revolving door and pushes the handle to enter the basement. The glass and stainless steel door cannot rotate fast enough as he feels himself becoming furious. When he finally makes his way to the basement bathroom Anthony leaves a trail of blood every time he steps down on his left foot. Once he reaches the bathroom and shower area, he drops the bloody paring knife in the sink and takes off his sunglasses, staring at himself in the mirror. He hovers there for a moment, cold, dark, filled with rage, but then he puts his left foot up on the counter and stares down at it with a childish grin. Then he looks at himself in the mirror again, suddenly filled with unhinged fury, and he begins to squeeze both sides of his big toe on his left foot, watching the blood drain out from where he shoved the paring knife up under his toenail.
“You can do it. You can do it. You can do it!” He repeats to himself, positioning the paring knife in front of his big toe again, placing the tip of the blade just under his toenail. “One more. One more. One more, big P. You can do this!” He shoves the pairing knife under his toenail again, pushing it deep into the flesh under the nail, feeling the release of the intense sting, and looking at himself in the mirror with vindication that he is not afraid to receive pain. As he pulls the knife out, another jolt of fresh pain burns through his body and he trembles all over with personal satisfaction; the animal is released. After he washes the paring knife in the sink, he walks upstairs to the second floor, leaving bloody footprints on the white marble as he goes. Anthony sets the paring knife on the travertine kitchen counter and retires to his bedroom on the third floor, allowing his bloody feet to saturate the tan carpet all the way up the stairs.
“He hates the sonofabitch,” Dimitri laughs to himself as he watches Anthony on the security cameras from the concrete building on the east side of the complex. A gleeful smile of satisfaction grows on his face at the realization that The Provider despises their new guest so much that he has to severely injure himself to keep his animal at bay. Dimitri glances at the other security cameras noticing that the girls are doing their job, keeping Rory up late partying all night and paying their rent.
Dimitri sighs with frustration, wishing he were out having a lustful time at the pool without a care in the world, but he instead has to monitor the surveillance and back channels until all of their international competitors have departed peacefully. The entire complex is monitored on 6, sixty-five inch LCD displays, and Dimitri can literally zoom in to watch anything he wants or record audio in any part of the estate. His security booth is unremarkable, with exposed electrical conduits and plumbing on the plain cement walls. The desk in front of him is made of old steel and he sits in a soft, padded swivel chair. If the house represents what Anthony Pezzloni is on the surface, then the secure facility is a strong example of what the man is like at his core.
He puts his head down for a moment, remembering a recording that he kept on file from when the system was first installed. Dimitri moves his hands up to his face with a sensation of fear as these dark memories surface. He turns to his right, raising his Scotch and Soda in a salute to a picture of the late Elizabeth Pezzloni that is mounted on the wall in this secure facility. After he drinks the Scotch, he smiles up at the video monitor showing the women pleasuring Rory in every way imaginable, and he sets the empty glass down, folding his arms with a look of satisfaction. If Elizabeth Pezzloni was never able to keep the animal at bay, despite being the love of Anthony’s life, then Rory’s pleasure cruise would soon be coming to a brutal and unexpected end.
The following morning, Dimitri and Anthony are waiting outside in front of the large estate, watching the beautiful rays of sunshine pierce through the outer wall and shine down a divine light across the massive statue of Atlas. They both wait quietly, showing respect as they meditate in the early morning breeze. Soon the familiar sight of Anthony’s large, black limousine creeps up over the lower part of the driveway and makes a smooth, slow turn around the marble statue. As the vehicle comes to a stop in front of the two men, Vincent turns off the engine, steps out of the car, and walks quickly to the rear passenger door. He opens the door slowly and stands at attention in his formal black tuxedo; his belly is sucked in and his receding hair is well groomed.
An older gentleman then emerges from the back of the limousine, carrying himself with an attitude of respect and entitlement as he smiles at Anthony and Dimitri. The man is wearing a lime green silk shirt with a blue and orange silk tie. This is complimented by a pair of white khaki pants which are cinched neatly around his waist with a black snakeskin belt. His graying hair gives away his age of sixty-four and is covered by a conservative pewter flat cap. He has a kind smile and noble jaw line, but devious, dark eyes behind a pair of thick designer eyeglasses.
“How is my favorite mutt?” The man asks, winking at Anthony as he jokes about his own Irish-Italian heritage.
“The mutt has been good,” Pezzloni says with a tedious smile; “productive even. He has snagged you The Golden Goose.”
“The Golden Goose,” the older man nods with a smile on his aging pale face, showing off years of wrinkles, and having a powerful story to go with each of them. “How are you, Dimitri?” He asks cordially.
“I’m good,” Dimitri says with a humble nod. “How are you doin’, Teddy The Suit?”
Teddy smiles from the corner of his mouth and fixes his gaze with intensity on Dimitri, adjusting the frames of his glasses impatiently to remind him of his mistake. Dimitri suddenly feels sick as the old Don looks at him with disgust. A man of lower rank should never ask how a man of higher rank is doing; he should always assume his superiors are doing well. Without another word, Dimitri nods again and steps backwards several paces before retreating to the security building on the east side of the property; his freshly pressed black suit and yellow tie whipping in the wind.
“Youngsters,” Teddy says with a wink as he and Anthony walk toward the large cedar doors of his estate.
Anthony presents himself sharper today in his expensive black suit, formal maroon dress shirt, and a yellow tie. He is wearing expensive, brown leather shoes that were imported from Italy, which Teddy inspects briefly as he steps through the doorway into the cavernous home. Pezzloni smiles at the older man’s approval; not only are Italian shoes required, but it is the job of every host to learn the favorite color of his powerful guests, and ensure that everyone wears that color of tie during their stay. Teddy the suit was known for his love of jester yellow and it had become symbolic of his sense of humor.
The two men make their way across the Italian marble floors, and Anthony leads the way as they wind through a maze that includes: Italian leather sofas, a grand piano, a freestanding natural gas fireplace, and dozens of shiny black end tables topped with crystals in various geometric shapes. All of the bloody footprints from the previous day have been steam cleaned from every surface in the house as if they were never there. The white on white home interior is made more extravagant with custom wood trim, and the entire design is brought to life with an impressive display of interior foliage. In the front of the home, large, tinted bay windows extend up to the third floor from the lobby. Both men quickly descend the round staircase of large marble steps, leading down to the basement entrance of the pool area.
As they step through the enclosed glass of the heavy revolving door, Teddy notices some blood on the concrete, but decides he would rather not know the details. When the older man looks out at the pool, his face brightens like that of a child at Christmas, and Anthony smiles wide as he realizes what Teddy is so happy about. There are five attractive young women playing a game of chicken as they face off by sitting on each other’s shoulders wearing extremely small, jeste
r yellow bikinis.
With an uplifted spirit, Teddy moves gracefully over to the gazebo and sits in the shade where he is soon met with another surprise; his favorite drink already chilling on the table for him. He sits down with a relaxed smile and leans back against the waterproof boat cushions, looking up at the relaxing waterfall pouring across the top of the clear glass above their heads.
“You are an impressive sonofabitch!” Teddy says with a smile, raising his Mai Tai in a salute to Anthony. “I’m glad we put our West Coast business in your hands.”
“To business,” Anthony agrees, tapping his glass of Crown Royale rocks against Teddy’s Mai Tai, waiting for the older man to drink first, before taking a generous dose of liquid comfort for himself.
“Now, I am excited about The Golden Goose, and I want to get to that,” Teddy begins, setting his drink on the travertine table, “but first I need to bring you a message from Chandler about his brother.”
“Oh, Herb!?” Pezzloni asks with a disgusted squint. “What has that worthless dipshit screwed up this week?”
“He tried using a shorter route when he was sending the mule; and thought he could go straight from Tijuana to L.A.”
“That stupid bastard!” Pezzloni exclaims,
The Golden Goose of Los Angeles Extended Edition Page 34
