The phone on his desk started to ring. “Hello, sir,” he answered as he got comfortable in his chair.
“Mr. Griggs, it’s so nice to hear from you,” replied Martin. “How is everything going over there?”
“Business as usual, sir. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“At your soonest convenience, I need an audience with you, Mr. Griggs. I believe I have rediscovered the last safe and I need to change your assignment regarding the pack members.”
“Come again, sir?” Mr. Griggs stammered, unsure if what he heard was true.
“The location of my safe. I remember where it is located. Speaking of the pack, where are they right now?”
“Last I heard they discovered Carmine’s safe. Anthony wasn’t too happy with the fact you left more money for Carmine than you did for him.”
“Well, that’s Anthony’s problem. When you hear from them again, advise them that I need to speak to them immediately. I don’t want to risk Carmine discovering the safe before them.”
“Yes, sir. I will convey the message to them and report to you as soon as possible.”
“Thank you, Mr. Griggs. You have a good day now.”
Mr. Griggs hung up the phone and gazed down at it in disgust. He swiped the phone off his desk in frustration. He stood up and walked to the glass wall overlooking the casino floor. That old fool, he has no appreciation for what I’ve done in place of him and Anthony. I’ve maintained—no, built—this casino up and brought it to newer levels. I’m entitled to the same riches as those fools searching for those safes.
These ants that work for scraps, that’s what Martin views me as, he thought, watching the patrons and workers scurry around the casino floor. No more. Whatever he has planned for me to do I will carry out, but when the first opportunity arrives I will strike, and all his riches will be mine. I will take my rightful place as head of this organization.
A loud knock came at the office door, and two men came running in, breaking Mr. Griggs’ daydream. “Sir, we found two men snooping around down in the receiving area! We don’t know who they are, but Mr. Sullivan suspects they are from the Marini family across town,” one of the young soldiers cried out. His breathing was heavy from all the running.
“How intriguing. And where are the two men now?” Griggs asked as he walked over toward his desk.
“We have them down in one of the storage rooms. Mr. Sullivan advised us to come and fetch you; they have a message for you.”
“Really? Well, let’s go and see what the young lads have to say to me.”
Below the glamorous and luxurious Crimson Tiger lay its shady and insidious underbelly. Mr. Griggs both loathed and loved going back down into the slum, as they called it, because it served as a humbling experience for the casino manager. This is where it all began; this was his stomping grounds. Although he now saw himself as too high in the hierarchy to be associated with the men of the slum, it was refreshing to go down once in a while to let his primal urges out.
Mr. Griggs made his way through the kitchen with the two soldiers trailing close behind. The kitchen was viewed as the gateway to the casino floor—the front of the house, as it’s known. All men start in the slum. The ones who show potential work their way onto the casino floors. The exceptional ones become soldiers in the organization. That’s the path Mr. Griggs had taken, the American dream.
A soldier in a finely pressed maroon suit waited for him outside a metal door, which led to a pseudo-interrogation room. The soldier gave him a nod and opened the door. In the middle of the dimly lit room two men sat on wooden chairs, their heads covered in burlap sacks. Their arms and legs were secured to the chairs by rope. A man stepped forward to meet Mr. Griggs as he approached. “Good morning, Mr. Griggs. Sorry to bother you this early in the morning, but these gentlemen decided to drop by and pay us an unexpected visit. We found them setting up remote video surveillance and wiretapping our phone lines early this morning.”
“Good morning, Mr. Sullivan,” Mr. Griggs replied as he shook hands with the organization’s head of security. “I’m assuming you had already got some information out of these men?”
The security manager gave a huge smile, exposing all of his smoke-stained, bright orange teeth, which almost matched his handlebar mustache and hair. “I’ve got enough out of them to know they are from Marini’s organization. One of the fellows here said he wanted to speak to you, though.”
“Ah, well, let’s get to it. I don’t want to tie up any more of your time, Mr. Sullivan.”
Mr. Sullivan walked behind one of the men on the chairs and pulled off the burlap sack, revealing a man in his twenties. He looked defeated. His nose was already bloodied, and one of his eyes was already swollen from Mr. Sullivan’s interrogation methods. The young soldier knew that there was a strong possibility he wouldn’t make it out of there alive. When he gazed up and looked at Mr. Griggs though, the look of defeat turned into determination. He, at the very least, would be able to deliver a message before his demise.
“Hello, son. I heard you wanted to speak to me,” Mr. Griggs began as he pulled out a cigar from his jacket pocket and lit it.
“No,” the man said coldly. “I don’t wish to speak to you. I wish to deliver a message to you.” The man gazed over at his partner sitting in the chair next to him. “I’ll see you on the other side, brother,” he whispered. The young man refocused his attention back toward the casino manager. “Your organization is dead. Now that the Lion and the pack are no longer here, you all will fail. You are weak as a leader, and the organization will crumble. Your time is nearly up, Mr. Griggs. Enjoy it all while it lasts.”
A grin spread across Mr. Griggs’ face, and he began to laugh slowly, uncomfortably. The rest of the men in the storage room didn’t know if they should laugh along with him or not. “I’m going to fail?” he began, looking at the rest of his men. “You believe this guy? I’m weak?” The laughing got louder in the storage room as the rest of the men began chuckling along with him. “You believe I’m weak, too?” he asked the other man who sat in the chair. He didn’t respond or move a muscle. “Maybe I should show you—change your perception on what kind of man I am.”
Mr. Griggs signaled for the second man’s burlap sack to be removed and both men to be gagged. “We don’t want to startle the rest of the workers here now, do we?” he asked out loud to the two men as a sinister smile spread across his face. A stainless steel meat cutting table was rolled into the center of the storage room along with a toolbox. The soldiers in the room grabbed the outspoken messenger and walked him over to the table. “Now where do we begin?” Mr. Griggs asked as the man was forced to stand over the table, his body sprawled out and arms held in place.
He reached into the toolbox, “Ah yes, we can start with this. Keep a close eye on me and watch how evil I can be,” he called out to the remaining man sitting on the chair. Mr. Griggs walked around the table and positioned himself across from the other man, who was squirming around, trying to set himself free. “So you need these hands to set up your cameras, do you?” he asked the man, who moved his eyes up from the table toward Mr. Griggs. When their eyes met, Mr. Griggs smirked and then raised the hammer above his head and brought it down forcefully on the man’s exposed hand.
A muffled scream came from the man’s mouth as the hammer was raised and slammed over the man’s hand over and over. “Don’t turn away from me,” he screamed across the room to the other man bound in the chair. “I want you to witness all of this!” The rest of the men grabbed the bound man and turned his head toward the torture session. They pried his eyes open with their fingers, so he wouldn’t miss a thing.
The man’s hand was demolished, unrecognizable. His hand was swollen, discolored, and disfigured. The messenger screamed through water-drenched eyes in agony as he gazed at his hand. “What are we going to do next to you? Well, you were quite disrespectful and outspoken. You need to learn your place, and I know just the thing to help you with speaking out of lin
e.” Mr. Griggs gave a nod to his men, who in return flipped the poor man onto his back and sprawled him out on the table.
One of the men secured the messenger’s head in place while another removed the gag, grabbing and pulling his tongue out in the process. Mr. Griggs took a puff from his cigar and drew a knife from the toolbox, then slowly walked over to the poor forsaken messenger. He waved the knife around with each step, so everyone could see what he was carrying. “This will only hurt a little. It’ll help take your mind off your hands too,” he whispered to the messenger as he quickly began slicing his tongue out of his mouth.
A blood-curdling scream filled the hollow confines of the interrogation room. The men stuffed a cloth back into the messenger’s mouth and rolled him on the side of the table so he wouldn’t drown in his own blood.
“Well, I think we’re almost done with this party. There’s just one last thing we need to take care of. You were snooping around here and walking in places you don’t belong. No more will we need to worry about that happening.”
Mr. Griggs gave a signal to one of his men. A man walked out from the back with a chainsaw and started it up. The messenger started to scream hysterically and flail around, trying to free himself. His eyes became huge as the reality of the pain he was about to endure started to sink in. Mr. Griggs walked over, chainsaw in hand, and looked down at the man on the table. “Now be still…this will be over soon enough.”
He raised the chainsaw in the air and lowered it down onto the man’s exposed shins. After a few seconds of lurching and screaming the man stopped. His body had gone into shock, his skin turned pale, and he died.
Mr. Griggs turned off the bloody chainsaw and placed it on the ground next to the man’s amputated legs. He pulled out a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped off the blood that was splattered on his face. “You know this is a brand new suit,” he began, walking over to the man sitting in the chair, awe and horror written on his face as he stared out at his fallen comrade.
“Look up at me,” he demanded as the rest of his men forced the bound man’s head up to face him. “You tell your employer that their time is up and to enjoy it while it last. Do you remember everything that I did to your friend over there? Is it engraved in your mind?”
The young, scared soldier nodded his head in disbelief and horror; he was too scared to even say another word. “Good, then you don’t need these either when you tell your bosses what happened here today.” Mr. Griggs pulled the cigar from his mouth and burrowed it into each of the man’s eyes. The man gave out a muffled scream as his singed eyes started to bleed.
The men threw the burlap sack over the man’s head and dragged him out from the room. Mr. Griggs pulled out another cigar from his jacket pocket. “Mr. Sullivan, I’ve had a rough start to my morning but thanks to you, I was able to release some built-up frustration. Please dispose of this body and drop our other friend back where he came from. If the Marinis want to start a war, then we will be more than happy to grant their request.”
Chapter 8
Carmine pulled his car up in front of his house and breathed a sigh of relief. For the first time in a long time the weight that he carried on his shoulders felt like it had been lifted. The journey that he embarked on years earlier finally had reached its conclusion. He could see the finish line; it was only an arm’s length away. He looked at a picture of John and Katherine that hung from his rearview mirror. “We’re almost there, son,” he said as he exited the vehicle.
He walked up his front porch and looked over to a rocking chair that sat patiently, waiting for someone to occupy it. I can’t remember the last time I actually sat and relaxed, he thought as he walked over to the chair and sat down. He began rocking in his chair, thinking about his past. Back when he was a member of the pack.
As the Nevada sun started to descend during the late afternoon, a cool air swept through the plains. He found it comforting as he rocked in his chair. He began reminiscing, back to when his life was a lot simpler. When the weight of his family’s safety and wellbeing didn't rest in finding underground forty-foot containers scattered throughout the southwestern United States.
Carmine chuckled to himself. Years earlier, when he stood right below Martin as his right-hand man and protégé, if you told him he would have turned on his family and then run around the United States looking for those metal safes. He would’ve said you were crazy. But look at me now, he thought as he continued rocking.
His eyes began to get heavier as the creaking noise coming from the floor became a soothing sound. He rocked back and forth. He continued to think back to his former life, before his family had to move—an easier life, believe it or not.
***
Carmine Lazzero stood outside his emerald green car as he waited for his uncle Martin Lazzero outside of The Crimson Tiger. The casino was a gift Martin had built for his newly assigned consigliere, Toma. It’s a nice place, I must say, he thought. Carmine looked upon the giant red sign with gold lettering that read The Crimson Tiger, written in cursive. The gold lettering had a sparkle to it that caught any onlooker’s attention and lured them into the casino.
The doorman opened the giant glass and gold-handled front door, and out came a tall, well-dressed man. He had a receding hair line and peppered hair that leaned more toward white than black, and it was held nicely gelled in place. He wore wide, horn-rimmed glasses that covered half his face. His skin was saggy and worn from the dry Nevada air. “Good morning, Carmine,” the man greeted with an infectious smile. “Thank you for coming here to meet with me.”
“Good morning, sir,” Carmine replied to Martin as he walked over and gave him a hug. He moved over to his passenger door and opened it. “Shall we be on our way?”
The elder Lazzero gave his underboss an approving nod and gave a wave to the men behind him. His bodyguards walked over to their vehicles, entered them, and positioned themselves to the front and rear of his vehicle. Carmine closed the passenger door as Martin entered and walked around the front and entered the driver seat of his car. “So, where are we going?” he asked as he started up his car.
“Aren’t you going to ask how the grand opening for Toma’s casino went?” Martin answered with a bewildered look.
“Well, what’s there to ask? He got promoted, and as a gift you got him a casino,” Carmine replied in a snide tone.
Before he could say another word, Lion gave him a backhand across his face, so fast that he couldn’t react and defend himself. “How dare you?” Martin barked angrily, his tone and demeanor changing quickly. “This is your brother, a fellow pack member, and instead of rejoicing and admiring his promotion and accomplishment, you talk down upon it and him.”
Carmine looked back at Martin, shame in his eyes for what he had said. “I’m sorry, Uncle…. You’re right. I should be happy for Toma. He is a more than deserving candidate for the consigliere position, a smart and innovative man, and his casino will flourish under his management.”
“Carmine, I don’t want you to feel threatened by Toma. He is a loyal and righteous man. If he weren’t, I wouldn’t entrust him in running this casino, nor would I promote him to a high-ranking position. You need not worry; the blood flowing through your veins entitles you to my position in due time. He will be a great ally to you when my time is done and you ascend to boss in the organization.”
Carmine looked down at his steering wheel. The tongue-lashing he had just received was a humbling experience for the underboss. “You’re a greater man and leader than I am,” he said. “I should be proud and happy for my brother and fellow pack member. How was the grand opening? Was Toma happy?”
“Yes. Yes, he was. The grand opening went great. Toma was asking where you were, but I told him I had you on an assignment for me. Carmine, you have much to learn but, when you do, this organization will reach new, higher levels that I can’t even fathom.”
The underboss smiled from the approval that his mentor had given him. “So boss,” he began in a more
uplifting tone, “what do we have going on today?”
“Let’s go for a drive around town. We’ve got a lot to discuss.”
Carmine placed his car in drive and began heading down the street. His car was situated in the middle of the vehicle convoy as it drove around the town. There was a silence in the vehicle at first, as if Martin was searching for the right words to begin the discussion.
He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. “You mind,” he asked Carmine.
“No, go ahead. Can I have one also?”
Lion handed Puma another cigarette and lit it for him. “Carmine, I do have a task for you, and I'm only going to entrust you in completing this task. No one else must know about this, not even the rest of the pack,” Lion said as he took a drag from his cigarette.
“Really?” Carmine replied, intrigued at the request. “Sure thing, boss. Whatever you need help with or need me to do, I will.”
“Well, before we start, I got to ask you…what do you see yourself doing in the future? Do you still see yourself living this life? What about your family? You and that Katherine gal seem to have a lot in common. Don't you want to settle down and start a family with her?”
“Boss, you feeling all right?” Carmine asked as he looked at Martin, puzzled by his question. “I'm happy where I'm at, and I don't want to do anything else except what I'm doing right now.”
“Does Toma feel the same way?”
“You know, Toma is a different cat. He doesn’t think like us, even though you raised him and he grew up in this organization. He has a different view on life. With the promotion and that gigantic piece of concrete and metal you just gave him, I think he's pretty much set on what he wants to do.”
“What if I told you Toma and Daichi, the boy he's grooming to become his bodyguard, wanted more in life than what I and the organization have provided? What if I told you that one day you would have the option to get out from here, to be financially set for the rest of your life?”
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