  “No! You’re wrong, I’ve had this feeling for as long as I remember,” Walter said. He grabbed her then kissed her again, savoring every moment of it and sweet memories of their past emerged. This time around, she knew Walter wasn’t going to let her go and she didn’t want him to let her go. She could feel the sudden burst of sexual energy as Walter’s hands began to move through her body; from her back to her waist then down her butt. His hands drifted to her hips. A sudden chill ran through her spine. She couldn’t tell whether it was the cold or it was the feeling of Walter close to her. She realized her clothes were off, but didn’t care. All she could think about was the taste of his lips.

  She removed his jacket, unbuckled his belt and quickly unzipped his pants.

  “You have quick hands,” Walter teased as he lifted her up, closer to himself gently. Catherine didn’t reply. She was preoccupied with getting him naked.

  In seconds, she could feel her back gently hit the bed. She could feel her warm sheets as Walter’s weight pressed against hers. All this while, her eyes were closed. She neglected the guilty thoughts that flowed through her head. Walter’s hands brushed through the top of her panties as he took it off slowly. She realized she was engaging in a sexual act with a married man. She didn’t want to destroy Walter’s marriage. It was too late. He was already in her and it felt so damn good.

  The neighborhood was flooded with police cars and yellow tape. Detectives, the fire department, ambulance and city coroners walked in and out of the wrecked home. Bystanders tried to get a sneak peak of what was going on, but were blocked by police officers trying to control the situation. They had never seen anything like it—a man dropping from the sky wasn’t something that happened every day.

  “What do we have here?” Agent Weaver said to a police officer, briskly walking out of his car and walking into the crime scene with his partner Agent Parker.

  “Caucasian male dropped from a chopper into his own home. His wife and children were asleep when they heard a loud burst through the roof. The wife is pretty shaken up,” the Police Officer said, walking both FBI males beyond the yellow police tape. News reporters swamped the area, desperate for a juicy story.

  Agent Weaver walked into the home.

  “Stop right there!” A grey haired man in a trench coat said.

  “Who are you?” Agent Parker asked.

  “New York Police chief!” the grey haired man said almost immediately.

  “This is not a federal case!” the NYPD chief said. State police and the FBI have always had a sophisticated power struggle.

  “What’s the name of the victim?” Agent Weaver asked impatiently.

  “James Miller. Aeronautic engineer,” the NYPD chief replied.

  “Exactly! Heard about the recent plane crash?” Agent Weaver asked.

  “Yes…”

  “He was the engineer of that plane and if I remember correctly, that makes this a federal case. So we do have jurisdiction! This is our case! Step aside sir!” Agent Weaver said impatiently, knowing very well that the chief of Police might be under the payroll of the mafia. The Police chief tried to hide his defeated look, but was unsuccessful. He mumbled something incoherent then stormed out of the house.

  James and his partner walked into the living room. There was debris everywhere. Parts of the roof had caved into room. James Miller’s body was right in the middle with blood around him. Part of his leg was half ripped. Coroners and forensic pathologists took pictures of the body and the crime scene.

  “Did anyone touch the body?” Agent Parker asked as he wore his gloves to examine the body.

  “No! No one except his wife,” someone replied.

  “I need recent air logs – I want to know every chopper or plane that has passed through this air space in the past twenty four hours,”

  “Will get that sir!” a detective said, politely.

  Agent Parker observed each body part. The corpse was very hard to recognize. “The Olivetti family fulfilled their vengeance faster than we thought,” Agent Weaver said to his partner.

  “The victim must have been tortured before death. There’s no way he got all these scars from impact,” He added, noticing the almost disfigured face. He sighed.

  “Such a waste,”. Just then, he saw a round bulge on the victim’s stomach. He carefully felt to see what it was, and then pulled it out.

  “What’s that?” Agent Weaver asked, leaning closer to see what Parker was holding.

  “It’s a CD,” Agent Parker replied.

  “I think whoever did this has a message for us”

  Beatrice Olivetti walked up the large stairs of her mansion, quietly. The girls were fast asleep and her home felt like a cemetery. The guards did their nightly routine, checking to make sure everything was okay around the mansion. Beatrice walked into her bedroom and gazed at the clock. It was one o’clock in the morning and Walter was still not home. His behavior since the funeral had been erratic and Beatrice wondered where Walter was, what he was doing and who he was with. It was strange for Walter to be out after midnight especially since the assassination attempt made on his life.

  She walked to her dresser. Expensive jewelry was scattered all over. She sat down on the bench and looked at herself in the mirr
or. She looked at the wrinkles on her face – A reminder of all her motherly and wifely duties. She hoped Walter wasn’t with Catherine or some other low life hooker. She picked up her cell phone and dialed Walter’s number for the umpteenth time.

  “This is Walt! Leave a message,” the automatic voicemail said. She sighed as she slammed her phone on the dressing table. She was frustrated. It was the fifth night in a row. Walter only came home to change his clothes before work.

  She shuddered in a state of anger at thoughts of Walter having an affair came to mind.

  “He is just grieving the death of Tom. It’s perfectly normal,” She reassured herself, but didn’t believe. She remembered her numerous attempts to talk to Walter and how he blew her off each time.

  She could feel her marriage growing sour by the minute and it scared her more than the dangers of the mob war.

  In a vintage mansion in Sicily, a silver haired man dressed in polished grey Italian suit, stood in his office facing a blank window. The room had limited colors; white, black and grey. He stared at the blank window as if watching a movie on television. His desk had only a few papers on it with three different office phones. He could see everything; probabilities of an event’s occurrence, scenarios, time lapse, and world events, right there on the window, like an imaginary projection.

  His bodyguard walked in in a black suit, white shirt and black tie. “Sir,” his bodyguard said. The silver haired man in grey suit turned to look at his bodyguard. His countenance portrayed full and total control.

  “I know. The time has come for the chain of events to occur,” he replied, because he already knew what his bodyguard was about to say. He turned back towards the blank window and sighed.

  “It’s time to bring little Tom Olivetti back home,”

  “They are transporting him as we speak! He would be at your medical facility in ten minutes,” the guard said.

  “Good,” The grey haired man said in a strong European accent.

  “Please make sure my grandson is in good hands,” the grey haired man said with a smile.

  Agent Weaver and Agent Parker were in a three bedroom safe house given to them by the FBI district director. The Director’s intention was to prevent agents under the payroll of the mafia from accessing any further information on the mafia case. Kimberly, their red haired assistant and computer technician was seated in front of five computer monitor screens, in a room. The room had two projectors and two projector screens in it.

  Kimberly inserted the CD – the one found on James Miller’s dead body, into a CD player and waited for it to play. Just then, the Video popped up. They could see the victim, James Miller’s face, disfigured and bloody.

  “My name is James E. Miller. I am an engineer at the John F Kennedy Airport. I am in charge of making sure all private Jets meet FAA regulations ‘engine safety wise’. I was recently paid a sum of….”

  James Miller started to cry then continued.

  “…I was paid a hundred thousand dollars to mess with the plane’s engines. I swear, I didn’t know who it was going to affect! I swear! I carried out the job out of desperation and after multiple threats. Later the next day, I found out who was on the plane – I swear if I knew it was just a kid on the plane, I wouldn’t have done it!”

  James said in tears then paused as he looked at the person behind the camera as if reading from a Tele prompter. Then continued;

  “I was paid by the cartels is all I can say, I cannot mention names for the safety of my family. I deserve this punishment and whatever happens to me is solely the consequence of my decisions, but please keep my family sa…”

  Just then, the video stopped.

  Kimberly stared at the screen with her mouth open. She had a solid look of horror. Agent Weaver and Agent Parker were both pacing around the room with their hands folded.

  “So who do you think did it?” Kimberly asked. There was a brief silence. “It has to be the Olivettis,” Agent Weaver said redundantly.

  “Olivettis – it can be anyone Weaver – it could be the Cruccifixos, another mob family who wants the Olivettis out of the equation. It could even be another sect of the Mexican Cartels,” Agent Parker said negating Weaver’s statement.

  “That’s true,” Kimberly replied after gaining eye contact with Agent Parker.

  “No! It’s the Olivettis,” Agent Weaver argued.

  “Look – Weaver, every mob family knows or has an idea of the war going on between the Olivettis and the Sanchez – also, every mob family wants this war to happen so they can reduce competition – don’t you think it’s possible that some other crime boss planned this so that all attention will be on the Olivettis?” Kimberly said, backing Parker’s statement intelligently.

  Weaver wasn’t used to arguing with women. She was smarter than him in every aspect: two Master’s Degree and a rather high score in the FBI academy.

  Weaver cleared his throat then stared at his wall of pictures. It had red thread line connections of every mob family in the United States. Above all the pictures, was a picture of Don Olivetti with a large question mark beside it – he was assumed to be the mastermind behind every single crime family in the United States. All roads led back to him in a hypothetical way.

  “What you said makes a lot of sense. However, there is one clause – why would anyone in their right mind want to mess with the Olivettis? They are at a vulnerable place of anger right now. They are ready to kill anything and anyone because of the death of their Kin,” Weaver said to himself as he continued to stare at the wall. His obsession with the case just became more scintillating.

  3

  Present day

  He could hear the sound of beeping machines. He could smell the fresh scent of lemon bleach on his sheets and the smell of strawberry shampoo on someone’s hair close to his face. He could feel someone adjusting his bed. He struggled to get his eyes open. He couldn’t. Everything was blurry. His eye lids felt heavy. It prevented him from opening them. He could hear a conversation that seemed to be coming from the other room.

  “His neurons are practically inactive sir. He will not be able to remember anything until a certain trigger replaces his old memories. He is like a new born baby except with extraordinary learning abilities of course. Tabula Rosa,” The first voice said in an excited tone.

  “Good! Let’s keep it that way,” the other voice said.

  He tried to focus on hearing the other voices in the other rooms. It seemed like scientists were working on formulas. He tried to concentrate on one voice, but it suddenly became very difficult. Flashbacks of someone falling from a plane emerged. He saw the person get hit with plane debris and shards. His mind was awry. As he attempted to go further into memory lane, a loud screeching sound interfered with his thoughts. He yelled.

  “He is awake!” A soft voice said in excitement. She stopped adjusting the bed. He could feel a sudden shift of attention towards him.

  Someone touched his head then checked his pulse as a group of people ran into the room.

  “Sir! Sir! Can you hear my voice?” A voice said. He could smell the scent of all the individuals in the room. It was all new to him – some had a pleasant scent and others didn’t. He could hear other voices in the room. He finally gathered the strength to open his eyes. It was Beautiful! Overwhelming! Tiny particles of energy forming one cluster of perfection. He could see the molecular structure of everyone and everything around him.

  He could see beyond what the normal eyes could see. It was like he was blind in his previous life and now he could see – his eyes had finally been illuminated.

  “I want them all dead for killing my son! What are you waiting for?” Walter yelled at his brother, Don Daniel Olivetti.

  “Be patient!” Daniel Olivetti said.

  “Patient? With what? Please tell me, what can patience do? I am not going to rest until everyone in the Sanchez family is dead! Comprende?” Walter asked.

  “You are forgetting your place Walt!” Don Olivetti yelled
. Walter paused then began to laugh like a mad man on speed.

  “This is ridiculous! It’s been months since Tom died and you’re still as angry as you were in the beginning – this is war, there will be casualties if we go ahead with the annihilation of the Sanchez family – are you willing to risk the lives of other family members?” Don Olivetti asked, trying to reason with Walter.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Walter replied.

  “What doesn’t matter? The lives of our other loved ones? Your daughters? Your wife? You want more losses? You want more death? More and more of us might die if we go ahead with this!” Don Olivetti replied. The tone of his voice rose gradually. Walter walked up to the table were the bottle of rum was. He poured himself a full glass then drank it all like a dry desert survivor. Alcohol was his beloved cure for his radical emotional outbursts.

  There was a long silence. He was full of contempt and anger while Don Olivetti was full of pity and reason. His brother’s suffering was pitiful and he seriously wished he could take it all away.

  “Look Walt! You need to go back home to your wife. She is worried – we are all worried. You haven’t been to work, you’ve been drinking excessively, and you’re having an affair without trying to hide it from your wife. This is chaos brother, you need help,”

  “Yes I need help! And right now, I don’t think anyone is capable of justice! Not the police, not us – no one!” Walter yelled. He threw the glass cup on the floor in a state of frustration. Don Olivetti was helpless.

  “Put yourself together Walt!” Don Olivetti yelled.

  “Or you might lose everything,” he added.

  Walter glared at his brother then walked towards the door.